#who let him out of the house dressed like a mid life crisis?

[supernovamateeee]

The face you make when you find out the hot ride with a shiny black outer layer you heard about isn't your weird tin can on wheels, but actually your ex-boyfriend posing suggestively for his brother photoshoot.

[jsprnt]

Americano PT. 13 | Jude Bellingham x Reader

What happens if two individuals who absolutely despise each other are forced to interact after unforeseen events occur?

A/N: took me so so long, but I think the wait was worth it. 😭 let me know what you think, love u!😉

W/C: 4.072

part twelve

"Okay, is there anything left for me to do?"

I raise my head, looking up at my dad from my phone. The stack of papers on the dining table immediately giving me a headache.

"Are you asking me, dad? Or are you talking to yourself?" I ask, getting up from my position on the couch to see what his mid-life crisis is about.

"Myself.." He replies, bringing the ugly ceramic mug I’d decorated at the age of five up to his mouth.

The blue cursed-looking unicorn, with the biggest red eyes staring back at me, makes me clear my throat.

I mean, even I would have thrown that thing away after my child forgot about it.

"What are you doing?" I ask, leaning forward to flip through the stacks of paper.

Poor trees...

"Stop messing with them, y/n. They are important documents for work.."

I hum in understanding, holding my hands up in surrender.

"You're really killing off nature with these.." I add, scratching my itchy nose.

"Will you please go and do something useful, sweetheart?"

I sigh, instead of walking away, I sit down next to him. Turning to him with a smile on my face.

"Give me something useful I can do.." I ask, giving him a sickly sweet smile.

I hear him chuckle, his hand coming to rub my shoulder, before he points to the stack of papers on his left.

"The other documents I’d rather not have you go through.."

He reaches for the papers, placing them in front of me.

"Can you sort these in chronological order? It's images of camera footage, date and time are on the top right."

"Sure, dad.." I agree, flipping through the black-and-white printed images. Curiosity raised at what I'm seeing.

An individual, with more of a masculine frame standing outside of a huge, luxurious house.

Dressed in- from what I can make out to be, a black t-shirt, along with the ugliest pair of jorts I have ever seen.

"Where is this from? New case?"

"Bellingham's case." He replies curtly, writing something down on his notepad.

It was astonishing how anyone could read his handwriting.

Were lawyers second in 'the most unreadable handwriting' competition, next to doctors?

I raise my brows at his answer, interest peaked suddenly. I look around the house, as if Jude would pop up like some ‘Bloody Mary’ game if called out for three times- but I remember he is out tonight, enjoying his break from training at fuck-knows-where.

"Footage from the break-in?"

"Yes, honey- any more questions?" He glances at me for a moment, raising a single brow in question.

"No, not really..." I say, eyes flying to the date and time.

I only recognize the date as the first match we played in the Champions League this season, back in September at Bernabéu.

The dates do match up, and when I continue flipping through the images. Seeing more and more images of different dates, with more damage done to the home, makes me gasp.

How did Jude and his mom even live here for many more months after the first incident?

I feel goosebumps rise up on my skin at the thought of feeling unsafe in my own home. Had I known how terrifying the things that happened to Jude were, I wouldn’t have been such an asshole when he first arrived.

My stupid mouth and I...

I shake my head as if to remove my thoughts, taking a deep breath before quickly sorting and stacking the images correctly.

If I had known sooner, maybe I could have been more civil towards my unwanted roommate..

"Girl, turn the lights on. I literally cannot see a single thing." Amira complains, smacking her bubblegum in the loudest way possible.

"I hate winter. Seriously, why does it get dark so early?.." I complain, hurrying over to switch the light on in my bedroom.

"Stop complaining and do a twirl for me.." She says, placing her phone against something stable, so she can see me properly.

"Oh, sure your majesty.." I mock, chuckling at her, before doing a 360.

"You look so damn good. I swear, if you don't take a man home-"

"It's a party- or event , full of my colleagues. I can't be a hoe tomorrow night.."

"If you wanted, you would.." I watch her smirk, before she runs a hand down her dark locs.

"We can do that when you're visiting next time.."

"Can't- I have a man." I hear her chuckle, and definitely don't miss the sound of another, deeper laugh in the background.

"Oh, great thanks for reminding me. Hey Trent, stop listening in on us.." I say sternly, leaning in towards the screen.

"He's not listening in. He is on the phone with Jude.."

Oh, fuck, great.

I turn towards my door, praying Jude or Trent wouldn't be too loud on the phone.

At this point, I was surprised that the jig wasn't up yet.

Amira already knew about it, of course. I just hoped Trent didn't.

I mean, it would be foolish to think that Jude and I could keep our secret to ourselves. But for once, I trusted he would keep his mouth shut about us living together.

Everyone knows that men gossip more than women. They could know the most intricate details of the juiciest drama you'll ever come across, and never utter a single word about it until you ask about it directly.

"Trent's gone, now speak. Why do you look like you're sweating buckets?"

"I feel sick, like- my stomach hurts.." I begin, struggling to take my dress off.

"Maybe you got your period?" She suggests, using the screen to watch herself dot the pinkest liquid blush on her cheekbones.

"No, my Clue app says I'm getting my period in six days.." I reply, hanging my dress back into the closet. Then, I grab my pajama set, pulling the comfy clothes on quickly.

"You're probably nervous about tomorrow.." She mumbles, fidgeting with the lamp next to her, before blending the blush seamlessly into her foundation.

"What could I possibly be nervous about? I've been going for like two years, since I became eighteen.." I flop onto my bed, cuddling my soft pillow against my body.

My thoughts wander for a moment, something close to déjà vu washing over me.

"It's the butterflies.."

I snap my head back towards my phone, pulling a confused face.

"For?.."

"For Jude- You have butterflies in your stomach for Jude!" She screams unnecessarily loudly, making me drop my phone onto my bed.

I gasp, retrieving my phone from the mattress, looking back at her with wide eyes.

"Are you crazy?! Dude, he's literally across the hallway!" I exclaim, burying my head into my pillows.

"He probably heard you!" I cry out, giving her a middle finger.

"Exactly my intentions! I swear, everybody in the fucking world knows he wants you at this point. I've never seen two people in this much denial before."

"I literally don't know what to do with myself, thanks for emphasizing that.."

"How long is it going to take for you to be honest with yourself? Another six months, yeah? You like him, come on. You like him.."

"I haven't liked anyone since high school.."

"Let's not bring high school love into this. You were sixteen, should’ve been worried about GCSE's instead..."

"Okay, let me do a little magazine quiz for you.." I watch her spray her fixing spray onto her face.

She dries her face with a small fan, before leaning in and looking at me with a serious expression.

"Go ahead.." I groan, sitting up properly.

"What do you think of when you see him?"

"I don't know? 'There he is again'?" I answer stupidly, looking at her. I watch her cover her mouth, probably disappointed with my reply.

"Okay- let's try this. Imagine, tomorrow, you see him in a suit, tie all of that-  dresssed up nicely, with his hair freshly cut. He smells like the sexiest cologne you have ever smelled. No 'Doir, Sauvage' shit- think 'Tom Ford, Oud Wood'.."

The rest of whatever the fuck she says doesn't register in my brain, but the heat slowly pooling into my body, down my stomach and thighs, tells me enough.

It tells me too much.

I’m fucked, done for.

A lost cause.

I need an exorcism..

"I'm ready!" I shout, taking one quick look in the mirror, before grabbing my handbag off my bed.

I stuff a powderpuff, some lip products, and my phone into my bag and rush down the stairs.

"Come on, honey. It's one thing to be late- another thing for me to be late to the event I'm co-hosting.." My dad says, already standing at the front door, navy blue suit making him look handsome.

"Ready! What do you think?" I ask him, pointing to my dress and heels.

"You look very beautiful. I did not think you'd wear such a daring colour.."

I know what he wants to say. ‘You look just like your mother’, but ignore those thoughts.

I shrug at him, glancing in the mirror again. The scarlet-red dress clinging to my skin is just the right amount of sexy and chic.

Of course, I had to go for a mini dress, ignoring my dad's wishes, because I could and I'm an adult.

I adjust my silver necklace, watching it glisten in the overhead light.

"Come on, y/n. Enough admiring.."

I nod, quickly walking behind him into the car.

I buckle my seatbelt, the mix of my dad's cologne and my perfume overwhelming me for a second.

"Wait? Where's Jude? Is he not attending?" I look at my dad, watching him pull out of the driveway.

"He will attend, but he said he would arrive with his teammates. He didn’t want to inconvenience us."

Inconvenience?

What did he mean with that?

I mean, we had not spoken properly for days- but inconvenience?

Am I overthinking things?

"Come and grab a drink with me.." Lina says, grabbing my wirst to pull me towards the cocktail- or in this case, mocktail bar.

Due to the discouragement of the players drinking alcohol, mid-season- it was the upmost important for this party to only offer non-alcoholic drinks.

And considering what had happened last time I was drunk- I wasn't complaining, at all..

The party had started two hours ago, though a little formal. We made the most out of it, while dancing along with the beautiful live music. The clock would strike twelve in a little, indicating the beginning of a new year.

Something about New Year’s Eve made me incredibly emotional at times. Maybe, it was the realization of life going faster than I thought- or maybe, it was some resentment I held against the negative things that happened in the year.

Even so, I tried to make the most of this party every year. Dancing wholeheartedly, tasting the food the chefs had worked so hard on, drinking the delicious drinks made by the bartenders.

"I'm going to get a Negroni- How about you?" Lina asks, wrapping her arm around mine as we walk towards the bar.

"I don't know- maybe I’ll just ask for a recommendation.." I speak, looking over at her. Her black dress hugging her figure as our high heels click against the floor.

"Oh, look who's here too.." She says, motioning ahead with her eyes and chin.

I follow her gaze, furrowing my brows in confusion. My eyes land on a couple of the football team players, all looking happy as they order their drinks one by one.

"Oh.." I mouth, lips pulling back into a straight line as I spot Jude next to them.

And of course, just like my dear best friend had described last night. He is dressed in a sleek, black suit matched with a crispy white shirt.

I watch him interact with his teammates, unconsciously staring at him as we near the bar.

His pearly white teeth show as the corners of his eyes crinkle, probably laughing at something funny one of the guys said.

I almost gasp out loud when he turns around, my eyes moving down to see the deep red handkerchief, placed neatly in the pocket of his suit.

Why in heaven's name- did we match?

I lean against the bar by instinct, drawing my attention back to the bartender who's standing in front of me. Eyes darting to the menu, of course- to only see non-alcoholic options.

Maybe, I did need a different type of drink.

'I'll have a Negroni, please.." I hear Lina say, and look at her for a moment before turning back to the bartender. Trying to ignore the fact that I can feel a pair of eyes burning holes into the back of my head. 

What was that called again?

Scopaesthesia?

Whatever it's called, there should be a name for someone's warmth too- because Jude probably could feel the heat radiating off my body at this point, even if he isn’t standing that close to me..

"And what would this beauty like?”

I stand up straight at the words, looking at the smiling bartender.

I give him a soft, appreciative smile back, enjoying his non-creepy way of delivering a compliment, and quickly ask for a recommendation.

As y/n speaks to the bartender, he laughs back, leaning in to whisper something into her ear. It earns a chuckle from her, making her lean against the bar again.

Unaware of his own body language, Jude tightens his grip on his glass. His jaw twitches, and he turns away from the scene, scoffing to himself before taking a gulp of his drink.

His body tensing up does not go unnoticed by his friends slash teammates. He gets a pat on the shoulder from Dani, making him relax for a moment.

"Loosen up, brother. Have some fun.." Eduardo speaks, giving him his signature smile while clinking his full glass with Jude's.

Jude nods, walking closer towards the crowd of his teammates, trying his absolute best to remove his brown eyes from the girl.

The girl his brain has not stopped thinking about, ever since that drunken night..

From the way she looked, spoke, dressed- he was infatuated with her.

And tonight?

The sexy red dress, hugging her body- showing skin-

He is fucked, absolutely fucked, especially when he realizes how clammy his hands are.

The normally confident and playful Jude vanishes for a moment. He's acting like a lovesick teenage boy, too nervous to ask his crush out for prom.

The hour passes painfully slow, with the both of them sneaking glances at each other every other minute. Their friends notice, of course, smirks on their faces as they realize how clueless they are.

