#well happy November I suppose gotta keep up with the passing of time :’)

[hplonesomeart]

Debated if I wanted to post this yesterday night (for some extra Halloween points) or hold off until the opportunity to color it arrived, but I’ve kinda picked up other art related things and don’t want to ruin the lineart on this sooooo….it’s probably going to remain a sketch forever lol. Just seems fitting to me this way! It was actually meant to be a redraw/reimagining of an older Halloween art piece featuring same original character (being Chloe The Lazypaw—an A Hat In Time themed character of mine). But I changed around the pose and the scenery for funsies!! >:3

[alloftheimaginesblog]

Life Without Colour (PART FOUR)

Soulmate AU: Your vision is in black and white until you meet your soulmate. You and your boyfriend, Steve Rogers, aren’t each others soulmates but you love each other. He introduces you to his friends, the Avengers, and a very odd thing happens.

Characters: Steve Rogers x Plus Size Female Reader, Bucky Barnes x Plus Size Female Reader

Taglist:  @domainoflostsouls​  forgetthisbull  handon-h-art  yourspecialcrush  giulsgotmusic  mrsbarnes-rogers  luosymekawa  linzeyzarcone  forgetthisbull   calamityreads  talgra 

Warnings: this one takes a darker turn; trigger warnings for kidnapping, drugged, threats/slight violence, Hydra, angst

Note: this is over 6000 words, enjoy!! x

PART ONE

PART TWO

PART THREE

PART FOUR

PART FIVE

PART SIX

A few weeks had passed since you first saw colour; a few weeks have passed since you and Steve talked through everything and made peace with Bucky Barnes being your soulmate which mean a few weeks have passed since you last saw or spoke to Bucky Barnes. After your 3am phone call, you hadn’t seen him. You’d told Steve about the phone call when you were both awake the next morning, telling him as much of the conversation as you could remember. He seemed fine with it, knowing about Bucky’s nightmares and erratic sleeping schedule. In fact, he appreciated the gesture that Bucky reached out to ask what you were comfortable with. What Steve appreciated more though was your honesty and the fact you were straight with Bucky and told him that you and Steve were happy together and nothing would change that.

Everything was fine with you and Steve, every issue had been ironed out and in fact, the two of you had never been closer. You were truly grateful for Steve’s forgiveness and now, the guilt had almost fully disappeared. He had helped you to heal that wound and you had helped to heal his wounds with trust; you had proved yourself to be honest and that it was just one slip up. 

Life had been good those few weeks, you spent more time with Nat and got to know about her budding relationship with Bruce. You’d seen the team a bit more than usual as well. No one else - besides Nat and Sam - knew about the soulmate fiasco and truthfully, it wasn’t their business to know anyway. Bucky hadn’t been around much, he’d called Steve a couple of times just to say that he was doing his own thing for a while as per your wishes. Steve was thankful to Bucky for providing that space even if it meant he had only seen his best friend a handful of times since he returned from Wakanda.

Things were good. Until they weren’t.

Steve and the some of the team got dragged to a mission across the country. It was a big one; Hydra were back and trying to infiltrate the systems. Brock Rumlow, or Crossbones as he referred to himself now, was after Steve and he wouldn’t stop until he got him. You didn’t really know what was happening with the mission, Steve was never allowed to tell you a lot about the missions, you just knew that it was a big one and it was dangerous. You hated when Steve was away on a mission; you hated the not knowing part of it all but you supposed it’s what you deserved for falling in love with Captain America.

You didn’t know how serious it was until you had been bringing the groceries into yours and Steve’s apartment and saw four men - three very large, hulking brutes of men - waiting for you. The scream that rose in your throat never found its way out before a gloved hand was forced over your mouth, holding a rag with something strong smelling over your mouth and nose. Brock Rumlow had you pinned in his arms, forcing you to breathe in the chemicals. You tried to fight against him as the fear radiated through your body, trying to put some of those self defence techniques that Natasha had taught you to good use but he was too strong and everything felt fuzzy around the edges. Your eyes were wide as you struggled, trying to escape, trying to scream; trying to do anything that would help to save you. Your heart pounded painfully against your ribcage and you could feel the panic set in when your vision began to blur. You could see the three men approach, weapons in hand but a gruff voice in your ear said, “Stop struggling and we won’t hurt you.” Whether you wanted to stop struggling or not wasn’t up to you but instead, the choice had been taken away and given to the substance that you were breathing in. As the darkness crept in, you heard a faint voice say, “Get Rogers on the phone now.”

Flashes of light, snippets of sound and quick seconds of vision was what you experienced for a few hours as you drifted in and out of consciousness. It wasn’t until a loud bang erupted a few rooms away that you really began to come back to life. Squinting in the low light, you blinked hard, trying to focus on something to figure out where you were. Wherever you were, it was dark and dim and it smelled faintly of the explosion of fireworks on the 5th of November.

You weren’t hurt, your neck ached from the position you’d been in for what you could only assume was the last few hours. You went to move when you realised that your hands and feet were bound. That’s when you really began to wake up. What the fuck? Your memory was hazy but you remembered Rumlow and his goons in your apartment. You pulled at your hands, trying to get loose but the bonds that tied your hands were too tight. Squinting, you looked around the room, it was dark, with a metal door and a few wooden boxes in the corner. You were sitting on a wooden chair, hands and feet bound to the arms and legs of it. 

Your mind thought of Steve, oh god, Steve. You knew this had been Rumlow’s doing, what if he had gotten to Steve? What if- what if he- No. You couldn’t think like that. Steve had been on a mission states away from you. Rumlow had come to you because he obviously couldn’t get to Steve, he was drawing Steve out and you were the bait. Steve’s going to find you, (y/n). He said he’ll always protect you and he’ll keep that promise.

The more you panicked, the more you began to struggle; trying to break free of the ropes. Your breathing was quick and ragged as you struggled, your heart rate increasing with every passing second. Tears welled in your eyes as your mind raced with the horrors of what was going to happen to you. You froze when you could hear grunting outside, it sounded close.

Fear kicked you hard in the stomach, making you feel light headed and nauseous. You’d never been this terrified before. You thought that the most you could be scared was that time a spider ran across the bed when Steve was in a shower and you had to deal with getting it out of the apartment but no, tied to a chair after being drugged and kidnapped with explosions and not knowing what the fuck was going on... yeah, that’s a whole new level of fear. You tried to slow your breathing as you strained to listen to the commotion outside of the room you occupied. You could hear grunts and what sounded like punches before the metal door of the room was thrown open and there stood Sam Wilson. A sob got caught in your throat as you saw him.

He pressed his earpiece as he rushed to you, kneeling to help untie you, “I got her, Steve. Second floor, take a right, fifth door down. She’s okay.”

“Oh my god,” you sobbed as relief flooded your senses, “Oh my god, Sam!”

Sam murmured words of comfort as he worked on the ropes that bounded you to the chair, “It’s okay, they’re not gonna hurt you. We’ve got you now.”

He managed to get the last one untied when Steve ran into the room. He wore his Captain America gear sans the mask and carried the shield. As soon as he saw you, he tossed his shield to the side and rushed to your aid. Sam stepped to the side, picking up the shield and playing around with it as he allowed you two a moment to reunite. He was muttering about how the shield was much lighter than it looked.

“Steve,” you whimpered, throwing your arms around your boyfriend and allowing him to pull you up. He held you tightly, breathing heavy into your neck.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered into your ear, pressing a kiss to your neck, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

“Sorry to interrupt but we gotta move,” Sam said after a minute, “before we get any more company.”

“Are you okay to walk?” Steve asks you, pulling you back to look at you, “Are you hurt?”

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you say, wiping your eyes, “Tired but I can make it.”

The three of you hurry out, Steve tells you not to look at the bodies on the floor but you do and you instantly regret it. “Are they-”

“Knocked out,” Sam says, answering your question before you finish it, “but won’t be for long so we gotta hurry.”

Everything’s a bit of a blur as Steve and Sam usher you out, careful to take you the safest and quickest path. You feel queasy after seeing the blood and the carnage of the few HYDRA men so your eyes are trained to the ground until Steve has you safe and sitting in the quinjet. 

Steve doesn’t let go of you, always touching or holding onto you in some way or another. You’re silent as Sam begins to fly the jet. Steve’s talking to you but you can’t focus on anything other than his hand in yours, “I’m tired,” you whisper, “I’m so tired.” You lay your head on Steve’s shoulder and darkness quickly encapsulates you.

You gasp awake, jolting upwards, “Whoa, (y/n), it’s okay!” A voice says quickly, “You’re okay, you’re safe remember. It’s Steve, sweetheart; it’s Steve. Look at me, (y/n).”

Your mind whirs, the tendrils of the nightmare still creeping around in your brain. Hands on your face force your eyes to stop fleeting from wall to wall and instead focus on the person in front of you. Steve stares at you, telling you that everything’s okay and that you’re safe now. Steve’s hands are on either side of your face as he makes you look at him. You blink hard, as your eyes struggle to focus on him. You hear the rapid beeping of the machine and you register that it’s your measuring your heartrate. His face finally sharpens and you can see him properly now.

“Slow breath in, sweetheart. You’re safe, I promise you. Copy me.” Steve takes a deep breath and you follow suit, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart. Steve repeats to you that you’re in hospital and you’re safe, “No one can hurt you in here.”

You look away from him after a few seconds to look around you and sure enough, you are in hospital. The walls are pure white, too white and you’re in the hospital bed, “How did I get here?”

“We got you and you passed out again, I took you here just to make sure that whatever drug they gave you was out of your system. It’s leaving so you’ll be okay, sweetheart.” He brushes your hair back, “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t ever want to be an Avenger, I know that’s for damn sure,” you mutter as you close your eyes and fall back against the pillows, “How you guys deal with the fear is beyond me.”

Steve smiles but it’s sad. You open one eye, “What’s wrong?”

He shakes his head, “Don’t worry about it. You get some rest and I’ll be right here, (y/n). I’m not going anywhere. Doctors want to keep you in overnight just to make sure it’s all out your system, okay? I’m going to wait by your side all night and don’t worry, we have agents at every door in the hospital.”

“Rumlow?” You asked him, voice trembling, “Where’s he?” 

“SHIELD are closing in on him, sweetheart,” he sighs, stroking your hair back gently, “Don’t worry... He can’t get you in here.”

As Steve looked over you as you slept, Sam came into the room, “Coffee delivery.” Steve sipped at the hot coffee happily, “How is she?”

“Had a nightmare about it but she’s okay. She’s scared.” Steve’s eyes were trained on you as though we were watching a newborn infant to check its breathing, “God, what if we hadn’t found her in time?”

“But we did and we got her out. She’s safe, Steve.”

Steve shook his head, “But for how long?” He asked as he rubbed his face tiredly with one hand, “How long before Rumlow or HYDRA or someone else targets (y/n) to get to me?”

Sam swallows, “What are you thinking then?”

“She has to go somewhere safe, somewhere away from the chaos and the danger.”

“How long?”

Steve shrugs, “I don’t know... At least until we know all of Rumlow and his men are locked up.”

“You’ll go with her?”

It’s a big decision and he knows that you should be involved in it but he knows exactly what you’ll say; you’ll say that you want to stay with him and stay by his side even if it means living in terror of every bump in the night. He had been reckless, Steve had thought he was untouchable, he thought that you would’ve been safe but Steve underestimated the lengths these sorts of guys go to in order to win.

He shakes his head, hating the decision that he’s about to make but it’s for the best. It’s the only thing he knows that will protect you; it’s the only way he’s happy with you leaving, “No... but I know someone who will.”

Sam shakes his head, knowing exactly who he means and he raises his eyebrows, “You’re kidding, right? That’s a stupid decision, Steve, and you know it.”

Steve scoffs, “I wish... but... he’s strong, he’s good in a fight and I know that he’ll protect her no matter what.”

“But what if... what if they... you know?”

Steve takes a breath and releases it slowly, “Then I’ll deal with that when the time comes. I need to keep (y/n) safe and this is the only way...”

Sam’s hand is heavy on Steve’s shoulder as they watch you, “She’s not gonna like that decision.”

Steve laughs, knowing fine well that you will fight against the decision for all its worth, “Oh, yeah, I know. Probably won’t forgive me in a hurry either.” Steve stands up, “Will you watch her so I can go make a phone call? I’ll just be outside the door if you need me.”

Sam nods, taking Steve’s seat, as Steve grabs his phone from his jacket, dialling one number. He waits outside the room, just across from the two agents that Fury had placed outside of (y/n)’s hospital room 24/7.

“Steve?” He’d been sleeping, the one time Bucky Barnes is getting a decent sleep and his phone rings and wakes him. He always answers when it’s Steve though, regardless of the time or where he is.

“Hey, Buck... I need to ask you a favour.” Bucky asks what Steve needs and Steve begins to tell him, “Rumlow and HYDRA are after me. They kidnapped (y/n), she’s okay, in hospital but no injuries. She’s shaken up pretty bad and... Bucky, this is going to be a big ask.”

“Whatever you need, Steve, I’ll do.” He’s sitting, tugging a shirt on with one arm,  “What do you need?” Bucky Barnes would go to the ends of the Earth for Steve Rogers and he knows that whatever Steve needs, it’s something big.

“I need you to take her to a safe house.” Bucky freezes, he had expected Steve to ask him to come help for extra protection or something like that but this... this is huge, “I need you to take her. I don’t know how long for, a few weeks maybe months? No one else, it can only be you.”

“But... Steve...” He doesn’t say much but Steve knows what he’s saying. But Steve, I’m your girlfriend’s soulmate and you’re asking for me to take her into a secluded house alone? Just the two of us for god knows how long? Are you sure that’s a good idea?

Steve sighs heavily, “I know, Buck.” His tone almost sounds defeated, “I know... We were finally back on track and the universe hits out with this... I just need her to be safe, Buck, regardless of who he soulmate is or who she ends up falling in love with; I want her to be happy and I want her to be safe.”

“Why can’t you go?”

“They’re after me, I can’t let you or Sam or the team pick up my mess. I have to deal with it. That’s why I need you to go with her. You’re just as strong as me and... I know that you’ll keep her safe. I know that whatever happens, you’ll do everything you can to protect her... I need you to take her until we have Hydra locked up.”

Bucky licks his lips as he thinks about it. He doesn’t really know how to feel about it but he doesn’t really have to, Steve needs him and he’d follow that scrawny kid into the depths of hell if it mean he’d be helping him, “Okay, I’ll help. I’ll need a few days to find a safe house and get it prepped then I’ll fly out, okay?” He agrees to Steve’s ask though he has a niggling feeling in the back of his mind that all of this won’t go to plan. 

“Thank you, Bucky.” Steve closes his eyes as he leans against the wall, “You can’t tell me or anyone else where you’re going or where you’re taking her. I probably won’t be able to contact you so-” I’m leaving you with my girl alone with no contact from me or the team for weeks or months potentially, “- you gotta keep her safe. I’ve got some cash together for you to buy everything with that so you’re untraceable. Fury’s giving us more cash since we don’t know how long you’ll be away for.”

Bucky swears on his own life that he’d protect you with everything he has. Before Steve hangs up, Bucky says, “Steve, I just want you to know that no matter what happens... no matter what feelings arise... I won’t- I won’t do anything, I won’t act on anything, I won’t try and do anything about them...”

It’s the reassurance Steve needs and he feels a lot lighter now that Bucky’s said that. He smiles as he release a long breath, “I know you won’t, Bucky. I’ll see you soon.” Steve hangs up and walks back into the hospital room where Sam has Marvin Gaye playing quietly on his phone, “Do you just play Marvin Gaye to anyone in a hospital?”

Sam rolls his eyes, “It was too quiet, man! How did it go?”

“He’s onboard.”

Sam claps him on the shoulder, “You sure this is what you want? You know that I could take her or you could and I could hold the fort?”

Steve sighs, “It has to be him.” He shrugs, “I... I can only hope that nothing happens but god knows... All I know is that she’ll be okay with him.” The pair look over you as Steve’s thoughts swirl. This might be one of the last times you’re together in a romantic sense, he doesn’t know if you’ll come back loving Bucky or hating him and it makes him feel sick at the thought but he’s okay with it. He wants you to be happy and if that means it’s with Buck, then so be it.

“Absolutely not.”

“(y/n), come on-”

“No, Steve!” Your voice is raising due to the sheer stupidity of his request, “You’re saying that because you’re being targeted that means I’m a target too, I understand that, but what I don’t understand is why you’re asking me to go live in a safe house with Bucky for god knows how long! He’s my soulmate, Steve, I- I can’t.”

“The plans have already been made.”

“Then unmake them!” You’re angry and he gets it and to be honest, he doesn’t want this to happen either but it has to. He’d told you the next morning when the drugs were completely out of your system. Sam was back at the apartment checking for bugs, just in case Rumlow’s gang planted some when they were in and then he’d take you back to the apartment for you to pack a bag, “I’m not going Steve.”

“Yes, you are.” He crosses his arms over his chest and looks at you with a furrowed brow. He understands that you’re an adult who can decide their own fate but Steve is choosing this one for you, “You might not understand right now but when you come out the other end of this safe then I hope you’ll understand then.”

You shake your head as tears threaten to fall. You’re angry at Steve, that he made this decision and you knew you would be going no matter what fight you put up. It annoyed you, made you feel small and made you feel like a child who couldn’t make their own decisions, “Not without you, Steve. Why can’t it be you?”

“I’m trying to keep the fight away from you,” he says softly, hand on top of yours, “Bucky’s the only way you’ll be kept safe.” Silence falls for a moment before he speaks again, “I know what this means. I know what this could mean for... for us. I know that you could come back in love with Bucky and he for you. I know that you could come back and break up with me on the spot... That’s a risk I am willing to take.”

You shake your head, “No,” you whisper, “I’m not willing to take that risk, Steve.” You could trust yourself, that wasn’t the issue. You knew that no matter what, you wouldn’t do anything to jeopardise your relationship with Steve. But... you and Bucky were soulmates and that had to be for a reason and it worried you that being alone with him for an unlimited amount of time would cause something to stir. You trusted yourself not to cheat on Steve but you didn’t trust your heart not to hurt Steve.

Steve crouched down beside the hospital bed and lifted your hand to his lips, “I know, sweetheart,” tears burned at his own eyes as he spoke to you, “I know the risk. I know that you could come back and we could break up instantly and if you want, we could break up right now so that whatever happens, you wouldn’t have to feel guilty about it-”

You swung your legs out of the bed, throwing your arms around him, “No,” you wept sadly into his shoulder, “that’s the last thing I want.”

He held you tightly, knowing that this very well could be one of the last times that the two of you had together in a relationship, “I’m doing this because I want to protect you, (y/n)… Bucky can protect you.”

“I-I love you, Steve,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his neck. My god, how you loved him. He had changed your life, brought so much joy and happiness to it, “No matter what, I love you.” The two of you stayed like that for a long time, just needing to feel each other and needing to be with each other because... who knew what would happen over the course of the next few months?

With doctors granting you permission to leave the hospital and after having Sam debug the apartment, Steve took you home for your last night with him. The car ride to the apartment was quiet and your hand never left Steve’s as he drove you both home. You had relented with the decision, knowing full well that regardless of whether you said yes or no to leaving with Bucky, you would be going anyway. You and Steve had talked things over, about Steve’s duty to the job and to taking down Hydra, about Bucky and how he wasn’t going to overstep a line with you or anything like that. The pair of you spoke about the non-existent contact you’d have.

“Hopefully it won’t be too long,” Steve said, “maybe just a few weeks but these days, Hydra is everywhere and nowhere all in the one, it could be months. Bucky managed to find a safe house relatively quick. For obvious reasons, I don’t know where it is or what continent it’s on but he said that it’s secluded and it’s safe. He said that it comes with minimal furniture so tomorrow morning, you’ll leave.” You squeezed his hand tightly, not wanting to speak for fear of bursting into tears. Steve glanced over at you and gave you the tiniest of smiles. He lifted your hand and pressed a soft kiss to it.

When you reached the apartment complex, there were three black SUVs parked out front, Steve saw you looking, “SHIELD agents,” he told you, “We’ll have agents outside the apartment and one in each of our neighbour’s apartments.”

“Jeez,” you murmured, “I’m only here for one night, it’s like I’m a bloody Kardashian.”

Steve smiled slightly, glad to hear you make a joke, he wrapped an arm around you as you walked into the building, “Only the best for you, my love.”

You were rather apprehensive about going back into the apartment. It had been yours and Steve’s safe place and now... it seemed compromised almost. Steve seemed to pick up on your worry, “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he said as he took the keys out of his pocket, “It’s been cleaned, debugged and also...” He unlocked the door to reveal red rose petals running from the front door into each room.

“Steve,” you whispered, looking at him with a smile. You walked into the apartment, hanging your coat up and kicking your shoes off. You followed the petals into the kitchen where there was a candlelit dinner waiting for the two of you.

“It’s not much but I had Nat come round and make it special since it’s our last night together.” Note; ‘last night together’ is different from ‘last night together for a while’. A pang of sadness shot through you, you leaned up to kiss him softly, whispering that you loved it.

“There’s a bath waiting for you if you want it. Some Chinese takeout if you’re hungry.”

You hugged him tightly, “Just hold me for a while.” So, the pair of you stood in the kitchen, holding each other in the dim light not knowing what would happen next. 

It was a few minutes later Steve tugged you to the kitchen table where you both sat down, “You remember our first night here?” He asked you as he handed you some take out cartons and began to eat.

You stifled a laugh, “Yeah, no electricity for three days and no hot water either!”

Steve laughed with you, taking a fork full of chow mein, “Yeah, having to eat Chinese take out on the floor with torches and candles all around us. Could’ve cried when the electricity finally turned on.”

You rolled your eyes, “You could have cried?! What the hell, Rogers? You teared up like you were watching your first born son marry!” 

The ice had been broken and the two of you could freely talk and laugh without boundaries. You both carried on as though it were a normal night, a date night with no mention As the night went on, you had a nice romantic bath as Steve cleaned the dishes and when you were finished, things ended in the bedroom.

You always loved laying on his chest, listening to the slow rhythmic beat of his heart and his steady breathing. Most people, if they knew it was their last night with someone would probably fuck until dawn but neither of you wanted that. You wanted nothing more than to lie with him, talking and just being there and being present. Steve wanted to hold you, wanted to tell you how much he cared and loved you and he just wanted to be with you.

“Whatever happens,” you said softly, “I just want you to know that this was real; this is real - that although we’re technically not soulmates, I truly believe that we are.”

Steve pulled you tighter into him, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “I want you to know,” he said, “that no matter what feelings you start to have for Bucky, no matter how you feel towards me in the end up... I won’t blame you. I won’t expect you to love me like this on the other side. I won’t expect you to still want to be with me. I know that I’m forcing you into this situation and that kills me to do but I have to do it so whatever happens, it’s not your fault.”

You look up to him as you both whisper your confessions of undying love before kissing him gently. It’s a soft kiss, full of emotion and full of such sorrow. It’s a goodbye. You would say goodbye officially tomorrow but this was the real goodbye, this was the intimate goodbye, the letting go of the intertwined hearts and this was it. The kiss soon turned more passionate and then the two of you were confessing your love in the most intimate of ways.

“How are you feeling about all of this?” Natasha asked you as she sat on yours and Steve’s bed. You were in the process of packing your bags.

“I feel like I’m perpetually on the verge of tears,” you answered, as you folded some t-shirts and squeezed them into the bag, “It’s hard, you know? I understand why but my god, Nat, I hate this.”

Nat studied you carefully and you knew the question that was on her mind. What if you fall for Barnes? To be honest, it had been the question on everyone’s mind that morning.

“I’m shit scared,” you admitted to her, dropping the bag onto the bed beside her as you ran your hands through your hair, “I am terrified. I am so in love with Steve and what if I come back madly in love with Bucky? Or better yet, in love with the two of them?”

Nat stood up, placing a gentle hand on your arm, “Hey, whatever happens, it’s going to be okay. You can’t stress about something that might not even happen. You have to take it day by day and if you fall for him then so be it. If you don’t, great. If you’re in love with the two of them then that’s something you and Steve have to talk about and sort out when you’re back. Don’t stress about it now.” She pulled you in for a tight hug, a very un-Nat thing to do, “Just know that I’ll be helping Steve sort out the Hydra mess, I’ll keep his ass safe and in line and hopefully it won’t be too long before you’re allowed to come home.”

“Thanks, Nat.” The two of you pulled apart, “You’ll need to keep a diary or something to update me on everything I’ll miss... especially with you and a certain Dr Banner.” You placed your phone on top of the counter, you couldn’t take it for fear of tracking so there was no point in having it. You sighed as you placed it down.

Nat rolled her eyes, “Yeah right. Let’s get this wig sorted.”

The Avengers were never too good at disguises, it usually always consisted of sunglasses and a cap so, in order to hide your identity further, Nat had brought you a wig the opposite colour, cut and style to your hair just now and some contact lenses of a different colour to your natural eye colour.

After a few minutes, you looked in the mirror, staring at someone who looked like a stranger, “Oh god, I hate it.” The top you wore wasn’t at all flattering for your body type. You tugged it down, wishing that it wasn’t quite so figure hugging. You didn’t mind things that clung to your body, you’d worked through a lot of the body issues you had but the top was a horrid colour and paired with this hair and these contacts... you didn’t feel like a Kardashian anymore. 

Nat laughed, “That means it works. Honestly, you look fine, stop worrying... Let’s go show the boys.”

You walked into the living room with your packed bags to see Sam and Steve standing talking. Steve smiled when he looked at you, “You look... interesting.”

“Shut it, Rogers.”

“I mean, it definitely works because I look at you and I don’t see (y/n), I see a complete stranger,” Sam offered.

“You ready?” Steve asked softly, taking the bags from you, “Got everything?” You nodded, murmuring a ‘think so’. He smiled and pulled an envelope out of his back pocket, “I wrote this letter this morning. I want you to read it when it’s time...” Your confused expression made him explain further, “I want you to read this letter when you start to feel things... things for Bucky. If that happens.” You took a breath, mind whirring with the possible things that could be in that letter,  “You’ll know when to read it.”

It was then that there was a knock on the door. Sam answered it to see Bucky Barnes standing wearing a cap and, you guessed it, sunglasses. He wore leather gloves to cover his metal hand and carried a bag over his shoulder. He lifted the sunglasses to look at you, “Ready?”

Oh god, it’s happening.

“I don’t want to cry because I’m scared of the contact lenses,” you whimpered as tears threatened to fall. You hugged Nat and Sam, thanking them for their help, before Steve said that he’d walk out with you both. He picked up your bags and the three of you left the apartment to the black car that was outside. Bucky packed the three bags in the trunk before hugging Steve.

You couldn’t hear what the two of them said in the brief encounter but you supposed that it would be Bucky reassuring Steve that you’d be safe and that he wouldn’t act on any feelings that may grow. Steve clapped him on the shoulder and Bucky got into the driver’s seat of the car.

Steve turned to you and wrapped you in his arms. God, you just wanted to cry. You wished that you didn’t have to go, you wished that you could just stay with him but you couldn’t. You had to leave. They’d already gotten to you once and Steve wouldn’t dare let it happen again.

“I love you,” you told him softly, “I love you so much, Steve. I-I love you.”

He held you tighter, “I love you, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll get this sorted so that you can come home to me.” You pulled back and he brushed your cheek, wiping your tear gently, “No matter what happens, it’s okay.” You hugged him again before he leaned down and kissed you softly. Bucky, who had been watching in the rear view mirror, looked away, “Goodbye, (y/n).”

“Goodbye, Steve.” He opened your car door and you slid inside.

“Thank you, Buck,” Steve said, clearing his throat, “Be safe.” He closed the door and Bucky started the engine, pulling out of the apartment complex. Your eyes were trained on the spot where Steve was, watching as he got smaller and smaller until you couldn’t see him anymore. It was only when he was out of sight that you allowed yourself to really break. Fuck the contact lenses, I’m too sad to care. 

Bucky glanced at you as he drove, feeling a pang of sadness for you as you wept in the seat beside him. He knew that part of the reason you were so upset was because it was him that was taking you, had he not been your soulmate you would have probably been okay but because he was your soulmate, it filled you to the brim with worry, guilt and pure sadness. All he could do was drive. Nothing he could say could help you. He reached to his side, taking a pack of tissues from the door’s compartment before handing them to you.

“Thank you,” you whispered, taking them from him. He couldn’t do much to help but he had done enough to make you feel comforted and to make you feel as though you weren’t alone. You wiped your eyes as you stared out of the window, wondering where the next few weeks would take you.

[cycat4077]

Proposing Permission

Summary: You and Sonny have been together for a year but your idea of celebrating is slightly different than his. Set during S18 - roughly November 2016. Pairing: Sonny x Reader Warnings: None, except fluff...and maybe suggestive hints here and there ;) Words: 2479 AO3 here

Technically part 13 in the Changes verse, but can act as a stand-alone, too!

“Mom!” you exclaim as soon as you hear her ‘hello?’ on the end of the line. “You'll never guess what just happened! – Wait, how'd you know? – He did? Of course, he did!” you laugh happily, flashing a bright smile up at Sonny who sits beside you on the sofa.

Sonny would give you the abridged version of the events that led up to this moment later, but at the time, things went a little like this:

-x-

“Uh, Carisi? Where are we going? The turn-off for the I-87 South, is that-a-way…” Amanda turns her body towards the traffic junction that passes by. She then whips back around to stare at her partner in the diver’s seat, a disgruntled look on her face.

“I need ta make a detour,” he states, eyes never leaving the highway.

“But we’re on a case!” she protests, growing irritated.

“Yeah, but we did what we came upstate to do. Got some answers, relayed them to Lieu. Technically, we’re off duty right now.” Sonny taps the wheel with his thumbs, trying to avoid his partner's gaze.

But Amanda Rollins is not one to concede so easily. “Tell me where we’re going, Dominick,” she drops her voice to a stern tone, eyes boring into the side of Sonny’s head.

Sonny lets out a nervous breath and says your name. “Remember how her parents live upstate? Well…” he reaches into the breast pocket of his suit jacket, producing a velvet box. Amanda gasps and nabs it from his grasp. She flips the little box open, finding a ring. “I wanna propose,” admits Sonny, “but I wanna ask her folks first.”

Dragging her eyes away from the box, Rollins frowns. “It’s twenty-sixteen, Sonny…you don’t need parental permission anymore.”

“I know, I know,” dismisses Sonny. “But that’s how my pa did it, and, she’s really close with her parents. It seems right to ask ‘em first.”

Amanda smiles in spite of herself. The gesture is very much a ‘Sonny Carisi’ thing to do. So, she cracks a joke instead. “What’re you gonna do? Salute her dad and say: ‘Requesting permission to marry your daughter, sir!’”

“Rawllins,” he groans, trying to act annoyed while keeping his eyes on the road.

“Do what you gotta do, partner,” she winks before turning her attention back to the box. “This ring is gorgeous!”

-x-

The drive was absolutely beautiful. Being October, the further away from concrete Sonny and Amanda drove, the denser the colourful forests became. It was picture perfect and Sonny’s only wish was that you could have been along to see it too.

Pulling up to your childhood home, Sonny leaves Amanda in the passenger’s seat. Afterall, this detour had to be relatively quick to prevent Lieu from breathing down his neck about it.

As Sonny makes his way to the door, his legs are a little wobbly and his pulse is racing. He has met your parents before and they adore him, yet, as he waits for his knock to be answered, his nerves get the better of him. This is a huge step and he hopes that they believe him worthy of it.

Then the door clicks open to reveal your mother. “Sonny!” she exclaims happily, but immediately her face falls. “Is everything okay?” In hindsight, an unannounced, unaccompanied visit does seem a little concerning.

Clueing in, Sonny immediate puts your mother at ease. “Yeah, yeah!” he reassures with a smile. “Work brought me upstate and I, uh, I wanted ta ask y’both somethin’ while I was up here.”

“Of course, of course!” Your mother ushers Sonny into the house before giving him a giant hug. Just as she releases him your father walks into the room, coming over with a large smile and firm handshake.