Young love shouldn't be this complicated, they think, wanting to push them towards each other already. Tired of the back and forth they were a part of these past months. The patience they had was running low, even though it wasn't anything harming or hurting them.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your attention, please!" A sharp, ear-piercing sound echos from the microphone, booming out of the speakers.

The speaker is none other than a Real Madrid executive, standing next to the chic, wealthy woman, is y/n’s father.

The entire venue’s attention turns to the two individuals, conversations and laughter cut off immediately.

"Just like every year since our successful partnership with Mr. l/n. We thank you for being here at our annual New Year's event!"

The room answers with happy and loud cheers, some clapping along in agreement. An interesting mix of almost all the athletes signed to Real Madrid, their hardworking staff, and not to forget, esteemed lawyers from the law firm.

"We will enter the new year in ten minutes! Please enjoy the rest of your night!"

As if on cue, the room goes back to their own conversation. And the restless, nervous wreck y/n immediately turns around to visit the bar again, asking the bartender for another one of the drinks he'd made for her earlier.

She didn't even remember what it was called. All she tasted and saw were strawberries- which meant that the bright pink, iced drink was good enough.

She grabs the drink off the counter, thanking the bartender, before turning around to return to her friends.

She looks down to watch her step, high heels starting to hurt her feet, as she tries to walk without tripping, making her forget to watch where she’s going.

Before the girl is aware of it, her body collides with a harder one. Glass in her han, tipping over, the pink drink splashing all over a white, crispy shirt.

y/n gasps, eyes widening in horror. Looking up from the disaster, she makes eye contact with a shell-shocked Jude. His own, brown eyes widening impossibly wider than hers.

Covering her mouth, she places the glass on a small, round bar table next to her, turning to him wordlessly.

"Oh- I, umh.." She stutters, sweat practically visible on her temples at this point.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!" She thinks, multiple thoughts running through her head like Usain-fucking-Bolt..

With only one brain-cell working in between them, and their hearts beating like crazy. She grabs his hand, pulling him off the dance floor- into a small closet, behind the stage. Away from the peering eyes and cameras at the event.

She turns away from him, closing the door, before locking it. Ensuring no one would walk into this disaster of a sight.

"Take it off.." She begins, speaking without thought. Reaching for a roll of paper towels, ripping off a stack of them before starting to dab away the moisture from his now pink-stained-shirt.

Her eyes dart up, lips parting slightly as Jude shrugs off his jacket, throwing it to the side.

The dim light flickers in the small, suffocating room. She halts the hurried dabbing, making eye contact with an equally entranced Jude.

"Sorry.." y/n whispers, breath hitting his plump lips. Her hand moves up again, rolling some more of the paper towel around her hand, before wiping off the excess moisture again.

Jude's body stiffens, particularly his abdomen. He takes a sharp breath, looking down at the flustered girl.

For some reason, a sudden switch flips inside of him. He sighs, eyes roaming up and down her form, a warm, but burning feeling settling in his stomach.

He decides to move for a moment, unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt, and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows. It causes y/n to freeze up this time, her body going rigid as she watches him expose his arms.

Even in the dim light, his muscles protrude, along with the bulging veins running down his forearms.

"Fucking hell.." He says in a low voice, unbuttoning the top buttons of his ruined shirt, making the girl’s eyes widen again.

"What- What are you doing?" She asks, heart almost exploding due to the pace it’s beating at.

"I'm burning up in this room.." He replies, making direct eye contact with her, as he fidgets with the white buttons.

Revealing more, and more skin..

It's like he's dropped the nervousness within seconds. Looking into her eyes while fixing the collar of his shirt.

Even though it takes him approximately ten seconds, to the girl in front of him- the moment is dragged out horribly long and in slow motion.

Her breath hitches at the delicious sight, and she gulps while looking up at him.

Deeply entranced in the tension filled- sensual moment, she drops the wet, used paper towels mindlessly onto the floor.

The lights flicker once again, making her eyes squint as she takes him in.

No doubt, the image will be burned into her infatuated mind from now on. Gnawing at her sanity and logical thinking.

Of course, he smells good. So damn good, the perfect mix of musk and powdery cologne.

Not only is the sight delicious, but the smell is too.

The loud music outside of the small enclosed space continues, the crowd singing along to the chorus of a well-known song.

She looks down for a second, trying to collect her thoughts before she says something completely unhinged.

"Jude.." She whispers, heart beating erratically in his chest. y/n can feel her hands shake, her legs trembling in her high heels.

Their breaths mingle as they look into each other's eyes. A silence settling in between them after she says his name.

Jude's veins practically burst at the sound of his name leaving her lips. His eyes dart to the perfectly glossed lips that say his name so sweetly, so softly..

His mind goes dizzy at the sound. Wanting to hear it over, and over again. Loving the sound most ardently..

A soft groan leaves his mouth, and he traces her beautiful features with his eyes, until he makes eye contact with her, again.

"We should leave this place. The countdown is about to begin.." She whispers the only words she can think of saying, breath shaky and faint.

Jude does not answer with words, but his eyes do dart towards the door. Ears perking up as he hears the familiar countdown begin.

"Twenty!" The crowd exclaims, happiness and excitement buzzing throughout the venue- except in the small room they are in.

"Jude!" She says again, voice a little more stable than before. She raises her left hand, pulling on the hem of his now- untucked shirt.

He snaps his head back at her, watching the soft skin in between her brows pinch together in frustration.

"y/n.." He whispers back, head leaning closer against hers. Making her grip on his shirt grow tighter. Skin on her knuckles tightening from the strength she's using.

"What?" She asks, voice fiery sharp, and impatient. Emotions making her eyes glisten, along with the jewelry adorning her neck and ears in the light.

Though, the tension is high and suffocating- Jude grins suddenly, plump lips stretching as he leans in closer. His own eyes, now with a hint of playfulness in them, roaming around her face.

"Ten!" They hear the crowd exclaim, continuing to cheer and laugh together.

"What?" She says again, lifting her chin up to look him in the eyes. Her breath hitches at the playful expression on his face, like he's an imminent danger to her heart and lungs.

"You're the most annoying fucking person I have ever met.." He speaks, with no real malice in his tone. A chuckle leaves his mouth, soft breaths hitting her lips.

y/n's heart stutters at his words, and the change of emotion in her eyes makes him go absolutely crazy.

"Fuck, and I love that. I love you, y/n.." He breathes, his hand cupping her jaw.

He watches her face intently, watching her blink multiple times, before her hand travels from the hem of his shirt to his unbuttoned collar.

She wraps her hand around the fabric, pulling him closer with a small jank. Wetting her lips with her tongue, she speaks again.

"Then fucking kiss me, you annoying douche bag.."

The words leave her mouth in a fluid, rehearsed way, and she loses herself in his deep eyes.

"Three!"

"Fucking gladly.." He mutters, both of their eyes fluttering shut as his hand moves over to the small of her back impatiently.

"Happy New Year!"

Their lips brush against each other, her hands gripping onto his shirt with a vice-like grip.

Her breath hitches at first, making him chuckle cockily against her lips. His hand supporting her jaw in the most tender way possible, as his thumb rubs against the softness of her cheek.

The soft press of their lips touching make their hearts flutter.

Realizing there is no point of return from this, the feathery touches turn into heated, greedy ones.

The rush of adrenaline makes them lose their self-control, an unstoppable, alluring feeling injected into their veins as they continue soaking in the moment, until they part for air.

Their ragged pants brush against each other's faces, a small smile pulling at her lips. Eyes finding each other again, as their hearts beat in unison.

Jude stares into her eyes, thumb running down her jaw, as he smiles back at her.

"Beautiful. You're beautiful.."

[ficsforeren]

The Secrets Between Us - Chapter 1

Series Masterlist

FATE

Pairing: Eren Jaeger X Female Reader feat. Levi and Armin

Genre: Royalty AU, Knights AU, Smut, Fluff, Romance

Word Count: 3.3K

Series Summary: As the only princess of The Paradis Kingdom, your life has been decided from the first day you were born. By the time you turn eighteen, you will be betrothed to Prince Armin, uniting two powerful kingdoms as one. Everything began to change, however, once you saw a beautiful boy lying unconscious in the forest behind your castle. His name is Eren, and he’s lost his memories. You invited him into your home, not knowing that he came from house Jaeger—the family that was massacred by your ancestors nearly a hundred years ago, seeking revenge.

Warnings (including for future chapters): explicit sex, adultery, mentions of blood and death

Poster art by the most talented @rainbuniart (follow her on Twitter)

It happened on a beautiful spring day, the first time you met him.

A trip inside the forest that spread out behind your castle was potentially dangerous, but you were sixteen—old enough to know better but too young to care. 

“When are you going to listen to me?” The Kingsguard, the strongest man your kingdom had ever known, Levi Ackerman mumbled out with a prominent furrow on his face. “I told you not to run around without permission.”

“But you’re with me.” You cheekily grinned. “No one can harm me when you’re with me, right, Levi?”

He sighed in response, something he did often whenever he was with you. Levi had known you since you were a baby, as he had sworn to obey the king’s commands—your father, Erwin Smith—to ensure the safety of the Royal Family in times of peace, crisis, and war. Usually, he would be walking three steps away from your father but on special occasions like this, Erwin would dismiss him for the day to keep you company instead, knowing how he was your only friend in the castle.

“Oi, watch your step, brat,” Levi warned, as you walked down a slippery road. He was the only one who was brave enough to call you without honorifics, not caring about his position. That made you feel content, more... normal. It was the very reason why you kept following him around.

“Oh, stop being such a worry-wart—” You tripped over a branch and fell on the ground, your pretty peach-colored dress now tainted with dirt. 

Levi looked down on you, face filled with boredom.

“Please don’t say ‘what did I tell you.’” You pouted, offering your hand so he could help you up. The man lazily blinked his eyes and walked past you, keeping his hands to himself. “Ah! Leaving me just like that?! You’re so cold!”

“Don’t act so spoiled, brat, you’re not injured.”

But that was what made him so endearing. He might act nonchalant at times like this but there were times where he took direct blows to the face to save your life. The long scar that lined his cheek, blinding his right eye was the proof of that, which made you feel sorry till this day but knowing your status in the kingdom, harm could not be avoided. There would always be someone who wanted your family dead just so they could take the throne for themselves.

“Let’s go wash your hands.” Levi led you toward the riverbank and you followed him, pestering him with nonsensical questions just to pull more funny reactions from the man. From asking personal questions—“Levi, how come you’re so short?”—to ones about his nonexistent love live—“What do you think of Petra? She clearly has her eyes on you.”—Levi would always respond with either silence or scoff at most, but the little changes in his expression were enough to keep you entertained.

You lost your words when Levi suddenly stopped in his tracks, putting his hand mid-air to keep you in place. You followed his gaze and you found someone lying unconsciously on the ground, right beside the streaming water. It was a boy, young enough to be your age. He was lying down on his stomach, his dark green cloak hiding most of his body. His hair was raven and long enough to brush against his shoulders. It was drenched with both blood and water, covering most of his face. A dagger with a broken tip hung loosely on his hand.

“Stay where you are,” Levi stated, “I’ll go check on him.”

But you ran past him, disobeying his orders and you could hear him shouting behind you as you kneeled on the ground. You bent your head down to take a more detailed look at the boy’s face. Pushing his hair away, your eyes widened at the sight of his delicate features. He was so young, so…

Beautiful. 

You were forced to snap out of your reverie when Levi pulled you back to your feet, his fingers clamping against your arm. “Brat, you’re testing my patience.”

“He’s still breathing,” you claimed. “But faintly. We have to take him to the castle.”

“We’re not taking a stranger to our castle.”

“But if we don’t save him, he’ll freeze to death!”

“That’s not my problem—”

“Levi!” You shouted, your heart thrumming as you curled your fingers around the fabric of your dress. “We can’t leave him.” 

The older man took a look at your expression, seeming conflicted. But after what felt like an hour for you, Levi finally succumbed, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “This is why I hate brats,” he muttered. “Fine, I’ll carry him and put him on a horse. You stay close to me and do me a favor by not tripping over your feet this time.”

The feeling of relief washed over you as your lips broke into a smile. “Thank you!”