“Sir,” greets Sonny with a nod.

The three of them then take a seat at the dining room table; your mother unsurprisingly offers Sonny everything in her fridge. Once satisfied that he’s not lying about not being hungry, she continues. “So, son, what’s on your mind?”

The Italian swallows nervously. He looks to his fingers, thrumming them on the table top while his right knee bounces anxiously. Finally, he begins to speak: “Well, as you know, your daughter and I have been together for a while now and, we love each other very much. I love her very much.” A grin begins to break out on your mom’s face, her intuition giving her a good idea of where the conversation is headed. “And I, uh,” continues Sonny, “well, it seemed only right for me ta ask the two of you first. I w-wanna ask her ta marry me.”

Suspicions confirmed, your mother squeals with delight, grabbing onto your father’s arm and giving it a loving squeeze.

“I got a ring already and everything, if ya wanna see it,” Sonny adds quickly as if it will reenforce how committed he is to you. He pulls out the box once more and hands it over to your mom.

“Oh, Sonny,” she sighs looking up to your boyfriend. “She’s going to absolutely love it.”

“So, I, uh, have both your blessings then?” His blue eyes dart nervously back and forth between your parents.

Finally, your dad chimes in. “Of course!” he exclaims happily, his voice choking up ever so slightly. “You’re a good man and I couldn’t imagine my girl with anyone else.”

Sonny’s stomach does a somersault as he is immediately flooded with relief. “Thank ya!” he leaps to his feet. Your parents stand with him, both delivering their future son-in-law a squeezing hug. Parting, Sonny reluctantly explains that he can’t stay and that he must be getting back to the city.

“Alright, hon,” your mother coos. “Let us know what happens. Your secret is safe with us for now, but we’ll be waiting anxiously by the phone for the happy news!”

“Will do,” beams Sonny before he heads back to the squad car. Your parents wave him goodbye until he’s out of sight.

-x-

It’s your anniversary! One complete year of you and Sonny (finally) getting together! But…the universe really didn’t care about that. Nope! Because a faculty meeting was called on the one day where you didn’t have classes to teach. It ran from midday and into the evening and there was no possible way of getting out of it either. You loved your job, you really did, but today was supposed to be for you and Sonny. Nothing fancy, of course, but you had planned a lazy morning, followed up with cooking together and turning it into a romantic evening celebration.

“Uhhggghhh!” you groan, hanging your head and slouching your shoulders.

Sonny places his warm hands on your arms, grinning. “It’s alright, sweetheart.” You can feel those blue eyes shining down on you and, the next thing you know, a finger is gingerly tilting your chin up towards his. “I ain’t mad at all, okay? Shit happens. Jeez, how many times have I hadta cancel a date with you ‘cause I got called in or hadta work late?”

You bunch your mouth at the corner, frustrated. “I know, but it’s our anniversary and I was looking forward to spending all day with you!”

“So was I, but we can still make the most of it.” He kisses you on the nose. “I’ll go ahead ‘n make dinner and then when ya get home we can celebrate.”

“You sure? It was supposed to be a team effort. I can just grab some takeout on the way home –”

“Nonsense,” Sonny grins. “Besides, my cookin’ is way better than any takeout in the city.” His words make you laugh. “There’s that beautiful smile,” he beams, sweeping the hair back from your eyes.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, doll. Now, go on before you’re late ‘n try not ta fall asleep.”

You give Sonny a sweet kiss and make your way to the door. Before exiting, you flash a sultry look over your shoulder at your smiling boyfriend. “I promise I’ll make it up to you later, babe. It’s just a shame you have to wait so long to see what’s underneath this dress.” You slip out the door before you’re able to see the sign of the cross Sonny makes in attempt to absolve himself of his sinful thoughts.

-x-

The journey back home never felt so exhausting. Maybe it was the fact that the meeting seemed to drag on forever, especially when all you could think about was curling up next to Sonny. Your feet ached in your pumps and you cursed your wardrobe choice. Though, you were still new at the college and thus wanted to make a professional impression.

Once you finally reach your floor, a distinct cooking aroma floats down the hallway. Your stomach grumbles, knowing exactly which apartment is the origin and eager to taste what smells so delicious.

Opening your door, you are greeted by your wonderful boyfriend and his smiling eyes. He’s dressed up in a crisp shirt and slacks. “Welcome home, sweetheart and happy anniversary!”

You smile up at him and step into his outstretched arms. His attire seemed a bit formal, but you weren’t complaining. The way button up shirts hugged his arms and torso always made your face flush and heart beat a little faster. Those same arms also fit perfectly around you when he held you close.

As you begin to withdraw from his embrace however, you notice just how much Sonny is perspiring. “Babe, you alright?” Your brow knits with concern. “You’re sweating a bunch…”

Sonny quickly averts his gaze and turns towards the kitchen. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” he gives a dismissive wave. “The oven’s been on all day.”

You know him well enough to tell that something is not quite right and his half-hearted answer gives you reason to follow him and press the issue. But as you round the corner, you’re stopped dead in your tracks by an elaborate display.

Sonny has gone all out. A hearty meal sits steaming on a table set for two, a single rose in a crystal vase resides at the center, and he’s even arranged some of your candles to provide low lighting. The sight of it all leaves you feeling as though your heart will flutter right out of your chest.

"Sonny," you whisper, hand over your heart. "You didn't have to do all this." You then peer up at him with glassy eyes.

"I wanted tonight to be special. Just you ‘n me celebrating a whole magical year of being together.”

Closing the distance, you lean up and place your lips tenderly to his. Sonny bends forward, deepening the kiss. You run a hand tenderly up the front of his shirt feeling the contours of his muscles beneath your fingers. Sonny reaches to cover your hand with his, grasping it carefully and reluctantly pulling it away. Breaking apart, he smiles, "Food's gonna get cold, doll."

The two of you sit down to a quiet, romantic dinner, clinking glasses in a toast to your relationship. But Sonny still has beads of sweat forming along his brow. "Babe, are you sure you're alright?" you point to his forehead. "It's not that hot in here..."

He swallows thickly, looking away. "Yeah...I'm just a little nervous is all." Sonny then focuses on you with big, blue eyes.

Yours narrow in confusion. Nervous? Why would he be nervous? It just us here...

Sonny flashes you shy smile before reaching across the table to take your hand in his. He stares at it in contemplation as he runs his thumb lovingly over your knuckles.

Biting his lip, he shifts those gorgeous eyes back to yours. "We've been through a lot in a year, doll," he begins. "And last summer I never knew how my life would change when you walked through that squad room door. I never knew that I could love someone so completely until I fell in love with you. My whole heart is yours and -"

"Sonny!" you release a sweet laugh. "You don't owe me a speech! I know how much you love me, silly! And I hope you know how much I love you too."

Suddenly, Sonny seems a little terrified. Had he rehearsed this or something?

"Just hear me out, ‘kay?" he implores following a shaky breath.

You smile softly and squeeze his hand signaling for him to continue.

"Believe me, doll, I've never felt more loved by anyone but you. I love waking up with ya in the mornin' and fallin' asleep together at night. My heart skips a beat thinkin' about a future with you. So, I guess that's why I'm sweatin'."

All of a sudden the warmth of Sonny's hand disappears. He shifts to get up from the table, slipping his fingers into his pocket. Then you realize that he's getting down on one knee. Your heart begins to thunder in your chest and a gasp catches in your throat.

Sonny's eyes lock onto yours as he produces a velvet box and opens it. There sits a white gold ring topped by a dainty solitaire diamond. Your eyes immediately rim with tears as you hear Sonny softly speak your name. "Will you marry me?"

A large smile erupts upon your face and you instantly blurt out a "yes!"

Sonny's expression changes to one of pure love. He delicately slips the ring on your finger and quickly rises to capture your lips in a kiss.

You wrap your arms around his neck and he effortlessly scoops you up. "I'm so happy," you speak against his lips, eliciting a tight squeeze from your fiancé.

Fiancé! Sonny Carisi is your fiancé! The man you love with your whole heart. You've always believed that it isn’t the ring on their finger that make two people married – that’s at least how committed you feel towards Sonny – Yet now, you couldn’t be happier to make what you share official.

"I'm so happy too, doll! I love you! I love you! I love you!" Sonny reciprocates in between swift kisses to your cheeks, nose and lips. Then his eyes darken and he bows his head towards your neck, nibbling and suckling at the sensitive skin that resides there.

You sigh, a tingling sensation spreading throughout your body. God, is he good at this! But then, your mind comes back to reality and you gently, albeit reluctantly, push him away. “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!” you chant, tapping your hands lightly on his chest.

Sonny pulls back but his eyes still hungrily flicker to where his lips were focused mere moments before.

“I have to go call my mom! She’d kill me if she knew I didn’t tell her right away.” You watch as Sonny smirks. “But then I promise we’ll celebrate properly…after all, you still haven’t seen what’s underneath this dress.”

-x- 

Fluffy enough for ya? Heehee

Tag list?  @barbasbodaciousbeard @teamsladsandgents @adarafaelbarba @caracalwithchips @averyhotchner (let me know if you want to be added/removed)

[friendshipgirl]

You’re In Love Marigold!

It all started on a beautiful snowy day in the month of November, and Christmas is on it’s way. In her room that was also a forest, in the living house named Shiro, Marigold, the founder of the Apiverse, was sleeping peacefully when her alarm blared, irritating her. Later, she was all dressed up and out with Talolo with their backpacks. Just then, the bus passes by and Marigold gets excited.

"Oh my god! Talolo! Did you see him!?" Marigold asked excitedly.

"See who?" Talolo asked.

"That black dog in the red hat riding on the bus! That Animaniacs character Wakko!" Marigold responded, "God, every time I look at him, I become so nervous. I don’t know why. I don’t know why I gush over him so much. My face turns all red, my tummy gets all sick, my head gets dizzy, I can barely stand, and my vision gets all blurry. He's not bad, is he?"

"Of course not," Talolo said, "And I think I know why you’re feeling like this. You’re in love, Marigold!"

Marigold's eyes widen in surprise, realizing that Talolo was right. She was in love with Wakko!

Singers: Poor Princess Marigold

No matter what your told

You’ll have your day, he'll come your way

He'll melt away the cold

Poor Princess Marigold

His heart is what you hold

You’ll have your day, he'll come your way

You’re in love Marigold

Later, the two girls were at school. Marigold couldn’t stop thinking about Wakko. Why does it seem as if she has known him for years but had never seen him before?

Later, they were practicing together. Marigold was singing “A Single Man” which was pretty good. All of a sudden, Marigold felt something touch her hair. When she looked up, she saw Wakko holding some flowers.

“Um… hi there,” Wakko said shyly, handing them to her, “Are you Miss Marigold?”

“Uh... I am,” She said nervously, “And your Wakko, right?” She added hopefully.

Wakko nodded, looking down. It was obvious that he hadn’t expected any sort of response from her. “Um... do you want these back?” He asked worriedly.

“I... no!” Marigold quickly replied, “They are beautiful. It's just...” She didn't finish.

“Sorry. I guess I'm still getting used to it being so loud,” Wakko explained, “My mom says it makes me sound more feminine.”

“Well, I think it suits you,” Marigold stated, “I uh, find it cute when you sound feminine.”

This made Wakko turn red, flustered,

“Y— You really think so?” He asked quietly. Marigold could tell he wasn’t used to compliments like this.

“Yes, I really do,” She replied. Suddenly, the bell rang.

“Oh crud! Sorry, I— I gotta go! bye!” Wakko stammered, quickly walking off in a blushing mess. Marigold looked at her flowers and squeals with excitement.

“He talked to me!” the Apiverse founder squealed. This was great! Wakko was finally starting to pay attention to her.

She continued practicing the song she was learning, while humming. Suddenly, an image appeared on the wall behind her: a young man smiling with his arm around another man. They looked happy. They looked so in love.

Suddenly the scene began dissolving into black static. Marigold blinked. Wasn’t it supposed to keep coming back to her? But nothing came next.

“Marigold, let’s go!” Talolo shouts, “we’re gonna be late!”

“Okay, I’m coming!” Marigold shouted back. She stood up straight to try and remember where she left her guitar. When she did, she smiled happily. She took her phone, charger, wallet, keys, and other essentials and headed outside. She jumped in the car, buckling up, and they were on their way.

Later in class, Wakko was in the back seat starring at Marigold dreamily.

“She's so pretty,” he thought, “I can’t believe I spoke to her too short. And it’s not long before Thanksgiving break! I’ll have to wait all winter if I don’t talk to her today or tomorrow!”

Wakko glanced down and noticed that his hand was resting on top of Marigold's seat. He quickly snatched it away. ‘What if Marigold wants to hold my hand?’ His heart raced. ‘I wouldn’t mind. I know I really like her…’ Then again, he began to turn red. ‘I know what I’ll do! I’ll write to her!’ he thought and began to write, ‘Miss Marigold, I wish I could talk to you more later until Thanksgiving break. That short talk wasn’t really enough.’

“Wakko?” Twilight asked.

“Oh! Uh... yes?” Wakko said nervously.

“Have you finished your report on the walls of China?” She asked.

“Yup! Thanks for reminding me about it!” he grinned, “I will read the beginning like you told me to,”

Wakko got up and began to awkwardly struggle with his papers as everyone else giggled at him.

“Uh... Miss Marigold, I wish I could talk to you more later until Thanksgiving break. That short talk wasn’t really enough,” he read out loud, only to yell in frustration. He read the wrong paper! The class laughed even harder as Marigold blushes bright red. Wakko, also blushing, walked over back to his seat and covered his face with his sweater in embarrassment. He didn’t dare look up from his desk.

“Wow Wakko,” Yakko said, smirking at him, “You really try to let low on the ladies, huh?”

“A comforting word from my older brother,” Wakko said sarcastically.

—————————

Later, everyone was at the playground for recess where the Warner kids were playing double dutch.

Dot and Yakko: Cookies, Candy, in the dish!

Howmany pieces do you wish?

1! 2! 3! 4! 5! 6! 7!

As they counted how many times Wakko jumps, Marigold watches him from a bench, adoring him.

“I can’t believe he wants to see me again,” she said to herself, “Maybe it was my lucky charm! Maybe I should give him a present? Or maybe—”

“Hey, Marigold! Can we play dodgeball with you!?” Someone called from over the fence.

“Sure! Coming!” Marigold yelled excitedly, running over. She then looked at Wakko on more time.

Dot and Yakko: 26! 27! 28! 29! 30! 31!

Wakko then noticed Marigold looking at him and turns all red, messing up his jumping and getting him tangled. Marigold chuckled a bit before leaving, making Wakko grin nervously.

“31? Oooh, new record,” Dot said, “My turn!”

“Hey guys. What do you think about Marigold?” Wakko asked as they started.

“Yeah, I think she’s nice.” Dot said as she jumped, “I can totally picture her being a good girlfriend. You two make such a cute couple,”

“I hope we will be,” Wakko muttered sadly.

“Huh? You hope?” Yakko asked.

“I mean, I’m not that attractive. And I also got a big appetite,” said Wakko.

“Well, She does love sugar as much as you do,” Dot reminded.

“I don’t know guys...” Wakko sighed, “I really like her and I just... don’t know how she feels yet.”

The two friends just looked at each other for a second before saying in unison, “Well, whatever happens, I’m rooting for ya!”

“Thanks guys,” Wakko replied, a warm smile spreading across his face as he looks at Marigold, “I just hope I can have a longer chat before thanksgiving break and—“

Marigold looks up from her dodgeball game, causing Wakko to turn redder than before as steam comes out of his ears.

“SHE HEARD ME AGAIN!” Wakko shouts before he ran off, making Dot mess up and get tangled.

“Hey! What about my turn?” Yakko called out.

———————————

Later, they were walking home when Brain and Pinky come up to them.

“Zort! Hey guys!” said said as he caught up with Wakko, “What’s with the long face Wakko?”

“Oh, uh... it’s nothing,” Wakko replied sheepishly.

“Oh come on,” Brain insisted.

“It’s just.... Marigold likes someone,” Wakko explained shyly.

Brain turned his head over to look at Wakko, “Who?”

“Uh... me...” Wakko answered in a quiet voice.

Pinky gasped, “Egads! I remember when you read something you wrote in class about seeing her again! I can’t tell you how much I adored it!”

Wakko’s face turned red, “Uh—! I just—“

“I bet you’ve written some sweet stuff to her as well right?” Brain smirked.

“Uh... yeah!”

“Then why are you acting like this? Don’t worry about Marigold, she loves you too. I'm sure she would be ecstatic to hear that,” Brain assured him.

“Really?”

“Of course. If I had to guess... it might have been one of those feelings she has for you,” Brain said quietly.

Wakko stopped in his tracks. Pinky and Brain looked at him puzzled. Just then, Silver Platter and Greenberry come up to them.

“Hey, Sweettooth Weirdo! You seem to have such yellow teeth this afternoon!” Silver Platter laughed.

“Did you drink too much lemonade again?” Greenberry laughs.

“NARF! You ladies outta be ashamed! Wakko is not feeling like himself today!” Pinky shouted.

“That’s what happens when you try to get chubby!” said Silver Platter.

The girls burst into laughter while Wakko grew red and embarrassed.

“Hey hey hey! Stop it!” Pinky growled, “That is very rude! And that is also not the point! Wakko is just upset because he can’t talk to Marigold again because he’s too nervous! In other words, he’s got a crush on her!”

Wakko yells in frustration before the two girls laughed and started sing teasing him.

Silver Platter and Greenberry: Poor Princess Marigold, Nah, Nah, Nah!

Why’d she find your type so bold? , Nah, Nah, Nah!

Who’d crush on you? No one! That’s who!

Your face is too darn old! Nah, Nah, Nah!

Your face is too darn old!

The two girls laughed as they left the scene, leaving Wakko embarrassed.

“What’s their problem?” Dot asked, “Let's go,”

The five of them continue the walk home.

————————————

Later, Marigold was writing in her diary about Wakko.

“Dear Diary,” She said as she writes, “He really doesn’t talk to me as often anymore. But he’s always there whenever I need him. He always listens, no matter how embarrassing things are with him. He’ll always listen even if it takes forever, and... oh my, he cares about me so much. I need to talk to him tomorrow or I won’t see him all winter. I’ll talk to Wakko later tonight after lunch when I can finally escape school for winter break! I know it’s hard to talk without people around, but I want him to know how important he is to me! Even if sometimes he can be a pain. It’s worth it!”

———————————————————

Next day, Marigold wakes up a little later than usual. She gets ready as usual, but then realizes she was minutes late for the bus. She dashes out the door and misses the bus.

“CRAP! WAIT! HERE I AM!” She called out, “STOP! WAIT A MINUTE!”

———————————————

The playground was empty, meaning everyone was inside. She looked around before sneaking into the school though the door creaked. She didn’t want to get caught. As she walked down the hallway, she saw a note stuck in the door. She took it and opened it.

“Meet me at lunch recess,” she read, “I need to talk with you before it’s too late. Wakko,”

She feels her heart swell. She quickly makes it to her classroom, putting the note in her pocket.

————————————

After lunch, Marigold was looking for Wakko. She was really nervous. They did text yesterday night since both knew it was going to be the last time they spoke. The bell rang, making her run outside. She found him near the back of the school. He seemed lost in thought.

“Wakko,” Marigold said, causing Wakko to jump.

“MARIGHOLD?!” He exclaimed before blushing, “Aha.. hi... sorry.”

“No, don't apologize! I just wanted to talk to you about the whole thing yesterday. How did you know? About my letter... and everything else?” Marigold asked quietly, nervously tugging at her sleeves.

“About your letter? Oh! You told Dot right? She must've mentioned it to me at some point...” Wakko shrugged.

“Um... yeah. So? Is that okay? Or should I say should I not write it?” Marigold asked uncertainly.

“Oh... um... y-you shouldn't worry about that. I already said that it’s fine. You don't have to change anything, I mean, you already told us what we needed to know anyways... right?” He said awkwardly.

“You mean about how I feel towards you?” Marigold clarified.

Wakko nodded.

“And... it’s alright? It’s not creepy, or anything?”

Wakko shook his head, smiling.

“So,” Marigold began, looking at her shoes, “do you feel the same way about me? Like… more than just a friend?”

“Uh... yeah, I think I do,” Wakko confessed, “I mean, you were the first person I ever talked with who made me laugh. And it was always fun listening to your stories! You’re nice and cute, and smart too! And you help me when I'm sad, which is kind of a rarity. And your smile is amazing! You're so beautiful! You're a good friend, too.”

Mari giggled lightly. Her face turned slightly pink hearing Wakko’s compliments. It felt strange being praised by him when they usually fight.

“Y-you really think so?”

“Yeah, you’re great! You’re brave, and funny, and caring... you’re amazing,” Wakko continued.

“Thanks!” Marigold smiled brightly. “How about you? What do you like about me?” She asked.

“Well…” Wakko paused for a moment, thinking of how best to describe her. “You’re just... so pretty. And kind. And funny. And you always put others before yourself. You’re smart too, but not just because you're smarter than I am. You’re so talented, you're amazing... I wish I was as cool and confident as you...”

“I never thought I’d say this, but...” said Marigold, pausing a bit, “You’re a very sweet man, Wakko,”

She nervously looked at him before shaking her head, wanting to get it over with, and kisses him on the lips. Wakko jumped in surprise, his entire body heating up with steam and color. He was so startled he didn't return the kiss. When she pulled away from him, Wakko was still silent, unable to say anything.

“Y'know, I’ve loved you for a long time now, and I just wanted to tell you before the holidays, so you know… that I still love you,” Marigold explained softly.

“T… T…” Wakko struggled to speak, his eyes wide, “R… r… r… re…”

He tried to stutter, but couldn't. Instead, his mouth closed shut and he just shook his head slowly.

“What?”

“YOU KISSED ME!” He screamed happily, “She kissed me! Ahh! Oh my Gosh!”

As he continues to giggle, Marigold just stares at him.

“But you don’t… you don’t hate me… do you?” She asks quietly, “Because if you don’t then... I mean…”

Wakko shakes his head rapidly before grabbing Marigold’s hand.

“Marigold! Why would I hate you!? We’re best friends, aren’t we!?” He exclaims happily.

“Of course! Of course we are!”

“Then why would I leave you? I love you!”

It was Marigold's turn to blush. They laughed and walked across the playground, talking to each other.

Written by Apigirl000

Starring

Wakko

Marigold

Yakko

Dot

Talolo

Twilight Sparkle

Pinky

Brain

Marigold's friend

Based on You’re in love Charlie Brown

Special Thanks to Dreamily. It’s a really cool App that helps you with your stories. you should try it.

“Aw crap! We’ll have to wait until Christmas then!” Marigold said from a distance as Wakko groans sadly, knowing she was right.

Follow me on DeviantArt, YouTube, TikTok, and Instagram! Thanks for reading!

[capsironunderoos]

December

DINCEMBER - December 2 - December (Ariana Grande Version)

Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) X Female!Reader

Summary: A little thievery, a little marketplace, a little mysterious allusions to past lives, and a little green baby.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: None that I can think of! (Possibly my writing because this one is... something else)

Author’s Note: Ah okay so I know this is a day or so late, but I still wanted to keep up with @dindjarindiaries​ Dincember! This prompt was December by Ariana Grande and I can’t lie I’d never heard the song before! It’s really good though (and I definitely added it to my “baking Christmas cookies with matthew gray gubler” playlist). I was inspired by the lines “I’m just tryna keep my baby warm through the wintertime” and “whatever is on your list I’ll do it,” but probably not in the way you’d expect... Anyways! I hope you guys enjoy this one, I have a love hate relationship with how it turned out... Also, I do make some allusions to the readers past, but you can fill those in however you like! Was she an Imperial spy? A Rebel spy? Maybe she flew alongside Luke Skywalker, or learned how to beat Lando at sabacc! Who knows! That’s completely up to you. Anywho, this was a really long author’s note sheesh... Enjoy! 

Here’s the previous prompt:

DINCEMBER - November 30 - Snow

And the link to my masterlist: capsironunderoos masterlist

It’s almost cold today, you find yourself thinking as a slight breeze picks up the fabric sitting on your sale table. 

You’re carefully folding your newest line of fabrics onto the table before you, making sure they’re arranged in a way that will draw people in, and will get you enough credits to at least try out the new caf they’re selling at the cantina. 

You smile at the thought and smooth out a wrinkle in the bright red fabric before turning to look around you. 

The marketplace seems almost empty. Normally you have to elbow a few Jawa to get through the crowd and set up your table, but today was unnaturally easy. 

It’s almost unsettling how quiet the town is, normally on market days patrons all the way from Mos Eisley find their way to the multi-colored booths. Your booth tends to be pretty popular, as it’s rare to find a seamstress on a dust ball like Tatooine. 

It doesn’t hurt that you’re easy on the eyes either, and that you know how to work an unsuspecting husband into buying something new for his wife, or a new mother into buying a cloth sling to carry her crying baby in. 

It also doesn’t hurt that there don’t seem to be enough rumors about you. 

Some point and whisper as they walk by, saying you once sewed the robes worn by Jedi and Sith alike. Others stare in the cantina as they place bets on which royal you sewed for and if you ever got to live on a core planet. 

Of course none of them are true, and most of them were started by you to thrum up good business. 

What can you say? The caf at the cantina is really good. 

It’s been a few minutes now, well past the opening hour of the market, and the number of booths is still few and far between. 

You hum in disappointment, accepting that you won’t be making many, if any sales today. You begin to sit down on the stool you bring along for days like this when you see a scrap of your best-selling silver cloth suspiciously fly off of the table. 

It takes a second, but you note that there’s no wind blowing, so there’s no way it was carried off by a sudden strong breeze. 

You grab the small stun gun you keep tucked away in your belt, slowly moving around the table, already knowing you’re about to have another run in with a Jawa. 

Your footsteps are measured, and if anyone were to pay enough attention, they’d notice that a seamstress wouldn’t know how to move the way you are. 

As you creep around the table, you notice that another scrap of fabric, this time green, is swept away as if by an invisible being. 

Your steps pick up then, and you round the table just in time to see a small creature waddling away from your booth, fabric dragging the ground as it struggles to carry a stolen bounty almost as large as the creature is. 

“Hey! Not so fast, little one!” You call out, and the creature turns to look at you. 

He squeaks in alarm and begins… running? 

You think it’s possibly running, or trying to at least. 

You note how large its clothes are, and how they seem to be tripping it up as it tries to escape. 

If it hadn’t been stealing from you, you’d almost have felt bad for it. 

Three more lunging steps later and you’ve managed to put your stun gun away and scoop the small being into your arms. It wails in disapproval and struggles against you in a feeble attempt to get away, but your grip is tight enough to keep it tucked into the crook of your arm. 

“Now where do you think you’re going with that?” You ask as you grab the fabric from its hands. 

As cute as you suddenly realize it is, it’s hard to miss how stubbornly it holds onto the fabric. 

You begin to walk back to your booth, scanning the area for anyone who might be searching for it. 

It’s calmed down now, and you turn to see it’s big brown eyes staring up at you. 

“Oh don’t give me that look. Doesn’t matter how cute you are, you still gotta pay like everyone else.” 

The little one coos in response, as if understanding and responding to your statement. 

“Uh huh,” you nonchalantly agree to its babbling as you do your best to fold the fabrics back into their places with one hand, your left arm currently supporting the child in it. 

“Is there someone you’re supposed to be with right now? A leash you broke off or, um, maybe a cage you got out of? Or are you somebody’s kid?” You question, and it looks up at you, blinking quietly and deciding that now it’ll be quiet.

“Well, I doubt you’re anybody’s kid, ‘cause I’ve never seen anything like you around here. But I also doubt that you’re anybody’s pet, ‘cause I know good and well no one would be able to keep you on a leash, especially not in a cage. You’re too cute for all that. Besides, I think you might be able to escape too easily anyways.” 

The child laughs at that, and you find yourself smiling in response. 

“Hey I’m still trying to figure out how you managed to pull that fabric off of my table. You’re not exactly the same height.” You wonder aloud, and the child moves to sit up as best it can in your arms. 

You apologize to it before sitting it on the table and pulling your stool up. 

It doesn’t really matter if it tries to run off, you already know you could catch the poor thing in two steps. 

The creature watches you intently, tilting its head as if inspecting you, or searching you for something. 

You furrow your eyebrows at its actions, leaning up to get a little bit closer to it. 

You notice movement out of the corner of your eye and sit back again, watching as the little one begins to raise one of his hands. 

You can feel your heart rate pick up as your mind races to put together what the child is trying to show you, but before the connection can be made a set of quick and heavy footsteps are striding up to your table. 

“There you are,” you hear through the crackle of a modulator, which cues you to turn and see a Mandalorian taking long strides to your booth. 

Dread instantly fills your chest, and you quickly stand up, glancing down at your stun gun sticking out of your boot and back to the Mandalorian. 

Was he talking to you or the kid? Regardless of whichever one he was talking to, you have a feeling you’re both about to be in some trouble. 

Last you knew you didn’t have an active bounty on your head, but that had been too many rotations ago to remember. Surely the small child beside you wouldn’t have an active bounty, it hardly knew how to speak, much less commit a serious crime against the New Republic, or the remaining Imps for that matter. 

Your wandering thoughts are quickly answered as the Mandalorian scoops the little green being in its arms. 

“I told you to stay put kid,” his tone is meant to come off as scolding, but you can hear the worry in his voice. 

The child is grinning from ear to ear, obviously happy to see the man before you. 

“You know,” you start, and the Mandalorian turns to you as if noticing you for the first time. 

“I can sew you something to wear that he can ride in. Can match the color to that fancy beskar and everything.” 

At the mention of his armor, you notice the Mandalorian stand a bit straighter. 

“No, thank you. I hope that he wasn’t too much of a bother.” 

The child laughs at the mention of himself, and you find yourself fighting a grin. 

“Well, other than trying to make off with two of my best-selling fabrics,” you shrug and the Mandalorian returns his gaze to the kid, who has gone suspiciously silent. 

“Did you give them back?” He chastises the child again, but before it has a chance to answer you step in. 

“I got them back. He tried to make a run for it, but he’s not very fast.” 

A beat of silence passes between the three of you before you continue. 

“I could fix that too. Those clothes are obviously too big for him.” 

The Mandalorian sighs, but it comes out as a crackle. How had you managed to finally meet the first customer you’d ever had that was able to resist your persuading? 

“I said no thank you earlier, and the same applies now.” 

You raise your hands in defense, feigning innocence. 

“Alright Mando, alright,” you taunt him and he shifts his weight from one foot to the other. 

“I’m just trying to keep that baby warm through the winter time.” 

At the reference to him, the kid squirms in the Mandalorians arms, turning to look at you with big eyes, full of want. 

“Whatever’s on your list, I’ll do it. I’m the best around. Actually, I’m the only around.” 

You decide to try one last time, and even if he doesn’t respond or buy, at least you’ll know what to work on when the next Mandalorian shows up at your table. 

He’s quiet for too long, and you turn your attention back to the kid. 

“I see why you wanted that silver, little one. It’d match ole tin can man perfectly.” 

You taunt him again, and the Mandalorian continues to stand still. 

After another beat of silence, you hear the scramble of feet behind him, and you move to glance over his shoulder. 

“Peli!” You exclaim, and she smiles as she sees you, but you notice her smile growing even bigger when she sees the kid peeking through the Mandalorians arms to see her. 

“Hey kiddo! And… kiddo,” she jokes as she moves to stand beside Mando. 

The kid makes grabby-arms towards her and she laughs, accepting him into her arms. 

“This that Mando you were telling me about over caf the other week?” You question and she nods. 

“As he lives and breathes. At least, I think he’s living and breathing.” 

You nod in agreement. 

“Come on Mando,” she prompts, gesturing for him to follow her. 

“Your ship has some… problems, to say the least, and I need an opinion that isn't a pit droids.” 

You wave to the child as Peli retreats back in the direction she came before turning to face the Mandalorian once more. 

“Offer still stands,” you start, and his helmet moves ever so slightly to look at you. 

“Response is still the same,” he combats, and you laugh.