***

The boy was taken to a guest room and you called your family doctor to examine his body thoroughly. Two servants undressed him and laid him down on the bed, dabbing warm towels over his body to wash the dry blood and dirt away. As soon as the doctor finished with his ministrations, you visited him, sitting on the edge of the bed while keeping your eyes close.

His skin was pale but he was unscathed. The blood on his clothes and his skin was not his. He had a sharp nose, full lips that were naturally tinted with red though slightly chapped. His cheeks were blooming in crimson, bitten by the cold.

So this is how a boy looks like up-close...

“Stop staring at him like that,” Levi commented as he pressed his spine against the wall, arms folded in front of his chest. “You’re gonna drill holes on his face.”

“I-I’m not staring!” You could feel your cheek growing hot. At the sound of your voice, the boy stirred in his sleep, slowly regaining his consciousness.

“Where…” he croaked out, eyes narrowing as they tried to adjust to the sunlight that seeped into the room. “… am I?”

You beamed at him with the warmest smile you could offer. “In my castle. You’re safe.”

“Your… castle?” He frowned, shifting slightly so he could sit on the bed. “Are you the Princess—” His eyes suddenly shut close, his hand shooting up to touch the side of his head. He hissed in pain.

“Don’t get up yet, seems like you have a concussion.” You placed both hands on his bare shoulders, gently pushing him back down to the bed. His skin was almost as cold as ice, but it felt like fire when it met yours. Awkward and embarrassed from touching him, you retracted your hands and brought them to your lap. “You, umm, you must have hit your head pretty hard. There are no wounds on your body—just some little scratches on your palms but... Are you in pain? Do you feel nauseous?” You pulled the blanket to cover him up until it reached his shoulders, so you could focus on his face and not on his exposed skin. “I hope you’re warm enough now.”

He took a deep breath, head still throbbing with pain. “I’m… hungry.”

You blinked twice before breaking into laughter. “We’ll prepare some food for you in a few minutes. Can you tell me your name?”

His eyes finally drifted to your face and as you exchanged stares, you noticed how pretty his eyes were. They were teal green, shining brighter than the same colored diamond pendant you kept around your neck. They were stunning.

“Eren,” he said, didn’t seem like he could take his eyes off you either.

“And your family name?”

“Umm…” He had his eyes closed again, feeling a twinge in his head as he attempted to swim through his memory. “I can’t remember.”

“It’s okay, take your time.” Your eyes fell to the necklace he wore around his neck, a silver locket. “What about that? That belongs to you, isn’t it? The necklace.”

Eren’s eyes widened, appalled. He took his necklace away, fingers a bit shaky as he opened the locket. “Jaeger,” he whispered, almost inaudibly as he read the word. “My name is Eren,” he repeated, eyes peering into yours, looking as astonished as you were. “Of house Jaeger.”

“Jaeger?” Levi chimed in, surprising you both, and Eren immediately dragged his gaze to the man. “You’re Eren of House Jaeger?”

You could see the way Levi asked the question—as if he was investigating him—made him nervous. “I believe so, Sir,” Eren replied hesitantly. “Do you know my family?”

If he did, Levi never professed a word. 

“I’ve never heard of House Jaeger.” You knitted your eyebrows together. “Where do you live? Do you have a family?”

“I…” Eren stopped, his hand going to his head, massaging the side of his temple. “I’m not sure.”

The doctor had mentioned that he might suffer from a memory loss due to his concussion, but you did not think it would be this worse. “Then, is there anything you can tell me? Were you attacked by someone? Your clothes were splattered with blood.”

“I think—” Every time he tried to remember, the pain in his head stood up harder and he flinched in agony. “I don’t know. I’m sorry. I really can’t remember what happened. Did I bring anything with me?”

“Only a broken dagger,” you replied. “And by the signature, it didn’t belong to your family. Maybe you picked it up somewhere? Someone gave it to you?”

Eren fisted the sheets underneath him. “Maybe,” he muttered weakly. 

Levi kept quiet the whole time, listening to conversations while his thoughts ran on their own. There was one thing he was sure of.

House Jaeger did not exist. Not anymore.

The entire bloodline had been annihilated nearly a hundred years ago. From men, women, to children, they were all slaughtered with no mercy by your ancestors, the second they betrayed the king—your late, late grandfather. If Eren was really from the Jaeger house, then someone must have escaped during the massacre and continued to live in secret.

Is it a coincidence that he suddenly stumbled on a riverbank behind the castle? Levi thought, Whose blood was it on his clothes? Was he attacked by someone? Was he running away from something? Did someone try to murder him?

Or did he murder someone?

“Levi,” you called and the man blinked in surprise. “You’re frowning again. I’ve told you to stop doing that. You’ll look way older than you already are.” 

“I don’t trust him,” he replied, loud enough for the boy to hear. “I think it’s best if we send him away.”

“No. He still needs to recover.”

“Brat’s more than fine. He still has two legs, hasn’t he?”

“You expect him to walk out from here? He doesn’t even know where he lives!”

“Milady,” Eren called, teal eyes glimmering under the morning sunlight. “I thank you for your kindness but—“ 

“Then you will show your gratitude by resting here until I say otherwise.” Your tone was stern but your smile was tender. “Besides, I’ve made my decision.” You turned your head toward the Kingsguard. “Since he has nowhere to go and no one to take care of him, he’s going to stay with me—with us, I mean.” You cleared your throat. “He’s going to stay with us for the time being.”

“Harboring a stranger?” Levi did not concede. “I don’t think your father will be very pleased with this.”

“But he trusts you, doesn’t he? That’s where you’ll come in.”

“And why would I convince him to do as you ordered?”

“Because this is not an order,” you corrected him. Standing up on your feet, you kept your hands intertwined and gave him a formal bow. 

“Oi, oi, oi—”

“Levi, I’m asking you for your help.” You kept your head down, eyes fixated on the ground. “It’s not an order, it’s a wish. I rarely ask you for anything before but I’m bowing my head to ask you for your help. Please let him stay.”

“M-milady.” Eren sat right up, the blanket pooled around his waist, showcasing his bare chest. You tried your best not to look at the sight of a man your age, looking strikingly handsome with very minimum clothing. “Please raise your head. Don’t do this for me.”

“He’s right,” Levi added. “Don’t lower your head for someone like me. You’re making me sick.”

“Then will you help him?”

“Lord, you’re as stubborn as your father.” Levi exhaled loudly, pushing his hair back. “Fine. But only until the brat regains his memories back. And he’s going to stay in my room, not yours. You’re too young to have a man sleeping in your bed.”

“O-of course!” You blushed, looking away when you noticed how Eren’s cheeks were also reddening from his words.

“Why would you do this for me?” Eren questioned, shy and weak. “I’m nobody.”

You turned to him, smiling softly as you sat close next to him on the bed. “You’re not a nobody. You’re part of the kingdom, and it is my duty as a princess to help my people. Wouldn’t you have done the same if you were in my position?”

Levi clicked his tongue in irritation. “This is too embarrassing to hear. Hey, brat.” His tone was so spiteful that it made the younger boy freeze on his spot. “We don’t randomly take strangers into our castle, keep that in mind. You’re only here because she insists to have you here.”

“Yes, Sir.” Eren bowed his head to you. “Thank you, Milady.”

Before you could reply, Levi hastily asked, “Tell me your plans. What will you do once you recover? No one can guarantee your memories will come back.”

Eren parted his lips but couldn’t find his words. Now that he had nothing to remember but his name, he was left in the dark, barely owning a purpose in life other than just to continue living. 

When he kept quiet, Levi continued, “If you have a family, then they must be looking for you sooner or later. But suppose you don’t, what are you going to do? Are you going to stay here doing nothing, leeching from us?”

“Levi,” you warned with a scowl. “You don’t have to say it like that.”

Levi threw you a look but it was Eren who answered. “I don’t want that,” he said. ���I’d be disgusted with myself if I do that.” 

“Then show your gratitude,” Levi suggested. “If you want to have a purpose in your life, then serve. Make yourself useful. Dedicate your life to the royal family. To her, the one who saved your life.”

“N-no, that’s not true. You’re not obliged to do that,” you assured him, flustered. You threw ice daggers with your eyes towards the Kingsguard. “You’re going too far, Levi.”

“No. He’s right,” Eren said, eyes gleaming with affection and tenderness. “You saved my life. I will be forever indebted to you, Milady. And if working here as a servant could be a way for me to repay your kindness, even just for a little, then I would be more than glad to do it.” He rendered you speechless, couldn’t even able to look him in the eyes from how sincerely he uttered his words.

“Then, from now on, your last name is no longer Jaeger,” Levi said. “Eren Jaeger is dead, along with your memories. You’re not the person you were before. You understand?”

Eren swallowed his breath. He nodded.

“I need an answer, brat.”

“Y-yes, Sir.”

“Good. You’ll be taken under my wing. If anyone asks, your last name is Kruger and you will spend the rest of your life as a servant, serving the princess to show her your gratitude.”

"I understand.”

“Will you swear you’ll protect her?”

There was only determination written on Eren’s face. “With my life, Sir.”

“Oh, not bad.” Levi’s eyes gleamed. “Then it’s settled.”

***

“What was that all about?” You asked in a whisper, the second you both left the room.

Levi closed the door shut behind you so Eren wouldn’t be able to catch on to your words. “His last name is Jaeger.”

“Yes, I heard that. But what does that have to do with—”

“Listen to me.” The sudden heaviness in his tone made you nervous. “There are some things you haven’t learned, something that we don’t really talk about within this castle. And I’m not sure whether your father would want you to know about this, but your family isn’t as chivalrous as you thought, Princess.”

“What do you mean?”

He hesitated, contemplating whether he should reveal everything. “I’ll only say this much. The Jaeger house was once powerful and a strong alliance. That brat’s ancestors used to hold important positions in this kingdom, even as far as being the King’s Advisor once. But with power comes greed and his family betrayed yours, trying to overthrow the king and taking the entire kingdom for themselves.”

“No.” You shook your head in disbelief. “There must be a mistake—”

“Mistake or not, none of that matters anymore. The entire Jaeger family was massacred on a night of the full moon. It was your late grandfather who gave the order. No one was left behind. Not even a baby.”

You shuddered in horror as the mental images appeared in your mind. “That can’t be…” 

“But it happened,” Levi confirmed. “So, if that brat came from the Jaeger household, even just by having him wandering around the castle would already put his life in jeopardy as he’s not supposed to exist.” 

You grew pale. You wanted to save him, but at the same time, you were putting him at the risk of exposing himself and getting executed for the sin he didn’t commit. 

What should I do?

“And of course,” Levi added, “He could be a threat to you too.”

You shook your head. “He’s just a boy, Levi. I doubt he would want to become a usurper at that age.”

“Maybe not, but there’s a chance he wants to avenge his family’s death.”

“By taking my life? I doubt it.”

“Stop being so gullible!” Levi hissed and you knew you had gone too far. “I’ve murdered more men than I could count at his age. No one can tell what he’s capable of.” 

“I…” Your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. “I just… I wanted to help him.”

Levi could tell you were frightened by him so he took a step back, giving you a chance to breathe. “I understand why you don’t have the heart to let him go. Brat probably doesn’t know how to fend for himself.” Levi exhaled, somehow exhausted. “I can tell he’s telling the truth about him not remembering anything. If he knew about his family history, which I’m sure someone must have told him by now already, he wouldn’t just introduce himself like that. He would’ve taken a different name.” 

“Then… What should we do?” You bit your lip worriedly. “He doesn’t have anyone. I don’t want to leave him alone.”

Levi muttered, “Goddamn brats,” under his breath before he heaved a sigh. “Either way, we should keep an eye on him. We can’t let him go now that we know he’s a Jaeger. We’ll let him stay under one condition,” he declared. “You have to keep quiet about his surname and family history. You can’t tell anyone, including the brat himself. If someone knows that he’s a Jaeger, they will execute him.”

“Should I tell him to keep his real name a secret as well?”

“Don’t. Knowing how determined he was to protect you earlier, I think he’ll keep his words and play the role of Eren Kruger for your sake. Telling him to keep quiet about his last name would only make him suspicious. He’ll start asking questions about why we’re hiding it in the first place.”

“Okay.” You released the breath you didn’t know you were holding. “And what if he remembers?”

“If he regains his memories back,” Levi said, “If he remembers his family history and there’s the slightest chance of him hurting you, I will take his life with my own hands. Your family's safety is my responsibility. No matter how fond you are of him, I will execute him nonetheless.”

You gulped hard, your heart thundering. “Okay.”

“Promise me this and I will take care of everything else.”

“I promise.”

***

When you visited him the next morning, Eren looked much brighter, his face had more colors to it. The blanket had been folded nicely on the bed, the sheets were tidy and he sat on the edge, stiff and nervous with his fingers tapping against his thigh. At the sight of you, he took a sharp breath and promptly dropped to one knee, bowing his head. 

“Milady,” he formally greeted.

“No, no, no, get up.” Blood rushed to your face, forcing him to get back to his feet by tugging on his arm. A guard was standing by near the door, squinting his eyes suspiciously at the special way you were treating the stranger you just invited to your castle. “You don’t have to bow to me like that.”

“Oh, umm…” He couldn’t meet your eyes, his cheeks turning a bit pink. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how to behave around royalties. And you’re the Princess, I really shouldn’t—”

“Eren,” You stopped him, squeezing his hand. “I’m your friend. Treat me as one.”

He glanced at the way your fingers were almost intertwined with his. “Umm... Okay.”

“Let’s start by calling me by my name, then.”

“What—no! That would be rude of me, Milady. I’m just a commoner, I’m—”

“Eren!” You flicked him on the nose and he took a step back, baffled. “What did I say about treating me as a friend?”

Rubbing his nose, he nodded apologetically. He tried calling out your name but when the first syllables escaped his lips, he gave up. “I can’t… It’s too much.”

“Fine.” You huffed, puffing out your cheeks. “Then just call me Princess like everybody else. You can at least do that, can’t you?”

His eyes shimmered in delight, almost like a child—a very boyish, handsome child. “Yes, my Princess!”

‘My’, he said?! You felt lightheaded as you weren’t prepared. The words fell so naturally from his mouth, making your heart run a thousand miles per minute.

 “Just come on.” You diverted the topic, hoping you could mask your embarrassment by turning around. “I’ll show you around the castle.”

***

Next Chapter

[amuseoffyre]

Don’t Tell Mama - OFMD SMAU

17-19

“And you’re sure it’s going all right?” The kids had just finished their dad time, running off to play their video games. Mary didn’t like to pry, but she could help squinting at the room beyond Stede’s shoulders. “It’s kind of early to be in the office, isn’t it? And on a Saturday?”

“Is it?” Stede leaned in closer to squint at the phone. “Oh. Right.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, well, we’ve had electricians coming in and getting things wired up, so I wanted to be in to tidy some bits and pieces up so we’re good to go on Monday.” He gave the air an awkward punch. “First official day of work and all that.”

She hesitated, then prodded carefully, “You never said what exactly you were going to be doing.”

“Didn’t I?” He managed to avoid looking at the camera. “I thought I’d mentioned I was going to be doing some work with Nigel and Chauncey. They’re helping me set up an office and things. Getting my business portfolio off the ground and what have you.”

He was always so vague about it and it worried her a bit, especially with him being so far away and on his own. Yeah, she needed her own space and if… no. Not if. When they could formally deal with all the paperwork and everything, she’d hoped they could do it on amicable terms.

And instead, the week after they agreed he should move out, he told her he was going to take up a business opportunity in London. A few months, at least, to see how it pans out. He’d let her keep the house. Let her keep everything, in fact, and within a few weeks, had flown off around the world.

“Classic mid-life crisis,” Evelyn, her friend and the kids’ godmother, had informed her over a cocktail brunch.

“Flying around the world?”

Evelyn shrugged. “Some guys buy a big red phallic car. People with money like Stede? They buy real estate in London.”

Mary studied her husband’s face in the small screen. He looked tired and no wonder if it was so early in the morning. “Maybe you can give us a video tour some time? I think the kids would love to see where you’re working.”

“Maybe, yeah, but… just not while the work’s being finished.”

In other words, probably a no. Not maliciously. He’d just… not bring it up again. Maybes were like that with him. A soft no.

He stifled a yawn in the back of his hand and she took pity on him.

“You should go and relax. Enjoy the weekend. You can clear up on Monday.”

His drawn expression eased a bit. “Yeah, maybe.”

Even as she hung up the phone, she knew he wouldn’t.

 ___________________________________

 Stede ran a hand over his face, then got up and unpinned the office backdrop from the wall.

It was probably overkill.

Definitely overkill.

But the flat…

Turned out there were so many reasons the building hadn’t been leased for years. Everywhere he looked, there was more work to be done. It was happening, thank God. If he hadn’t had his inheritance from his dad and the business back home, it wouldn’t be.

The staff areas were all sorted out, but his living room and bedroom were… a bit more of a work in progress. Mary had a sharp eye. She would have noticed the holes in the wall, the lack of furniture, and then she would worry and then, she would call a friend who happened to be in the city and they would find out he definitely wasn’t where he said he was and then…

He tried not to think what would happen if she saw his day-to-day clothes these days. He’d tried jazzing up his outfits when they were still trying to pretend everything was fine. She hadn’t been… angry, per se. At least he didn’t think so. But she had asked why he couldn’t just dress like a normal person, especially in front of everyone.

Those words had rattled around in his head like a pea in a drum for weeks afterwards. It was why he still pulled on a bland shirt or a jumper every time he called home. Easier than seeing her purse her lips or roll her eyes.

Still, he could wear what he wanted now in his club and his flat. He might not have an entire wall in his bedroom, but by God, he was going to make the most of the wardrobe. He rolled up the backdrop and tucked it into the corner of the room, then pulled open the wardrobe door.

Ruffles and lace and silk and organza bloomed out like flowers and Stede breathed out a happier sigh at the sight. What she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

Prev / Next

[imherongraystairstrash]

I’ve been thinking about this for a while, do you think Charles,Barbara, Eugenia and Anna were close? Anna maybe less because she’s closer in age to the merry thieves set and she probably ghosted Charles after the Ariadne engagement. Would you consider a fic of them all growing up, starting with them 4 as little kids and then slowly becoming teens and adults and then dealing with Barbara’s death. I think it would be a fun idea since nobody ever considers them to be a older merry thieves.

You can thank my social anxiety for this one bc I stress wrote it in school 🙃

TW: panic attacks, death

Title: When we were young

Characters: Barbara Lightwood, Anna Lightwood, Eugenia Lightwood, Cecily Lightwood, Gabriel Lightwood, Alexander Lightwood, Sophie Lightwood, Gideon Lightwood

Anna was sitting by the fire when Charles came into the room. She hated him. She truly did. But, somehow, at that moment, she felt strange. He looked at her and it took her many years back, to when they weren’t exactly friends, but  they were far from what they are now to each other.

…

“And that was how Consul Wentworth fixed the crisis of 1687.” Charles said with a satisfied smile to himself.

The Lightwood girls were his audience. Well, sort of. Eugenia’s cheek was resting on her fist, squishing the right side of her face as her lidded eyes approached shutting completely. Anna was slumped against Eugenia, her lips pressed together tightly and her eyes opened wide, staring at a fixed spot on the floor. Their luminous dark blue glittered in the witchlight, looking exquisitely uncanny. Barbara was mid-yawn, leaning on the leg of a sofa.

“Wow, Charles. Thanks for the history lesson.” Eugenia said, monotonously. It was evident that she’d inherited her mother’s sass from the day she was born, when Barbara had woken her up by exclaiming at the sight of her newborn sister, and Genie responded by pulling her sister’s hair.

“Oh, and in 1690-“

“NO!” All three Lightwood daughters shrieked.

“I’m still not done, though.” Said Charles.

“Yes, you are.” Eugenia said, standing up and settling the matter. “We are positively bored. There is absolutely nothing to do except listen to Charles talk about politics, and if those are the only two options, frankly, I’d rather be bored.” 

Charles crossed his arms. “Being an intellect is not boring.”

Little two year old Anna looked at him with one eyebrow raised. 

“I swear, Thomas is having a better time than we are,” Eugenia said glaring at to where their parents were, with the tiny, almost invisible baby nestled in Gideon’s arms, his fingers wrapped around Sophie's thumb. The parents were all laughing about something, which made Eugenia scowl even more. 

“To be an adult.” Barbara said, with a martyred sigh. 

“We needn’t be adults to have fun.” Charles said.

“I suppose you’re going to torture us with more political trivia.” 

“No,” Charles said. “I was going to suggest we go through the attic.” 

The girls looked up at this and Charles smirked, clearly proud of himself at having come up with a good idea. For once. 

“What is in the attic?” 

Charles shrugged. “I don’t know, but there’s probably strange and obscure things. There’s a lot of that kind of stuff in our house.” 

Barbara and Eugenia exchanged a look before the eldest Lightwood sister turned to him. 

“We shall go and discover this mysterious attic you speak of.”

…

“What could this even be?” Barbara said, holding up a loose gear-like contraption. 

“Papa sometimes builds things out of clockwork.” Charles said, sitting cross legged. “Or, he used to at least.” 

 “That’s…” 

Genie and Charles looked at Barbara as she trailed off.

“Nevermind, I have no comment.”

Charles nodded as though that was a common reaction people had in terms of his father’s experiments. 

They rummaged through boxes upon boxes, finding momentos they didn’t understand such as papers upon papers of things that said many difficult words. They could distinguish a couple of words such as “infernal” and “devices”, however there were many that made no sense to them.

“What is a Mortmain?” Asked Genie.

“I think it’s an undead horse or something along those lines,” said Charles.

“Oh,” said Eugenia. “That’s disgusting.”

“Quite,” agreed Barbara.

Anna was toddling around the room, giggling. She almost tripped over a loose floorboard, and would have, had Charles not reached out and grabbed a hold of the back of her dress. 

“This is too dangerous for a small child like Anna,” Barbara said, ever the mother-goose. “I shall take her downstairs before she hurts herself.” 

Anna protested at first, but acquiesced once Barbara bribed her with the promise of dessert.

…

“What are you doing here?” Anna asked.

He looked up, his green eyes meeting her blue ones. 

…

Charles remembered that day like it was just yesterday. 

He and Eugenia had stayed behind rifling through boxes, which wasn’t unwelcome, as Eugenia and Charles had an easy, lighthearted and, at times, profound, friendship. Despite their age gap, they enjoyed each other’s company, though neither could say why. Perhaps, it was simply because they mocked each other. Or perhaps, it was sometimes they would occasionally talk about things such as philosophy, and whether what they were seeing was true, or the world was just a figment of their imaginations. Or a mixture of the two; they’d never really discussed it. 

Eugenia surprised him when she said, “do you ever feel… different from your parents?” 

Charles furrowed his brows, “in what aspect?”

“Love.” 

“Have you a suitor?” Charles inquired, intrigued.

“No. Actually, that was my question. I find that, sometimes, I don’t only enjoy the idea of a male suitor, but perhaps, I also enjoy the company of a woman. Perhaps.” She pressed her lips together tightly, as if forcing herself to stop speaking.

Charles looked at her, his bright green eyes wide. “I-um-…”

“But I’m not sure, of course.” Eugenia blurted out. “It’s not as if shadowhunters are precisely fond of that particular preference or-“

“Do you really think they wouldn’t like it?” Charles asked, softly. “Do you believe they will reject those who are like that?” 

Eugenia looked down. “I’m afraid I’m most sure of it.”

Charles had then realized that he couldn’t have both. There was no way around it. 

He knew his parents were happy and that love made them complete. However, they didn’t have to choose. They could be married and the idea wouldn’t affect their respective occupations. Charles, on the other hand, couldn’t be Consul and have the kind of love he wanted. He almost resented them because of it. They were able to do what they loved and nobody forced them to pick between one or the other. 

It was unfair. So incredibly unfair.

“I guess you better get rid of your feelings towards women than.” He said simply, “unless you’re willing to let something as simple as love get in the way of your dreams.”

“Dreams?” Eugenia asked, looking confused and a tiny bit hurt. 

 But Charles got up to go back downstairs to his parents, aunts and uncles.

… 

Charles slumped down in a chair and dug his fingers into his hair.

“She was just here.” He said quietly. “Babs, was just here.”

Anna felt sudden rage. “You are not allowed to mourn her.” 

Charles looked up. “Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean I can’t be sad. She was my cousin too. Perhaps not by blood, but she was still a cousin.” He pressed his lips together angrily and stared fixedly at the witchlight stone that was illuminating the room. 