---

Three days later and Din is ready to get off of this sand pit. 

He normally doesn’t mind coming and visiting Peli, having the Crest regularly serviced while taking a few days to visit old friends or to simply sit with the feisty mechanic and his kid. 

But he’s got stuff to do now, and Life Day is just around the corner. 

He didn’t remember too much of his childhood, but he remembered celebrating Life Day with his parents when they were still alive. Therefore, he wants to give the kid a good Life Day this year, as Din was almost certain he’d never experienced one before. 

This meant gathering gifts specifically for the little creature, and that meant trekking across the galaxy before settling onto Nevarro to celebrate Life Day with Cara and Greef. 

He watches from afar as the pit droids finish up their final touches, making sure the Crest has a full tank before he’s cleared to go. 

“Hey Mando!” 

He hears from behind him, and he turns to see Peli marching towards him. 

“Looks like you made an impression a few days ago. I’ve never known her to do anything for free, much less as a gift.” 

Din immediately knows that Peli is talking about you, and he wishes that he didn’t. 

You’ve been all he can think about, and he hates himself for literally just standing there as you tried to talk to him. 

Peli pulls him from his thoughts as she extends her hands to him, offering a gift wrapped in dark brown paper. 

Din takes it from her and mutters a thank you. 

“You’re welcome,” Peli replies dramatically before stomping off to find the kid. 

Din can read the basic scrawled on top that reads “For the tin can man and his green kid,” and he feels himself smiling at the scrawl of your handwriting. 

He quickly opens the box, not surprised to see a small dark brown robe, almost the color of the fabric he wears, sitting atop a silver pile of fabric. 

He pulls the robe out first, noticing how well it has been sewn together, already knowing that the child’s going to never want to wear anything else now. 

He then pulls out the silver fabric, noticing that it looks to be something for him. 

“Oh yeah new moms put their kids in that at the market! You just strap ‘em right to your chest and they never cry again,” Peli calls from her spot beside the ship where she’s been holding the kid and watching Din. 

Din finds his smile growing even more, and he’s almost surprised to see another note in the box, written on what looks like handmade paper. 

The basic is even more scrawled in this note, as if you’d decided to put it in at the last minute. 

Din pulls it from the box and can't help but to smile from ear to ear as he reads it. 

Just trying to keep that baby warm through the wintertime. Anything else on your list I can do, but you’re gonna have to actually pay this time. Happy Life Day.  

Here’s the next prompt for Dincember:

DINCEMBER - December 4 - Hot Chocolate

[vintagedolan]

mixtape | track thirteen

| masterlist | faceclaims | playlist |

Sean died in January, and it was cold. That much Grayson remembered. The funeral was fuzzy apart from a few very vivid memories, including one of sitting outside on a bench, the wind cutting through his slacks and freezing his legs. His arms were so cold he couldn’t even feel the wind on them through the numbness, seeing that his suit jacket was wrapped around Cameron’s shoulders. He’d borrowed one of his dad’s ties - it was a tacky pattern but subtle in color. Sean had worn it to the twin’s 8th grade night for football when he’d walked them proudly across the field with the biggest smile on his face. He shivered. But it was still better than being inside, looking at the casket that had his dad but not his dad inside. 

That suit was gone. He hadn’t been able to look at it after that day, so he’d donated it, despite his mother’s qualms that he may need a nice suit again someday. 

That day was coming much quicker than he expected, and that’s how he found himself in the back of a department store sifting through racks of jackets. But there was one bright spot in the scenario, and she was looking through ties on a table to his left. 

Indy held one up with a soft smile, the most she’d been able to offer him in the last day.

“She liked blue.”

Grayson could only nod, the knot in his throat stealing his voice. He took the tie, running his thumb over the silky fabric. They were quiet as they went through and found him a few suit options to try on. Indy had to hold them up high so nothing dragged the ground as they headed to the fitting rooms. 

She sat in a hard plastic chair outside, crossing her legs and fighting her emotions. She wasn’t sure how she was supposed to feel. After all, there was no reference, no textbook on the expected emotions of preparing for a funeral of a 15 year old with your ex. If he even was an ex. They’d woken up that morning in bed together after all, with his warm breath on her back, arm around her, hand tucked under her rib cage like it used to be. 

And she felt warm. And safe. And guilty. 

How could she have a flicker of happiness in a world without Bekah? How could she be grateful, or glad that Grayson was just two doors down fiddling with suit buttons when her being gone was the reason he was there? 

It was a blessing, the hold he still seemed to have on her. Because as soon as he walked out her mind went blank for a moment, only able to process him, and his broad shoulders and strong arms that she could still see under his jacket. 

“This is the best of the three. What do you think?” 

It took her a minute to find her words. “Yeah, it looks nice. Very… funeraly.”

Grayson looked in the mirror. “Funeraly. Well, that’s the idea I guess. Works for me.”

He disappeared again, coming back out in his nice pants and crewneck. He looked good, but the look of worry in his eyes made Indy uneasy. She didn’t like when people worried about her. 

“Let’s go find you a dress.” 

She’d been dreading that part. She wasn’t much of a dress girl most the time, but she wanted to look her best for Bekah. She deserved that. So with a sigh she led Grayson across the store to the women’s section, looking for anything black she could find. 

He was patient, offering his hand out to hold any of the options she found to try.  She only found three that didn’t look like they were meant for a night out, and Grayson took the spot in the plastic chair while she tried them on. They all fit, but her favorite was the long sleeved number she’d found - tight enough to be flattering, and long enough to be modest and warm, with a long metal zipper that she couldn’t quite get all the way up on her back.

She reached and stretched as far as she could before she huffed in defeat, unsure of whether she should ask him for help. Was that weird? Or was she just making it weird. 

After another moment of contemplation, she stepped out in it, stomach fluttering against her will when she saw Grayson look up and catch his breath. 

“Can you…” She moved her hair out of the way, revealing her back. He stopped breathing for a second, chair clanging against the wall as he rushed to stand up.

“Yeah, yeah of course.”

He moved behind her quickly, finger delicate against her spine as he moved to the zipper. It sat right below her bra clasp, and he recognized it as the one with a bent hook, a casualty of the dryer that he’d accidentally put it in back in November. He realized he was taking too long and zipped it up quickly, patting it lightly at the top to let her know he was done. 

He met her eyes in the mirror, and realized she’d been watching him the whole time. 

“Do you think this will be warm enough?”

“We’ll probably be inside most the time, so it should be okay.”

She nodded at him, disappearing back into the dressing room and taking a few deep breaths. Nothing felt real for some reason, and it took all her effort to settle herself, keep herself in the moment she didn’t want to be in. She stripped out of the dress quickly and slid it back on the hanger. It wasn’t worth the argument when Grayson held his hand out for it when they headed towards the counter. With her inability to work shifts her bank account was grateful for his that seemed to always be overflowing. Surely a $50 dress wouldn’t break the bank, but she still thanked him when he swiped his card. 

They walked into the parking lot in silence, and she climbed into the truck when Grayson pulled the door open for her. He sat the bags in the backseat once he climbed in, starting it up and cranking the heat up. The air was still cold, cold enough for Indy to shove her hands under her thighs in a bid to keep them warm. Grayson frowned and grabbed his jacket from the back, passing it to her. 

“Thanks,” she said, laying it over her lap and smoothing out the wrinkles. She was rigid in her seat, especially when Gray reached his hand over to the back of hers so he could back out of the parking space. She didn’t realize she was holding her breath till both his hands were back on his side of the console.

She hated it. Hated feeling like he was watching, waiting for her to fall apart at any given moment. But she loved it too, because if he was there to look at her with pity it meant he was there. Her mind was exhausted with the constant battle of trying to put a word to her emotions, to guide them into whatever box they were supposed to be in. 

To Grayson, it just looked like she was numb. Her eyes were trained on the New Jersey roads every time he glanced over to her, either out the windshield or through the passenger window. He wanted to talk to her, wanted to know what she was feeling, wanted to grovel on his knees and beg for forgiveness. Instead, he held his tongue and continued down the road, 10 under the speed limit just to buy a few more extra minutes with her close enough to reach. He wasn’t sure what would happen when they got to the house. If she wanted to go upstairs, to avoid him until the funeral, he’d understand. He’d let her, even if it hurt. He deserved that. He’d sit at the bottom of the stairs and wait, and listen, and hope she didn’t need him but also hope she did. 

The two played their own games of tug-o-war, parallel to each other until they made it to the house. Ethan was on the porch with Gizmo’s cage in his hands, holding it up and talking to her as they walked in.

“See Giz? It’s too fucking cold out here.”

“Brrr,” Gizmo squawked. 

“Yeah, fuckin brrr. So you gotta stop screaming to come outside before Ma loses her mind.” 

“You sure you aren’t the one losing your mind?” Grayson asked with a smirk aimed towards his brother. 

“Outside!” Gizmo yelled and Ethan clenched his fists. 

“Did you all find outfits?” Ethan asked to distract himself, looking at Grayson’s empty hands. 

“Shit, yeah I left them in the truck though. I’ll grab em Dee, go get warm.” 

Indy nodded and walked inside slowly, taking her shoes off and sitting them neatly by the door. She walked to the living room, sitting down carefully on the couch with her eyes trained on the woods. Even the squirrels seemed to be grieving, moving slow through the grass at the tree line. She watched them anyways, envied their oblivion of all the tragedy of the world as Grayson hung up their clothes in the coat closet and watched her from the foyer. 

Her shoulders were slumped forward, and it pained him to see her literally curled in on herself in a way that he hadn’t seen before. He ran through a million different things he could say, but none of them seemed good enough. There were never words for times like these, and he knew that. Sometimes, it was better to just sit in silence. So he gave it to her for a few minutes longer, disappearing to the other room where his conversation wouldn’t be overheard. 

When he reappeared, Indy was watching a robin, feathers bright red against the dreary gray of the sky outside by the bird feeder. He stepped into her gaze, offering her a soft smile.

“C’mon. Let’s get you some warm clothes and get outta here for a little while, hmm?”

“Where are we going?” Her tone was flat, and it made his chest feel tight.

“You’ll see. Just trust me.”

Those words hung heavy in Indiana’s mind as she followed him upstairs, let him pass her an old pair of boots that were too big for her and his thickest jacket to fight off the cold snap that seemed to follow the warm air that had brought the thunderstorms. 

Just trust me

She did. Or at least, she wanted to, and she willfully climbed back into the passenger seat of the truck, let him drive them down the road on the route that was familiar now. They made it all the way to the tiny homes without seeing another car. Indy felt like the universe was sad with her somehow, and she was grateful for it. She wasn’t sure she could handle seeing someone smile as if the world was still the same happy place it used to be. 

She blindly followed Grayson until she realized they were going around the house instead of inside of it.

“Where are we going?” She asked again. Her voice echoed off the trees.

He simply held out his hand. She took it without question, ignoring the tirade of contradicting emotions it stirred in her gut. He still had his callous where his pinky met his palm, but it was softer than usual against her skin. 

They walked through the trees slowly until they reached the cliff that Indy recognized from the first time she’d been out to Jersey. It felt like lifetimes ago that she’d been there, but the water still flowed and she still clung to Grayson’s arm the closer they got to the edge.

“Come sit over here,” he coaxed, leading her towards the middle and helping her sit down slowly. Once she was settled he sat down beside her, ignoring the cold that seeped through his pants from the ground below him. He could see his breath in front of him, but he kept his eyes on the water running far below his feet. 

“Gray.”

He tried to ignore the way his heart sung - she said his name better than anyone.

“Why are we here?” She asked. 

He was quiet for a moment, and he picked at his fingernails before he spoke.

“I used to come out here a lot when I was younger and got overwhelmed. I don’t like being around people when I need to feel something, you know? Well, I can only be around certain people anyways.” 

The fact that Indy seemed to be one of those people wasn’t lost on her as she listened to him.

“I just thought coming out here might help.”

“Me or you?”

“What?”

“Is it supposed to help me or you?”

“I was hoping both,” Grayson said.

To his surprise, Indy chuckled under her breath and shook her head.

“Well, I’m fine. I’ve done this before after all. Should be pretty good at having people I love die on me by now.” 

Grayson couldn’t find the words for a response, and his cheeks flushed from her tone. She’d never been so short with him before, and he felt embarrassed to think that somehow he’d be the one who could help her when it seemed no one else could. But he swallowed hard and looked over to her. 

“I’m not fine. And you knew her longer than I did. And I know something about losing people too. That doesn’t mean it ever gets any easier.”

Something in his words seemed to pull her out of her defensiveness, and she took in a shaky breath, eyes brimmed with tears. 

“Sorry.”

“S’okay. You can have a redo, if you want,” he teased, bumping her shoulder gently just to see her try to smile. 

“I know you get it, I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I don’t know how to do this.”

“Nobody knows how to do this Dee. No one knows how to lose a 15 year old that was supposed to be here for a lot longer than she was,” Grayson said, clearing his throat when it tightened. Indy sniffled and rubbed her nose on the sleeve of her jacket. She was quiet for a moment and they listened to the wind rustle the trees until she spoke again.

“Her mom wants me to write her eulogy.”

“Fuck, Indy.”

“I’ve never done one before. Charlie did mom’s.” 

“Do you want to do it?”

“I want her to have one,” Indy sighed, picking at the grass. “A good one though. Not the one that the preacher does where they pretend like they knew her when they really didn’t.”

Grayson reached for her hand and waited for her to look up at him.

“Maybe Charlie can help. I called her, when we got back to the house. She’s flying out tomorrow.”

Indy froze, then turned so quickly that Grayson put a hand on her hip to keep her steady on the cliff’s edge. 

“Really? She’s coming?”

Grayson nodded. “I know that things are… hard, with us right now. And I know that things are always better for me when Ethan is around so I figured it couldn’t hurt. I think her flight comes in at -”

Before he could finish Indy threw her arms around his neck. He wrapped her up as best he could without pulling her over the edge, scooting them back slightly to keep her safe as he held her as tightly as he could through all their layers. 

“Thank you,” she whispered over the trees. She couldn’t find any other words to express what it meant to her, so she left it at that and breathed him in in secret while he held her. He turned his head to press a kiss to her temple but stopped himself, squeezing her tighter instead before they untangled.

She pondered her next question for a moment, then decided she truly had nothing left to lose.

“Can we stay out here tonight? At the house.” 

Grayson paused for a minute, stopping himself from immediately saying yes, reminding himself not to take advantage.

“You wanna stay at the tiny house?”

She nodded, fingers going back to the grass, and she kicked her legs so the heels of her boots bounced slightly off the rocks. 

“The funeral is tomorrow. I need to write the eulogy, and I don’t want a bunch of people around while I do that.” 

Silence hung heavy until he gained the confidence to ask. 

“Am I… one of the people that can be around?”

For the first time in a long time, Indy smiled. 

“Did you think I was gonna kick you out of your house?”

Grayson chuckled and shook his head.

“I mean you did break my heart, so it would be fair though.”

He froze.

Indy laughed so hard it bounced off the trees, made a few birds take off on the other side of the water.

“I’m fucking kidding,” she said, nudging his shoulder so he’d let out the breath he’d been holding.

“Jesus fuck Indy, don’t do that! Too soon!” He huffed, but he was laughing too, heart light as he saw the first glimpse of the girl he’d fallen in love with since he’d gotten home. It was easier to breathe with her around, even in spite of everything else going on. He looked at her, tried to take her in, but he stopped short with a frown when she tried to hide a shiver.

“You’re cold.”

“Just a little,” she mused. 

“Ma is making dinner, we’ll go home, eat, pack some stuff then come back out here.” Indy only nodded and let him help her to her feet. She held onto his arm until they were off the cliff, and after that too. Over top of his jacket, she traced 333 on his bicep, eyes on his tattoo that was barely visible under his growing hair. She wondered if he’d gotten any more while he was in LA.

She wondered a lot about what he’d done while he was in LA, whether she wanted to or not. But she wanted to know if he’d been up every night thinking about her. If he’d cried in the shower as many times as she did. 

She wondered if he’d hurt. 

And she wondered how much she would hurt when he decided it was time to go back. Her mind was screaming as she clung to him, wary that she wasn’t keeping him at an arm's length like she had swore she would. 

Her heart drowned it out, singing quietly deep within her at the familiar firmness of his muscles under her hand, the warmth of him beside her. 

She’d take whatever hell was sure to follow with open arms if it meant she could be back in his, even for a little while. 

Grayson played Cudi on the way back to Lisa’s and tried to hide his smile when he heard Indy singing along quietly beside him. He used the time to think of his pitch to Ethan, his plan for how they could split time on each coast, or even manage most of it from offices in New York. It wasn’t his top priority - that was getting Indy through the funeral. But he couldn’t hold off for long.

The house was warm when they arrived in more ways than one - cozy and filled with the smell of spaghetti that had Indy’s mouth watering for the first time in days. Grayson breathed a sigh of relief when he saw her fill her bowl, happy to see her appetite had returned. 

Still, when they sat around the table, Ethan and Lisa were cautious to start a conversation, worried they’d say something that could trigger the wrong emotions. After listening to the scrapes of forks against porcelain for too many minutes, Indy cleared her throat. 

“I think we should do something a little different tonight. Something to help everyone’s spirits.”

Everyone breathed.

“Yeah?” Grayson said.

“I say we eat on the couch and watch Emperor’s New Groove in true Bekah fashion,” she proposed, standing with her bowl. No one questioned her - they simply followed into the living room with their dinner in hand.

They laughed at all the right times during the movie, and the world was okay for just a minute. Indy still ached deep within herself, guilt punctuating each smile she let creep up, but she fought it like she’d learned to after Nicole had died. 

Grayson was asleep before Kuzco made it back to the castle, exhaustion catching up with him quickly. He was heavy against Indy when he leaned onto her, one arm going over her waist. She felt Ethan’s eyes on the two of them but she ignored it until he came closer, speaking in a whisper.

“Charlie’s flight gets in around 7, I’ll go get her so you all have time to get some sleep,” he offered.

“Thanks E. And thanks for coming with him.”

“Of course. And hey, anything you need Inds. Literally anything, just tell me. We’re all here for you.” 

She bit her lip and looked down at Grayson.

“Is he okay?” She asked. 

Ethan gave her a small smile. 

“This is gonna sound fucked up, considering what we're all doing tomorrow, but… this is the best I’ve seen him since we left actually. I mean, he feels like shit for not being here for, well for either of you. He just wants to take care of you as best he can.”

“He’s always been pretty good at doing that,” she murmured, brushing some of Grayson’s hair back from his forehead. He stirred, curling up closer to her. 

“Get some sleep Indy. Love yah,” Ethan said, leaning over and giving her a peck on the top of the head. 

She sat with Grayson for a bit longer, let him rest until her arm went fully numb and she knew she’d fall asleep with him unless she got up. 

She coaxed him up and made him give her the keys, let him climb in the passenger seat as she packed up a bag of pajamas and their clothes for the morning. He was asleep against the window by the time she got back in the cab, and she was happy to let him sleep. She figured he’d be happy to climb into bed when they got to the tiny homes, but he shook himself awake on the walk inside, cranking the heat up once they cleared the threshold.

“I’m okay bub, you can sleep.”

“You’re not gonna sleep?” He said instead of conceding.

“I need to write the eulogy.” 

His eyes saddened in understanding, and then he was rummaging through the bag for the paper he knew she’d packed. He sat it down on the small table and then returned to the kitchen. 

Indy watched him as he pulled two mugs down from the cabinets, the clay ones with tiny “I” and “G”’s stamped into the speckled surface. They’d found them at the craft fair they’d stumbled across back in November and picked them up, but Indy realized it was the first time they’d used them as Grayson made them a cup each. 

“Gray.”

“What do you need,” he asked quietly. 

“Um… space, I think. Just so I can think clearly for a little bit. It’s not anything you did, I promise, it’s jus-”

“Dee, you don’t have to explain. It’s okay. I’ll be upstairs. Take your time, okay?”

She nodded and took the cup he offered with a grateful smile, turning to the table to work. 

As much as it went against every instinct in his body, he left her sitting there and moved up the stairs to the loft. Even without the coffee that he downed, he knew he wouldn’t have been able to sleep. Especially not when he heard Indy’s pen clicking against the table, followed by her sniffles that seemed to amplify in the high ceilings. 

He stared at the slats of wood and tapped his fingers against each other as he fought to stay still, give her the space she asked for. He was sure it was just part of the process, and he didn’t want to interrupt her. It could have been minutes or hours, he wasn’t sure, but when her sniffles turned to sobs, he didn’t have the willpower anymore. 

She heard him coming down the stairs and broke down even further, burying her face in her hands. 

“Hey, baby hey it’s okay. You’re okay,” he whispered. “Take a break.”

She knew she shouldn’t. She knew it was wrong, that she shouldn’t want to. But the need for comfort was too strong, and she broke. She stood from the table and walked over towards the small bench seat. Grayson sat first and she didn’t hesitate to climb into his lap. She buried her face in his neck and let the misery have her, let her body shake with the force of her pain and let him absorb it too. She let him hold her, let him love her the way she always thought he had. And it felt good there in his arms. The world was lighter with him there to split the weight. She knew it would crush her when he was gone, but she didn’t care. She wanted to believe Ethan’s words, that Grayson was better there with her, and it was just enough to make her feel like maybe she wasn’t a terrible person for giving in. 

Indy fell asleep in Grayson’s arms. He didn’t care whether the eulogy was finished or not - he picked her up and moved slowly across the room, carrying her up the stairs carefully. She woke up just enough to grab for his hand, a silent invitation that he was happy to take. He climbed into bed beside her, let her curl up into him as he set an alarm he didn’t want to wake up for. They slept peacefully despite it all.

The next morning felt like a dream in the worst way. Nothing seemed to really be happening as they woke up and got dressed in black. Grayson looked good in his suit, but that was about the only thing Indiana noticed. He helped zip her dress and put her eulogy in his jacket pocket. 

“You ready?” He asked as she fixed the lapels on his jacket.

“No,” she sighed, but she walked out the door anyway. He drove to the house as the sun rose over the Jersey hills. They were quiet, and Indy watched the trees go by, watched the world spin as if nothing was different that day. It made her angry, the same way it had the morning of Nicole’s funeral. But she’d learned that day that the world had no consideration for anyone, no matter what you gave her. So she swallowed it down and kept herself as numb as she could until they pulled into Lisa’s driveway and she remembered where Ethan had gone that morning. 

“She’s here,” Indy said, her voice strained. It was the most emotion Grayson had seen out of her that morning, and he wasn’t sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing. But he didn’t get a chance to ask, because Indy was throwing her door open and bolting for the house. 

She found what she was looking for in the living room.

Charlie was sitting on the edge of the couch in a black dress, and as soon as she saw Indiana she was on her feet, rushing down the hallway.

Indy was sobbing before she reached her, but Charlie caught her and wrapped her up in the hug that only she could give, and Grayson watched as his girl went to pieces. Charlie held strong like big sisters do, shushing Indiana and coaxing her over to the couch, helping her sit down as she cried into her shoulder. 

“You’re okay, hey, you’re alright. Breathe,” she said, but her eyes were on Grayson.

“She’s gone,” Indy blubbered, and Charlie winced at the pain in her voice.

“I know. I know.”

Grayson stood with useless hands in his pockets and tears in the corner of his eyes. He hoped that giving Indy her sister, even just for the day, was enough to help more than he could on his own. When her tears finally stopped, it seemed his plan had worked, even if it was only marginally. She ate a muffin that Lisa had made, and made everyone coffee just the way they liked it to keep her mind and hands busy as everyone got ready to go. She didn’t bother with makeup. It wouldn’t survive the day, that she was sure of. Lisa hovered, made sure everyone had enough to eat before they climbed into the SUV. She waved goodbye from the porch as they pulled away, the funeral home in the GPS. 

It was a somber drive. No one even tried for conversation. Charlie sat in the backseat with Indy, privy to the fact that Grayson glanced back at her every few minutes to check in. Each time she was staring out the window again, chewing her cheek. 

Indy didn’t know whether the ride was long or short. She didn’t know much of anything other than she felt like she was going to be sick as they parked. Cold air rushed in as Grayson opened her door and helped her down.

“You okay?” He asked, just for her.

She nodded, but they both knew it was a lie. 

They passed car after car in the parking lot - almost every space was filled it seemed. Somewhere in her mind, Indy hadn’t processed how many people probably knew Bekah. How many people cared. 

Still, she felt alone in the world when she walked inside of the building. The carpet was dark, with swirling patterns of gold and roses. The entryway felt gold, but the parlor to the left was colder. It was marked with a sign. 

Bekah Andrea Newcomb. 2pm.

Indiana couldn’t breathe. She reached to her left, finding Grayson where she knew he would be, holding onto his arm like she had in the hospital room.

“We can wait as long as you need Indy. There’s no rush to go in there.” 

Her voice failed her and she only nodded. Grayson didn’t move an inch until she did a few minutes later, gathering the strength to step inside. It was fragrant, both in the way an unpleasant place is and in the way a floral shop was. There were enough bouquet arrangements around to fill a house. It was overwhelming, but not so much that Indy didn’t notice the photos. She couldn’t look at them - she’d go to her knees if she let herself even process a single one. So she kept her eyes forward as they walked to the opening of the door on the right.

There was a wide middle aisle, lined with pews on either side full of people.

At the end was Bekah. 

Even from afar, she looked cold inside her casket. Indy’s mouth tasted like metal as she forced herself to walk forward. Grayson walked tall beside her, but she could hear him sniffling above her. The Newcomb’s were beside their daughter, and they offered sympathetic smiles as they noticed the pair headed down the aisle. Luckily, they didn’t say anything - they simply stepped away to give them privacy as they made their way towards the casket. 

Indy held her breath as she got closer, eyes blurry as she looked down into the casket, her hands finding the cold wood when she reached it.

“Oh,” she whispered. Grayson coughed out a sob, wrapping his arm around Indy’s waist and turning his face into her hair. 

Bekah looked like herself, but didn’t. Her hands were folded neatly over her stomach, above her hoodie pockets. It took a moment for Indy to realize what she was wearing. A purple hoodie, her favorite leggings and her thunderbolt headscarf.

Her lungs tightened. 

“No, no that’s not right. It’s not right,” she whispered, shaking her head as her hands fluttered above Bekah. 

“What? What’s wrong?” Grayson asked.

“Her hoodie, she wanted her blue hoodie, that’s the one she asked for, that’s what we told her they were gonna find her in. She needs her hoodie, Gray she needs her hoodie, get her hoodie.” She couldn’t get a breath through her throat as she choked on her words, looking to Grayson for help. His face was twisted up in pain as he guided her away from the casket. 

“It’s okay Indy, it’s okay,” he cried.

“She needs her hoodie,” she sobbed, holding onto his lapel to keep him close to her and to hide her face. All he could do was hold her and cry. No one looked at them and he was grateful as he led her back out of the room, back to where Ethan and Charlie were waiting. It took her a few minutes to catch her breath, even with Charlie’s hand on her shoulder. The eldest Cross put herself between her sister and Grayson, her protective instincts taking over. Grayson couldn’t be angry. He’d step aside happily if it helped Indy. 

Her sister seemed to help to calm her down enough to catch her breath after a few minutes. 

“Sorry, I don’t know what happened in there,” she whispered eventually, looking over Charlie’s shoulder to find Grayson’s eyes.

“Hey, no apologies today Dee. It’s okay.”

She tried to believe him, tried to accept that it was okay. Something about the sincerity in his voice made her trust him. 

“I wanna go look at the pictures,” she said quietly, wiping her eyes and standing up to smooth out her dress. “Get some new images in my head.”

Grayson stepped closer to her, offering her his arm as they headed back to the parlor. Things were calmer as they started to look at all the frames. Grayson smiled at the first picture he saw of Bekah with hair, her afro tall and proud as she stood with a small soccer trophy and a smile so big it closed her eyes. 

“She taught me how to do twists once,” Indy smiled, leaning her cheek on Grayson’s bicep. “I sucked at it I’m pretty sure but it was better than nothing.”

“I’ve never seen her with hair before.”

“It made her so sad to lose it every time. She always said it was the worst part.”

“My dad hated losing his. Can’t imagine.”

“Oh my god, look at this one,” Indy smiled, moving to the next frame on the table. It was Bekah in the pool as a toddler, with round pink sunglasses and a purple floaty, with her dad behind her, pushing her along it seemed.

“She always told me she hated water.”

“She did.”

Indy turned to see Martina behind her. Her eyes were puffy but she had a small smile on her face.

“When she was four she fell off a pool float with her cousin, almost drowned. Ever since then she never even put a toe in,” she explained. She stepped up next to Indy, putting an arm around her shoulder. 

“Thank you for coming. It means the world to us that you’re here, and that you’re speaking later.”

Grayson realized quickly he wasn’t part of the conversation, and he excused himself with a reassuring look to Indy. Charlie was still where she’d started out in the entryway, eyes darting around nervously. It was obvious she was uncomfortable, and whether it was because she didn’t like funerals or didn’t know anyone, he wasn’t sure. Either way she hid it well when Indy needed her, but she didn’t bother with the facade when Grayson approached. 

“She okay?” was his greeting.

“She’s talking to Mrs. Newcomb. She seems alright, considering.”

“Considering,” Charlie laughed dryly. “Yeah, she’s been through hell and back. But you know that.”

It stung, even though it was deserved.

“I didn’t mean to hurt her.”

“Well. In my experience what you meant to do doesn’t matter nearly as much as what you did.”

“I know.”

“I’m glad you’re here, but I’m scared to see what happens when you leave her again.”

“Charlie, I’m not gonna le-”

Suddenly, Charlie stiffened, eyes trained over his shoulder on something outside the front doors that made him cut his explanation short. 

“Fuck,” she hissed.

“What? What is it?” Panic rose in Grayson’s throat as he followed her gaze. 

There was a man in a navy blue suit walking through the parking lot. It wasn’t someone Grayson recognized, but nonetheless the hair on the back of his neck stood up. On instinct, he side stepped in front of Charlie, blocking her from the door.

“Who is that?”

“Our fucking dad.”

“What?“ Grayson whirled. “How the fuck did he even know about this?”

“I told him I was coming into town, he asked why, so I told him. Jesus, I didn’t think he was gonna show up! Indy’s gonna freak if she sees him, she can’t see him.”

“Don’t move,” he said, darting out of the entryway to peek into the viewing room. Indy was towards the front, talking to some of Bekah’s relatives it seemed. He caught sight of Ethan and moved to him quickly, putting a hand on his shoulder and trying to make it seem as casual as he could.

“Keep Indy busy and whatever you do, don’t let her go outside.” 

Thankfully, Ethan didn’t ask for an explanation, and he simply started to move towards the front of the room as Grayson exited out the back, just in time to get to the front door before Kenneth made it in.

To his surprise, Charlie was right beside him when the heavy wooden door closed behind them.

He was shorter than Grayson expected. It was obvious his hair had once been blonde, but it was gray now, badly managed with box dye that he could still see remnants of by his ears. 

Charlie’s breathing sped up and Grayson took a step closer to her, just barely in front of her.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Kenneth, who stopped short at the bottom of the three brick-layed stairs. 

His eyes were blue when he looked up. They skipped over Grayson’s broad frame to Charlie and softened just a fraction. 

“Char.”

She stiffened, and Grayson held his ground. 

“Sir, this is a funeral. A funeral I don’t believe you were invited to.”

Kenneth’s eyes went cold the way a father’s do when they’re threatened, and he fixed them on Grayson. Gray enjoyed the fact that he had to crane his neck to see him.

“And who exactly might you be?” Kenneth spat.

“I could ask you the same question sir.”

“The fuck are you, a funeral bouncer?”

Grayson flexed his knuckles.

“Sure, if that’s what you want to call me. Either way, you aren’t welcome here and you need to go.”

“Look, I’m here to see my daughter, alright? Now get out of my way.” 

“I can’t do that.”

Kenneth narrowed his eyes as it clicked.

“Ahhh. So you’re the boyfriend then.”

Grayson stayed quiet, but his stomach turned at the smirk that creeped across the man’s face.