Anna, however, couldn’t find it in her to be diplomatic; she got up and left the room. 

…

Anna had never seen Eugenia look this way. She was always put together, posh. But now, she looked hollow. Like a shell of who she used to be. Anna wanted to go up to her, to say something, but she felt lost for words. What did you tell someone who lost a dear sister? If Anna felt sorrow, she couldn’t imagine what Eugenia was feeling. 

Her head was tilted upwards, looking up at the pyre where the corpse of her sister lay. Tears were streaming down her face, rolling down her cheeks, throat and chest, leaving streaks on her face that looked like the roots of a tree.

Sophie had her arm around her daughter. The sight of the four of them was very strange. There was a gap missing where Barbara should have been. She suddenly felt a hand take hold of her own. She looked to her right and saw her mother looking straight ahead, squeezing her daughter’s hand. Her father was looking down, holding Alex. Her baby brother was one of the few who looked up at the cousin who’d taught him to play simple songs on the piano, and had always let him sleep in her arms on New Year's eve.  

She didn’t know what he must have been thinking now, staring up at the pyre. 

Though, to be fair, she didn’t quite know what to think herself, as she looked up at the cousin who’s life was cut far too short.

…

Eugenia’s body didn’t feel like her own. She hadn’t felt this body was her own for a while. Even since Augustus and the secret she’d kept to herself.

This was somehow worse. To be torn away from your best friend, whom you’d shared a room with almost your entire life. Eugenia didn’t know how to live in a world without Barbara. Sometimes, in the rare moments when she forgot about her sadness, she’d call her sister’s name, ready to tell her about what had happened in her novel. Or find herself walking to Barbara’s room without thinking and then staring blankly at the door that has remained shut ever since the day she passed away.

A couple of weeks ago, she’d found a letter Barbara had sent her when she’d been in Idris. It was in between her copy of Jane Eyre. She couldn’t bring herself to read it in its entirety, but she stared at the signature blankly. 

Suddenly, she got the urge to run. So she ran. That’s how, an hour later, she’d gotten a small tattoo under her ankle that said “Sincerely, your favorite sister Babs.” 

It felt right to have Bab’s signature there, we’re only she could see. It made her feel accompanied everywhere she went, even though nobody else could see. 

Now, looking up at the pyre, her face tight from tears she’d left to dry, her mother weeping silently, she could almost imagine that her sister was there, simply caught in a slumber and that she’d wake up at any moment and come tumbling down, throwing herself in Eugenia’s arms.

Any moment now, she thought when the pyre burst into flames. 

“Ave atque vale, Barbara Lightwood.” The crowd said at once.

Eugenia shook her head and swayed on her feet. Her breathing became heavy and her fingers began prickling. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. No nononono. 

She felt a hand on her shoulder, vaguely that it was her father’s. 

Not Barbara.

Not Babs.

“Calm down, Genie.”

Not her sister. Her sister couldn’t possibly be up there.

“Breathe Eugenia.”

She wanted to scream that she couldn’t, that she’d never breathe again, as long as her sister wasn’t breathing with her. Why did she have to live? She would have much preferred that Barbara live in her stead. 

The world was numb and fractured, never to be fixed again. 

…

(Don’t worry, Gideon was able to help Genie after the fic ends bc he’s the best dad)

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[babbushka]

Happily Ever After (Part 1)

Flip Zimmerman x Reader

10k; Slow burn, strangers to lovers, hidden/secret identity, falling in love, first kiss; cw: Kidnapping, sword fighting, archery, near-death experiences 

A/N: I originally was going to upload this as one big oneshot, but then I got carried away and it became too long. So here is part 1, part 2 will be coming tomorrow, which has a much darker tone/set of warnings, please keep that in mind! Thank you to everyone for voting on my 5k Follower celebration polls and allowing me to write this story! I truly couldn’t have done it without you :) 

Available on AO3

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Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a magical kingdom known to all as Springs Valley. It was a peaceful and prosperous kingdom, nestled deep in the heart of a mountainous range. Though the villages were small, they were happy, for they were ruled by their beloved Queen and her husband, the Prince. The monarchs treated the villagers fairly, and justly, ruling with a kind yet firm fist from their castle, a grand building called the Purple Palace. And if there was one thing that the monarchs taught above all, it was that the power of goodness and love, would always triumph over evil.

This is the story of how one man fought against all odds to start anew, to find his heart, and earn his crown.

Of the many small villages that co-existed in Springs Valley, there was only one that could be considered the Capitol. It was called Pike Peak, and that is where our story begins. Pike Peak was nestled on the outskirts of the Purple Palace, so named due to the land surrounding it: vast waves of lavender which swayed like a tide in the breezes that traveled through the Valley. The fields stretched from the edge of the palace all the way to the village, and so no matter where one stood in Pike Peak, the castle was always in sight, its crystal walls glittering in the sunshine. 

From his home high up in the mountains, just on the edge of the village, Philip Zimmerman awoke every morning to the rainbow beams of light that the sun bounced off of the crystal walls. A humble carpenter, these bright rainbows lured Philip out of bed each morning, and called him to begin his day toiling away in his workshop.

On one particular morning, Philip awoke with a thorn in his side. For over thirty years, he had lived and worked in this home, crafting all manner of things from wood. His father had owned this workshop for eighty-years, and his father had owned it for nearly as long prior. Though in life there were no certainties, one thing could be counted on: Philip was born a woodworker, and he would die a woodworker.

“Another day, another order.” Philip huffed to himself that morning, wishing he were doing something, anything, else with his time.

He wasn’t ashamed to be a carpenter – no of course not! He’s good at it, the best in the village they say. It’s an honor to be the best at something, Philip thought as he stretched and set some coffee atop the stove.

It’s just that…well…it sure would be nice to have someone to share that with, wouldn’t it? He’d never tell a soul, but often when Philip is hard at work assembling the orders that have been given, he lets his mind wander to another world, a different world, where he could be something other than just the man who fixes a wobbly table or loose wagon wheel. A world where he could be a Knight in shining armor, have a beautiful maiden to call his wife and keep warm at night.

He loved living in the village, of course he did. He loved the townspeople and the quaint living, the fresh bread traded for baking paddles carved by his own hand. But as Philip turned his gaze to the Purple Palace, glittering and shimmering in the distance, he had to believe that there was something more to life than this.

He had to, otherwise what was all this for?

And he didn’t know, but looking out through your window in that very same castle high above him, a certain someone was thinking the very same.

Though the walls were made of crystal, mystery shrouded the Purple Palace. No one from the village had ever been allowed inside, so naturally rumors spread across the Valley, of what could be hidden away. One such rumor was that of a Princess, cursed for all eternity to remain bound to the palace grounds. No one had ever even seen this Princess, but still, the rumors remained.

Little did the Valley know, but there was indeed a Princess, although she hardly ever felt like it. Never allowed beyond the boundaries of the East Wing, she spent her days keeping herself company, occupied with her books and her art and her music. It was music most of all which she loved, so much so that when she thought no one could hear her, she would sing in the early hours of morning. The King and Queen had told her it was for her own safety, that she would surely be kidnapped or held for ransom by the neighboring Kingdom – and so out of fear, inside the castle she remained.

It wasn’t so bad, she reasoned, living in the castle. She had all her needs tended to, anything she wanted was given to her. New beautiful dresses and shoes, books and instruments and the latest entertainments, whatever food she desired were all brought to her at the snap of her fingers -- but what she craved most of all, more than any delicious meal or fine gown, was love.

Love like that which existed in the books she read to pass the hours wasting away in her bedroom. True love, pure and sweet. So every morning she sang, her window open, hoping that one day someone might hear her, and she might find the love she was after.

But Philip did not know any of this. Shaking the daydreams out of his head and turning away from the palace, he began to busy himself with the day. He dressed in the clothing that his meager peasant’s salary could afford, and drank the black coffee he had brewed. Leaving his small kitchen to check the post, Philip braced himself for another slew of orders – and new orders there were.

Every day it seemed as though something new in the village needed mending, or replacing. He had come to expect the same requests day after day. However, what he had not braced himself for, what he could never in a million years have expected, was a thick envelope sealed with purple wax, stamped with the crest of the royal family, sitting on top of the pile of mail.

Rushing into the small house once more, Philip tore open the envelope and could scarcely believe what he was reading,

“Dear Mr. Zimmerman, we have heard the wonders of your skill and have decided to commission your talents to build a grand centerpiece for the upcoming harvest festival,” He read aloud to himself, his eyes growing wide with every word, “By royal decree, we invite you to the castle for a consultation.”

Philip took a moment to process the offer, eventually coming to the conclusion that could only be described as, holy shit.

Abandoning his tasks for the day, Philip at once set off towards the Purple Palace.

Though it was early in the day, the path to the palace was filled with villagers, going about their lives in the same orderly fashion as they always had, the very same that Philip did. Philip wondered if they had dreams of grandeur, or if it was only he who was going through this mid-life crisis.

“Good morning Mr. Zimmerman!” One portly fellow, the butcher, waved to him. “Thank you again for the cutting blocks you made me, they work like a damn charm!”

“You’re welcome, I’m glad to hear they are holding up.” Philip gave a friendly nod and waved back.

“Flip? Flip! Over here!” A young boy called to him as he passed through the village square, “Check out this new trick I learned!”

Out of nowhere, this child ran up to him and threw a large stick his way. Expertly, Philip caught it and began to at once deflect blow after blow from his young opponent’s stick. The young boy waved his around and around, acting as if it were the mightiest of swords.

Allowing the boy to overtake him and knock the stick out of his hands, Philip heartily laughed as he fell to the ground with a theatrical flair that had the child bursting into a fit of giggles. Philip tried not to allow himself to grow bitter over the years, never having any children of his own. The village children were good-natured and friendly, if a bit chaotic at times, and it always reminded Philip of what could have been.

“Very good, keep that up and one day you’ll be fighting for our crown.” Nevertheless, Philip always encouraged the children whenever he saw them, so he got up and with a ruffle of the boy’s hair, continued on his way.

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Glittering in the morning sunlight, the Palace was even more intimidating up close and personal. Guards standing by the door inspected him with raised eyebrows, but the moment he showed the seal on the envelope, the gates parted for him to pass through. As they opened, Philip hesitated – he had never been inside the palace before…no one had. He did not know what he was going to find, or what it would be like, but as the rainbows sparkled across the lavender fields, he knew there would only be one way to find out.

Every bit as magical as Philip had hoped, was the answer. He tried not to gawk at the mesmerizing architecture, seemingly clear and yet reflective all at once. Everything in the palace felt fragile and yet formidable, it was a disorienting experience. His disorientation only grew, as when he made his way through the entrance hall, he found none other than the King and Queen waiting for him atop their tall thrones. Philip knew what they looked like of course, their faces were on every piece of coinage and sent across the Valley by way of statue and tapestry, but much like the palace had seemed, up close they were intimidating.

At once, Philip bowed deeply, not wanting his first interaction with the monarchy to be his last.

“Mr. Zimmerman!” The King’s voice boomed loud and proud through the grand throne room, “How good of you to join us after all. We had hoped you would find our offer compelling.”

This friendliness was unexpected, and Philip, with great hesitation, stood back up to his full height. The King and Queen smiled at him, warm and welcoming.

“Yes your majesty, but I wonder, why me?” Philip had to ask, clutching the envelope in his too-large hands.

“Why not you?” The Queen challenged with a knowing smile, “It is no secret that you are the most talented carpenter in the Valley, and such talents do not go unnoticed by the crown.”

The praise brought a blush to Philip’s cheeks, and once again he averted his eyes. He wished his Ma were still here with him, if only she could have seen him now, being asked to make something for their monarchs.

“What would you like for me to build?” He wondered aloud, hoping it was not out of turn to be so direct with the royals.

“A wheelbarrow, one large enough to hold all the lavender for this year’s harvest.” The King did not seem deterred by his questioning, and had his answer ready to reply.

Philip’s eyebrows shot up at that notion, and through the crystal walls, he stared out into the sea of lavender just beyond. It seemed to stretch endlessly, for miles and miles all around. Philip had heard tales of the ocean but had never seen it himself – he imagined this was not dissimilar.

“That would be big indeed, I’m afraid I don’t think I would have the room to construct such a thing at my workshop.” Philip admitted, suddenly feeling ashamed at his own humble dwelling.