“Get out of my way, boy.” 

“I can’t do that,” Grayson repeated himself and set his feet.

Kenneth moved up another step, but he stopped, eyes on Grayson’s elbow where a hand had appeared. 

Charlie.

“What’s her name?”

Kenneth laughed. It was an ugly sound.

“Are you kidding me Charlie? You think I don’t know your sister’s name? Give me a fucking break.”

Grayson saw the tears brim in Charlie’s eyes, and he clenched his fists.

“No. I’m talking about the 15 year old whose funeral you’re using for your own personal gain. What’s her name?”

Kenneth didn’t have an answer. Charlie stepped in front of Grayson, standing toe to toe with her father as she took a deep breath. 

“Leave. You aren’t welcome here. You aren’t welcome anywhere near my sister, or me for that matter.”

“Charlie.”

“What type of piece of shit do you have to be to show up when your daughter is hurting like this? Hmm?”

“I just knew she’d be here-”

“You also know her address, Dad. You chose here because you want her weak, you want her to need you and she doesn’t. Get out. Leave. I’m not playing this game anymore.”

“Charlie c’mon.” Grayson could see the panic in Kenneth’s eyes as he realized what his eldest was really saying. 

“Indiana has always been so much smarter than me. And I should have listened to her when she told me to not give you the time of day.” She shook her head, a few tears slipping past her eyelashes, taking mascara with them.

“Charlie, you’re all I have left.”

“Yeah, and you did that to yourself. Now, I have a funeral to get to, and if you try to follow me I’ll let him beat you into the ground like you deserve.”

With that, she turned and walked back through the doors.

Grayson stared at the broken man for a moment longer, and then he turned to follow her. She was sitting in one of the big chairs by the table by the window, hands shaking slightly as she brushed her hair behind her ear. 

“Hey, you okay?” He squatted down beside her to get to her eye level. He saw Indy in the way her lips shook while she breathed, trying to pull it together. 

“Do you want me to call Dev?”

She shook her head with a dry laugh.

“No, he’s already worried enough about me. I’m okay. Thank you for that, by the way. Pretty sure he would have just walked right past me if you weren’t out there. I shouldn’t have even told him about this.”

“You didn’t know he was gonna show up. I’m just glad he didn’t make it inside,” Grayson sighed, eyes flickering over to make sure Indy couldn’t see them. Charlie knew what he was looking for. 

“Well, you’re the hero of the day Dolan. I’m sure deflecting the dead beat father counts for some brownie points in winning her over,” she said. 

Grayson’s brows furrowed when he looked at her. He reached to the table and pulled a tissue for her to wipe her mascara with before he spoke.

“I wasn’t gonna tell her. No need to stress her out more than she already is, you know?”

Charlie looked at him for a moment, her head cocking to the right just barely, and she smiled just barely.

“Yeah. Right,” she agreed. 

“I’m gonna go find her, but come get me if you need me okay?”

She nodded, smiling when he patted her knee and moved back into the parlor. Ethan was walking around with Indy, looking at all the floral arrangements that had been sent. Grayson slotted himself beside her.

“Are the blue ones different flowers though? Like what makes them purple?” Ethan asked.

“They’re all hydrangeas. I think it has something to do with the soil, that’s what makes them different colors.”

“Acid. The soil has to be acidic, Ma always adds stuff to get the blue ones at the house,” Grayson chimed in, subtly relieving Ethan of his duties. Indy relaxed when she felt him next to her.

“The blue ones are my favorite,” she hummed, rubbing a petal between her thumb and finger. 

“Noted,” Grayson said. “Let’s get you some water, it’s almost 2.”

She didn’t protest, nerves buzzing with dread as she realized it was almost time for her to speak in front of so many people. 

“You have my speech right?”

He patted his chest pocket where he’d tucked it that morning.

“You’ve got this. I’ll be right there the whole time, okay?”

She nodded, following him to the small kitchen to grab a water bottle from the fridge.

Time flew, and before she knew it everyone was seated in the parlor as quiet music played and the service began. There was a preacher who spoke, read some scripture. Indy could only hear her own heartbeat in her ears. Grayson’s hand anchored her, squeezing hers just barely. He traced over knuckles with his finger. B-R-E-A-T-H-E.

She tried, but her lungs felt tight when the preacher gave her the cue. She stood and smoothed out her dress, took the paper from Grayson. It quivered in the air as she carried it to the podium. There were too many eyes on her, too many red and bloodshot from tears already shed. 

She looked at Grayson. He only nodded at her, a silent reassurance. She smoothed the paper out on the wood, inhaled through her nose, and spoke.

“Hi. For anyone who doesn’t know me, my name is Indiana Cross, and I was a friend of Bekah’s. I’ve never done one of these before, and to be completely honest with you, I’m not really sure how to do one of these. So, I thought about what Bekah would do when I asked her a question - she’d tell me we were living in the 21st century, and that I should ‘just google it’. So that’s what I did. But it wasn’t helpful, because eulogies aren’t designed to be told about 15 year olds. Because 15 year olds are supposed to turn 16, and get their driver’s license and go to prom and grow up to be 17, and so on. So, I don’t think any of us know how to do this -” she waved around the room with a broken exhale - “but that’s okay.”

“I’m the type of person who believes that there are reasons for a lot of things in life, but I’m struggling, like I’m sure many of you are today, to understand what the reason for Bekah being taken from us so soon is. Maybe it’s beyond our understanding. Maybe it’s the cruelty of the universe. All I know is, it isn’t fair, and it isn’t going to make sense to me for a very long time. But all we can do is work to remember Bekah for the light that she was, and will continue to be. So, I’m going to share a few stories about Bekah, and the people that loved her. 

She could hear the sniffles, both her own amplified in the mic, and those from the crowd. She locked eyes with Grayson, who was sitting in the third row. He only nodded his head, willing all of his strength up to her somehow.

“I first met Bekah in a place where you generally don’t want to meet someone. The hospital. But, as anyone could guess, Bekah made a hospital seem like the best place to be simply by being there herself. We played pranks on the nurses, and then got said nurses in on our team and ganged up on the other ones. We ran the halls on good days, we cuddled up and watched movies on bad days. We snuck extra pudding and ice cream from the kitchen once when she was thirteen and got caught, and let me just say, I think that girl could have talked her way out of any trouble she ever got herself in. But the most important thing about that first hospital stay with Bekah was what she told me when I met her. She looked me right in the eyes and she said ‘don’t treat me like I’m sick and I won’t act like it’. I had never met a kid with so much strength and bravery in my life. But that’s what we did, and by god did she keep that energy until the very end. 

“Bekah went into remission 3 times. And when I found out she was back for this next time, I figured it would be just like her past rounds. She would beat it, because she’s Bekah, and she always beats it. I don’t know where her strength comes from, but I know some of it is from her parents. But in all honesty, I think she was just a special person with something special in her. She was kind, and loving and strong and hilarious and witty and smart and beautiful and special. I would give up just about anything to get to see her grow up, to see the woman she would have become if - if she’d been given just a little bit more t-time.”

Indy’s voice began to falter, her breath hitching in her throat on the way out. She grabbed onto the podium, her notes blurry with tears. Grayson twitched in his pew, moving to stand up, to go to her. She saw him and moved her hand to the top of the wood, tapping her fingers subtly. Somehow, he knew what she meant. Wait.

“But I can find some peace in knowing how Bekah’s last days went, and I hope I can share some of that with you. She wasn’t scared to die. She went peacefully, and I don’t have a single doubt that she’s up in heaven watching us right now, probably making fun of me and also thanking me for not telling you all some of the stories of things we got up to. So to end it, I’ll quote a lyric from one of her favorite people, who she claimed would ‘totally be her boyfriend if he knew she had cancer’, Harry Styles. He says “remember everything will be alright. We can meet again somewhere, somewhere far away from here.” For now, Bekah is far away. And that’s a hard reality, for all of us, because she deserved more time here. But I know we’ll see her again someday, and I’m going to hold onto that until this starts to make a bit more sense, if it ever does. So, I love you Beks. Always have, always will. And I’ll see you again someday. Promise.”

Her voice cracked at the end as she stepped back from the microphone, fingers numb and cheeks hot and stiff from the salt of her tears. Grayson stood as she walked back down the center aisle to him, reached out to take her hand and help her to her seat. With the pressure gone and everyone’s eyes elsewhere, she crumpled into his chest, grabbing onto the lapel of his suit jacket as the sobs began to break free.

“Shhh, you’re okay. You did so good,” he whispered just for her, his own tears disappearing into her hair. Charlie ran a hand along her back to soothe her as the preacher returned to the podium to speak again. She didn’t hear much of what he said. Everyone cried as the service moved on, sounds of rustled tissue boxes and quiet sobs behind fists made the soundtrack to the show no one wanted to see. 

Everything moved too quickly, and suddenly everyone was lining up to pass by and give their final goodbyes. Indy clung to Grayson’s hand as Ethan and Charlie excused themselves out of respect. 

Indy blinked away her tears to get one more look at Bekah when it was her turn. Grayson reached to adjust her head scarf, and Indy rubbed her hand, willing herself to pretend it was warm. 

Grayson was a pallbearer, eyes red and puffy as he carried her much too light casket to the back of the hearse. It gave Indy comfort, knowing she was safe with him.

She held it together on the walk to the car, head held high the way Bekah would want it to be, and she noticed Charlie scurry to take the front seat, forcing Grayson into the back with her. She was grateful for it, especially when she slid into the middle seat so she could sit next to him as they joined the procession. 

Indy watched the trees, and Grayson watched her.

The cemetery was beautiful as they drove through it. Plenty of trees that Indy knew would be beautiful in the warmer months. It gave her some peace to know that she would rest in such a lovely place, even though she knew she wasn’t really there. She hoped it would give people a place to remember her fondly, to talk to her. She herself had never really cared for cemeteries, but she stood tall anyways and went through the motions. She watched Grayson carry the casket to the pedestal, took the rose that they gave her off of the casket spray and said her goodbyes quietly. 

The sun shone brightly above them, but it began to drizzle right as she was about to climb into the car. A sun shower, she supposed.

Her tears mixed with the droplets that fell. 

“Hey Beks,” she smiled, an odd sense of peace flowing over her as she stood there for a moment to soak it in before she climbed into the car. 

Ethan drove them back to Jersey, and Indy laid her head on Grayson’s shoulder the whole two hours it took to get there. 

When they got back, it was obvious what Lisa had been doing to keep herself busy. There was a casserole in the oven, both a vegan and non-vegan option, with fresh salad and bread she’d baked herself. 

“I know it’s not really dinner time yet, I just figured you guys might be hungry when you got back, and I didn’t have much else to do,” Lisa explained with a sheepish smile. Grayson just smiled at her and kissed her temple.

“Thanks Ma. You’re the best. Dee, you want something to change into?”

“Sure. My stuff is out at the house though,” she reminded him.

“I’ll find you something,” he said before he disappeared upstairs.

“The house? You all stayed out at the tiny homes last night?” Charlie asked quietly. Indy bristled, ready to defend herself. 

“I needed to write the eulogy, I needed somewhere quiet, and it’s nice out there. I just needed somewhere nice for the night, not my place.”

Charlie was smiling.

“I’m not saying it’s a bad thing,” she said. Indy balked, unsure that she’d heard her sister correctly. She resisted the urge to quote some of the explitivies Charlie had called Grayson when she first found out he’d left for LA during their phone call.

“You’re not saying it’s a bad thing…” Indy confirmed, waiting.

“All I’m saying is… maybe I was wrong. He’s a good guy. Just be careful, okay? Can’t see you like that again, especially with all this going on too.”

Indy was blushing, but she nodded. 

“Here, try these. Might fit if you roll them and tie em’ real tight.” Gray came down the stairs with a pair of black sweatpants and an old wrestling sweatshirt. She took them gratefully, moving into the bathroom to change. She felt free once her dress was gone, like she’d pulled some of the weight of the day off with the fabric. The sweats were still too big, but she didn’t mind. 

Outside the door and down the hallway, Ethan had pulled his brother aside.

“You need to be here.” 

Grayson waited for him to continue.

“I was fucking wrong. I got my priorities fucked, and I put that on you, and I’m sorry. I know the businesses are out in LA, and I don’t think we can really change that right now, but we’ll figure it out. I can fly out here when we need to, and you can come out when you have to.”

Indy heard voices down the hall. 

“Flights are cheaper on Thursdays usually, we could always plan for that.”

It hurt worse somehow, for it to be in Grayson’s voice. 

It was Tuesday.

She disappeared quietly down the hall in the other direction, her stomach turning. 

It was what she knew would happen. It was the pain she’d told herself would be worth letting herself be with him, just for a few more days. 

The pain in her gut had other ideas. The smell of the food from the kitchen made her nauseous when she reentered, and she gave Lisa a sympathetic smile. The angel in the whole ordeal, the last thing she wanted was to hurt her.

“Hey Li, I’m not feeling too good. I think I’m gonna lay down upstairs for a bit if that’s okay.”

“Of course, of course it’s okay. Do you need anything?”

“No, I’m good. Thank you, and thank you for cooking. You guys go ahead and eat if you get hungry, I’m probably good for tonight.”

“Okay sweetie, get some rest.”

Indy managed to get upstairs undetected, and she found herself in Grayson’s room out of habit. She didn’t know what else to do, so she climbed under the covers and let her tears fall. She felt stupid, and unwanted, and sad. She’d let her heart get trampled again, all for a few days of comfort. 

She felt pathetic. 

Grayson’s feet thudded up the stairs only a few minutes later. She buried her face in the covers like a child, made her breathing even and slow. 

He creaked the door open quietly, feet pausing before he came over to her. 

She felt his hand on her hair, smoothing it back, and then his lips on her temple. 

“I love you,” he whispered, and then he was gone. 

Indy’s heart jumped to her throat, and her eyes shot open when she heard the door latch. 

Her mind ran circles around itself as she laid there, staring at the ceiling wrapped in the blankets that smelled like him. 

Did he love her? And if he did, did it matter?

It was times like that she wished more than anything that her mom was there. The closest thing she had was Charlie, who she suddenly felt guilty for leaving downstairs. But at the same time, she knew she couldn’t reappear so soon. So she sat, and she spiraled and rationalized and tried to make sense of her world that had fallen apart around her so quickly. 

Downstairs, Grayson’s mind was wandering. His stomach led him, as it often did, but the greater part of him wanted to be upstairs in bed instead of at the kitchen table. But he couldn’t deny his mom’s cooking, especially after a hard day. So he sat at the table, glad that Charlie was no longer staring daggers into him from across the table. He gave Indy an hour or so to sleep before he went to check on her again, surprised to see her awake, perched on the edge of the bed.

“Hey you,” he smiled. “You ready to go?”

She looked up quickly. If he didn’t know better, he would have thought she looked nervous.

“Go?”

“To the house. All our stuff is out there, and I figured Charlie could stay in here tonight.”

“Yeah. Yeah, the house would be good.”

He held his hand out for her and she took it, let him lead her out to the truck, down the roads to the houses. 

“You still tired?” Grayson asked once he’d kicked his boots off.

She thought of laying with him and nodded, walking up to the loft so he would follow. 

He laid down beside her, let her curl up to him like she always had. It was peaceful, with the quiet hum of the furnace and the woods outside. The sun had set on their drive, and the dim lights from the kitchen made everything a warm yellow. 

Indy took a deep breath and moved her hand under Grayson’s hoodie to find his skin. 

Y-O-U-C-A-N-G-O

Grayson was quiet for a moment.

“What?”

She traced it again, slower, but she didn’t get to finish. He sat up in the middle of it, turning to her with concern all over his face.

“You want me to go?”

She stared at the ceiling.

“Want isn’t really the right word. But you can go.”

His heartbeat picked up, and he moved into her eye line.

“What does that mean.”

“I really appreciate you being here. I do. But I’m gonna be okay. You don’t have to stay here just because I’m sad. You don’t have to stay for me.”

A punch to the gut would have hurt him less. 

“Indy. Indy, look at me.”

She turned and found his eyes, and to her surprise, his were watery.

“You’re my only reason to stay. I want to stay.”

“Stop. Just stop, I heard you earlier, you don’t have to pretend like you want to be here.”

“What’re you talking about?”

Indy sat up on her elbows.

“Flights are cheap on Thursdays,” she said. Grayson’s heart dropped for a moment, and then the pieces came into place. 

“Indy. Baby, that wasn’t what you think it was.”

“Then what was it Grayson, please enlighten me.” 

Grayson took her hand and kissed her knuckles. 

“That was Ethan and I trying to figure out how I can stay here. How I can stay here with you. Because I want to be here. I want to be with you, I always have. Ever since I met you I knew I was meant to be wherever you are. I never should have left, it was the dumbest shit I ever did. And I didn’t want to bring all this up, because I know emotions are fucked right now, with Beks and everything. But I want to be here with you, or I want you with me, or I want whatever it takes for us to be okay and together. If that’s something you still want.”

Her head was spinning. 

“You still want me?”

He nodded. 

“Never stopped.” 

Indy took in her first deep breath in days.

“Oh.”

They sat in silence for a while. Grayson opened and closed his mouth a few times, thinking better of his words before he spoke them. 

“It’s okay if you don’t know tonight. There’s too much going on right now, I don’t expect you to know how you feel about it right now,” he finally said, voice too loud in his excitement and nerves.

“Yeah. I need time to… think.”

“Yeah! Yeah, no that’s good. I want you to take your time with it, of course. And I can give you as much space as you need, you know, like, um, I can go sleep on the couch. If you want.”

Despite everything, Indy laughed.

“You don’t even fit on the couch.”

“I could make it work,” he said sheepishly.

“You’re fine. Just go to sleep, and I’ll… I’ll think about it.” 

There was an excitement in his voice that she hadn’t heard in a long time - it snuck through even as he tried to hide it.

“Okay. Sounds good. Well, uh… goodnight.”

“Goodnight Gray.”

They stared at each other for a minute, unsure of what to do with all the new emotions that had come to light.

“We should probably lay down, if we’re gonna sleep,” Indy said.

“Right, yeah. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” she said again, watching him awkwardly pull back the covers and climb in fully clothed. She wanted to laugh at how awkward it was, as if they hadn’t been in each other’s arms every night since he’d been back. He kept his back to her, and she knew with her mind buzzing she wouldn’t be able to sleep. 

She pulled her laptop out of the bag by the bed, fired up her hotspot and started to scroll through her feeds, passing mindless time and keeping herself busy until Grayson began to snore, rolling to his stomach. It was a sweet sound, and she couldn’t help but to reach over and move his covers up, her fingers brushing over his arm.

He stirred under her touch, grunting a bit as he half woke up, sitting up just enough to pull the yellow hoodie over his head and toss it off the bed.

“Whatcha doing,” he mumbled, reaching a blind hand out until he found skin, fingers landing on her leg under the covers. Indy smiled and moved her hand away from her keyboard, scratched lightly up and down his back, over his tattoo as a thought crossed her mind. 

“Just emails. Almost done.”

“You okay?” He asked, voice muffled by the pillow. 

“I’m okay. Sleep.”

“M’kay.”

He was snoring again momentarily, and once she was sure he was out she claimed her hand back, clicking quietly until she got to what she was looking for. 

Her email from UCLA. 

She scrolled down to the bottom, looked at the two links she had stared at so many times since it had arrived in her inbox.

Accept. Decline.

She moved her mouse and clicked once, and then she closed her laptop, put it on the nightstand and cuddled under the covers. Grayson huffed at her movements, reaching for her in the dark. She let him pull her closer, relishing in the feeling of being with him for another night.

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

But You Can Never Leave [Chapter 12: The Mirror]

A/N: Hi y’all!! Please enjoy, this is a long one. We’re getting into the exciting stuff now, so I’ll be putting all my creative energy into BYCNL and will hopefully finish up the series within the next month. Thank you so much for your love and support! Each and every reblog/message/comment makes me smile and means the absolute world to me! 💜

Chapter summary: John gets a rap sheet, Roger gets defensive, Y/N gets suspicious, News Of The World gets a headline.

This series is a work of fiction, and is (very) loosely inspired by real people and events. Absolutely no offense is meant to actual Queen or their families.

Song inspiration: Hotel California by The Eagles.

Chapter warnings: Language, drugs, babies, drama, angst.

Chapter list (and all my writing) available HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @loveandbeloved29​ @killer-queen-xo​ @maggieroseevans​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @joemazzmatazz​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​ @namelesslosers​ @inthegardensofourminds​ @deacyblues​ @youngpastafanmug​ @sleepretreat​ @hardyshoe​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @sevenseasofcats​ @tensecondvacation​ @queen-crue​ @jennyggggrrr​ @madeinheavxn​ @whatgoeson-itslate​ @brianssixpence​ @simonedk​ @herewegoagainniall​ @stardust-killer-queen​ @anotheronewritesthedust1​

Please yell at me if I forget to tag you! :)

You’re not late. You’re never late.

And at first that’s okay, it’s more than okay, it’s a relief; because it was too soon to have a baby anyway, less than a year into a supposedly meaningless marriage, a marriage you and Roger never even speak of, a marriage that might have never happened at all—might only exist as a particularly vivid and pleasant dream—if it wasn’t for your freshly-minted British citizenship. At first you greeted each dark, fruitless stain of blood with a casual ruefulness—oh well, one more month of freedom, you would think, smiling a little, worrying not very much at all—content to let that milestone trophy of womanhood, of life, lay undusted and unclaimed in the cluttered pit of your mental oak trunk with a tarnished gold latch shaped like a lion’s jaw.

After four months, you start to notice things. You notice the way Chrissie’s twins have small willow-green eyes that turn down in the corners, just like Brian does; you notice how John’s children have his downy hair and that innate sort of reticence that some people mistake for banality; you notice all those pretty, anonymous young women pushing strollers through the blossoming summer foliage of Hyde Park. You notice the way Roger grins and waves at babies when you see them in airports or hotel lobbies, dazzles them like he dazzles very nearly everybody, like he still dazzles you. You notice a longing buried in your bones that you hadn’t known existed.

After six months, you are no longer casually rueful. You start ignoring the calendar, as if not noticing you’re due could stop the bleeding from coming at all, like how you’re not supposed to stare at the clock if you want time to pass faster. You start watching what you’re eating, trying to get more sleep, opening all the windows when Roger smokes as he flips through fashion and music magazines with crafty little snickers, flashing those pointy canine teeth you once assumed your children would have.

And now, after nine months—as the world hurtles towards the conclusion of the brisk October of 1977—you have begun to worry; because maybe this thing, this thing that everyone accepts as a guaranteed feature of the all-inclusive package of the human experience, isn’t something you get to have at all. Roger doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask you about it. He is as he always is: sunlight and joy and heat and raw kinetic energy. But sometimes Roger’s huge blue eyes—those eyes you fell in love with, those eyes that convinced you to follow Queen to London, to stardom, to thunderous stadiums all over the world—go vacant as he gazes out into the horizon, as the sun sets over the garden of the Surrey house, as his face is lit up in gold and amber and celestial fury like the wildfire his soul is made of.

And you’ve begun to worry about him, too.

~~~~~~~~~~

The phone rings from the nightstand. The shrill clanging, like hail on glass, makes you wince beneath the tangle of blankets. Your hand fumbles out into cool night air, which pours in from the open bedroom window.

Where’s Roger?

Then you remember his hushed voice, his bleached hair tickling your cheek, his lips pressed to your temple: Hey baby. I gotta go jam with some people. Grab a drink or two. You sleep, I’ll be back by morning.

Sure, okay, fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. One of those infinite casualties of fame.

You haul the phone to your ear. “Hello...?”

“Hello darling, are you busy?”

“Well, it’s 2:39 a.m., Fred. So not very.”

“Perfect. I need you to go post bail for John.”

You wrench yourself upright, rubbing your eyes with your free hand. “What?!”

“He was drunk driving and backed into a cop car, pure genius. I’m rather indisposed myself at the moment, and of course Veronica can’t know. And you’re so good with him, dear.”

Your feet have already swung off the bed and onto the plush white carpet. You wonder what Freddie is ‘indisposed’ with; there are so many possibilities these days. “And you know about this...because...?”

“He used his phone call on me, darling. I don’t think he wanted to bother you. I suspect he’s a bit mortified.”

“Yeah, well, he should be.” You sigh and start pawing through the safe in the bedroom closet, the spiraled phone cord pulled taunt. Hundred-pound notes shuffle weightlessly between your fingers. You remember when Queen had no money at all, when you and Roger shared a pitiful—dodgy, you amend—one-bedroom flat, when you had to assemble each bouquet and tie each ribbon for John’s wedding by hand; and you’re shocked by the nostalgia that hits you in the gut like brass knuckles. “Sure, I’ll go get him. Just tell me where he is and how much he’ll owe me.”

John is slumped on the floor of the jail cell, alone and sweated and miserable. His hair is in complete disarray. He peers up at you through the iron bars with red, swollen, unfocused eyes.

“Hey,” you say quietly, smiling although you know you shouldn’t be.

He covers his face with both hands and moans. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“Too late. Freddie asked me to come get you, he was drunk or high or in the middle of an orgy or something. You are the worst drunk driver in the world, just so you’re aware. You are obviously not cut out for a life of crime.”

“So I’ve gathered.” He swipes at the strands of hair stuck to his forehead with the back of his hand, bites his lower lip, shakes his head with that thousand-yard stare that says: How the fuck did I get here?

You drop down to your knees to meet him at his level. The concrete floor is filthy, spotted with grime and dust and crushed insects and smears of what might be blood. “What’s going on, John?” you ask gently.

“I can’t keep doing this,” he murmurs. “It’s okay when we’re on tour. When we’re on tour I’m preoccupied and exhausted and too high on the rush to think about it too much. I’m numb. Mostly. But then I come home and it’s...” He glowers, balls his hands into fists, beats them clumsily against his thighs. “It’s this relentless fucking cycle of feeling dissatisfied and guilty and inadequate. A disappointment of a husband. A failure of a father. And it’s inescapable.”

“Well, the constant pregnancy situation probably doesn’t help.” Veronica is expecting their third child in February.

He waves a hand dismissively, rolls his eyes. “It’s part of the thing. The ‘being a good husband’ thing. I can’t fix that. Birth control is a sin or whatever. Jesus is too busy pissing himself over that to care about starving kids in the Soviet Union, I guess.”

“That’s a cheerful prospect.”

“Sorry.”

“No, please, by all means. Throw off all your baggage, I can take it.”

Now he smirks, just faintly. “That’s what we’ve always done for each other, right?”

“We’ll be back on tour in a few weeks, John.” And that was true; the News Of The World Tour was scheduled to begin on November 11th in Portland, Maine. The band would spend the 12th in Boston and join your parents for dinner at the Queen Anne-style house at the intersection of Apple and Arcadia that you grew up in.

He whispers forlornly: “I can’t run from this forever.”

“You might have to. I’d love to know what Slavic Jesus has to say about divorce.”

John coughs out a surprised laugh. “Thank you. I needed that.”

“Come on. I posted your bail. I won’t tell Roger if you won’t. You can put the extra five thousand pounds in your ‘fake my own death and go live on a tropical island’ fund instead of paying us back.” You’re not serious, and John knows that; he would never abandon his children, even if they weren’t old enough to really remember him yet. But it has the desired effect, which of course is lifting the mood, making John divulge that rare and beautiful smile.

“I’m a wreck. I can’t go home like this. It’d be worse than not coming home at all.”

“I’m happy to offer you one of our five superfluous bedrooms.”

“Okay,” John sighs, clutching the bars of his jail cell and dragging himself to his feet. “I’m so sorry. I owe you for this, I really do.”

“No,” you reply, grinning. “Just find a way to send me the coordinates so I can visit you on your secret tropical island once in a while.”

You drive John home to the Surrey house, get him set up in the spare bedroom with the blue-grey wallpaper and blankets patterned with seahorses, give him a stack of Roger’s clean clothes, lay out fresh towels and a tray of water and cookies—biscuits, you reprimand yourself—for him. He’s mostly sober now, which makes you feel somewhat better; still, you are aware that you hate the thought of leaving him alone, even if he’s only a few walls away.

“Thank you,” he says as you stand in the doorway, his face meditative, his hands in the pockets of his leather coat.

“Of course.”

“You’re a good friend. The best, actually.”

“You’re a good man. You don’t always know it, but you are.”

John just stares at you with an expression you can’t read. Like the ocean: always mysterious, always profound. “Goodnight,” he says after a while.

“Goodnight, John.”

As you pull the bedroom door shut, you hear erratic thumps coming up the staircase. Roger stumbles into the upstairs hallway, singing under his breath and drumming the air with invisible drumsticks, and holds out his arms when he sees you. He’s wearing his dark green suit, an unraveling tie, one sparkling pink Converse, his prescription sunglasses tangled in his hair and forgotten. His eyes are effervescent, flighty, almost manic.

“Hey, love of my life!” he cries, comically loud. “What are you doing up?!”

“Shhhhh! Your bassist partied a little too hard and needed a place to crash that wasn’t overrun with kids. He’s in the blue room.”

“Deaks? Deaks is sleeping over?!” Roger exclaims, beaming. “All my favorite people are here!”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t bother him. He’s pretty messed up, he needs the rest. I’ll make everyone pancakes in the morning or something. Come over here, let’s get you—” But the words die in your throat as you try to tug off Roger’s suit jacket. Fine white powder sheds off the emerald velvet fabric and onto your palm. You blink at it, at the residue like crushed aspirin, like the salt they scatter on Boston roads the night before a snowfall. “What is this?”

He rips his sleeve away, conjures up a smile to throw you off the trail. To dazzle his way out of this. “Nothing.” But he knows. And he knows you know too.

“You were...snorting coke...?”

“Come on, baby, don’t be like that...” He tries to embrace you; you shove him back.

“Roger, no, this is...this is...” You shake your head, shrugging off the shock, searching for the words. You’re confused, you’re exhausted, your mind is whirling. “We’re home, Roger,” you plead, like it means something.

Has he done this before? When? How often? With who?

You should know the answers. It’s not a good sign that you don’t.

“So?” Now he’s indignant.

“So it’s not like being on tour, you’re supposed to take it easy at home, you’re supposed to be, I don’t know, relaxed and recovering and, and, and content...”

You’re not supposed to have an excuse to do all those things that destroy people.

He laughs bitterly. “What, ‘happy at home’?! When has that ever been me?”

“Rog, please, I’m not saying you can’t work all the time or drink or smoke, I’m not even saying you can’t get wasted, I’m just drawing the line at cocaine and I don’t think that’s a terribly despotic place to draw a line.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I must have missed it, when did you become too moralistic for drugs?”

“Acid is different than coke and you know it. Acid doesn’t kill people.”

He glares at you, savage, almost hateful. “You don’t get to put me in a cage.”

“I’m not being controlling or self-righteous, I’m being concerned—”

“You’re being a fucking cop, that’s what you’re being,” Roger snaps.

“What do you want me to say?! I’m a registered nurse, Roger, I’m a medical professional, it’s literally my job to keep you alive—”

“No, it’s your job to make sure we can record and tour and I need it, I can’t play without it, don’t you get that?! I fucking need it!”

Instantly, John is between you, still fully dressed and sweating Manhattans out of his pores and seething. He’s taller than Roger; surely you must have noticed that before. But if you had, you’ve since forgotten. “Roger,” he threatens in a low, unyielding voice. “Go to bed.”

Roger recoils, disoriented, then opens his mouth to protest.

“Go!” John roars, pointing towards the main bedroom. He wants to say more, you can tell, he has rage burning in him like dragonfire; and if it had been Brian or even Freddie, John would have said it. But this is Roger. And you can’t remember a time John has ever raised his voice to Roger before now.

Roger can’t wrap his brain around it either, particularly in his present condition. His eyelids flutter a few times, then he scoffs—a dismissive, derisive sound, a sound that says I don’t know what to do with this information—and staggers away. He slams the bedroom door behind him as he disappears inside.

You collapse against the nearest wall and hiss in ragged breaths through your teeth, your eyes wet and stinging, your hands trembling as you press your knuckles to your lips.

“I-I-I’m so sorry about that,” you whisper, avoiding John’s eyes.

He’s going to say something, something harsh and terrible but true. He’s finally going to tell me how stupid I was for ever thinking this could work, just like Chrissie and Freddie and Brian. He’s going to tell me I deserve it.

Instead, John offers only this, his words flat and hollow: “Yeah. I’m sorry everyone is disappointing you tonight.”

And then he’s gone.

~~~~~~~~~~

In the morning—early afternoon, really—Roger doesn’t remember; or at least he feigns convincingly that he doesn’t. He props his feet up on the kitchen table and shovels down six pancakes and theatrically relays to you all the scandalous celebrity gossip in the News Of The World magazine with his prescription sunglasses perched bookishly on his nose. He asks you three times if you’re alright, trying to read the hesitance in your eyes, to unearth all those questions that are taking up a permanent residence there. You smile and nod, sip your tea, watch the sharp autumn sunshine as it streams in through the windows and bathes Roger in luminescence that seems so benignly interminable in the light of day. And when you peer into the bedroom with seahorse-patterned blankets and walls the color of cold rain, John has vanished; but the air is heavy with the scent of a litany of cigarettes and there’s a handwritten note left on one pillow.

Thanks for everything. Hang tough, as the Yanks say. An island getaway awaits you.

~ World’s Worst Drunk Driver

At 3 p.m., John calls and asks if the Taylors would be interested in an outing to the park while he gives Veronica a few hours alone to catch up on housework without the kids. His tone is light, casual, harmless; but you suspect he’s checking in on you.

“Of course we’re interested!” Roger says, snatching his ostentatious fur coat off the back of his chair. “Baby, love of my life, go get some cash from the safe so we can buy the kids ice cream.”

Incidentally, there’s not much cash left in the safe; but you find a ten-pound note in your wallet for the ice cream man and make a mental note to run to the bank on Monday.

Hyde Park in October isn’t so different than Boston. The leaves above are a kaleidoscope of sunstone and rubies and jasper and jade, crisping and curling around their serrated edges, drifting listlessly onto pavement paths to be crushed beneath rushing feet; the roots of the trees are centuries deep. Chrissie is walking laps around the pond as she pushes the twins’ stroller; Evelyn is a fairly good sleeper, but Theodore—Teddy to his closest confidants, of which you are one—is an anxious baby and prone to whining. He’s definitely Brian’s son, you often find yourself thinking with an affectionate smirk. John’s ten-month-old daughter Anna is nestled in your arms in a semi-conscious state, having thoroughly exhausted herself by painting her face with chocolate ice cream and thereafter enduring an impromptu bath and wardrobe change in a public restroom.

Laszlo, two years old and with a mop of auburn curls, trots by the edge of the pond as Roger grips his tiny hand, periodically crouches down beside him, grins hugely and points out swans and fish darting through the dark rippling water. Laszlo shrieks with laughter and tries to steal Roger’s sunglasses, which glint in the sunlight like black mirrors.

“So your kid’s a convict too,” you say to John.

“Gotta train them when they’re still small and good for shimmying through dog doors and such.”

“How are you feeling?”

“Extremely hungover, but I’m trying not to show it.”

“You’re doing a good job, I wouldn’t have known.”

“Excellent. I don’t think Veronica noticed. She was very curious about how I ended up in a pair of Roger’s skintight leopard-print pants, though.”

You chuckle, glimpsing down at Anna, rocking her a little as her eyes flitter open and then close again. You and John are on opposite ends of a wooden park bench, your ankles crossed and resting in his lap, your hair rustling in the breeze. John peers over at you periodically, studies you like an ancient statue of Aphrodite or Perseus under a spotlight in an echoing museum, then resumes his sketching. Your smile dies as you watch Roger giggle with Laszlo, lift him high into the cool autumn air, trumpet mock airplane noises in that high, raspy voice.

“Come on,” John prompts, nudging your boots. “I’ll take the baggage if you’ll let me.”

No, I think I’ll keep this one to myself. But you don’t. “It’s my fault,” you say softly. It’s my fault we can’t have children.

John lifts his pencil from the page, his greyish eyes gentle. “You don’t know that.”

“Statistically, it is most likely my fault.”

“It hasn’t been that long, has it? Definitely less than a year. Sometimes these things take time.”

“They didn’t for you and Veronica.”

“Yes, well...” John frowns uneasily. “That’s not always such a blessing.”

“How helpful. You should write newspaper columns for depressed housewives. ‘Don’t worry about that infertility dear, you could have it worse, you could have a life sentence with someone you can’t fucking stand.’”

That was unkind, you think, immediately regretting it. That might have been too far.

But John doesn’t seem offended. His pencil flies over the paper as he glances over at you again. “Is that all? Please continue. I’m riveted to learn more about my alternative career path.”

“No, I think I’m done.”

“Okay. What’s your favorite flower?”

You consider that. “Roger always gets me carnations or roses...and I like them, don’t get me wrong...but I don’t know if I’d call either of those my favorite.”

“It’s not that deep a question, Miss Nightingale.”

“I’ll defer to the artist’s expertise. Surprise me.”

“I’m no artist,” John warns, but he returns to his sketching nonetheless. “I’m really sorry about last night, by the way. I was being stupid and dramatic and immature and self-pitying. ‘Midway on our life's journey, I found myself in dark woods, the right road lost,’ etcetera etcetera.”

You’re no great connoisseur of Italian literature, but you recognize those famous opening lines of the Inferno. “Can I ask you something?”

“Please do.”

“What is this fascination you have with Dante?”

“Truly?”

“Yeah.”

He smiles pensively with his eyes cast out over the pond. “I like that his story has a happy ending. That someone can start in hell and sweat out all their sins in purgatory and end up among the stars.”

You raise your eyebrows, taken back, impressed. “That’s awfully poetic.”

“It’s strange, probably,” John says, scrutinizing his drawing.

“No, really. I love it.”

“Yeah?” He’s doubtful, but he’ll allow himself to believe you if you insist.

“Yeah. And no more drunk driving or other acts of self-destruction, okay? Queen would crumble without you, John. And so would I.”

In reply, he rips the page out of his notebook and hands it over. The image is of you: so infinitely more lovely and at peace than you feel, eyes wise and contented and reflecting halos of sunlight, John’s daughter dozing in your arms.

Tucked behind your ear, etched in graphite shadows, is a calla lily.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Darling, what do I look like?” Freddie bats his eyelashes flirtatiously.

“A raccoon.”

His face screws into a grimace. “I’m supposed to be a cat.”

“Yes, I’m cognizant of that. But you look like a raccoon. Which is why people keep assuming you’re a raccoon, which is why you’re asking me now if you look like one.”

“Bloody hell,” he groans, puffs on a cigarette, fluffs his hair irritably, slurps a drink that is fizzy and sapphire blue.

“The problem is that you went with black and white. You should have dressed as a calico or something. Or a grey cat, oh, I love the chubby grey ones!”

“I’m a musician, darling, not a fucking zoologist.” He exhales a ring of smoke and meanders away.

Queen, the band’s associates, and various music industry figures are all milling around the night-draped mansion. It’s half a Halloween celebration and half a launch party for News Of The World, an album named for the tabloid that Roger both loathes and yet refuses to stop having delivered to the Surrey house. He can’t stand the thought of not being clued into the latest gossip, trends, fashion, awards, of missing any piece of what stardom has to offer. In the spirit of Halloween, Roger is dressed as a tiger, his sleeveless sequined shirt striped with orange and black. You are a veterinarian (not so far a cry from a nurse that you can’t repurpose your old uniform), John a shark (he’s taped a cardboard triangle to his back like a fin), Veronica a sea turtle in a teal dress and with a shell painted over her sizable baby bump, Brian and Chrissie both bright green aliens with antennae bobbing from their headbands. Mary is here as well—outfitted (quite appropriately) like an Enlightenment-era queen—but so is Freddie’s new boyfriend, a shy man named Anthony who is young and handsome and compliant and dressed as a mouse. Mary beams dutifully whenever Freddie is speaking to her, but her expression clouds over when he turns away. She no longer has a gold ring gleaming on her wedding finger, although she did gain an athletic blond date whom she seems largely indifferent to.

As Roger wanders through the crowd shaking hands and howling at jokes, you sip champagne by the snack table and devour an obscene amount of crab puffs. John and Veronica are chatting—unenthusiastically, from what you can tell—nearby with lamb kabobs in their grasps. John passes you a smirk every once in a while, an I’m so over this party and I know you are too smirk of commiseration, and nurses a Manhattan. Chrissie nibbles on disks of cucumber and baby carrots and not much else, which is very unlike her.

“You alright?” you ask worriedly. “You aren’t sick, are you? These crab puff things are incredible, I can’t stop eating them. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve had three dinners so far tonight, I’ve become a monster.”

Chrissie’s lips are a tight, humorless line. “I’m perfectly healthy, I’m just a cow.”

“Chris, honey, don’t!” You pat her shoulder reassuringly with one hand, pop another crab puff into your mouth with the other. “You’re gorgeous, and most women’s bodies change once they have babies, it’s natural!”

“Yeah, well most women aren’t married to men with infinite opportunities to upgrade.”

“Chrissie, no,” you murmur, pained; but you aren’t sure what else to say. She’s not wrong. I wish she was, but she isn’t. And she already knows that.

Dreams by Fleetwood Mac is playing from the reverberating stereo, Stevie Nicks’ sensuous, nasally voice climbing through air choked with strangers and cigarette smoke.

“Now here you go again

You say you want your freedom

Well, who am I to keep you down?”

Brian bids farewell to some record company executive he was talking to across the room and slips out onto the back porch of the house, and after a moment Chrissie follows him. You resist the temptation to eavesdrop until you can clearly hear their voices, raised and combative, through the sliding glass door. You glance to John, apprehensive.

You better go out there, he mouths, and so you do.

“Thunder only happens when it's rainin'

Players only love you when they're playin'

Say women, they will come and they will go

When the rain washes you clean, you'll know...”

Under cold October stars, Chrissie has trapped her horrified-looking husband, backed him into a fountain of a dolphin spewing an endless stream of water from its snout. “Did you think I wouldn’t listen to your own fucking album, Brian?!” She shrieks. “Who is she, huh? Who the fuck is she?!”

You grip her arm and try to lead her away. “Chrissie, babe, not here—”

“It’s Late, Brian? Yeah, it’s real fucking late in your life to still be chasing whores over in America while I’m building your family here, isn’t it?!”

“Love, please, it’s not true,” Brian attempts anemically, reaching for her.

“It is!” Chrissie rages. “It is and it always has been and I was too busy being some blind stupid idiot who loved you to see it!”

She breaks down in tears and you shove Brian away, shoo him back inside. You pitch him a fierce glare as he leaves, retreating like a kicked dog. There’s nothing you can do to fix this, you coward. Because everything she’s saying is true. Chrissie clings to you like a life raft, sobbing into your shoulder, asking what she did wrong.

“I’m sorry,” you tell her, over and over again; because that’s all there is to say.

Eventually Chrissie quiets, goes still and resigned and numb, and you help her fix her makeup and lead her back inside. You stand with her beside the snack table and swear not to leave her side until the party’s over, until the men are done celebrating yet another triumph that will take them further and further from home. Brian is nowhere to be found.

“That goddamn broodmare,” Chrissie hisses, gulping straight vodka, staring venomously at Veronica.

“Why do you hate her so much? I mean she can be dull, yeah. She’s sanctimonious and naïve and dresses like a freaking Mennonite. But she’s not horrible or anything.” And her life isn’t so perfect either.

“It’s not obvious?” Chrissie asks, her voice like a blade.

“No...?”

Chrissie’s eyes are scorching, although you’re not the person she’s furious with. You just happen to be standing in the path of the storm. “Because she’s the only one of us who’s never going to have to find out what this feels like.”

Oh, I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all.

You try to spot Roger in the teeming room. He’s over by a crackling fireplace, telling stories with dramatic sweeps of his hands, bleeding charisma like sweat, and none of that is unusual at all. One of the people he’s talking to is Dominique Beyrand, and that’s not so unusual either; Richard Branson ends up at a lot of industry events, and Dom trails him around like a shadow, nodding politely and contributing little chirps of conversation in that posh French accent.

But here’s the strange part; here’s the part you’ve never seen before.