“You may live and work here for the duration of the build, if you so desire. I daresay that our workshop will be more than satisfactory.” The Queen offered at once, something that the carpenter had only ever dreamed about.

“It would be an honor, your majesties.” Philip agreed straight away, his hands already itching to begin carving and chipping and sanding away wood.

“Then we expect you to get started at once!” The Queen gave him a dismissing nod of her head, and he bowed deeply once more, before being escorted out of the throne room by palace aides, and down towards the East Wing.

And with that, Philip began constructing the largest and most impressive wheelbarrow that the Valley had ever seen.

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His routine was the same every day, for twenty days and twenty nights: in the early morning before the dawn, he would hike out into the forest to collect his wood. Chopping down only the most perfect of trees, Philip hauled logs and trunks across his shoulders back to the workshop, where he would use all the tools, space, and materials that the palace had to offer. He would not leave until very late at night, his hands cramped and body exhausted, but it was the most wonderful work he had done in a long time.

It was backbreaking work, especially for only one man, but every evening when he rested his head on the narrow bed in a small room just off the workshop, Philip fell asleep with pride in his chest. The singing helped, of course. Every morning, instead of awaking to rainbow beams of light shining through his window, he woke to the sweet song of a fair maiden. He did not know who she was, or even where she was, for the sound bounced around the crystal walls and made it appear as though she existed everywhere and nowhere.

Songs of longing, wordless melodies filled with a yearning for something which Philip had never been able to voice himself but that he could feel in his own soul, carried him through the day. It was a delight, a privilege to hear the music when it came, and a sorrowful emptiness when it finished.

Working by himself as he always had, alone in the workshop like he always was, he felt as though that maiden sang for him. He had grown so attached to the voice in fact, that when the wheelbarrow was complete and sent out to hold the year’s lavender harvest, Philip cast a yearning gaze up to the stars himself hoping that by some miracle, the maiden would reveal herself to him, and he could thank her for the beauty that was her voice.

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The festival began at sunrise, and though Philip was in good spirits, he found that he could not join in the immense excitement of those around him. Seemingly the entire town had awoken to celebrate; booths were constructed in the main square, and music and dancing were already underway. 

In the center of it all, was the wheelbarrow, a structure larger than Pike Peak’s largest building. Standing nearly thirty feet tall and seemingly just as wide, it had been rolled out by palace guards and filled with lavender harvested from the fields, it truly was a sight to behold.

“Flip, it is marvelous.” The baker congratulated him, pulling him into a tight squeezing hug.

“How amazing, one of our own working for the King and Queen!” The cobbler stared at the magnificent sculpture in awe.

“Will they commission you again?” The blacksmith wondered aloud hopefully.

Of all these comments and questions, that one was the only thing that occupied Philip’s mind. Not for the prestige, or for the money, but to hear the voice of that fair maiden once again, to be able to work by the sound of her voice once more.

“That I cannot say, I hope to inquire about that when I receive my compensation tomorrow.” He replied, before sticking his hands in his pocket, and leaving the large gathering to go find a quiet place to smoke his pipe.

So lost in a daydream about the maiden was he, that he did not make it very far before someone collided with his firm chest at such a speed that she toppled onto the ground with a startled gasp.

“Oh shit!” The poor maiden groaned. Belatedly, Philip realized that she was holding a hot coffee fresh from one of the breakfast stalls, and immediately began to search and ensure that she had not been burned.

“Please forgive me!” Philip apologized at once, flustered in his own right, feeling like a fool and concerningly asking, “Are you injured?”

The maiden simply looked at him, and Philip felt as though all time and space came to a standstill. She was, undoubtedly, the most beautiful thing he had ever beheld. Even with her torn and tattered hem and her dirty apron, Philip could feel the tides within him change.

“No, no I’m quite alright. I should have been watching where I was going, the fault is mine.” Dazed, the maiden seemed just as affected by Philip as he was of her, and he pulled her gently to her feet.

“I don’t think we’ve met before, are you new to the village?” His own voice sounded a thousand miles away to his ears, too captivated in the presence of such beauty.

“Hm? Oh! Yes,” She began to stammer, nervous about something. “I, um well you see I come from out of town. I heard there to be a large and impressive centerpiece for the festival, and I wanted to see it for myself.”

“You heard about the wheelbarrow?” He blinked, chest pounding.

“Of course! And I find it absolutely magnificent, seeing it up close like this.” She replied with an honest smile, “Whoever made it surely is an expert at their craft.”

At this, Philip’s heart soared! This beautiful woman had heard of him, had heard of his work. His heart began to beat harder, faster than before. All at once, any worries he may have had about the quality of his craftsmanship vanished, all in the wake of this one person’s praise.

“Do you really think so?” Philip swallowed around a lump in his throat, and all too softly, the maiden nudged the back of his hand with her own.

“Yes, I do.” She whispered, a sparkle of sorts in her eye that made Philip sure he had to be dreaming, that sort of sparkle that told him she knew exactly who built it. Biting her lip for a moment, she looked around and continued in that same hushed tone, “I fear that I am not familiar enough with your village to know my way around this festival, would you accompany me?”

No one had ever asked Philip to accompany them to anything, as a friend or…or otherwise. And the way she was looking at him, he knew that this was most certainly an otherwise.

“It would be a privilege.” He offered her his arm, which she gladly accepted, and back to the festival they went.

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Pike Peak knew how to throw a party, this was extremely evident to the young maiden as Philip led her through the main square. Everyone had donned a costume of sorts, masks and hats and funny tunics made to look like the buds of the lavender flower which they were celebrating. Music played happily and people danced, children ran about shouting out in joy as they chased one another, and merriment was abundant.

As they walked through the square, Philip brought the maiden down towards the merchant stalls, where craftsmen like himself had goods on display for purchase. It wasn’t just those in Pike Peak who attended the festival, no no, people from all over Springs Valley made the journey to partake in the festivities, and the merchants knew it. Philip had of course seen all these goods before, but it was evident that the maiden had not.

She stopped in front of one stall belonging to the Jeweler. Kept in wooden boxes made by Philip’s own hand were one of a kind necklaces, rings, earrings, and bracelets of purple stones that shone in the late morning light.

“Would you like one?” Philip asked her gently, when he noticed her staring at a particular pair of earrings.

“Oh I couldn’t possibly.” She replied with an embarrassed shake of her head, about to move on from the stall.

“Which pair? Please, allow me.” Philip reaches out to grasp her wrist to prevent her from leaving, wanting to give something to her, wanting to do something nice for her. He didn’t have very much money, but he knew that he would soon be paid for his commission, and decided this beautiful woman was worth the expense.

“Those.” Entranced, she pointed to an ornate set.

Philip had to admit, she had wonderful taste. The earrings were set in gold, small hoops from which stones dangled. The first and largest stone was oval shaped, and from it six smaller circles in two rows of three sat nestled in gold as well. And then, dangling from them, three oblong purple stones twinkled and clinked together like windchimes as Philip picked them up.

“How much?” Philip asked the Jeweler, who eyed him with joy.

“For you, who has done so much for me? Take them as a gift, I insist.” The Jeweler put her hands up as if to say she would not be convinced to change her mind. She regarded the maiden then and told her, “Without this man’s talents, I would not have a studio to make my designs in.”

The maiden grinned at Philip, who only blushed deeply from the kind words spoken about him. Turning to him, the maiden pushed her hair away from her ears.

“Would you put them on for me?” She asked, and Philip had to will his hands not to shake as he did just that. She did not even wince when he tightened the earrings a little too much, and the two chuckled together out of shyness when she corrected it, before addressing the Jeweler and this handsome man, “Thank you, they’re beautiful. I shall never take them off.”

With that, Philip and the maiden continued along their way, exploring more of the festival.

Surely he was delusional, he thought, he must have been. Because every now and again, he felt the barest brush of knuckles against his own, a tentative invitation. He is about to have a crisis about it, when she speaks softly and does it again, the careful nudging of her fingers against his.

“Won’t you take my hand?” She whispered, turning those bright eyes of hers onto him, stunning him with her beauty.

He grew self-conscious, regarding his own palms. Covered in callouses and blisters and bandages were they, cut up by splintered wood and burned by hot glues. They were a peasant’s hands, dirt still lingering under the fingernails, scarred from a lifetime of efforts. Her hands were soft, he could tell just by looking at them, at the smooth supple skin that kept ghosting over his own.

“I fear that you wouldn’t like them, they are rough from years of woodworking.” He admitted, and much like he had felt in front of the King and Queen, he feels shame.

But she only took his hand with a confidence that shocked him, the electric feeling of her fingers weaving through his own making the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

“You are mistaken, my good sir.” The maiden gives him a smile, soft and sweet, “It is because they are rough that I would like to hold them.”

Philip could do nothing but blink.

Could this be…? Could it be the very thing that he had longed for for so long? A person who accepted him for all that he was, and all that he was not? With the way she looked at him, Philip felt his heart begin to pound, growing larger in his chest. She, lovely and gentle as she was, wanted to hold his hand, his dirty scarred hand – never did Philip think he could have ever been so lucky!

In that moment, it was as if the festival disappeared entirely, as if there were no other villagers in the square aside from him and her. He was lost in her eyes, in her smile. Sweating and nervous, Philip let his eyes close and began to lean down, compelled to offer her a kiss. Terrified, he held his breath as adrenaline surged through his body, for though he had his eyes closed, he felt her leaning in towards him, felt her lips just about to press against his own when –

The wailing of a small child snapped them both out of their moment of intimacy, and Philip opened his eyes, seeing a young boy with big fat tears spilling over his cheeks clinging to the maiden’s apron.

“Oh you poor thing!” She opened her arms for him and scooped him up, balancing him atop her hip in a manner that has Philip so endeared to her that he cannot even be angry that their moment was interrupted. She pet down his thick curly hair and bounced him gently, all the while soothing him, “Don’t cry, what is the matter?”

“I’ve lost my Mama.” The little boy hiccupped and cried, and the maiden gets a determined look in her eye straight away.

“We’ll help you find her, won’t we?” She asked Philip, and he was so dazed by the sight of her kindness that he barely recognizes his own voice when he speaks.

“Yes of course -- ” Philip began fully prepared to do just that, before a frantic looking woman appeared out of the crowd.

She had another child on her hip, this one much younger than the boy that had stopped crying once he saw her. The family resemblance was striking, and Philip kicked himself for not recognizing the boy.

“My precious baby! Oh thank you so much -- Flip, madam, how can I ever repay you?” The cobbler’s wife cried tears of relief when the maiden let her son out of her own arms, the boy running back to his mother.

“Don’t be silly, I’m only glad it did not take long for you to be reunited.” She replied. Now that her hand was freed, it once again twined through with Philip’s, an almost subconscious decision that Philip had no intention of bringing up, lest she change her mind.

“Bless you, oh bless you.” The cobbler’s wife surged forward and placed a kiss to each of their cheeks, before gently scolding her son as they walked away, “Darling what have I told you about running off, you gave me a heart attack!”

In the wake of the momentary drama, the maiden couldn’t help but smile at Philip.

“Your name is Flip?” She inquired, and Philip kicked himself – he had never actually introduced himself after all this time.

“It’s a nickname.” He corrected, before bowing with good manners like the gentleman he was as he said dramatically, “Philip Zimmerman at your service.”

“That’s a strong name. You wear it with pride, I can tell.” The maiden laughed at his theatrics, a sound which warmed his heart.

“It’s the only name I’ve ever had.�� Philip mused, “So I suppose I have to, don’t I?”

“I suppose so, yes.” She chuckled at him softly, her eyes kind even though they were teasing. He felt no malice from her, and therefore allowed the jests to go unreprimanded.

At the thought of jesting, Philip was reminded of the stages which had been constructed in the now-harvested fields of lavender. Stages where jesters and comedians alike tried to rouse crowds, nestled among smaller stages where those who felt lucky could try their hand at various games and competitions.

“Come, let me show you more of the festival, there are games to be played.” Philip squeezed her hand adoringly, watching in delight as her eyes lit up.

“Games! Oh that sounds wonderful!” She breathed, and Philip could have sworn that he never felt more alive than when he began to run, tugging him along towards the promise of entertainment like that which she had never before seen.

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Hours later, many hours later, when the sun had gone down and the crickets had come out to play, their songs filling the air with a symphony of chirping, Philip sat  conflicted. He never wanted this evening to end, because he knew that once it did, this woman that he had decidedly given his heart to would have to leave him…and if she only came to visit for the festival, he did not know if he would ever see her again.

The two of them found themselves sitting alone near the drinking well, after enjoying the last of their dinner together. The maiden was even more beautiful in the moonlight, if such a thing were possible, and Philip spent a great deal trying to figure out how to express that. She didn’t seem to mind the silence, her eyes closed as she rested her head against his shoulder, comfortable with the tranquility.

“I must confess, I have never met anyone like you before.” Philip said eventually, his voice quiet.

“Nor I to be sure.” She replied, the pinky of her hand gently looping around his much larger one. When she spoke again, it was with a breathless sort of sadness that told him she didn’t want to leave him either. Plaintively, she looked up at him and sighed, “Oh Philip…”

“May I kiss you?” He dared to hope aloud, hoping that this time they would not be interrupted.

The smallest of smiles graced her lips, and she gave him a gentle nod. Joy simmering underneath his skin, Philip leaned in and pressed a small, chaste kiss to her lips. She was every bit as sweet as he had imagined she would be, and when she sighed against his mouth and allowed her lips to part, Philip thought he was going to pass out from the way her tongue welcomed his in.

Like that, the carpenter and the young maiden kissed underneath the stars, the last of the festival dying down in the distance. By the drinking well, Philip’s heart soared, as he cupped her cheek with one of his rough palms, and she only leaned into it, nuzzling her face further.

“I’m afraid.” She admitted with a whisper when they broke apart, only far enough to breathe, their foreheads and noses still touching.

“With me, you have nothing to fear.” Philip promised, not knowing why she should be afraid, but wanting her to understand that should she allow him, he would protect her from any kind of harm, from now until always.

He needn’t say the words, for she heard them anyway, and leaned in for another kiss, one that he was happy to give, one that he found himself always willing and eager to give.

So wrapped up in the embrace were they, that the clock-tower struck eleven times nearly unnoticed, until on the twelfth time, the maiden pulled away sharply, eyes wide, afraid.

“Shit, is that the final evening bell?” She scrambled to stand, pulling herself away from the warm arms that had surrounded her.

Philip frowned, confused, worried for her. Was this what she meant by afraid? He had so many questions, only getting so far as “Yes but – ”

“I must go! I’m sorry – ” She interrupted him desperately, regret and terror and sadness plaguing her voice.

The maiden began to dash away, and Philip chased after her, managing to take her hand and pull her towards him with a plea.

“Wait! Please wait, please don’t go.” Philip cupped her cheeks and felt the cold of dread flood through him, realizing belatedly that -- “You never told me your name!”

“It’s (Y/N)!” The maiden ducks out of his grip with a look of despair, torn between wanting to stay and needing to leave. “I must go, or else I’ll be in trouble, big trouble.”

Against his better judgement, Philip releases the maiden. He wouldn’t dare disrespect her wishes, no matter how desperately he wished that she could stay with him.

“Will I ever see you again?” He chased after her still, not wanting to let her out of his sights just yet.

“I hope so.” She threw him a pained glance over her shoulder, her voice breaking as tears stung at her eyes, “I’m sorry!”

“That’s okay – I’ll, I’ll find you!” Philip promised, his voice carrying out into the night, “No matter how far you go, I’ll find you.”

With that, the maiden was gone.

On the far edge of the village, where the town met the mountains, Philip stood alone. He looked out at the vast expanse of the wood beyond him, and let out a deep sigh.

Just then, he noticed the moonlight twinkling on something that had fallen to the ground. Picking it up, he realized it was one of the earrings that he had given her. It must have come free from her ear in her haste, and carefully, ever so gently, he picked it up and cradled it in his palm.

“I don’t know how, but I’ll find you.” He said to the earring, before clasping his hand around it and bringing it to his lips for a kiss.

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The next morning, feeling a dark cloud of sorrow and frustration beginning to form over his head, Philip dressed himself and began his trek to the palace once more. As part of the negotiations, the King and Queen of Springs Valley had told him that they would pay him his commissioned fee after the work was completed, so that he would not run off with the sum. He thought this perfectly reasonable, although really, who was he to argue with the royals?

The only thing keeping him in a good mood was the anticipation of this payment, which he had, through the night, decided he would use to travel and find (Y/N), which he had silently pledged his devotion to.

He figured she must be in one of the neighboring villages, which weren’t all that far away. Using the payment from the monarchy, Philip decided he would purchase himself the materials and means to ride across the Valley in search of her. But when he got far enough into town on the walk passing through so that he could reach the Purple Palace, he noticed that everyone was gathered in the town square, a concerned hush fallen over a crowd.

Frowning, Philip stood at the edge of this crowd, and tapped the shoulder of a young man to get his attention.

“What’s going on?” He demanded to know, for this was no merry enjoyment of a festival, no no, this was a concerning sort of apprehension and worry.  

“Haven’t you heard? There’s been a kidnapping.” The young man explained, growing more impassioned with every word, “Someone has taken the princess! The princess from the Purple Palace! I always knew she was real, apparently the king and queen received a ransom note from King Felix of the Forbidden Forest -- and are on the verge of waging war.”

At this news, Philip staggered back a few feet.

The rumors of the princess were true? She was real? And she had been kidnapped?

Philip didn’t have much time, it would seem. He needed to get his payment and get out now, before any war were to begin. He needed to find the beautiful woman that stole his heart, and make sure she was safe from harm. Without so much as even a goodbye, Philip broke into a running pace, his mind clouded as his feet carried him to the palace.

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Bursting through the doors, he bowed deeply, out of breath yet respectful.

“Your majesties, I have heard of your tragedy and I am so sorry to hear that such a thing has come to pass.” Philip broke royal protocol by speaking to them first, wanting simply to get what he came for, and get out of their hair.

The royals were, by all accounts, despaired. The Queen wept on her throne, her face buried in her hands, and the King’s sadness manifested in a snappish, “What do you want?”

They were no longer warm and welcoming as they had once been, but Philip could not blame them; their daughter was taken from them after all.

“I come to fetch my payment, for the commission.” Philip boldly requested, making the King frown.

“Your what? No I don’t think so, not now.” He waved the carpenter away, shocking Philip.

“…With all due respect, your majesty, you promised – ”

“I said no! There is war to be had, the money will go towards that instead. I do not expect you to understand.” The King shouted, before his shoulders sagged and he slumped back in his throne.

Philip chewed on his lip for a moment. He could see the palace guards approaching him, ready to throw him out, ready to haul him and drag him out if necessary…but Philip needed that money. He needed it so that he could search for (Y/N). So, without thinking, he blurted out the only solution his mind had thought of:

“What if there need not be a war?”

The King and Queen both looked at him then, eyebrows drawn in confusion.

“I beg your pardon?” The Queen, with her scratchy sorrow-filled voice demanded of this…this…this peasant.

Philip stood tall and strong under their gaze, squared his shoulders and lifted his chin.

“Allow me to retrieve the princess.” He requested, and tried to ignore the snickers and incredulous chuckles of the palace guards behind him.

“You!” The King scoffed, feeling like the cause was well and truly hopeless. “Why you wouldn’t last one night out in the Forbidden Forest, let alone make it all the way to King Felix’s fortress.”

“Allow me to try. Give me five days, if I have not returned by then, assume me dead and send your armies.” Philip insisted, “But if I do return with the princess, I expect double the payment for my commission.”

This was a risk, he knew, but he was certain it was something he could pull off. He knew the mountains like the back of his hand, he spent his entire life in the wood! He knew the paths and the trails, and most importantly, with King Felix expecting an army, he would never suspect a lone carpenter to be of any threat.

The Queen seemed to be thinking the very same thing, because after a moment or two of shocked silence, she stood up from her throne and descended the many steps which kept her elevated. She descended those steps with grace and poise, and when she finally stopped in front of Philip, he got down on one knee.

Placing a hand on Philip’s shoulder, a move which stunned everyone in the royal court, the Queen promised softly, “My boy, if you return with our princess, I will grant you anything your heart desires, and on that you have my word.”

                                                 ---------------------

And so, Philip’s journey began.

Riding atop the gentle steed that had accompanied him on many a trip into the mountains, and equipped with nothing but his carpentry tools, Philip set off discreetly, quietly. There could be no fanfare, no one in the village could even know what he was up to, lest the evil King Felix catch word.

He had put a sign on his workshop’s door saying that he had gone out of town, but he did not say for what. It felt slightly wrong, leaving the village without another word like that, but all the while he kept one thing in mind: the sooner he rescued the princess, the sooner he could begin to search for his lovely (Y/N).

The mountains were quiet for a long while, the better part of the day in fact. He and his horse had ridden through the winding trails that so many before him had traveled, trails that were easy and comfortable. He wasn’t very far outside the village yet, so things were relatively tame. It wasn’t until dusk began to fall, that he noticed a steady plume of chimney smoke up in the distance.

A chimney meant a house, which meant possible shelter for the night. Philip allowed himself to hope that perhaps the owner of the house would give him refuge, even if only for a few hours – and was so caught up in his daydreaming that he did not notice when a man jumped out of a tree a few feet in front of him, landing on his feet skillfully.

“Halt!” The man said, holding a hand outstretched, startling Philip’s horse.

“Woahh!” Philip tried to calm his steed, and when the beast was no longer threatening to buck him off its back, Philip cleared his throat and tried to be amiable, “Good day to you sir, what – ”

“None shall pass without besting me and my bow.” The man cut Philip off, making him raise his eyebrows.

“…Excuse me?” Philip sized the man up for a moment.

He was handsome, a well styled afro and neatly groomed beard denoting him as a man who prided himself on his appearance. His clothing followed suit in such a fashion – well tailored and made from expensive materials like silk, a brocade tunic shimmered in the warm light of the golden hour.

“You are trespassing on my land, and if you wish to leave with your life intact, you must best me in a test of archery.” The man did not budge, and Philip did not know how to proceed.

“But I have not bow nor arrow.” He explained, to which the man’s proud posture fell a little flat. For how could there be a competition if the competitors were not equally matched?

“Oh.” The man scratched at his beard for a moment or two, trying to come up with a solution. Eventually, he snapped his fingers with an elated smile that showed off brilliantly white teeth, “Well in that case, you may borrow some of mine!”

The man beckoned Philip to follow him, and with only a small amount of hesitation, Philip followed. What lay before them was a grand home, constructed of the most sturdy stone. A family crest that Philip did not recognize waved from flagpoles atop the home, but Philip didn’t need to recognize the crest for him to know that this was a noble home. This became increasingly evident as the man lead Philip to a field where a shed sat – a shed that looked larger than his entire home.

“What’s the test?” Philip asked, having gotten off of his horse and walked up to the man.

He handed Philip a beautifully constructed bow, and three sharpened arrows. He then pointed to two targets way across the other side of the field, so far away that Philip had a hard time locating them at first.

“Best of three shots, whoever gets the most bullseyes is the victor.” The man announced, and Philip gave a single nod in agreement.

It was no secret in the village that Philip had some of the best eyesight around, he needed to. Spending so many hours staring at intricately fine details in his woodwork had sharpened his skills considerably, but more than that Philip also hunted for his own food, as much of the village did. Nearly every weekend Philip went into the mountains to shoot, and every weekend he was successful.

This man did not know that, but it did not matter. The only thing that mattered, was Philip getting this over as quickly as possible so that he could be reunited with his maiden.

Stepping up to a line of dirt in the field, the man allowed Philip to take the first shot. He steadied his aim, took in a deep breath and fired – bullseye! Philip gestured to the man, who went next. With expert precision, he too shot his first arrow directly into the bullseye of the target. 

Philip went again, and again he scored a bullseye, so precisely in fact, that this arrow managed to split straight through the previous one. Shocked, the man looked Philip up and down, as if trying to recognize him from a past archery competition. Philip only gave him a shrug, and watched as he too split his previous arrow into two pieces.

Each man only had one arrow left, and Philip knew that this was the one that mattered most. If he struck his bullseye, he surely would be allowed to pass. Closing his eyes, he focused not on the setting of the sun, or of the breeze in the air that evening brought, but of his (Y/N). He visualized her smiling face, her lips upon his, and released his bow into the air.