When Roger flashes that dazzling smile of his, Dominique smiles back.

~~~~~~~~~~

Three days later, you’re steeping in a sweltering bubble bath as the phone rings downstairs. You ignore it at first, because the hot water is unraveling all the tension in your muscles and the lurking shadows in your mind, and also because the calendar is hanging right beside the phone in the kitchen and you’re quite committed to ignoring it this morning. But the phone rings again, and again, and you’re aware that it could be something serious; Roger is working on some non-Queen collaboration at a studio in downtown London, and something could have happened to him.

Especially considering his recreational preferences lately.

You scramble out of the tub, pull on a robe that sticks uncomfortably to your dripping skin, leave a path of bathwater footprints down the hallway and steps—slipping twice and clinging to the banister for dear life—before finally careening into the kitchen to snatch the phone off the wall.

“Hello?” you gasp, winded.

It’s not Roger, nor someone calling to inform you that Roger has overdosed or disappeared or vaulted down a staircase or been hit by a bus. It’s Chrissie.

“Have you seen the News Of The World yet?” she demands.

“Ummm, the album...?” Of course I’ve listened to the album. About a million times. You have a particular affinity for Spread Your Wings.

“No, not the album,” she snaps impatiently, although she kindly leaves out the you idiot addition that her tone implicates. “The magazine. Have you seen it today?”

“I was mid-bubble bath and almost broke my neck sprinting for the phone. So no.”

“Good. Don’t read a word. Don’t talk to anyone. I’m coming over. I’m gonna grab John and come right over.”

“Chris, what—?”

“Do not touch that fucking magazine!” she screams, and hangs up.

Naturally, you don’t listen.

You go to the main door of the Surrey mansion and open it. Sure enough, the new issue of News Of The World is waiting on the porch for you. You pluck it up with damp hands; the whirlpools of your fingerprints stick to the parchment.

On the front page is a photo of Roger, but he’s not alone. He’s scowling at the paparazzo snapping the picture, his face lit up by the flash, painfully and unmistakably stunning. He’s in some sort of alley or side entrance to a restaurant or club. He’s somewhere he’s trying not to be seen, which anyone could tell you is remarkable for Roger Taylor. Beside him is a woman you recognize; and although she’s looking down and trying to hide behind her shock of lustrous black hair, you can see her lips are smiling.

The headline reads: “Queen Drummer Spends Royally on London Love Nest for French Mistress.”

[admiralty-xfd]

#45 Hegal Place

There’s never a dull moment when Special Agent Fox Mulder is your neighbor.

written by @admiralty-xfd​ and @scullymakesmefeelautopsyturvy​

CHAPTER ONE- EINSTEIN

November 1993

Mulder watched Ellen Reardon tear the photograph with steady hands and coolly discard eight year old Cindy’s image into the fire. The glossy coating bubbled as the paper twisted and melted amidst the searing flames. To his left, he saw Scully take a deep breath, heard her swallow hard. Neither of them said anything beyond the necessary pleasantries, making their excuses as they awkwardly vacated the Reardon household for the final time.

Scully carefully navigated the steps down from the porch and cut across the lawn with a slow, defeated gait. Mulder headed to the driver side door without discussion.

He broke the silence as they headed towards the airport.

“She seemed awfully quick to dismiss the daughter she loved and raised for eight years, don’t you think?”

Scully dragged her eyes away from the hundred yard stare that had heretofore been aimed out of the passenger window, her elbow neatly tucked onto the door ledge. She turned her face towards him, thoughtfully slow, her pouted lips peeling away from the forefinger that had been pressed against them. She sighed and shrugged.

“Grief can manifest in a lot of different ways, Mulder. She’s still processing everything. She just found out her own child murdered her husband. We don’t know what she’s feeling.”

Mulder nodded regretfully. Scully returned her gaze to the passing view, crooking her finger beneath her nose now. The pout returned. Mulder knew this meant she was mulling something over.

“You ever think about having kids, Mulder?”

This was so unexpected he laughed. Not a loud laugh but an airy, shocked chuff. He did a double take to check whether or not she was serious. She turned to consider him again, her face calm, her eyes steady. She was serious. His cheeks rounded as he attempted to form a response.

“No, I can’t say I have ever thought about it, Scully. To be honest I don’t even know if I could keep a pet alive. I think it helps to pass that test first before you consider being responsible for other humans.”

They drove the rest of the way to the airport without speaking. It didn’t even occur to him to ask if she ever thought about the subject herself.

December, 1993

Mulder surreptitiously watched Scully slide the last of her papers into her briefcase and clip it shut. She lifted her winter coat over her shoulders, letting it hang open over her skirt suit as he busied himself peering at a set of negatives through a loupe.

“You going to be at home in a couple hours Mulder? I wanted to swing by. I, ah, I have a little something for you.”

He looked up from his light box with some surprise.

“A gift? For me?”

“Yeah,” Scully answered, letting out a shallow breath, her eyes darting off to the side, her chin tilting up. She fingered a coat button at her waist.

“A couple hours? Better give me three,” Mulder hedged, thinking of the places that might possibly be open past five p.m. on a Thursday night two days before Christmas, and where he could buy a suitable festive offering for Scully.

Some time later, he’d just finished hastily wrapping the best thing he’d been able to find at such short notice when he heard a soft knock at his apartment door. He tugged it open, still holding the scissors in one hand. Scully stood in the hallway with her arms behind her back and a slightly self-conscious look on her face.

“Come on in,” he motioned to her. “This is all very mysterious.”

Scully quirked a playful eyebrow at him as she stepped inside, crab-walking into the living room with her back turned away from him to keep the contents of her hands concealed.

“I didn’t wrap it,” she said, apologetically. She stood still, hesitating.

“That’s okay, Scully, I’ll let you make it up to me somehow.”

She stared at him for a few seconds then shook her head a little, seeming to remember why she had come. She pulled her right hand out from behind her hip and presented him with an empty glass bowl. He nodded in thanks, but couldn’t conceal the confusion that played across his brow.

“And, ah, this,” she added, producing a clear plastic bag filled with water, clutched in her left fist. In the center of the turgid offering floated a bright orange goldfish; its tail twitching from side to side, its mouth lazily bobbing open and shut. He took it and lifted it up to better catch the light.

“Carnival in town?” he joked, grinning. “How many targets did you have to shoot down to win this for me, Scully? Isn’t it cheating if you have a firearms certificate?”

She smiled back.

“It’s so you can practice keeping something alive. Pass your test before you consider any…. further responsibilities.”

Was she blushing, he wondered? He couldn’t properly tell because she hid her face from his peering gaze almost immediately, looking down as she reached into her overcoat pockets. She lifted out some fish flakes, a bag of brightly colored pebbles, and a slim paperback entitled Practical Fishkeeping: A Beginner’s Guide .

She rested the last of his gifts down on the coffee table and looked up at him with an awkward, tight little smirk. He stood there balancing the fish and the bowl, just holding her gaze and smiling. She blinked and looked down at the empty glass orb, suddenly reaching out to take it back.

“Let me fill this up for you,” she offered, swiftly walking off through the dining room and into the kitchen. He followed.

At the sink, she placed the bowl down and turned on the cold water. She motioned for him to come closer.

“The guy at the pet store said you’re supposed to half fill it with new water, and the other half with the water from the bag. But you should let this get to room temperature first, then float the baggie in it for a while before making the transfer.”

Scully shut off the faucet and lifted the bowl from the sink, the water gently swishing from side to side. She slid it towards the back of the kitchen counter, next to the knife block, and reached out to take the bag from Mulder’s grip, gently placing it where the bowl had just been sitting. She reached up to tear some paper towels off the roll that was suspended under the cupboards, wiping up a few drops that had escaped, then padded the damp sheets together and turned to toss them into the trash can.

Mulder watched this whole domestic performance with quiet awe. The way Scully moved about his kitchen with ease, confidently knowing where things belonged and happy to take charge of them, pleased him greatly. It made him feel more at home than he’d ever felt while alone in his own space.

He realized he was staring at her. Scully took a deep breath and looked away, her eyes skipping past him into the next room, drawn to the lumpy package sitting on the dining table. It was gift-wrapped in cheap, gaudy paper featuring snowmen dancing pas de deux with eerily satanic elves: the only roll they’d had left at the gas station where he’d stopped in desperation.

“Is that for me?” she queried, gently.

“Oh, yeah,” he confirmed, dashing over to pick it up. He held it out for her to take, and she thanked him as she did, tucking it under her arm.

“You’re not going to open it?” he asked.

“It’s not Christmas yet, Mulder,” she said, teasingly. “I’ll take it to my parents’ house and put it under the tree to open Christmas morning.”

“But I opened mine,” he countered. His mind flashed to the image of Scully unwrapping his gift in front of her parents and siblings before Christmas Day Mass. It was a wall mounted key rack topped by a cat figurine with beady little humanoid eyes banded across its face. He'd panic-bought it at the gas station car wash gift shop. Women liked cats, right? He cringed, second-guessing his hasty decision, but it was too late now.

“It’s a fish, Mulder. I couldn’t wrap a fish.”

“Okay,” he relented, regretfully. Scully’s family were going to think he was such an ass.

“Anyway, I should get going,” she said with a sigh. “My sister just told me my little brother announced he’s not coming home for the holidays. She’s working on him but I gotta call my mom and talk her off a ledge just in case.”

He nodded. Began walking her to the door. As he pulled it open for her he reached out two fingers and a thumb, gently tugging at the sleeve of her coat. She hadn’t even taken it off. She looked back at him.

“Thanks for the gift, Scully. It’ll be nice to have some company at home as well as in the office now.”

Scully smiled shyly, stepping into the hallway.

They both looked up at the sound of the elevator doors opening at the other end of the hallway. Three men stepped out and approached the apartment directly opposite Mulder’s.

Number forty-five. It had been unoccupied for weeks.

They made for an odd trio: Mulder’s balding African American building manager in a folksy blue checked shirt, starting up what sounded like sales patter as he fiddled with the lock; a tall, white, clean shaven formal type with a vaguely unnerved expression, a fussy silk tie and nary a hair out of place, and a cherubic Asian American man whose only facial definition was provided by a thin line of beard along his jawline, dressed down in a chunky woollen sweater and cargo pants. The latter two waited patiently as the key proved sticky and awkward to turn, the super rattling the handle with some frustration. They turned their faces in languid unison to return Mulder and Scully’s curious gazes.

The taller man nodded upwards briefly in greeting, his silvered coif catching the light from the overhead bulbs. First Mulder, then Scully, returned the gesture with polite smiles and nods of their own, and the shorter man grinned, the rounded apples of his cheeks shining as he tilted his head downwards, looking directly at Mulder for a few seconds through notably long eyelashes.

The super got the door open, disappearing inside as he announced that the unit was available immediately, but fussy tie and chunky sweater lingered for a moment in the hallway, their eyes roaming over the length of Scully. Or Mulder. Or perhaps both. After a few seconds, the taller man, the one with the greying hair, softly reached for the elbow of his companion, looping his arm around the crook of it and tugging him through the open door, leading the way.

Just before he vanished from sight, the younger man lifted his hand and fluttered his fingers in their direction, mouthing but not verbalizing a quick, flirtatious “’bye.”

Mulder and Scully looked at one another in amused bewilderment. Scully raised her eyebrows and tilted her chin.

“New neighbors, huh?” Her eyes sparkled momentarily.

Mulder nodded, commenting, “Guess so,” while emitting a breathy chuckle.

They moved on.

She shoved her hands deep into her pockets, her left elbow squeezing her present against her ribs. “Okay, well, you should avoid feeding the fish for the first twenty-four hours while it settles in. And keep the lights dim.”

“Aye-aye, Captain,” he grinned.

Scully looked at him a bit playfully. “So… are you gonna give it a name?”

The thought hadn’t crossed his mind. He felt a bit put on the spot. “Well, I don’t know Scully,” he hedged. “I’ll have to give it some consideration. Naming is a very important part of the pet keeping process.”

Scully’s eyes danced with the matching grin she was only half suppressing. After a beat, she spoke. “You can do it, Mulder, I believe in you.”

He bowed his head in gratitude, his hand gliding down the edge of the door.

Scully allowed herself to give him a satisfied smile, then turned on one heel and swept down the hall. At the elevator, she pushed the button before turning back.

“Merry Christmas, Mulder,” she offered, with a shy smile.

“Merry Christmas, Scully,” he said in a low voice, leaning into the doorframe.

Well past midnight, Mulder reached the final page of the fishkeeping manual and closed the book. He reached over and placed it on the coffee table, turning onto his side ready for sleep. He lifted his head one last time, watching the little orange molly now happily exploring the confines of its bowl on top of the chest of drawers in the apartment entryway.

“Hey, Einstein,” he murmured into the gloom. “What do you say we get you a partner?”

Continue reading here!

[babbushka]

Two’s Company (2/5)

1989 and New York City is a mess. Life was shit for all but you and Pale, who found that among the rubble and rubbish, there existed peace and calm and hard hot fucking. That is, until, an unwanted visitor makes themselves known, throwing this happy dream into a tumultuous nightmare.

Chapter 2 of my sequel to Blue Moon!

Previous Chapter

(Word count: 9.2k Warnings: N*SFW, drug mention/use)

                                                —————————

It smelled like shit, he thought with a frown. It smelled like stale beer and  cigarettes, not that he wasn’t adding to that mix, but still. 

Pale was annoyed, tappin’ his fuckin’ foot as he held onto the handrail on the subway as he waited and waited for it to arrive at his stop. He had no problem getting to Grand Central, but for whatever fuckin’ reason there was traffic or something because the short ride from there to the Lincoln Center was takin’ ages.

The subway was packed, because of course it was, nine-thirty rush hour. He had half a mind to stop off somewhere and just walk the rest of the fuckin’ way, but he didn’t want his face to catch frostbite or nothin’.

He was mindin’ his own business, lookin’ around the place when he saw something familiar, a little scribble on the wall, just next to the window he was leanin’ against. He could barely make it out amidst all the other graffiti on the train, but he recognized your handwriting anywhere.

There it was, a little faded maybe, a little worn away, but there it was: a heart with the two of your initials written in black sharpie.

It was partially covered up by another person’s vandalism, and that irritated Pale, ticked him off. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small metallic silver paint marker.

“’Scuze me a sec,” He shuffled through the crowd to the window, pushed his way past people who were all crammed in like sardines, no one really payin’ him much attention.

As carefully as he could, he traced your little heart, traced the V.S.O.P and the (Y/Initials), put the cap back on it.

An old woman sitting down smiled up at him, and he gave her a nod back, content to just hold onto the fuckin’ handrail and think about all the bullshit he’s gotta deal with later, with the orchestra, with the restaurant, all the while trying his very best not to get jostled around. He was aware of how big a guy he was, didn’t want to go toppling over onto nobody.

“You know,” The old woman said, accent thick and Greek, capturing his attention once more, making him turn his gaze towards her, “They say dating’s impossible in New York City.”

He shrugged, smoked his cigarette.

“They ain’t wrong.” He said, thinking about all the bullshit that had happened when he first stepped foot into the city, all that time ago.

In a loft in Manhattan, with a dancer and her ghosts. That hadn’t worked out, not for maybe a month, but he found he didn’t mind all too much. He was bitter about it, but then again Pale was bitter about a lot of shit.

“What’d you call that then?” The old woman asked, gesturing to the drying paint on the wall, the small declaration he had only just reinforced.

He looked down at his boots, at the shiny leather you had cleaned up with your tongue, thought about the way his heart got all fuckin’ flippy and fluttery whenever he saw you smile real wide for him, beam up at him.

“Love,” He said, as the subway came to a rolling stop, as the doors hissed open and he flicked his cigarette onto the tracks below, “That’s love.”

 It was a feat of architecture, that was for fuckin’ sure, Pale thought whenever he walked up to the Lincoln Center. In another life, if he hadn’t gone the artsy route, he thinks he woulda liked being an architect. Being someone who plans shit, builds shit.

Nah, then again, he thinks, he didn’t like math too much, heard there was a lot of fuckin’ math in architecture. Knowing his luck, he’d be doing some calculations that would have the fuckin thing toppling over. With his luck, he’d be stuck doing construction that lasted for ten years just to siphon bond money away from the city. With his luck, he’d be sued for something, he just knew it. Better leave that to the architects then, he thought.

But still, there was no fuckin’ doubting that the building was gorgeous, even Pale could appreciate that. A strong rectangular building with huge swooping arches carved into the front of it, something grand and imposing, something worthy of the art of performance.

He liked the way it was all lit up at night, but during the daytime it was okay too.

He walked around the fountain, huge white foaming frothing water that Pale always had half a mind to jump right into, walked through the pigeons who didn’t give a shit, kicked a can along the way as he went up the couple steps.

He’d like to take you here again, he thought, as he opened the heavy door and hit boots clacked against the shined polished floors. He’d like to get you all gussied up, have you on his arm as he walks in with a penguin suit on and his hair combed back, like he’s playin’ some fucking game, playing pretend.

It never felt like pretend when he was with you.

He chain smoked his way through the hall, passing the huge glass windows of the lobby of Alice Tully, where he knew his orchestra was waiting for him.

Sure e-fuckin-nough, when he opened the door to the actual concert hall, there was a great sigh of relief, some kid named Nicky who had been assigned as Pale’s assistant running right up to him.

“Pale! We thought you’d been hit by a taxi or some shit.” The kid said, all huffin’ and puffin’ and holding a clipboard on it like he was some official big shot and not just some college kid on an unpaid internship.

Pale stubbed out the cigarette and cracked the joints in his neck, in his hands.

“Yeah yeah, I know, I’m sorry, it ain’t gonna happen again.” HE gave a half-hearted apology, checking his watch, holding it up to his face to see the time. The fuckin’ thing was smudged, fogged up from how warm it was inside in comparison to the cold of November morning. “How late am I?”

“Fifteen minutes, the orchestra’s been waitin’ for you, they’re all warmed up already.” Nicky said straight away, like he had been counting. Who knows, maybe he had.

“Shit, alright alright well I’m fuckin’ here now, okay?” Pale said, running a hand through his hair as he descended the steps of the theater, made his way up to the stage. “Nobody died or nothing.”

Nicky chuckled at that, before he stopped Pale abruptly.

“A call came in for you, some woman.” Nicky said suddenly, like he had just remembered, and Pale frowned.

“Woman?” He asked, mind immediately racing – was it you? Had something happened? Were you okay? He shouldn’t have left he shouldn’t have let you go to the stores by yourself, not a pretty thing like you, not all alone.  

“Yeah, but she hung up when I asked who was callin’.” Nicky said, making Pale frown for a different reason.

“She didn’t give no name or nothin’?” He asked, and huh, well that wasn’t like you at all.

“Nope, just asked for Jim.” Nicky replied, and yeah no, no fuckin’ way was that you.

You hadn’t called him Jim, since that night you put him back together, all that time ago. No one really called him Jim, unless it was business people. That musta been it, he thought rolling his eyes, some secretary or some shit like that, trying to get a hold of him.

“If she calls again let me know, alright?” Pale asks, climbing the steps of the stage and assuming his position at the piano.

“Sure thing sir.” The kid gave a sharp nod and scurried off into the velvet seats, scribbling away on the clipboard.

 Pale didn’t like conducting. Fucking hated it, actually. Hated the way he could never figure out what the fuck that little baton was doing. He knew somewhere in the back of his head that it was keeping time or something like that, knew that it was for the rhythm or tempo or some shit, but he didn’t give a fuck. He knew technically technically technically he was supposed to follow the composer, but in this case, with his symphony, it was the conductor who was following Pale.

They were working on the sonata today, something extra special Pale had written up just for you.

The whole fucking thing was for you, of course it was, it always was.

But the sonata, now that was something Pale had spent hours and hours, days pouring his heart and fucking soul into. He hadn’t let you hear a single note of it, wanted to surprise you, wanted to make it grand and epic – even though he hated that word.

He played his part in it with passion, with ferocity, fingers dancing across the keyboard, pressing deep and hard, as if it were the expanse of your body and not ivory.

It was intense, it was powerful, it was entirely altogether far too intimate, but none of these other fuckin’ jokers could tell, could know what it meant – how it was the way you gasped and writhed underneath him, how it was the way you moaned sharp and loud, how it was the smack of the fucking headboard against the wall, the scraping of a table on the floors as he fucked you hard hard hard.

It was a full thirty fucking minutes long, the sonata, a full half hour of him sweating his balls off at the piano bench, of his hair clinging to his face, of his hands cramping and his back aching but it was so fucking worth it because when the music stops, when the last notes have hung in the air and have been given their chance, when there is nothing but silence and the orchestra is enchanted, enthralled, when they burst into applause, it’s worth it.

And then the applause is over because really this is just practice, this is just rehearsal, and he needs to practice more because there are notes he missed, he knows there are, keys he hit wrong and tempos he needs to keep steady.

But the conductor, some young guy fresh out of Julliard, gives them all a big grin when he stands.

“Okay, that was good, really good you guys! Let’s take a lunch break and we’ll meet back here, okay?” The conductor says, and everyone breaks out into chatter. He had a funny way of starting and ending him sentences the same way, had a funny way of doing just about everything, Pale thought.

But he didn’t give a shit, it wasn’t like he listened to the kid at all anyway.

He was just wiping his brow with the small handkerchief he kept in his pocket when Nicky ran over from the sidelines.

“Pale! Call for you.” He said, making Pale’s eyebrows shoot up.

“From her?” He demanded, already collecting his shit and storming over to the wing where Nicky had the receiver pressed against his chest.

“Nah, man named Fischel.” He said, and Pale sighed – he couldn’t tell if it was from relief or something else, but he nodded.

“Okay let me have it.” He said, reaching his hand out for the phone. Nicky gave him the whole thing, and Pale walked around with it, tucking the phone in between his cheek and shoulder so he could light up a cigarette. “Fish! How are you?”

“I’m doin’ real good Pale, real good. How about you?” Your boss had become his business partner, and the two had struck up somewhat of a friendly relationship.

Pale didn’t have many of those, none at all that didn’t involve some kinda back door bullshit. It was nice, even if the man was really fuckin’ old and maybe not his first choice of company.

“I’m alright, just in the middle of some concerto shit. What can I help ya with?” Pale asked, wondering if something was going on with the restaurant.

Pale’s schedule was pretty fuckin’ booked, between managing the restaurant in the city and working on the symphony at the concert hall. He’d spend a decent ten hours workin’ in the diner and then hop over to the Lincoln Center to do some practicin’ before he fucked off to go be with you.

Saturdays he went in for the whole day and Sundays he gave himself off. You took Sundays off too now, so the two of yous could always count on spending the day together.

Pale worried for just a fuckin’ second that of course one of the two days he doesn’t show up to the restaurant, some shit goes down, but with the way Fish was chuckling, Pale didn’t think so.

“I was just callin’ to check on you and (Y/N), see how you were doin’.” Fish said, soundin’ a little, just a tiny bit, accusatory.  

“Oh we’re real good, thanks – why did she say somethin’?” Pale asked, sucked in a big deep drag of his cigarette, mind racing racing racing.

“Nah, I’m just happy for you guys, wanted to make sure you were still good.” Fish said, “Good to know you’re good.”

None of that sounded convincing, none of it at all. It made Pale’s heart beat too fast, like he was gonna fuckin’ stroke out or something, like he was gonna have a heart attack.

“Okay Fish what’s really on your mind?” He asked, wanting to cut right to the chase.

“Why do I gotta have somethin’ on my mind?” Fish asked, defensive, which basically gave him the fuck away. Pale stayed silent on the phone for a minute or two, enough time for Fish to sigh and say real low, “Someone’s been callin’ after you.”

Oh jesus, he thought to himself, knowing exactly how that might look.

“A woman?” Pale asked, already feeling the beginning of a headache coming on despite smoking. He wondered if sticking a second one in his mouth would make him feel any better.

“Yeah.” Fish said, suspicious.

“Lemme guess, didn’t leave a name? Hung up as soon as you asked?” Pale grit his teeth when Fish hummed in mild surprise.

“Yeah, you know anything about that?” He asked, trying to play it cool, but that only pissed Pale off some more.

“Listen, if you think I’m cheatin’ on her, on (Y/N), don’t – that ain’t what’s goin’ on. Someone’s been blowin’ up all the fucking phones lookin’ for me but I don’t know who, they just keep callin’ and hangin’ up. I don’t know why, but it ain’t some side-chick or nothin’.” Pale said, maybe said a little too loud, maybe said it a little too angry.

“You sure?” Fish asked, ever the skeptic, and Pale wanted to throw something.

“Yeah I’m fuckin’ sure and as a matter of fuckin’ fact, I’m getting real fuckin’ irritated by this broad.” He snapped, and something in his voice must have signaled that he was telling the truth because he could hear Fish sigh on the other end of the line and suck his teeth in thought.

“Alright. I trust you. But you better find this girl and get her under control before (Y/N) thinks somethin’ fucked up is goin’ on, you know what I’m sayin’? I don’t want her breakin’ her heart over an assumption.” Fish said, and Pale calmed down, tried to calm down anyway, because he only cared about you.

“Listen the next time she calls, if she calls, pretend to be me for just long enough to get her name, okay? (Y/N) ain’t workin’ today, she’s out shopping – ” He said, making Fish exclaim in shock.

“She’s shopping?” He asked, and Pale had to laugh at that; you were notoriously stubborn when it came to Pale treating you to nice shit.

“Yeah, finally got her to take some cash and go out for once.” Pale said, scrubbing a hand down his face, smoking the last of the cigarette, wondering if he could steal enough time for a second one.

“Good for her.” Fish said, and Pale nodded, even though there was no way he could see it.

“Anyway she ain’t gonna be at work so the phone shouldn’t be a problem, I doubt this chick has my home phone number, whoever the fuck she is. But if she calls you again just pretend to be me and let me know who this stalker is, would ya?” Pale asked, and Fish hummed to himself for a while.

“I ain’t got your tone of voice but I can give it my best shot – oh I know I’ll have one of the line cooks say somethin’, he’s got a deper voice than me.” The old man said, and Pale made a mental check to buy him and his wife some flowers or something, just for being good people.

“Alright, thanks Fish. Sorry about all this, I promise ya I ain’t fuckin’ around, (Y/N)’s my one and only.” Pale said, finding that there had never been more truth in a statement than the one he just gave.

Fish had a smile in his voice when he said,

“She god damn well better be, or else they’ll be fishin’ you outta the fuckin’ river.”

“Don’t blame ya. Listen I gotta go, but give me a call if you hear anything else, okay?” Pale laughed, relieved to hear the old man chuckling on the other line.

“No problem, talk to you later.” Fish said, before hanging up.

 The next three hours whizzed by thanks to the help of the music and some blow.

He found he always worked best, always performed best when he was high off his ass, when he could practically see the fucking notes as they flew from his fingertips, sweating hands slipping and sliding off the keys. They plowed through the symphony, the violins and the brass and the woodwinds all melting together with the piano all cohesive, and Pale felt crazy, felt like he was soaring, like he could never do anything wrong.

At the end of the day, when everyone was out of breath and their hands all hurt and the sun had dipped down below the city skyline, and Pale’s high was beginning to crash and burn into something making him grouchy, making him exhausted, he closed the piano with a bit of a bang.

“Alright, I’m callin’ it for today. Anyone got any concerns or anything?” He asked, and no one spoke up which for once was a fuckin’ miracle. Usually somebody, anybody, everybody had something they wanted to fuckin’ say.

Maybe they thought Pale was in a bad enough mood to not want to tempt him, and he was glad for their foresight.

“See you guys in a week then, keep practicing, we’re gonna be great.” He assured everyone, because they needed assurance – it was a young orchestra, or at least filled with a lot of young new musicians. They needed reward to all the hard work, and Pale didn’t mind giving it to them if it meant they played better.

Pale gave a nod to everyone, and they all erupted into casual chatter amongst themselves, the different sections of the orchestra splitting off into their own groups for dinner and drink plans. Pale was starvin’, but he would wait until he ate with you to get his fill.

He wondered what you did today, had half a mind to call the house and ask you, but between everything he was gettin’ real fuckin’ sick of phone calls. He knew you’d be home for him when he walked through the door, knew you’d be waitin’ and wantin’ for him, knew you’d be eager to tell you everything.

He didn’t like the thought of you going out shopping all by yourself, paranoid that somethin’ might happen to you, but you were a big girl, a tough girl, you could handle yourself.

Still, as he walked to the bathroom he kept thinkin’ of ya, kept wondering.

The concert hall was somethin’ of a magical place, and on the walk to the men’s room, he thought about what you might think of it. What you might think of the sound of harmonic violins and low thrum of timpanies. He wondered if you’d like to listen to the swell of the orchestra as they all tuned up – that was his favorite part anyway, the tuning.

One section at a time, all matching intonation, all blending their sound. You liked the classical music he kept in his apartment well enough, you had loved the symphony he brought you to, all that time ago. Maybe the next time he had to come into the theater, if you were free maybe you’d come with him.

You were his good luck charm after all.

The bathroom was empty, thankfully, and Pale smoked his cigarette as he pissed into the urinal, as he scrubbed his hands with bar soap. He didn’t trust the liquid shit, didn’t trust hand sanitizer. Nah, he only liked good ol’ fuckin’ fashioned lye and oil bar soap. He watched as his ash flicked into the sink, watched as it was washed away with the suds and bubbles.

He looked at his hands – did they always look like this? He studied them for a minute, the manicured fingernails, the scarred knuckles from too many back alley fights. The ones from where he fuckin’ deck Marty’s face so hard he nearly broke the kid in two made him smile, just a little bit, because he was proud of those, but he was proud of little else.

He sighed and rinsed his hands off, studied his face in the mirror. Fuck, he looked like his father, he thought. When the hell did that happen.

He had a fleeting thought that maybe one day, his son would have the same thought, and he grimaced – that was, until he noticed a slight silver strand near his temple and he damn near inhaled the whole fuckin’ cigarette in a moment of shock.

He shoved his face up right to the mirror, goin’ damn near cross-eyed to see the fuckin’ grey hair, single grey hair wisping down with the rest of his locks.

Without thinking, he ripped it out of his head, heart racing.

He didn’t have time for this, he thought, didn’t have time to be spiraling now. He stubbed out the cigarette and lit up a fresh one, chain smoked his way out of the bathroom and down the hall to the main doors where he could get the fuck out of the concert hall and head back home to you.

He only got so fuckin’ far though, when Nicky stopped him in the hallway with a wave, hand clasped over the receiver of a telephone with a long ass cord, cord pulled tight.

“Pale!” Nicky whisper-yelled, pointing to the phone with urgency, “It’s her.”

Pale’s jaw clenched, and he stormed over to Nicky and grabbed the phone, harshly shoving it up under his ear as he smoked.

“Yeah hello?” He asked, angry, because why the fuck wouldn’t this chick leave him alone, “Hello? Who the fuck is this?” He demanded, and maybe that was the wrong way to go about this, maybe he should be polite to get some fuckin’ answers, but his mind was torn between like five fuckin’ different directions and he was just pissed.

There was silence on the other line, but if Pale listened real carefully, he could almost make out breathing. He didn’t recognize it, and it sure as shit wasn’t you – wasn’t anyone that he knew, otherwise they woulda just come out and say something already – and his already low patience was growing ever thinner.

“Why don’t you just say what the fuck you want from me, huh? What do you want?” He snapped, voice starting to raise, starting to yell.

He didn’t want to lose his temper but he was definitely fucking starting to yell.

“Alright you know I’ve had about enough of your little fuckin’ games. Stop fuckin’ callin’ me, whoever you are, you hear me? I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t know who you are, I don’t fuckin’ care. You call this number again and you’re gonna wish you never fuckin’ picked up the phone in the first fuckin’ place, you got that?” he spit, acid in his voice, face going red.

People stopped in the hallway to look at him, to stare, and they kept walking, not wanting to bother him, not wanting to get in his way.

“I – ” The voice finally said, but Pale didn’t give a shit anymore, he missed you, wanted you, not to be on the phone with some girl.

So he slammed the phone down and hung up, hoping that whoever it was on the other line could feel the ring in their ear from the force of it.

 His ride back to the apartment had him all fucking aggravated. If he had been annoyed with the subway that morning, he was downright pissed off. The phone call didn’t sit right with him – he hated people trying to get a hold of him. Hated people leaving messages but hated when they just didn’t say what they wanted even more. He didn’t like feeling like he was being hunted down or something, didn’t like that it was makin’ him look suspicious, like he was sneaking around behind your back.

He wasn’t, lord knows he wasn’t. And of all the fuckin’ things too, all the fucking timing in the world, it had to be today.

Christ, he thought to himself, another year older, another year wiser – wasn’t that the fuckin’ phrase? He didn’t feel too wise, but he sure as shit felt old. Especially with the grey fuckin’ hair he ripped outta his head.

“Bullshit.” He muttered, as the elevator doors slide open, “It’s nothin’ but bullshit. I work too god damned hard all the god damned time to be dealin’ with this.” He knew he was talkin’ to himself, but he didn’t care, he’d be with you soon.

He punched the buttons with maybe too much force, reached into the pocket of his leather jacket maybe too quickly, too eagerly, and pulled out the small vial of coke he kept stashed on him. Not enough to do much but give him a real good buzz, and fuck knows he needed one, needed somethin’.

He tipped it onto the back of his hand, snorted it right up, real easy, licked up whatever might be left and stuffs the tiny thing back into his pocket, waiting and watching as the numbers go up up up, and he starts to feel better.

He doesn’t like comin’ home to you in a bad mood, see? Doesn’t like walkin’ through the front door with a frown on his face, not to you. You didn’t deserve none of that, none of the bullshit.

But he does walk through the front door, and he does frown, because he’s confused – thinks he’s hallucinatin’, because since when the fuck are there flower petals all over the floor?

“(Y/N)?” He called out, starting to feel like he’s on top of the world, starting to feel like king of it all. He wanted to bury his face in your tits and make you come on his tongue, wants to come all over you, make you sloppy.

Fuck there was little that he loved more than making you sloppy.

“In here.” You called back from deep in the apartment and fuck, you sounded so good, your voice music to his ears, music and melodic and all the good fuckin’ things Pale’s brain can’t come up with right now because all he can think of is you.

His feet carried him to the bedroom, follows the rose petals to where it’s nice and dark, real dark, the window open a bit to let the cold air of autumn blow in, and there you are on the bed, candles lit all around you like he summoned you straight from his own personal hell.

If this is hell, he thinks, let him be damned.

“Fuck sweetheart you’re gonna kill me,” He groaned, his pants suddenly so tight, too tight, as you sit up on your knees on the bed, wrapped up in the prettiest fuckin’ lingerie Pale had ever seen. “You look too good, you leave the fuckin’ house like this? You leave the house lookin’ like this, like a perfect fuckin’ whore? Where’d you get this huh? Gotta go give them a thank you note, gotta get my hands on you holy shit look at your tits.” He rambles on and on, already shucking his jacket, already tossing it to the floor.

Your body is hidden behind black lace, but it’s not really hidden, not at all.

He feels a thousand miles high, and he grabbed at you, but you just grinned and stopped his hands from groping at you the way he wants.

“No – ” He frowned again, still confused, mind racing racing racing because is that your perfect nipple he can see through the sheer black fabric that could only barely be considered a bra?

“Happy birthday.” You curled yourself around him, looked up at him with those doe eyes of yours, and he tugged his hands free so he can grab your jaw, give your face a little shake.

Anxiety swooped in his stomach for a second, the briefest of seconds, because he wasn’t ready to be confronted with that, not yet, not fuckin’ yet. He swallowed around a lump in his throat and licked into your mouth, kissed you hot and wet as your hands dropped to his jeans, worked on the belt buckle and button, worked on easin’ his zipper down down down.

“How’d you find out it was my birthday?” He grumbled against your lips, and he’s sweating now, sweating as he pushed you backwards onto the mattress, rose petals fluttering away from the movement.

“I went lookin’.” You said nonchalantly, and that almost scared the shit out of him because where the hell could you have found that?

“Oh yeah?” He said back, climbing on top of you, already snapping the elastic of your bra, of your panties, of your garters that hold up your fishnet stockings.

You arched for him, stretched out like a great big cat, and his mouth salivates. He forgets all about the grey fuckin’ hair and the bullshit at work and the phone call he got that’s rattled his fucking brain, and he dives into you.

“Yeah.” You hummed when he sets his sights on your neck, when he licks his tongue across the golden chain you’ve kept on for damn near a year, his cock hard in his briefs, even harder when you reach down to grasp it. “So, happy birthday.”

He crinkled his nose at the sentiment, even though it’s comin’ from you, even though you make everything better.

“I’m an old man.” He huffed, bit down hard on your shoulder, hands splaying over the lace of your bra. He wanted to rip it up, rip it off, and he wondered if you’d let him. Wondered if you’d be pissed at him or if you’d think it’s sexy.

He ripped it off and you laughed, you kissed him.

“You’re my man.” You shook your head, kissed and kissed and kissed him until he’s moaning against your lips, hips rutting up against your thigh as he shoved you further up the bed.

He’s going to have fun with you tonight, he already knows.

“Say it again.” He demands, and you do, you tipped your head back for him and he buried his face in your cleavage like he’d been wanting to do all day, kissed the flesh of your freed breasts, nipples hardening from the cold air, from his touch.

“You’re my man.” You gasped, hand going up to his hair as he bites and sucks marks that he knows is going to turn bright red. He sucked some more.

“And you’re my present?” He asked, real cheeky like, because of course you’d be so sweet, of course you’d give him something like this, this chance to really peel you apart layer by layer – too bad he was impatient and an asshole, too bad he ripped up those layers instead of savorin’ them.

You didn’t mind, you never minded, you think it’s – what was the word? Endearing. You loved him.

“Why don’t you open me up and find out?” You asked with a wink, and Pale sucked his teeth with a smirk, eager to do just that.

 It never got old, he found, the unraveling of your legs, the parting of your pussy, the opening of your body to him. Each and every fucking time it was always like magic, like a drug, even better than the fucking coke – if anything could be. If it could be, it was this, he thinks to himself as he pried your legs apart.

And you’re go fucking good for him the way you wriggled up and up the bed, face already blushing and hot, he can feel hot fucking hot you are from there, as his hands wandered up and over you, down and around, pulled and pushed you how he wanted.

The coke buzzed in his veins and he growled as he yanked your panties down, tossed it across the room, snapping the garters on the way. He liked the fishnets, liked how they warped and stretched over the flesh of your thighs, your calves. He dug his hands into them, wondered if they would leave an imprint.

“I’m gonna eat this cunt of yours, because I deserve it, ain’t that right?” He asked, not that it was really ever a question of if he deserved it or not. If he thought about it too hard, he might come to the conclusion that no, he doesn’t really, but you don’t deny him either way.

“Yeah, you do, it’s yours.” You gasped as he settled himself between your legs, ignoring his cock for just a minute or two as he licked a hot stripe up your cunt.

You moaned and let a hand fly down to his hair, let yourself grip tight at the base of his scalp, and he practically purred into your pussy, thrust his tongue in as deep as it could go, ate you out like it was his last meal on earth. He could die happy, die just like this, suffocate in your cunt.

He decided he was going to take his time with you to make up for the quickie he had to give you earlier that morning. Decided he was going to drag it all out as long as he possibly could, make you come as many times as he could.

And oh, he could.

“You better come down my fucking throat, don’t you fucking hold out on me, okay?” He pulled away, smacked the outside of your thigh so hard that the sound of it startled you.

“Okay okay okay, I’ll come, make me come.” You laughed, a laugh that dissolved into a great big moan as he lowered his head back down.

You tasted like heaven, like pure sweet sex, like everything he had ever hoped and dreamed and longed for, all right there, right between your legs. Your pussy throbbed for him, your hips undulating in short little movements that had Pale’s chest growing warm.

He stroked your walls with his tongue, held your hip and your thigh steady so you wouldn’t go jerkin’ around or nothing, so you couldn’t go wriggling away like you were wont to do sometimes when things got too overwhelming. He wanted you overwhelmed, wanted you babbling.

He grazed his teeth over your clit and you had to throw one of your legs over his shoulder, the heel of your foot digging into his back, digging into the suit jacket he still hadn’t taken off, that he could feel he was sweating through. He didn’t give a shit, just kept licking at you, spelled his name, whispered secrets there, you moaning and panting all the while.

He liked you like that, liked that he could see your skin going shiny with sweat, liked that he could hear the whine in your throat as you fisted his hair.

He felt you coming before he tasted it, felt the way you tensed up for a split second, the way your knees locked around him, the way your toes curled. He couldn’t help but smirk right into your cunt, drinking all your come as it pulsed into his mouth.

“Good girl.” He pulled away, glanced up at you through the valley of your tits, nipples rock hard against the air.

But you, sweet thing that you were, you weren’t finished, there’s no way you could be, not ever satisfied until you got his cock in you, and you were already licking your lips, already reaching for him, trying to pull him up by his cheeks, by his ears.

“Pale, please – ” You said, but he lunged up to kiss you, cutting you off, bruising your lips with his own in a searing kiss that left you breathless.

He stroked your face with his sticky fingers, smeared your come and sweat around, licked and licked the corner of your mouth as his hand pinched at one of your nipples so hard that he could feel more of your come sliding out of your cunt, onto his thigh.

“Be patient, greedy whore.” He said, dropping his hand down to your pussy, making you gasp and moan as he fucked you with your own slick, two big fingers slowly slowly pumping in and out of you, making your hips lift up to try and get more friction, “It’s my fuckin’ birthday, ain’t it?”

“Uh huh.” You nodded, and Pale smirked.

“Then we’re gonna do what I want.” He said, plain and simple, and you pouted, didn’t like not getting your way. Greedy.

“What do you want?” You asked, voice hoarse, and he hummed, hummed and hummed and pretended to think while he fingered you, while your hand grasped at his wrist to prevent him from pulling away, while he sank down the bed just enough to ease your other nipple between his teeth.

“I want you to cry for me.” He said, adding a third finger to your pussy. His ring, middle, and index finger were doing their best to bring tears to your eyes, and they succeeded, especially when he included his thumb into the mix, using that to barely barely barely rub your clit.

He sucked on your nipple as he fingered you, and he had a hard time keeping the grin off his face when your hips thrust into his hand, when you really started fucking yourself on his fingers, when he lets you use him for your pleasure.

“Yes! Oh, oh Pale.” You cried, fat tears sliding down your cheeks and soaking into your hair, into the pillowcase below.

“Yeah that’s right, say my name, say my fucking name – shout it out. I want the whole fucking city to know who owns this pussy.” He snarled, suddenly taking control again, sliding his pinky into you too.

Fuck, he could fist you, could stick his whole hand in you if he wanted, could reach all the way inside you and fucking punch your cunt from the inside out.

The thought was addicting, absolutely fucking addicting, even moreso than the coke, than the music, than anything else.

“Pale! You do, I’m yours, I’m your whore – spit on me do whatever I’m yours.” You sobbed as he did what you asked, leaned back enough to spit right on your cunt, used it as lube even though you were drenched, you were sopping wet, his hand glistening and shining as he dragged it in and out of you.

He was so hard in his pants, leaking, he could feel himself leaking, and he wanted nothing more than to fuck you so badly but he wanted you to come again first, wanted you to fucking go at it again, wanted it to blow your fucking mind.

He sped up and up and up, until you were convulsing under him, until you were sobbing loud, orgasm hitting you so hard that you were bleeding from how hard you bit your lips.

He pulled his hand away abruptly, watching your cunt gape and wink at him, watching your pussy flutter, watching your stomach tense and your chest heave as you sobbed and sobbed, as your knees fell open and you were nothing more than a limp, twitching mess.

He shucked all his clothes off, did another little bump of coke, just the tiniest bit, emptied the rest of his little vial down his nose and under his lips, sliding into you real easy.

You took him no problem, pussy already contracting around his cock as he pounded you. He didn’t want to take his time with this, he wanted to blow his load as deep in you as he could go. He imagined it shooting up into your stomach, up your throat, into your mouth, imagined you swallowing it back down again.

He knew that wasn’t, it wasn’t how that worked, but fuck the thought turned him on so much he groaned and growled in your ear.

You were still crying, hiccupping, as he fucked into you, rammed his cock so hard and fast that it was all he could do but hold onto your hips, keep you pinned beneath him. He had to re-arrange you so that you were lying on your stomach, propped up on pillows because you had gone so limp as he shoved his cock into your wet cunt from behind, making you drool and drool.

He wasn’t going to last, not like this, not with the blood rushing to his cock, making him dizzy dizzy dizzy. He wanted one more from you, knew it was too much to ask, he knew that – but he wanted it anyway, wanted to make you scream, wanted everyone to know it was him, only him, always him.

“Again, do it again.” He demanded, bit down hard at the spot where your neck and shoulder met, but you only moaned loud and high.

“I – I can’t.” You whined, eyes shut tight tight tight, mouth dropped open, gasping for breath. God you looked a fucking wreck, it was gorgeous, everything about you was gorgeous.

“Yes you can, be good for me, you can be good, can’t you?” He murmured, soft and sweet as his balls slapped hard against your ass, as your shoulders pinched back, regaining some ability to move once more, using that ability to meet his hips for every thrust.

“Pale it’s so much.” You said despite all that, despite going back for more and more.

He pulled your hair away from your face, licked up your tears there as he fucked you, as he could feel his own orgasm start to creep up on him, as he could feel himself grow more and more desperate.

He wanted one more out of you, just one more, before he came in you.

“I know sweetheart I know, you can keep going, I know you can.” He soothed you with his words as his big hands gripped too tight, left real bruises there that would make you sore, bruises he’d press his fingertips into later, to remind you of the sweet sting, “You’re such a pretty slut.”

“Pale – I – oh fuck!” You shouted, coming one last time, making Pale finally fucking come, finally push his hips into you with enough force that it knocked you down off your elbows.

It felt like the crashing waves of the ocean, like the slam of cymabls, like the roar of a thunderstorm, coming into you, coming and coming, pining you down and filling you with it, hot and thick.

He felt victorious in a sick sort of way, god he had you, he was the only lucky bastard to ever have you.

“You ain’t never had a cock like mine huh baby?” He asked, as his hips came to a slow roll, as he fucked his come in and out of you, felt it squelch around his cock, felt it drip all over the sheets. “Say it.”

“No, never, only you.” He was proud at reducing you to this, to barely being able to speak a few words. He did that to you, made you come that hard.

“Fucking ruined you for any other dick huh? Never gonna have anything like this again huh?” He asked, and you gulped down big breaths of air as you tried to breathe, tried to get yourself together, even as he milked your orgasms for what it was worth.

“No no no, never, you’re the only one – oh Christ.” You moaned when he dropped a hand back to your clit, made you sob for him just a little more, trapped you.

You pushed your hips away from his hand only to fuck yourself deeper onto his cock, and you were shaking shaking shaking all over, all over, hands flexing and gripping the sheets, searching for a reprieve where there was only more acute pleasure.

When he pulled out, it was careful, so so careful, not wanting to hurt you. A huge pang of regret hit his chest in the fear that he had done real damange, that he had hurt you, and he spent time carefully checking over you, asking you if you were alright, bringing you water and wiping you down with a soft towel, one that wouldn’t irritate your skin.

You looked asleep, looked almost like you had blacked out, but when he shuffled under the covers with you and looped his arms around you, you smiled, little tremors running through your body.

He wondered when it started, when the sex became second best, second only to the moments like these, the moments where he gets to just lay with you. You’re covered in tears and there’s spit all over the place, spit and sweat, a lazy hand swirling it where it’s pooled in the dip of your navel. Your whole body is flushed and blotchy and your breathing is still uneven, and Pale can’t help but think you’re perfect.

The sex was incredible, but this, this was always something else, something he had never had before.

After a long time, a long long time, when he was sure you really had fallen asleep, you bit your lips and tapped his chest, getting his attention – as if it weren’t always on you anyway.

“I wanted your opinion on somethin’.” You whispered in the quiet, voice hoarse from all the shouting, all the yelling.

“How’s that honey?” He asked, voice soft and gentle, always gentle with you after being too rough, his hand caressing your back.

“My apartment. Lease is almost up you know.” You said, and he nods.

“Yeah, I know.” He said back, yawning great and big, as you trace his gold chain with the very tip of your finger.

“I was thinking maybe I wasn’t gonna renew it.” You said, making him crack an eye open to look at you.

“Are you bein’ serious right now or did the fucking get to your head?” He asked, and you grinned, and he pinched your cheek, your nose, only making you grin even more.

“I’m bein’ serious. I was thinking maybe…I could not renew the lease, and instead move in. Here, with you. You know I just figure since I’ve been spending a lot of time here, and I’ve already got so much stuff moved over from my place. And it could be nice to have this, have you to come home to when you come home. You wouldn’t have to deal with my walk-up or my neighbors or Marty or nothin’, we could just be here together.” You said, like you had been rehearsing, like you had been practicing. And he was entirely on board until you said, “I could help with rent, we could split it halfsies.”

“No.” He shook his head abruptly, making your gaze fall, your hand withdraw from where he had been running over and over the gold.

“…Oh. Okay – ” You said, and he wanted to kick himself because fuck he didn’t realize how that sounded.

“Huh, no! No not no, I meant, no you ain’t gonna split the rent with me at all. You ain’t gonna pay for rent, not with me.” He said, cupping your cheeks in his hand, makin’ you look up at him.

“Pale but this place has to be expensive – ” You frowned, but he shook his head, kissed you real gentle on the mouth, kissed reassurance into your lips.

“Yeah, and? I got it, I don’t want you spendin’ any money, okay? Not on shit like this. You’re gonna live here and you’re not gonna worry about anythin’, okay? I mean it.” He said, adamant, and your eyes lit up.

“You really want me to stay?” You whispered, and Pale wondered if he’d not been doin’ a good job at making you feel wanted, if you had to ask a question like that.

“I’ve wanted you to stay for damn near a year, (Y/N).” He said, making you grin, “I’ve wanted you to stay ever since I first saw you through that window of yours. I want you to be here in the mornings with me so I can fuck you awake, so I can come in your mouth for breakfast and I want you to make coffee for me while I bitch about the construction and I want you to paint your toenails on the fire escape so the smell of the acetone don’t stink up the living room. I want you to go out shopping and come home in lingerie that I get to rip off. I want to dance with you in the fuckin’ dining room and the living room and the bedroom and I want you to cry on my cock all the time.”

“I’m gonna have to sell all my furniture.” You laughed, crying for something different, for a whole different reason, and Pale just wiped the happy tear away, licked it off his thumb.

“No you’re not, move it over, your shit’s only across the fuckin’ street.” He said, before pinching at your cheek and teasing, “It ain’t like you got anything anyway.”

“Shut the fuck up,” You giggled, blissed out and euphoric, “Where am I gonna put my tub?”

“It can go in the second bathroom, if you want. We don’t got a tub here, only the shower.” He said, he didn’t care, he was over the fucking moon.

You could put the tub anywhere you damn well pleased, could put it right in the fucking bedroom if you wanted, he didn’t care. He suddenly just so overcome with affection, adoration, love for you, for wanting him, wanting to be and stay with him.

“I’m glad you moved here.” You said, sincerity in your eyes and deep deep in your chest, “I don’t think I ever said that before. But I am.”

“I’m glad too. If for only because of you. The traffic’s a bitch and the people suck and the air ain’t clean and people are dyin’ all the time, dyin’ in the streets and in the parks and in their apartments, but at least I got you. No where else has you.” He said, took a second just to look at you, just to admire how beautiful you were, “They say that somewhere between living and dreaming, there’s New York. I don’t know, I think between living and dreaming, there’s you.”

You blushed, always so soft for him, for his words when he gives them to you like this, when he can finally figure out how to express himself to you.

He had a bit of a hard time sometimes, expressing himself to you, but he’d gotten better, this past year – had tried, anyway.

“Is that a grey hair?” You asked randomly, letting your fingers comb through his locks, and he groaned.

“For fucks sake, another one?” He asked, already searching for a mirror in the side-table drawer, making you laugh and tug him back down to cuddle up with you under the covers.

“What? No! Don’t rip it out.” You insisted, smacking his hand away, grabbing it and bringing it to your lips where you could kiss the knuckles there, the back of his hands.

“Why not?” He frowned, thinking of how he yanked one out earlier.

“I like it. Makes you look distinguished.” You grinned up at him, and his heart thudded in his chest.

“You sayin’ I looked unimpressive before?” He teased, and you just laughed, and he laughed, and for a little while, everything felt like it was going to be perfect forever.

Until there was a pounding on the front door, that had you both startled.

“What was that?” You asked, as you sat up straight away, reacting to the noise with annoyance rather than fear.

You were out of the bed in an instant, as the pounding resumed, putting on your big soft robe Pale had gotten you and storming out of the room.

Pale scrambled, not knowing who the fuck it was, not knowing it they were a dangerous person or not. He threw on some clothes too, pulled his own robe tight around his hips and chased after you, panic flooding his system as he tried to recall if he had pissed anyone off.

“(Y/N), wait a fuckin’ second let me – ” He rushed, when the pounding on the door didn’t stop.

“Open the fucking door!” A voice called from the other side, and Pale’s blood ran cold, chilled right through his fucking body, because he recognized that voice, knew exactly who it had belonged to.

How the fuck had she found him?

“Okay just shut the fuck! Up!” He shouted, irritation and rage consuming him as he yanked the door open, as the two of you were met with a slap in the face each from the well manicured hand of a woman Pale honestly thought he wouldn’t have to fucking see in person again for a long long time.

“You got some real fucking nerve talking to me like that.” She hissed at him, bullying her way into the apartment, rounding on you with her hand poised to slap you again, “And you!” She shouted, making Pale’s protective instinct kick into overdrive as he stepped between you and her, as he grabbed her arms and shook her like some fucking psychotic rag doll.

“Hey! What the fuck is the matter with you? Hey! Fucking look at me.” Pale shouted in her face while you stood stunned behind him, eyes wide, confused and scared, “You ever touch (Y/N) like that again I swear to god I’ll break your fuckin’ bones, Barbie.” He shook her hard again before dropping his grip on her with such force she stumbled back against the wall.

“Don’t call me that Jimmy, you piece of shit.” She spit on the floor, literally spit on his floor, red in the face and seething.

“Pale who – ” You finally spoke up, arms snaking around his middle from behind, wanting to keep him close to you.

“I’m his wife.” She sneered, and Pale wanted to scream, because of course she would pull a stunt like this, of course.

“(Y/N), this is Barabra.” He said through a clenched jaw, already trying to race through what the fuck it was she could possibly want.

                                                          -------------

Tagging some pals! As always please let me know if you’d like to be added or taken off the tag list <3  @fullofbees​ @spinebarrel​ @dreamboatdriver​ @thecurlycaptain​ @bourbonboredom​ @driverficarchive​ @rosalynbair​ @redhairedfeistynerd​ @adamsnackdriver​ @glitzescape​ @adamsnacc-kler​ @kyloxfem​ @fallin-for-youreyes @kylo-renne​ @attorneyl​ @jedihbic​ @bens-rose​ @callmehopeless​ @formerly-anonhamster​ @thepilotanon​ @hippieface​ @tinyplanet-explorers​ @satansstrawberry

[fromcrossroadstoking]

Luz and the Bug Out

Part 9 of Welcome to the 5061st!

(By the way - the two jokes that Roe tells Luz at the end? He definitely got them from Spina.)

Tags: @gottapenny @itisjustmethistime @indigosandviolets @scarecrowmax 

-------------

November 23rd, 0600

There are 4 important things to remember when you're part of a Mobile Army Surgical Hospital;

1. It's a hospital

2. It's mobile

3. The mobile part makes the hospital part a bit complicated

4. The hospital part makes the mobile part a pain in the ass

Luz wasn't too fond of any of the above parts, but he particularly hated the mobile part. Bug outs were nothing but a waking nightmare as far as Luz was concerned. Tearing everything down, packing it up, trying to keep track of everything, transporting it to a new spot, and setting it all up again - it all sucked. And it all had to be done quickly because, well, see #1 above.

Luz did, however, count it a silent blessing that at least this bug out was happening on a cool November day. Although he was still working up a decent sweat (ok, maybe it was more than decent), at least it wasn't anything like a bug out in the middle of summer.

"George, no offense, but this sucks"

"Yeah, I know Perco, I know."

Frank Perconte had just arrived a the 5061st and it was his first bug out. He was, so far, not having a good time.

"I mean, why the hell we gotta move anyway? The line didn't move that much. Ain`t like we`re gonna be that much further behind it if we stayed put."

"Jesus Christ, Perco. Quit crying and help me with these damn boxes," Luz shoved an overfull box at Perco, "And for the five hundredth time, we`re moving because we`re supposed to be no more than twenty miles behind the line. The line moved up, so now we move up." With that, Luz shoved through the door with another heavy armful.

Perconte huffed and followed Luz out to the truck to load up more boxes.

November 23rd, 0800

Despite the sweat dripping in his eyes, Luz managed to catch sight of Roe walking by with a crate of supplies. Hopping off the ladder he was precariously perched on to try and get some wires down, he did his best to catch up to Roe while seeming casual about it.

"Hey, Gene! Wanna hear a joke?"

Roe slowed his pace a bit and smiled over at Luz, "Sure, whatchya got?"

"Ok, so it`s, uh, like a joke riddle thing and you get two clues. Ready?"

Roe nodded, bemused, "Mhmm."

"How did the turtle cross the freeway?"

"It was closed for construction and he walked?"

"Jesus - no, Gene. You want your first clue or not?"

"Alright, alright. What`s the clue?"

"Well, you got the word free, right? Well, take the 'r' from free and what do you have?"

"Fee."

"You got it! Alright second clue, ready?"

"Uh huh."

"You got the word way, right? Now take the 'f' from way..." Roe`s brow furrowed in confusion, "There`s no 'f' in - " 

Realization hit Roe mid-sentence.

"Goddammit, George," Roe tried to look exasperated but he couldn't stifle the burst of laughter.

November 23rd, 0900

The animals were the last thing that Luz packed up. He liked to make sure that they weren`t crammed behind a bunch of boxes and that they were out of the trucks as soon as possible once they arrived at their destination. In total there was one goat (Radar - official MASH mascot), one turtle (Albert), one hamster (Butterball), and of course, Scruffy the bunny. Scruffy was Luz`s favorite pet. What wasn`t to love about the soft fur and floppy ears and beady little eyes?

Luz cooed at the animals as he loaded them up. Radar went in the back of one of the trucks carrying personnel. Sisk promised to personally take care of Radar on the ride to their new base. Albert, Butterball, and Scruffy went in to homemade cages (Luz`s own handiwork) and placed in the back of a supply truck that was only about half full.

Once the animals were situated, Luz hopped behind the wheel of one of the trucks, ready to go. To his surprise, just as the line of trucks was about to move out, the passenger side door opened. A pale, dark haired man shoved over some of the stuff that crowded the passenger seat and squished himself in to the cab of the truck.

Luz blinked rapidly, "Gene?"

"Mind if I keep ya company?"

Luz smiled from ear to ear, "Not at all."

November 23rd, 1015

Admittedly, Luz was a bit disappointed when they reached their destination and Roe left. Luz knew he was being dumb about it - Roe, after all, had his own stuff to unpack and a hospital to help reassemble. But still, Luz couldn't help but feel his heart sink a bit as he watched Roe walk away.

"You always makin' cow eyes at him or what?"

"Shut up, Perco."

"I`m serious! I need to know if I should carry around a mop to clean up all the damn drool."

Luz shot a shut-the-fuck-up-now-or-else look over at Perconte who, if the giant shit eating grin was any indication, was fully unfazed.

"Perco, I will kick your ass."

November 23rd, 1020

Luz could feel his chest tighten as he searched the back of the truck frantically.

No, no, no.

Radar, Albert, and Butterball had made the journey safely. Scruffy was MIA. Upon inspection of the cage that had housed Scruffy, the latch appeared to have broken during the move.

Luz couldn't find Scruffy anywhere in the truck. Who knows when the latch broke. Scruffy could have jumped out at any time. He could be anywhere at this point.  

Luz could feel his heart breaking. 

November 23rd, 1100

Luz hated unpacking even more than packing. Setting everything up again was a massive pain in the ass. This time, however, he merely went through the motions - no jokes, no complaining, barely any talking at all.

November 23rd, 1800

Luz`s misery followed him to dinner.

"Jesus, George, it was just a bunny. How long you gonna mope about it?"

"Not now, Perco."

"Yes, now. Besides, maybe he`ll manage to hop his furry little ass here. Ya never know."

Liebgott decided to add in his two cents from where he sat next to Perconte, "Just get another one."

"I liked that one."

Liebgott shrugged and Perconte shook his head, both at a loss for what to do now. So they ate in silence

November 23rd, 1300

Luz laid in his cot, trying his best to fall asleep. By all rights after the bug out, he should have been out like a light, but instead he laid there, staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours.

He wasn't sure how to explain to the others what his pets meant to him. Wasn't sure how to explain that he grew up in a house full of kids and pets - a house constantly filled with happiness and noise. Wasn't sure how to explain that his pets reminded him of that. Wasn't sure how to explain the comfort they brought him, especially on the bad days. And he especially wasn't sure how to explain that Scruffy looked almost exactly like the bunny his mom had, and had adored, right before she passed away.

Luz was at a loss for words.

November 24th, 0730

Luz was busy reorganizing the papers that had been mixed up during the bug out (he made a mental note to thank Perconte for that later) when a familiar face appeared in front of his desk.

"George," Roe offered a small smile and nod before holding out a Hershey bar, "I know it ain`t Scruffy and it ain`t much but it`s all I got right now."

A ghost of a smile passed across Luz`s face as he accepted the Hershey bar, "Thanks, Gene."

"Oh an' one more thing, what`s the best thing about Switzerland?"

"Uhhh," Luz racked his brain but wasn`t sure where Roe was going with this, "I don`t know."

"Me neither. But the flag is a big plus."

Luz snorted, "Gene, did you actually tell a joke?" A smile started to form on Luz`s face, "You got anymore?"

"Sure do. What do you call an Army noodle?"

"What?"

"An impasta."

Luz let out a short laugh that settled into an actual smile which, unfortunately, didn't last long as the sound of choppers filled the air.

"Guess, I gotta go," Roe excused himself and began to leave but paused in the doorway, turning to look at Luz, "Poker tonight?"

"Yeah, sure, see you then."

They shared a small smile before Roe turned and left.

After Roe was gone, Luz sat at his desk, turning the chocolate bar over in his hands, debating whether to eat it now or later. He was still sad of course, but somehow he felt a little lighter.

[calpalirwin]

Bones

A/N: I’ve always loved this idea of having a girlfriend before he joined the band and her standing by his side through all the crazy adventures. “Bones” by Maren Morris paired rather nicely with that idea. So here y’all go

And away, and away we go!

~~~

“Wait what?” you asked, your eyes going wide. 

“We’re going to London to write songs! And if it works out we might even go on tour! Release a real album! Babe, we’re taking off! This is the big time!” Ashton told you again, excitedly. 

“Oh…” you said, your face falling.

“Babe, c’mon! You could at least be a little excited…”

“I am. This is great, Ash. You guys are gonna be rockstars,” the words fell from your mouth, flat and dead. This wasn’t a conversation you were ready to have. You had been dating Ashton since right before he joined the band almost a year ago. You knew he and the boys were serious about taking the band as far as it could go. You knew they were getting noticed. You knew it was only a matter of time before this exact conversation was going to happen- the conversation where he leaves and you stay. You weren’t ready to say goodbye.

“Y/N…” Ashton said, almost begging you to be happy for him. He wasn’t ready for this conversation either, but he and the boys had been waiting for this moment for so long and it was finally here. And all he wanted was for you to be just as happy as he was. 

“Ash… I don’t want to ruin this for you. But… what does this mean for us?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I really like being at university, Ash. I like my classes. I like my teachers. I like my life here, Ash.”

“I know. And I’m not asking you to give that up. But, Y/N, I gotta go.”

“No, I know, just… where does that leave us, Ash?”

“Well, I don’t want to break up...”

“I don’t want to either! But London? This is gonna be really hard.”

He wrapped you in a hug. “I know, baby, I know. But, we’ll make this work?”

You nodded into him. You owed it both of yourselves to at least try. A year long relationship wasn’t something you just walked away from. “The house don’t fall when the bones are good,” you told him.

“What?” he giggled.

“It’s a saying my grandparents had,” you explained. “It’s basically saying that when the foundation of a relationship is built correctly, nothing can tear it down. Go chase your dreams. I’m on your side every step of the way.”

“The house don’t fall when the bones are good,” he smiled. The phrase was so simple, yet it made his heart soar. He had been afraid that he would have to choose between chasing his dreams and keeping the girl. He was glad you were willing to do this together, even though you both knew it wasn’t going to be easy.

~~~

Two days later, you hugged your boyfriend goodbye at the airport, tears in your eyes. “I love you,” you mumbled into his chest. 

“I love you, too. I’ll let you know when we land. I’ll text all the time. I call every chance I get,” he spilled out promise after promise. “This is only the beginning, Y/N, you’ll see.”

“Just the beginning,” you smiled up at him. “I’ll miss you.”

“The house don’t fall when the bones are good,” he responded, kissing you one last time before he left for his adventure, leaving you behind to continue your own.

~~~

“Babe! We’re going on tour! With One Direction!” Ashton told you over Facetime a few months later.

“That’s great, Ash!” you congratulated.

“How are your classes going?”

“Ash,” you laughed, “you can’t just drop a bomb that you’re touring with One Direction and then ask me something mundane about university.”

“But you hear about my adventure all the time. I wanna hear about your adventure.”

You smiled. God, this boy was such a sweetheart. “Okay,” you said before catching him up on what you had been learning in all your classes.

After you ended your call, you checked your social media and saw a post Ashton had made. It was screenshot from his phone of his Facetime with you captioned “10,000 miles can’t change how crazy I am about this girl. #thehousedontfallwhenthebonesaregood”

~~~

“Ash!” you screamed, crashing into his body at full speed. It had been a long year, but finally, you were back in his arms. “You’re home!”

“God, I’ve missed you!” he said, wrapping his arms tight around you, wishing for time to stop.

“You stopped straightening your hair,” you smiled up at him, his curls free from the bondage of a straightener, but held back by a bandana. It was different, but it suited him.

“How long?” you asked, needing to know.

“Y/N, can we not do this now? I just want to enjoy my time with you.”

“I know, and I’m not trying to ruin this moment or fight with you. But, I need to know.”

“We’re touring again in 2 weeks. But just here, just in Australia. Bones still good?”

You nodded, “Always, Ash. God, I’m glad you’re home.”

~~~

“So, the band’s moving to LA...” Ashton started.

“Oh?” you asked. You had graduated university early. You had a job, but it was nothing serious. You had been waiting to hear about Ashton’s plans with the band, to see what next steps you would take yourself. LA sounded like as good a place as anywhere else to settle. Only, Ashton wasn’t asking you to come along.

“Yeah. We’re uh… well, we all got keys to our new places already. We don’t move until the first of next month though. So, we still got a few weeks.”

“We” was referring to you and him. So, he wasn’t asking you to move with him. He was just going to up and leave. Again.

“No,” you said, firmly, your anger making tears well up in your eyes. “No. No!”

“Baby, please…” Ashton begged, not wanting to fight with you.

“LA, Ashton?! As in California?! Moving?! NO!!!”

“Y/N, please don’t do this!”

“I’m not doing anything, Ashton! You’re the one who’s leaving! You’re always the one leaving and I’m always the one getting left behind! And now you’re moving?! To LA?!” You sat on the bed in your little apartment and wept. All you wanted for him to ask you to go with him. Why wasn’t that his first reaction?

“Y/N…” Ashton begged again, his own voice a choked sob.

“Every fuckin album!” you screamed suddenly, getting up and going to your bookshelf. You grabbed the CDs and started hurling them at Ashton. “I bought every fuckin album! Every time you leave, I listen to every goddamn song wondering which ones are about me! Every phone call I hear your voice become less Australian! I go to every show and rehearsal when you’re here so I can spend as much time as I can with you! I read every fuckin tabloid, scared shitless you found someone better like the other boys!” You paced the room as you ranted. “God, Ashton! I’m so happy for you and the band. Really, I am. I mean it with all my heart. But it doesn’t mean my heart isn’t also breaking every time we have to say goodbye.” You sat back on your bed feeling so exhausted. Why wasn’t he asking you to go with him?

“Y/N… baby, there will never be anybody else. Every song where Luke sings about the girl he misses and how he wants to be with her, that’s me singing about you. She Looks So Perfect? You, baby. That’s all you.”

“So, where’s my plane ticket and shiny diamond ring?” you half-joked, needing him to ask you so you could say yes; so he couldn’t leave you behind again.

“Wait, you’ll go to LA with me?” he asked, getting hopeful.

“Are you asking me?”

“Y/N… seriously. Would you move to LA with me if I asked.”

“Ask me and find out.”

“Move to LA with me, Y/N? Please, baby?”

“God, it took you long enough!”

“Wait, that’s why you were mad?!”

“Yes! God, Ash. You told me you were moving to LA and didn’t even ask if I wanted to come with you. Of course I got mad!”

“You,” he said, his hazel eyes shining, “are absolutely ridiculous! When I went to London, I was going to ask, but you said your life was here! How am I supposed to know that’s changed?”

“You just are, okay? You just are.”

He wrapped you in a hug. “I want you to know that I’m still mad you expect me to be able to read your mind, But, God, I’m so happy right now! We’re moving to LA!”

~~~

“Jeez, they act like you guys broke up,” you snickered over your morning coffee with Ashton.

“What?” he asked. You looked up at him and smiled. He looked so different now, so grown up. The blonde fringe, the long curls, even the bandana had faded over time. In their place had come his now short brown hair and too many tattoos to count. You were proud of him and his growth, both individually and as a band. And you were so grateful to have been by his side through it all. Even though some days, hell years even, had been hard, you’d go through it all again with him if it meant you had mornings just like this.

You passed your phone over to him so he could see the story you were reading. They had announced last week that they were releasing a new song soon, and the fans were acting like it was a reunion release. He rolled his eyes, passing you back your phone. “God, we were touring so long I felt most at home on a damn bus. So, now that we’re home for longer than a month to actually live a halfway normal life, they act like we’re reuniting? Fuckin hell…” he ranted.

“It’s alright, Ash,” you soothed. “It’s not like you guys haven’t been working. I mean, you guys are almost done with the album, yeah?”

He nodded. “Yeah, I need to talk to you about that, actually.”

“Oh?”

Another nod. “Yeah, after we release our single they want us to do a promotional tour. During which we’ll release the album, and then set up tour dates for that.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah. Promotional tour is March to June. Then the real tour is August to November. So… what are you doing today? Or for the rest of your life, for that matter?” he asked, sliding a small box over the table to you. His smirk was wide as he watched you open the box to reveal the ring inside. He’d been waiting for this moment for a long time now, and with the impending tour dates, now seemed as good as any other time to finally ask the question.

“Is this… Are you…” you stumbled over the words, tears filling your eyes.

He nodded. “Yep. Let’s go get married. Make this Valentine’s Day something really special.”

Your eyes went wide. “You want to get married now?! Like right now? Today?!”

He shrugged. “Why not? Look, gorgeous, you’ve been by my side through it all. Through every success and struggle, you’re the one thing that’s remained the same. I never want to stop building this life with you. So, what do you say? Be my wife? Continue making me the happiest man alive?”

You smiled. He was right. You two had weathered every storm thrown your way and made it out the other side stronger than ever. While things hadn’t always gone the way you both planned them, this life you guys had built was built right. Nothing could ever make you not love the man across from you with everything you had. And that ring looked damn good on your finger. “I say that the house don’t fall when the bones are good. Let’s go make me a Mrs!”

[simpinforyoongi]

Shameless ~

Yoongi x reader

Pairing: Yoongi x reader

Genre: Angst, (a lot of it)

Warnings: none

Summary: After coming back from Yoongi's studio heartbroken, you decide to scribble your thoughts down on paper, like you've done so many times. What you didn't know was how that little poem would led to your worst heartbreak yet.

Note: Heyy guys! So i just wanted to say that this one is heavily inspired by @krreader 's fic Jealousy and you can treat it like a sequel to hers (but mine ends in angst too and I've changed a few things up). Like you wouldn't believe how much i cried when i read hers amd i just couldn't not write it!! AnYWaYS, enjoy!!

• • • • • • •

"Can i go? "

"Go wherever you want hyung, why are you asking me??" Namjoon answered as he put on his winter boots to prevent the cold chilly November winds from freezing his feet.

"No i meant...I want to go..to her.." Yoongi's voice was unnaturally small and feeble, contradicting his usual deep tone.

Namjoon jerked up, standing straight suddenly.

"But hyu-"

"Please Namjoon, I know you care deeply for her, and don't want her to get hurt anymore because of me but I just.."

Namjoon instantly started shaking his head no,

"No no hyung, go, all that happened, i know you didn't mean it to." He gave the older man a small smile "I'll let her know."

"NO! No, she, " Yoongi said with wide eyes, "She won't even open the door if she knows it's me."

"Oh right haha lol ok uh.. I won't call her then" Namjoon says fidgeting awkwardly, almost wanting to say something, but when he saw Yoongi looking at the door with a certain amount of longing, mixed with regret, guilt, fear and everything in between, he decided it was worth a shot.

"Hyung, i know you love her," They held eye contact and Namjoon continued, "and if I'm not wrong, she loves you too. And she's been hurting, for long, just like you and even longer, actually. I know I'm younger than you, but i gotta say this. don't fuck it up."

Namjoon looked down for a moment before looking back up with a sincere smile, "Best of luck! Fighting!" and with that, Yoongi left for your apartment without any bodyguards, without anything at all because that was a risk he had to take.

---

You were still in bed, Namjoon had called earlier saying he's coming, and to be honest you actually wanted him to come. You needed someone to talk to, and he was the best person for that. You were completely undercovers, and came out only when it became too difficult to breathe in the carbon dioxide that gathered inside your little blanket-bubble.

It had been two weeks since the breakup, and you had even visited them in the meantime because you were strong, and knew how to keep your emotions in control when in front of others, despite the fact that you were about to breakdown any moment. You had cooped yourself up in your little apartment for way too long and your loving friends, aka members of Bangtan had dragged you back to their apartment, even though they knew it was dangerous considering the fact that the cause of all your pain was right there. But there wasn't much they could do and places they could go because, well, they're like only the biggest boy group on Earth. So you went there, insisting you were fine.

But you weren't.

Realllyy weren't.

But once the question left his lips, you knew it was over for you. This, this facáde was instantly crushed when he asked the question.

You had been playing "Truth and Dare" because no matter how sucky you were feeling, you just couldn't seem to say no to the three pairs of puppy eyes that you received. And that landed you in a somewhat boring, somewhat funny game of Truth and Dare, and even though he was there, you seemed to have fun until he asked you that question.

"Do you love someone else now?" and it was something you never in a million years had expected.

So you sat there, completely dumbfounded, much like the rest of the group, at the question that had left Yoongi's lips. And you just, couldn't do anything.

But shortly, anger bubbled up inside you.

How dare he accuse you of loving someone else when you were literally on the verge of just ripping your heart out? How dare he accuse you like that when he was the one who broke up with you? How dare he ask you that when he hadn't even given you enough time to speak before he started yelling at you that day?? How dare he??

"How dare you?" And that's all that seemed to leave your mouth before you stood up and stumbled out of the dorm with everyone except him calling after you.

Another tear escaped as you remembered the happenings of the day. But before you could wail in your sorrow any more, a bell rung throughout your apartment.

You stood up and walked to the door with tears still decorating your cheeks,

Finally Joon is here.

You felt like you could breath better for a second but all wind was knocked from your lungs when your eyes landed upon the face that stood in front of you.

Yoongi..

With a black mask and cap, and covered completely in winter clothes, there he stood in all his wintery glory, and you still knew it was him despite only his eyes being visible, that too, partly visible.

You felt your heart constrict and your rib cage felt too small now. A brand new bolt of pain jolted up your sides, almost as if physical, and striked your heart with such force you wouldn't be surprised if you had a heart attack then and there. But you didn't, you stood there, watching him, and he stood there ,watching you.

It wasn't until you shivered from the cold winds hitting your body which was bare of any winter clothing, that you jumped back into reality.

"Do you mind if I..." He trailed off, but you moved aside letting him in. He had expected a much harsher reaction, after all, he did throw some extremelt hurtful and lewd accusations at you that day. But he was grateful you didn't close the door in his face, or throw the little dried up potted plant at him. He took that as a good sign, but with you, everything wasn't as simple.

He took off his coat and hung them on the rack beside the shoe cabinet, before pulling off his boots and keeping them aside. Then he followed you into the living room.

"Coffee??" You questioned while preparing some. He wasn't sure if he wanted one, he opened and closed his mouth for a few seconds, and finally settled on a yes.

A few beats passed in complete silence, before you joined him and handed him a simple black coffee and took a seat on the single sofa opposing him.

Another few moments passed

"You still remember," he said motioning to the coffee in his hands

"It's not that hard to remember two ingredients, Suga. Besides, it's been just two weeks."

His heart shattered when you said that, firstly, on hearing 'Suga' instead of the usual 'Yoongs' or 'Yoongles' that you called him, especially because you knew he pretended to hate, but actually loved it. Hell he would've been more happy to be addressed by his full name, Min Yoongi, rather than Suga. And secondly, because of the small and almost inaudible, crack that he heard in your voice towards the end of the sentence.

You still didn't know why exactly you were so calm and not driving him out of your home. It was as if everything stopped mattering for a moment

"Two weeks. Yea," he finally spoke, eyes not quite meeting yours.

A few moments passed in complete and utter silence.

"I didn't know you wrote lyrics too." Ah yes, the song that Namjoon was producing, you had helped him with the lyrics. Not as much as helped actually, you had just randomly written some words and sentences and somehow he noticed it. He said it fit perfectly with the previous verse he had written and asked if he could use the whole poem in his song. You were completely flabbergasted and thought he was kidding, or perhaps pitying you, but after a lot of convincing, he told you he wasn't. And you told him he could, that's why you were in the professional studio in the first place. Another reason why Yoongi misunderstood you, but it was in no way Namjoon's fault. And Yoongi knew that.

"I didn't. It was supposed to be a poem. He saw it by accident." You yourself were pretty surprised at how calm you were.

"But.. I thought i read all your poems..?" his voice had a questioning tone to it.

"You did.. It was recent.." It indeed was recent. Painfully recent. You had written it just the night before, after coming back from Yoongi's studio without even talking to him properly, because he had, and i quote "a shitton of work to do" . Shit ton of work, with her. That completely broke your heart into a million pieces. You thought it couldn't break any further but you were terribly wrong. That was when you wrote it.

The poem was about, well, you guessed it, heartbreak; loneliness. Something about empty bed sides, lost warmth, tear streaked pillows, you couldn't fully remember. Your mind had been hanging like a 2005 Dell Laptop because of all the crying.

"When?"

"That night after i came back from your studio." You smiled a little, even if your insides were aching, "speaking of that, hows the production going?"

"Oh it's.. going well I suppose." He looked immensely intrigued by his cup of coffee,

You again smiled.

"Yea, you looked...quite happy." You took a sip of your own coffee, before looking out the window. Frosty winds were blowing, it was getting darker by the minute. It looked...serene.

But Yoongi was having none of this serenity,

"Happy? What...do you mean?" His voice had a sudden change of colour. But this question had your heart clenching and unclenching at a rapid, unhealthy rate.

"You and Suran." You finally croaked out, "You looked happy..with her. It was.. a sight for sore eyes, really." Earlier, whenever you even remotely thought about this, your eyes turned to waterfalls, but now, they seemed dry of any excessive moisture.

Yoongi was dumbfounded. He and Suran?

"What do you mean me and Suran? I'm just helping her!" He semi-yelled, but you didn't flinch like you did last time.

"I know that."

"But what did you mean by happy... wait...did you think we...oh my god." He slumped down back to his seat, coffee long forgotten on the coffee table.

"Y/n why didn't you tell me that?? Why didn't you tell me what you were feeling?? Why di-"

"I DID!!" You finally broke and yelled out with tears streaming down your eyes for the umpteenth time that day.

"I did tell you!!! I texted you a thousand times!! But you didn't read any of those. I called you a thousand times but i was always directed to voicemail. And the times that you did actually listen to me you had the same excuse every time. 'Im just helping her.' I know that Yoongi, I freaking.know. But what do you expect me to think when you cancelled evey date the past three months?? When the smile that you usually had when you were with me, could only be seen when you were with her?? When the way that you looked at her, the way that you smiled at her, the way that you admired every little thing she did completely resembled the way only a lover would. What did you expect me to do, when i felt like you were her mentor, her idol, her Min yoongi, not my...not my..." You couldn't finish the sentence before you completely bursted out in tears.

And as you sobbed uncontrollably, Yoongi was left to think about what you had said. And as he recalled everything he realized that none of your words were wrong.

The fact that he had ignored you so freaking much despite you being so patient with him hit him like a truck and he started spiralling into a dark deep hole of guilt and regret when you suddenly-

"Leave."

He was shocked back to his senses.

"Y/n wha-"

"I said. Leave. " You said as you stood up on lightly trembling feet and started walking towards the door.

"Y/n just listen to me give me a chance to expl-"

"Did YOU give me a chance to fuckin' explain??!! Did you even let me SPEAK when i was begging in front of you to calm down?! No. So leave."

Your heart was pounding at such an extreme rate that you feared he'd hear it and realize, that he was still your weakness. And you couldn't let that happen.

"Suga. I'm asking you to leave." With a shaking hand you opened the door and stood aside.

"Y/n please jus-"

"Are you that shameless?!"

That effectively shut him up. Just as you expected. As he finally left with a wounded heart, you slammed the door and slid down to the floor, trembling with quiet sobs.

"Are you that shameless?? That you finally resorted to seducing one of my brothers?? What else did you do huh y/n? Did you try your luck with Jungkook too?? Oh and what about Taehyung?!"

"Hyung it isn't what it looks like. Just listen to-" Namjoon spoke, trying to calm him down but to no avail.

"Namjoon just...just stay out of it. I just can't believe she'd do this to me. I can't freaking believe she'd cheat on me with yo-"

"Yoongi stop it!" You yelled while crying as you stood in front of the man you loved and who apparently loved you too.

"Why y/n? Why should i stop?? Just so you can go behind my back again? Just so you can break my heart again? Just so tha-"

"Can you pleeasee just let me speak Yoongi. I was here because -"

"Enough! Enough of your lies! I really can't believe you out of all people would do this to me. We're done y/n. We're freaking done." And with that, he stomped out of the studio, leaving you a crying, heartbroken mess.

♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪ ♪

[omgreading]

Trigger Warning. Dark thoughts about my mental health.

I’ve been having a bad time, mental health wise, for the past month. Even though I take my medication and can recognize that some of my thoughts are not healthy, I feel lousy all the time.

I don’t know if I am experiencing seasonal depression on top of my regular ol’ depression or what.

I’ve been so exhausted and down on myself and I have days like today where I feel wonderful, even though the night before that I was contemplating the best way to harm myself. It’s extreme, and it worries me. When I have these thoughts, I probably sit with them for a few hours or maybe half a day and then I tell my mom. I want someone to know; I think it makes it easier to process, but also makes me less likely to do anything. I know the thoughts are wrong and I reach out, that hopefully means I am not past the point of getting out of it.

This is all kinds of dramatic for here, but oh well. I know this is supposed to be my booklr, but it's the only place I feel I can process things.

I had hopes of starting a job and was offered two. Both are minimum wage with low hours and one for only a few weeks. The thought of going to these jobs and leaving the house and being in those environments filled me with dread. I was all set to start the temporary one on Monday, so when I went to bed last night, this being Friday night, I was in a panic. I couldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned and I was angry with myself for feeling the way I did. I didn’t want to do this job. It was stressing me out. The thought of getting up and going into work everyday caused me so much anxiety. That’s when I started having negative thoughts. I was so upset with myself for feeling overwhelmed and stressed with the prospect of work that I started thinking to myself what was the point of anything. I feel like I am always stressed, worried, and on edge, especially when it comes to school and work. If I can’t function like a regular person, then what is the point.

At first I thought it would be wonderful if I wasn’t alive. How great it would be to not have to deal with it anymore. I don’t want to hurt my family though, and maybe I will improve. So I started thinking about ways to manage my feelings and began thinking about cutting. Does it help to relieve pain? Does it help at all? What would I need to do it? Would a knife work, if so it probably couldn’t have a serrated edge. What about a razor blade or a safety pin? Does it need to be as sharp as a razor blade or knife if I am not meant to cut deeply? Those thoughts got me to crying and just questioning everything. What is wrong with me right now? Why am I not happy or content or even just neutral? Nothing is so bad. Yeah, I’m unhappy with who I am and where I am at this point in my life, but so what, it’s self-esteem issues and insecurities and bad feelings. What’s so bad about my life that I am so unhappy. I don’t know how to reconcile it. I try to think about what could be wrong to make me feel so negative all the time, but I don’t know what it is. Some days I wake up and feel fine and then others I wake up and wish I didn’t exist.

I hate leaving the house. I used to go out on errands constantly and I went on campus for school. Now, I seem to avoid it as much as possible. I don’t think I really know I’m doing this, but sometimes I will sit and think about how it’s been a month since I’ve left the house and I don’t know why.

Is all of this because I turned 30 this year? I turned 30 in August, but I didn’t start feeling this way until November. Is it because of the holidays and not having the loved ones here that have passed away? Is it the self-loathing getting even stronger? Why don’t I care if I live or die?

Sorry about all of this, but like gotta put it somewhere. Journal is too slow for me to write it as I think it. I felt great from the end of August til late October. I know that was when I was reading a lot. Was that a distraction that could keep me from having these feelings and thoughts? I’m trying to get back to reading, but I still feel like I’m in a slump. Why can’t I be alone with my own thoughts?

Don’t worry. I do not plan on harming myself. I’m kind of in that place where I can never see myself intentionally ending my life, but it feels like if I was drowning or about to run off a bridge or crash into a tree, I don’t know if I would try to stop it. I tell these thoughts to my mom and my therapist when I see her. It probably keeps me from the edge and as grounded as I can be. I’m just sad and empty a lot lately.

[hunnywrites]

Arcade Dreams: Chapter Eight

Summary: There’s a new girl working at the Palace Arcade and Hawkins’ Family Video. Billy can’t stand her, and the feeling is mutual. No matter what everyone else seems to think.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove/OFC

A/N: Sorry I didn’t get this up sooner! We’ve been getting ready for the hurricane!

“Alright, Teddi. You gotta tell me your address so I can take you home.” 

Teddi scoffed. “Why? So you can stalk me some more?” she snapped, crossing her arms firmly and dramatically across her chest.

Billy’s hand slightly clenched around the steering wheel. If Teddi was stubborn on a normal day, she was at least five times more stubborn when she was drunk. “Larsson, I’m not fucking around here…” he warned. 

Teddi sighed loudly and sunk in her seat. She leaned over and rested her head against the window, watching the trees pass by in a blur. “I don’t wanna go home.” 

Billy looked over at her. He grabbed the shoulder of her coat and pulled her upright before looking out the window made her blow chunks all over his car. “And why not?” he asked. He knew, or at least he had an idea, but he was still a little curious about whether his suspicions were correct. 

“If my dad knows I was out this late and sees how shit faced I am he’ll kill me. Like literally kill me. Fucking prick. You know I used to do this all the time back home? Yeah. I went to parties like...all the time. And I used to smoke because I thought it made me look cool, and I was actually popular until I moved to...this.” she waved her hands at the bland scenery that was passing them. 

Billy admittedly had sort of a hard time imagining that. Maybe New York was different. Teddi was more like that girl Samantha in his Biology class, Johnathan Byers and that chick Robin (who he was also pretty sure was a lesbian because he had tried putting the moves on her during lunch once and she had laughed so hard milk came out of her nose); weird and very not cool. But he smirked over at her anyways. “Is that right? What happened?”

“I moved to Hawkins and I died inside,” they both laughed. Teddi studied him for a moment. “Is all this part of you trying to be nice? Like with the beer?”

Billy shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know...I guess.”

“Well, how come you wanna be nice all of the sudden?”

“I don’t know,” he huffed. He supposed he could give her the long version. Complete with Max almost chopping his dick off. But he figured Teddi was a little too drunk to take any of that in. “I guess...ever since we moved here I’ve sorta been…”

“The worst?” Teddi finished for him with raised eyebrows.

“Yeah. I’ve got a lot of shit going on and-”

“I’ve got a lot of shit too. But I learned to stop being such a jerk to everyone.”

“Yeah? Well, you’re sure as hell a pain in the ass.” he argued. He didn’t know why Teddi drove him up the wall the way that she did. Maybe it was because he knew she was right. He hated it when other people were right about him. 

Teddi crossed her arms and glared over at him. “...What’s your zodiac sign?” she asked suddenly.

Billy shot her that look again. That one that like she had sprouted another head. “My what?” 

“Your zodiac sign! You know, with the stars and all…” Billy only blinked. Teddi huffed. “When is your birthday?” 

“...November 28th.” 

Teddi groaned. “A Sagittarius.” she said curtly. 

Billy didn’t know why, but he felt offended by her tone. He looked over at her with an annoyed and expectant look.  “And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing. It just explains a lot. Do you know what time you were born? Or in what city?” she hadn’t even noticed that Billy was looking at her like she had gone absolutely insane. 

“How the fuck am I supposed to know any of that? And what does it explain, weird girl? What the hell is a Sagittarius?” Teddi didn’t answer him. She just sat there with her arms crossed and looking like she was going through some weird girl rolodex in her head. 

Suddenly she perked up. “Ooo! That means we’re sister signs! I’m a Gemini!” as if Billy was supposed to have any idea what that meant.

“Gemini? Sister signs? Larsson, what the hell are you talking about?” he asked incredulously. 

Teddi rolled her eyes. “It means that we’re like super compatible...huh. Wouldn’t have guessed that.”

“Compatible like...in bed compatible?” he asked, a smirk teasing at his lips. Teddi only scoffed at the question.

“Like compatible in general. Yin and Yang...I guess that makes sense. I’m like super chill and you’re basically the hulk,” she laughed. Billy was going to throw a smart ass response her way, but before he could Teddi reached over and snatched the cigarette that was between his lips. He let out a huff to show his distaste, but Teddi ignored it. She let out a loud groan as she took a drag of the cigarette. “Christ, I missed these things.”

Billy found himself chuckling. If someone had told him a week ago that he would be giving Teddi Larsson a ride home while she rambled on about zodiac signs and sharing a cigarette with him, he would have told them they were crazy. Yet there he was, taking his cigarette back from her after she handed it back to him with a happy, content look on her face. 

“What’s funny?” she asked, smiling over at him. 

Billy shook his head. “Nothing. This night has just taken a really weird turn.” that little part of him wished that this could be how things always were. Sure, he probably hadn’t had a friend that was a girl since the third grade, but he could see himself being friends with Teddi. If they could both get past that animosity that was always there. Well, more like if he could learn to control his temper a little more was more like it. 

He turned onto his street, slowing the Camaro down so that the engine wouldn’t wake anyone at home and let his dad know that he’d been out so late. He had missed his curfew by about two hours, but with Susan around now she and Neil held Billy to an honor system when it came to him going out. Teddi didn’t look as confused as he expected her to be as he pulled up to the curb. 

“You uh...said you didn’t want to go home so…” he didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t want Teddi to know that he had figured out her secret. He would play it off as her refusing to tell him her address. If he let on that he was onto Teddi, there was a chance she would start to ask questions and soon she would be onto his secret. 

Teddi looked over at Billy’s house with narrowed eyes before looking back at him. “This is your house?” she asked.

“Yeah...look, I’m not like putting the moves on you or anything. Trust me. You can crash in Max’s room. I just figured…” he wouldn’t meet her eyes. 

Teddi gave him a tired smile. “No, it’s...this is nice.” she nodded. 

Billy flinched a little. He hated that his first reaction to someone telling him he’d done something nice was wanting to make some sort of biting remark. He swallowed the nasty comment and only shrugged. He shut the Camaro off and climbed out, rushing over to the other side as Teddi nearly fell out onto the street. She was giggling loudly as she tried to get herself upright. 

“Christ, Larsson,” he muttered as he helped her stand. “You have to shut up, okay? If anyone hears you we’ll both be dead.” he snapped.

Teddi pretended to zip her lips before letting out a small giggle. Billy rolled his eyes and pulled her along. But he didn’t go to the front door. He led her around to the side of his house to what Teddi assumed must have been his bedroom window. She leaned up against the wall to try to keep her balance while he expertly slid the window open. Wordlessly he bent down, his fingers intertwined to give her a boost up. 

She wondered briefly just how many other girls he’d done this with before stepping into his hands and sliding clumsily into his room. It was a weird angle. If she wasn’t careful she’d land down on his stereo instead of the foot of his bed. Teddi wiggled through the window and aimed herself for Billy’s bed as best as her drunk mind would allow. 

She landed with a soft thud and groaned. Billy was in almost immediately after her. It was obvious that he had done this more than a few times. Teddi waved him away when he tried to help her stand. 

Billy’s room was...exactly what she had imagined. Not that she had spent a lot of time thinking about it. It was more or less as messy as she’d expect it to be. And it had that sort of “I don’t give a shit” attitude in the way he had decorated it that was very Billy. It smelled almost overwhelmingly like him. Cigarettes, his cologne and spearmint. His cologne had this really warm, woody smell to it. Sort of like a bonfire with a hint of something fresh and earthy. It gave Teddi this comfy sort of feeling whenever she smelled it and she briefly wondered if Billy had chosen the scent because it reminded him of back home. Teddi shook the idea away and looked further around his room. She rolled her eyes when she spotted the poster of Shauna Grant hanging on the wall. There were a lot of cassette tapes. Nearly anywhere Teddi looked there was a stack of tapes or vinyls along with a crushed beer can or two and an ashtray full of cigarette butts.

Of course there where all of his weights and workout gear, that definitely didn’t surprise her. What did surprise her were the two neon boxes on a shelf in front of her. “Excuse me,” she hissed, reaching up on her toes in order to reach them. “These are Atari games!” 

Billy shushed her, shooting a dirty look in her direction. “So what?” he asked. He snatched the two games out of her hands and reached over her to set them back on the shelf. 

Teddi swallowed nervously as Billy’s chest bumped into hers momentarily before she took a step back. She shook her head and fixed an angry look up at him. “You can’t call me a geek when you’re a geek.” 

Billy rolled his eyes. “Everyone plays video games, Larsson. Now stop going through my shit. Unless you wanna sleep in here tonight. That’s more than alright with me…” he smirked down at her.

Teddi rolled her eyes dramatically. “Don’t make me puke, Hargrove.” Billy only chuckled, taking Teddi by the arm and sneaking out of his room and down the hall. He nudged Max’s door open, quickly pulling Teddi in before shutting the door behind them and turning on the light. 

Two heads popped up from the bed. Max blinked wildly as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. El watched Teddi and Billy with such a blank expression that Teddi suspected that El was positive she was only dreaming. “Billy? What the hell?” Max asked with a yawn. 

“I need a favor.” he began.

Teddi cut off whatever he was going to say next with a loud gasp. “Oh my gosh, Max, the sleepover!” she squealed. “Look, I didn’t miss it after all!” 

Billy slapped a hand over Teddi’s mouth and shot a glare in her direction. “I told you, Teddi. Be quiet.” 

“Drunk.” El whispered to Max as she watched Billy attempt to keep Teddi under control.

Max raised her eyebrows and nodded. “She’s trashed. Jesus, Billy, what did you do to her?” 

“I didn’t do anything,” he snapped. “Heather Holloway and about a dozen jello shots did this. Look, she won’t tell me where she lives and I don’t know what else to do with her. Just let her crash in here and make sure she doesn’t choke on her own vomit.” he helped Teddi over to the edge of Max’s bed so she could sit. 

Max and El both shot each other a few confused looks as they watched the pair. Billy struggled to keep Teddi still as he pulled her puffy coat and boots off. Teddi kept complaining, each time Billy hissing out a “stay still” before Teddi would pout and listen before the whole thing started again. Max didn’t think she’d ever seen someone look so inconvenienced by being nice to someone before. And what was even more confusing to her was the fact that Billy had nearly gone out of his way to put himself in this position. 

“Did he do that?” El asked Max quietly, nodding towards Teddi’s bruised eye.

Max shook her head. “She said she slipped on ice or something. It’s been like that for a few days.” she explained as El watched Teddi carefully.

Billy tossed Teddi’s coat and shoes aside and stood, jabbing a finger in Max’s direction. “Make sure she doesn’t wake anyone up, alright? I’ll take her back to her car in the morning. And neither of you tell anyone about this, got it?” 

“Whatever, Billy. Just get out of my room already.” Max hopped out of bed and nearly shoved her older brother out of her room. He shot a slightly worried glance in Teddi’s direction before glaring down at Max. He jerked away from her and disappeared down the hall to his own room. Max shut her door again and let out a heavy sigh. Teddi was lying on her back, staring blankly up at the ceiling.

“...You guys wanna play truth or dare or something?” she asked, her voice slightly slurring. 

Max and El both stifled giggles. “Teddi, it’s a little late for that. I think you need to get some sleep...what are you doing with Billy anyways?” Max asked as she got back into bed. 

“My date totally ditched me. And Billy said he’s trying to be nice...did you know that he’s a Sagittarius?” 

El frowned. “What’s a Sagittarius?” she asked. 

Teddi sat up quickly and turned to face the two girls. “What’s a Sagittarius?” she repeated, her jaw dropped. “You guys don’t know about zodiac signs either?” the two girls shook their heads. “God, what is wrong with this town? Okay, forget about truth or dare. I have like...loads to teach you. It’ll totally blow your minds.” 

Teddi turned to face Max and El, crossing her legs. Max hopped out of bed once again before muttering “wait, wait, wait!” before disappearing for a few moments. She returned with a bowl of popcorn and three cans of coke. The three settled in and Teddi launched into her zodiac lesson. Maybe her night wouldn’t be such a bust after all. Getting drunk with Heather and teaching two twelve year olds about their zodiac traits at two in the morning way more fun than anything she would’ve done hanging out with some idiot on the soccer team. Hanging out with Billy hadn’t been so bad either. It was too bad she probably wouldn’t remember most of it in the morning. 

[crystalinn]

I haven’t posted about this here yet, but boy howdy has my life been A Mess™️ of late.

TW: medical talk, high stress situations, mentions of blood under the cut

This is a very long post, so a mild TL;DR: ma’s sick and this is me for eternity now (loud noises in video): 

Picture it. November 10th (ish. Time is hard.). The motherbeast came down with a case of viral bronchitis. She got a few days off work to recover. 

A couple days pass. She went back to work. Her manager sent her in the cooler for two hours. 

An immediate downturn ft. a fall out of bed that took 45 minutes to fix, heavy panting, confusion, the whole lot. She went to the Express ER. They said “oh hey, your viral bronchitis has become full blown pneumonia. You’re goin’ to the Real Hospital™️ for two days. See if you respond well.” Turns out, she did, at first. 

About a week or two of what seemed like solid improvement all came crashing back down when her return to work arrived. She went back to work... or tried to. She went to step onto the curb and gravity said no. She faceplanted the pavement, and the ambulance was called. A thorough concussion check later, and her manager drove her and her truck home. The next day, she went back to the Express ER, and they said “oh shit, your lung xray is worse than last time. Back to the Hospital for you.” 

That stay was nine days long. She was tested for tuberculosis (which came back negative, thankfully), and had a PICC line installed. During said stay, she did get rather confused and agitated, as it was near the end of the month and the rent needed paid. She called me in the middle of the night, asking me to move her IV... despite me being at home. So that was a thing.

After she came home on the 4th of this month (December), I had to start administering her PICC line antibiotics, every 8 hours. Did y’all know that cefepime (a bigboi antibiotic) smells like someone doing unholy things to eggs? Sulfuric smelling bullshit, that. Had some hiccups there, what with massive air bubbles in the line and getting the infusion orb stuck on the line. We were supposed to be done the 25th. Then she went to her new primary care doctor, and it was extended to the 6th of January, which h.

Anyway, fast forward to the 23rd. Mum was out with a pal, getting some groceries, and some Miralax ‘cause... y’know, and she fell on her ass. At this point, falling down is like a glowing neon red flag. She came home, was a bit wobbly, but was generally okay. Her primary care doctor called after the home health nurses stole some blood to tell her that her potassium levels are critical. A friend/my ‘adopted’ brotherbeast, Frank, brought her a fuckton of bananas that night. 

Now this is where it gets real fuckin’ spicy. The morning of the 24th, after we get done with the 7am orb, I gave her a dose of Miralax. She was fine, until the 3pm orb, when severe gut cramps showed up. Those lasted until about midnight when things... moved along. After that, shit went downhill fast. I put her to bed after orb times at 11 pm, and she kept waking up. As time went on, she got more and more confused. Like, she knew general things, in a kinda slow way, but she could not follow directions. On the morning of the 25th (fucking Christmas.), things had reached its boiling point. She was very confused, unable to focus, slurring words. I rang up a friend, Sandy (who has been a massive help this whole time of Fuckery), to get her to the ER. This triggered a complete meltdown. It took both of us to get her out of her chair, not to mention the sudden burst of confused crying and begging not to go. 

We finally managed to get her there, and the ER’s like “yo this looks like a stroke, so we’re gonna keep her, do an MRI or three, and get back to you.” Turns out she was very dehydrated, currently has a UTI, and is still a bit... shall we say, fucked up. But, the MRI came out clean, but there was some issue with the PICC with like, a blood clot, but they cleaned it out, so they let her go on the 26th. 

But just wait for it... I put her to bed pretty much as soon as she got home, ‘cause she doesn’t sleep in the hospital. Makes sense, right? I went to check on her at about 8, and she was unable to really comply with requests/commands/questions. I’d ask “what’s your name?”, I’d get her name (most of the time), but when I’d ask “when’s your birthday?”, I’d get her name again. Or the fact she lost her PICC line cap, and I’d ask her to hold the newly sterilized port so it wouldn’t touch anything, she’d say okay, take it, and immediately drop it. Repeatedly. 

I broke down whilst on the phone with my dad because everything has been too much of late, and eventually put her back to bed to wait for the 11pm orb. 

11pm rolled around... and well. I couldn’t get her to wake up. She’d react to me poking and prodding her by making noise and moving away, but she would not wake up. Not properly. So, I called the on call home health nurse to see if she could help, and she pretty much told me to just call an ambulance. Not wanting the expense because I live in Hell the US, I called my dad. He helped me try to wake her up over the phone, but she flat refused. I was left with no choice. So, I called the ambulance, and just before they knocked on the door, she sat up like “huh?” but extra confused. She almost didn’t go to the hospital because she said “nah, I don’t want to go” but one of the EMTs was like “nah, you gotta go.”

So, she spent about 8 hours in the ER, and they told me that they can’t keep her since she was mostly lucid, but they did float an Idea (a skilled nursing facility, at least until she got her ducks in a row) to her that was immediately denied, but with some prodding from me, she finally agreed. So they moved her upstairs from the ER to keep her until they can find a facility in the Blue Cross/Blue Shield network that’s reasonably local. The one that came to visit yesterday turned out to not be, and I’m pretty sure the dude kicked it back to the Case Supervisor to see if they can find another. But, after they moved her into her room, she’s cleared up quite a bit. 

She’s still a bit slow on the uptake sometimes, a bit unfocused, and can get caught out in the grapes mentally, but she has improved a lot. 

Oh, and another thing she’s been doing is fighting me re: eating since the first go around. Bread’s a texture issue, rice is hard to eat without teeth, and everything else “smells bad” (which, since she’s quit smoking as of that second hospital stay... I understand, but you gotta sometimes push past that.) I did manage bananas though. Thank fuck for those. 

But, back to the plot: today (the 28th) was a decent day. Much clearer, less starts and stops in her speech. A bit more focused. She didn’t manage to sleep last night, so she was kinda tired. Had another MRI, but we won’t know about that until probably tomorrow (the 29th). Maybe. Had some PICC issues, though. The nurse got the cefepime running just fine, then mum had to use the bathroom, and when she came out, the machine started screaming bloody murder. After that, the nurse came back and tried to flush the line, since the cefepime was unable to run, and when she took the syringe off, the saline shot right back out... which ain’t supposed to happen. Hit me, the nurse, mum, the bed... probably got the windows too. So they’re working on that, and hopefully they figure it out.

Had my own woes at the hospital today, too. The sole of my boot fell off, so my ride/friend/adopted sister?, Sandy, went to walmart and got me some Heavy Duty Superglue, which I got it about half way stuck before we had to leave... then when we were pulling into the parking lot at home, the nurse in charge called to ask some questions about the PICC, the antibiotic, how long it’d been there, how long she was supposed to be on it, the pharmacy’s number, all that. So I went to get out of the car, my coke bottle fell out of my pocket, started rolling under the car, and I overextended. Fell right on my knees. They are not happy. Took a hot minute to get my dumb ass off the ground, without hurting Sandy, who is like 5′2″ and v smol. I am 5′6″ and... decidedly not. Plus the bonus rain.

UPDATE 12/29/2019: the diverticulitis has made a reappearance. It’s like everything is just It’s free real estate.

UPDATE 12/31/2019: Around 2 am this morning, she managed to roll out of bed and whack her head pretty good on something. They did a CT scan, and it came out clean. No concussion. However, now she has a sitter/keeper/minder to make sure she doesn’t do it again. It’s a good thing the nurses heard her fall, ‘cause despite being armed, the bed alarm didn’t go off. I know of all of this, ‘cause the hospital called me at 3 this morning, and boy howdy that’s a gut drop, let me tell you. But, better a CT ride and a bump on her noggin vs. the alternative. Sure is one thing after a-fucking-nother, ain’t it though.

UPDATE 1/1/2020: 2019 keep your problems challenge: she's had a major mental shift again, and now she's really groggy, really confused... So the hospital moved her to the ICU and called me for consent on a spinal tap, just to make sure they're not missing anything. Other than that, they've done x-rays and another CT, I think to check her spine, hips, the one leg she's been having issues with. The doctors also think that it may be the cefepime causing this altered mental state, and after doing some digging, boy howdy I sure believe it. Cephalosporins are some nasty fuckers.

So! That’s been my month and a half! I’d like to take a break now, please!

EDIT: Further updates found here.

[jaysomehero]

The Smell of Sunflowers. A Short Story.

We all think from time to time, about being loved unconditionally, a mother's touch, a lover's embrace, acceptance of one's self. We as humans crave it. From the moment you are violently screaming your existence into the world to when you are peacefully closing your eyes for the very last time.

You are put onto a path, one that takes you through this rugged, beautiful, odd journey, By accident, by purpose, by chance. You are introduced to individuals that teach you a thing or two about yourself. This story, is like that. Lessons learned, and purposes found.

A short, brief love story. If you are not doing much, perhaps offer a bit of your time.

I digressed, I was never really good at introducing a topic or story. You can say this is my first. If I remember correctly it starts around the same time as it is today. Cold, fall is passing and winter engaged. Although it was cold I remember being so warm, kind of glowing. Rebranded with new purpose. Cold air wrapped itself loosely and swiftly, felt like lace around my face, I was walking to work, I worked fast food at the time. I was a cook and typically moving in a hurry to work, with my music turned up loud enough to where I felt I was there. I really like to walk with my headphones in. The feeling and vibes, I could paint hearing the assembled sound of instruments. I could see the vibe attached with my music, I felt like I could describe it so well. My first love, music.

I loved waiting till the last minute, then bolt out the door energy drink in hand and moving like a bullet through the wind. Gotta love that youth, am I right? I just started Graveyard, and I got told it wouldn't be my usual coworker. I was used to working with.. Well for personal reasons I can't give you a name, so let's call her Molerat, as derogatory as that can sound, I find it appropriate. Usually an innocent girl, she just had a way of flipping a script and twisting your words into a balloon animal. One that you were unaware that you apparently made.

I don't have much at the moment I care to tell you about Molerat. Other than that I was not going to be working with her that night, I came in that night, per my usual timing a few minutes late, head to the back dropped my bag off, my bag I carried had my wallet, keys, an extra flannel red in color, my portable speaker, phone charger and typically an extra energy drink in addition to the one I had already. I took my energy drink and speaker to my work station which would be the grill area, back then this ritual, I believed made the shift more enjoyable, even though it was not enjoyable.

The smell of grease and burnt meat would be swimming toward my nostrils. The last of a dinner rush would be exiting and as the previous shift members were heading out and I settled in

Enter.. my coworker for the evening, I remember her wearing this thin black jacket with a flannel underneath, carrying a skateboard technically a long board, and a rasta colored satchel. She had this piercing above her lip, not in the middle but on the side. It looked cute honestly. She had these big doe like eyes, and lips that pursed like to together like those old style Hollywood actresses. After everyone from the last shift left, and we both were settled in, I attempted to introduce myself to her, in this story ladies and gentlemen, no names will be used. So call me Crow, cheesy I know but there's a purpose the name plays on and we'll get to that later. I remember awkwardly sticking my hand out like I was closing a business deal or something. She glanced at it and told me her hands were dirty. I think she said like a few minutes later. I felt a little rejected but not completely devastated. I mean after all we were both just there to scrape up some money and go home. I still wanted to push my boundaries though, so I get my speaker and turn it on. One especially great thing about working graves was no managers or shift leaders to tell you you couldn't play music out loud and best believe I took full advantage of it.

So I offer her the option to play music, most people when asked to play music don't often play THEIR music. To me it was a intimate thing to share music, intimate in a way without touching or talking like you got to hear the vibes these people vibe with.

We exchanged music, swapping song from song, the kitchen was filled with tunes of all kinds vibes in the air, from gritty, fast paced punk, through the lyrical morose of indie, to the feeling of joy and excitement in old and new songs. "Musical Soulmate" was what she called me before the night was over. Hummingbird is what I'm gonna call her. She was precious and pretty like a small Hummingbird. Like a floating little daisy that smiled and made me feel warm.

All these vibes and phases that my music helped me through. Being projected and straight into the ears of Hummingbird, This moment as I look back I would wanna call this phase the Color Yellow. They said Vincent Van Gogh ate the color yellow to cure his depression, unfortunately and ultimately succumbing to depression. I suppose the god of Death wasn't keen on just waiting around for such an artist to arrive. Bet he's painting some really beautiful things right about now, I really appreciated his pieces that included sunflowers. Those are my favorite, You gotta really give it to Death for giving life meaning.

Happiness is what the color yellow resembled and happiness in life was what I mark this brief period of my life. This happiness would be a story of love.

Eventually November flew by and December idled, blink and you'll miss it. Hummingbird and I grew more accustomed to each other. Although no feelings of love were declared you could see it, if you were there. That we were screaming it everyday at each other with every word, action and song played. You see I was supposed to be leaving to Oregon sometime within the next year, and December was well on its way to concluding a long and significant year in my change. New Year's eve, I still remember, Hummingbird and I shared our first kiss. Bringing in the new year together I was supposed to be getting to a party that night with a few friends. That kiss made me realize that there was nowhere else I'd rather be besides next to my Hummingbird. Nowhere else I'd wanna go, unless she was right there with me. So I canceled that move.

These next monthes would be confusing, exciting, and terrifying. As the phrase suggests Falling in love was exactly that. Falling, and falling and falling not stopping until you do, we were such careless lazy lovers. Living those days inside each other, it wouldn't be until the eve month of summer that a very specific surprise would arrive. The Crow and Hummingbird would be intertwined for life by the bond of birth. We were pregnant. We spent the summer trying to wrap our heads around it all. Having no car and living in the desert was a big drag, and a big challenge. It felt like I couldn't keep a job either. We were tasked with getting to know the best and worst parts of each other through the pregnancy. There were times of doubt, and times of reassurance. Keeping in mind this is a love story.

We'd eventually get a car and life was easier and through Fall and through the Winter we spent out on the road and on our own, flying wherever we wanted to be, enjoying every holiday as our last ones alone before the fruit of our trees would join us. I significantly remember Christmas 2018, how much I felt grown up, happy and carefree with my beloved. I wasn't just a Crow anymore, I was a Lovebird. Crows can be lovebirds too! The only purpose for using the name Crow. Lol That night is and will always be unforgettable. This is a love story.

January arrived and the month we both waited for. Again another January brought upon a new change, but this time for both of us. Our young, strong daughter was brought into this world on the 15th of January bearing the sign of the Sea Goat like her father before her. Blue eyed and resembling the beauty of her mother. Another light in my life was lit. Both of my girls were here. My beloved and my precious little girl. This is a love story.

This year would be a year of also many changes. For the better I do not know. For the worst I would like to think not. Lots of growing I witnessed in my daughter and in my beloved Hummingbird. I've never seen more growth from one person than her. She willingly let herself blossom and bloom into a woman. Becoming stronger, wiser, and even more gorgeous. Aging like fine wine. No jewel, no treasure, no goddess rivaled it. This is still a love story.

Somewhere along this year maybe the ending of the summer, there was doubt. Lots of doubt. I see it now, I lost strength and I didn't lose it naturally, I let myself lose it. Doubt was only natural. Love as you know is what we as humans crave. To not feel alone in a world that individualizes each and everyone. To eventually feel alone while being in love is a nasty thing. Nobody deserves such a thing. Maybe somewhere along the lines or between them there was a long lost feeling I forgot to tend to. A strong feeling. Ancient in age and has been felt since the dawn of man. If left unattended could consume the best of a man. This... Is... Still... A... Love... Story...

Lots of yelling, lots of hurting, lots of choices made. In the short time from September to November. Ladies and gentlemen this is a still a story.

Where we are left now is at the end. There are no more friends, there isn't a lover, there will not be a happy ending. Because To be frank I don't know what has ended or what has begun. I deserve no sympathy, no sad songs, and especially no love.

I the Crow, did this to myself, and I the Crow am the only one that has to be the one to fix myself. There is no smell of sunflowers and the one who smells of sunflowers is the same as the color yellow. They are happiness, they are good. Listen when I tell you that emotions run logic into the ground if left unchecked. Good men lose the battle everytime, we are warriors and not everything has to be a fight with hands. I used to think I knew how It all worked and how I could be better than I was.

Truth is I left those demons unchecked. I destroyed what I was given. I'm lost and I just want to see my girls. Hold them both in my arms. I don't want to give up. I don't want to hate. I don't fucking want to feel like this anymore. This is a love story. This is our story, this is my story, the story of a Crow that didn't learn anything and repeated his cycle. What's left is to move forward. There's only one way direction travels and that way is the only way to go. I apologize and will continue to do so till my final breathe.

I've learned its humility that humbles you. A tragedy that wisens you, and finally clarity is reached when you finally have faced those demons.

To my Hummingbird, I love you and will always love you. I'm on a path right now for a better and wiser me. Stronger and good of spirit. I do this for myself. But... I do, do this to maybe one day reunite. To meet each other again for the first time. It won't be soon, but I do truly hope to live in your arms and you in mine once this journey is completed. We could maybe be one, once more.

I'm alive and well. I don't wish to disrupt you and your peace but I do wish to hear from you and our daughter. Your well being and adventures. Thanksgiving will be here soon. I'm thankful we got to meet. Thank you.

Forever yours, the Sunflower

The Crow, The Alien, the Strutman, the Lovely Love, Kylo Ren, Jaysomehero

J. Thomas