It soared through the great open field with precision and struck the target with a determination that Philip mirrored in his soul. He cracked one eye open, and saw that the arrow had indeed landed on the bullseye! Not nearly as well as the other two arrows had, but it was undeniably a success.

With a huff, the man raised his own bow and arrow for the final time, and pulled back a little too forcefully out of anger at being bested – causing the bow to snap and the arrow to go flying rogue.

“Dammit!” The man shouted, stumbling backwards, his hand in pain from the recoil of the broken bow.

“Look out!” Philip urged, because what went up must come down, and Philip charged at the man, tackling him to the ground, knocking him out of the way of the arrow which was making its return to Earth directly in the spot where the man had been standing.

Bewildered, the man looked up at Philip with admiration, as he stood away from the nobleman.

“Here, let me help you up.” Philip insisted, “Take my hand.”

“What is your name?” The man asked, accepting the offer and allowing Philip to haul him to his feet.

“Philip Zimmerman, but call me Flip. Yours?” Philip gave him a hearty pat on the shoulder to make sure he was alright, as the two got their footing. The men looked at the arrow in the ground, noted how it had buried itself deep.

“Lord Ronald Stallworth, but you may call me Ron.” Ron replied, with a polite nod of his head. “You are a most accomplished archer, Flip. Where are you headed? I don’t get many visitors out this way.”

Philip looked around, looked over his shoulder, wanting to make sure no one was around to hear.

“The Princess has been kidnapped, and I have been tasked on a secret mission to retrieve her.” He explained, hoping that Ron would understand his urgency, “I’m sorry about your bow, Ron. But I must be going now.”

Philip began to walk back towards his horse, when Ron surprised him by jogging to catch up, walking alongside him.

“Wait!” Ron called, stopping in front of him for a moment to make Philip pause. Ron put his hands on Philip’s shoulders in a friendly gesture, and then pointed to himself, “You are a good man, Philip. Allow me to join you on your quest! I know these woods well, I could be of assistance to you. Two archers are better than one, wouldn’t you say?”

“Why do you want to join me?” Philip frowned. Ron was rich, he had a luxurious home and accommodations, surely that would be more comfortable than a rugged trip up the mountains.

Ron chuckled at his question, and scratched at his beard once more.

“To tell you the truth, it’s pretty fucking boring here waiting for someone to pass by for a challenge. And you are the first man who has ever bested me, I am eager to see where your journey takes you. Where it takes us.” Ron looked hopeful, and Philip reasoned that he was right, two archers were better than one.

“I’d be happy to have you join, Ron.” Philip agreed, officially adding a new member to his party.

                                                 ---------------------

Not only did Ron allow Philip to spend the night in his large home, but he also ordered his kitchen staff to cook a grand meal for them to enjoy. Philip was grateful for the strength, particularly as Ron was rich, and had no worries about running out of food any time soon, so the portions were large, and there was more than enough leftover to be packaged for the road.

“So, a princess, huh?” Ron asked around a bite of venison, thoughtful and yet slightly confused.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Philip sighed, slightly annoyed at this interruption of his plan to find the maiden.

Ron frowned into his potatoes, confessing, “I didn’t know that we had one.”

At this, Philip let out an honest laugh and shrugged, chugging a large gulp of sweet mead.

“To tell you the truth? Up until this morning, I didn’t either.” Philip admitted, which made Ron laugh too. They cheered goblets, and indulged in another drink at the situation before them. “I thought the whole thing was a bunch of bullshit rumors, but then there it is in the square: Princess Kidnapped.”  

“The reward must be great then, for you to go on such a dangerous journey alone to retrieve her.” Ron noted casually, but Philip shrugged.

“Only that which I have been owed, is all that I’m asking.” He replied cryptically.

Of course he had decided he would give Ron a portion of the money for his help, but he didn’t necessarily want anyone knowing just how big of a reward it truly was. In any case, Ron was a Lord, and probably spent that very amount on a month’s worth of goods.

“I wonder what your wife must think of such selflessness.” Ron replied with a grin then, making Philip’s mood soften.

“I…I have no wife to speak of, though I should hope that if I had, she wouldn’t find fault in me for it.” Philip’s voice was quiet, thoughtful. He hadn’t really allowed himself to think about it, about what would happen should he find (Y/N).

Now it only seemed logical, the most obvious step, for him to court her and hopefully, one day, marry her. But that was a dream, one that Philip couldn’t get too ahead of himself to dwell on. He needed to make it back with the Princess alive first and foremost.

“Forgive me.” Ron’s voice too quieted, and he cleared his throat, “It’s just, I can see the love in your eyes, I was wrong to assume.”

“What do you mean?” Philip asked, a frown dipping between his eyebrows.

Ron mused and mulled over a bite of roasted vegetables, tried to best explain himself. He eventually settled on the truth: “It affects everyone differently, love. But every lover I have ever known as the undeniable sparkle in their eye, as do you.”

“Well…there is someone…” Philip admitted, a blush blooming across his cheeks.

“Ah-ha! Tell me all about her my good man.” Elated, Ron clapped his hands together once and let a happiness light up his face.

“Her name is (Y/N), we met last night.” Philip blushed deeper, reminiscing in the fantasy that had been their time together at the festival. “I am hoping that when all this is over, I might find her and see her again.”

“Well then, we must get our rest and leave at the first light of morning! For it is a long journey to the forbidden wood, and then a long journey back.” Ron replied.

Encouraged by his enthusiasm, Philip ate the rest of the food on his plate with a newfound vigor. Perhaps he could do this, he reasoned. With a man like Ron at his side, who had such skill and obvious charm, the two of them could be unstoppable.

When the dinner was over, they retired to their respective rooms, and Philip allowed himself to let sleep wash over his mind, thoughts of his fair maiden dancing in his head.

                                                 ---------------------

The next morning, true to his word, Ron woke Philip at the break of dawn. During the night, his servants had prepared a bundle for which Philip and Ron would travel, including the leftover food, canteens of fresh water, and a change of clean clothes. Additionally, Philip was provided with a bow and a set of arrows to use all his own. Philip was grateful for it, and the two set off in amicable company, listening to the sounds of the trees and nature sing around them.

They managed to cover much ground in the morning, passing the time by talking of themselves. Ron told Philip all about how his family came from a long line of nobility, and that he inherited the estate from his father. Philip told Ron all about how he too in a way, inherited his trade from his father. Though they came from different places, the two found more in common with one another than they found differences.

All in all, it was a wonderful friendship that had begun to form, and Philip and Ron found themselves in a fit of laughter at a joke Ron had told, when they came to a large stone bridge that sat high up above a gorge of water. Standing in front of the bridge was a tall man, with long sandy hair, and an expression on his face that told Philip he meant business.

“Halt!” The man said, his voice commanding of attention, “Who goes there?”

Philip and Ron looked at one another, and as Ron had a higher rank of authority, he was the one to reply.

“We are Lord Ron Stallworth, and Flip Zimmerman, who speaks?” Ron asked in return, and the man straightened his posture, before bowing slightly, not realizing he was in the presence of nobility.

“I am Jimmy Creek my Lord, owner of this bridge. If you wish to cross, you must pay the toll.” Jimmy introduced himself, making Philip look at Ron.

“Do you have any money on you?” Philip whispered, assuming the answer was yes, and being unfortunately surprised when Ron gave him an embarrassed wince.

“Shit, no. Didn’t think we’d need it for such a short trip, you?” Ron whispered back, making Philip’s mind race to find a solution.

“We have no coins to spare. May we pass by another means? Or perhaps I could send money to you once we have returned?” Philip asked, hoping that Jimmy would be reasonable. He looked like a reasonable sort of fellow, anyway.

Jimmy thought on this for a while, before brandishing the sword that he kept on his hip. The metal glinted in the afternoon light, throwing sparks of sunshine all around as he twirled it and whirled it around effortlessly.

“If you can best me in a fight, then you may pass.” Jimmy announced, and Philip chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“I haven’t got a sword.” He replied honestly, and this stumped Jimmy, for what travelers did not move through these mountains without a sword?

“Oh. Well in that case, you can borrow one of mine.” Jimmy snapped his fingers then, and beckoned Philip over to him as he walked back to a small hut near the bridge.

It was humble, made of stone and wood, and looked similar to one of the dwellings he might see in his own village. Philip waited outside while Jimmy rummaged through his hut and eventually emerged with a sword for Philip to use.

The sword was beautiful. Obviously crafted with care, the grip happened to be the perfect size for Philip’s hand, the jewel crusted pommel and cross-guard weighted just enough to counter balance the long blade. Philip wondered where a man like Jimmy came across such a thing, as he gave it a few experimental twists and spins.

Philip had virtually no training in swordsmanship, except for that of the surprise attacks that the village children waged on him. Jimmy was no child though, and this made Philip gulp, doubting his chances – until Jimmy began to run at him full speed ahead, and the only thing Philip could think about was winning.

Swords clanged, great big sparks flying into the air as they went after one another again and again. Jimmy may have been older, but he was nimble, quick on his feet. Philip found he could not use his sheer size and strength alone, although this certainly helped him. Dodging and ducking away from Jimmy’s blows, Philip pushed pushed pushed Jimmy back, until the two of them began to move down the bridge.

Below them, the gorge rushed with water furiously hungry, white frothy waves of grey-blue water crashing and smacking against craggy cliff walls. Out there on the bridge, the wind had no place to buffer against, and both men began to realize that one strong gust of wind could very well send them over.

The sounds of their swords echoed through the gorge, as did their grunts of effort from trying to best one another. Jimmy would lunge, and Philip would jump back, waiting for a moment to lunge himself. Their swords met in a flurry of silver metal, blade swinging expertly and with deadly precision.

He thought of the children in the village, thought of the way his beloved (Y/N) might interact with them. How she might cheer them on as they attacked Philip in the very same manner that Jimmy now was. Spinning his sword in the same way that he had watched the young boy from the village all that time ago, Philip managed to generate enough momentum in his arms to block every single sharp and quick blow that Jimmy sent his way.

Back back back Philip pushed Jimmy, his arm muscles flexing and his feet planted on the ground – until he gave Jimmy a particularly harsh swing of his sword, and in the effort to block it, not only did Jimmy’s hand lose its grip on his sword, but Jimmy stumbled backwards and fell, the wind striking at the worst possible moment, sending Jimmy over the edge of the bridge.

“Oh fuck!” Ron’s shout traveled from the other end of the bridge where he waited with the horses, watching with wide eyes, a hand clasped over his mouth as Philip ran to the edge.  

Jimmy was dangling precariously close to death, his hands scrabbling for a grip on the rough and rocky side of the bridge that did not promise much purchase. The wind howled and whipped up the spray of water from a thousand feet below, a taste of the certain death Jimmy would face should he fall.

“Quick, take my hand!” Philip shouted over the rush of the wind and water and the pulse in his veins, letting his own sword clatter onto the stone of the bridge as he reached out.

Without hesitation, Jimmy grasped the offered hand and Philip hauled him back onto the bridge safely, Philip’s muscles making quick work of the effort. Exhausted from their fight and this momentary scare, the two men simply laid on their backs on the bridge, catching their breath.

“You spared me?” Incredulously, Jimmy regarded Philip who was not more than a few feet away on the narrow structure of stone.

“Of course, why should I kill you?” Philip replied, a friendly smile teasing at his lips.

“Thank you, Philip. You are a good man.” Jimmy said seriously, and Philip blushed, he wasn’t sure about all that, it’s just, who was he to end a man’s life? Jimmy glanced at the beautiful sword that “You can keep that, you’ve earned it.”

Philip too looked at the sword, at how beautiful it was. Because really, the thing shone in the light magnificently, the jewels sparkling and shimmering in the rays of the sun. Philip was entranced, absolutely entranced by it, but he could not lay around and stare at it all day. He had a princess to rescue, and a maiden to love.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Philip asked as he stood up, helping Jimmy up too.

“I’m sure.”

“We’ll be on our way then.” Philip gave him a nod, and then gestured for Ron to come over with the horses and join them, eager to continue on their way.

“Wait! Allow me to accompany you on your quest?” Jimmy asked, eyes wide with a sudden anxiety.

At this, Ron and Philip looked at one another and then back at him, a slight frown on their faces.

“Why?” Ron asked, looking him up and down, wondering what Jimmy was suddenly so anxious.

“Truth be told, I’m really sick of sitting around on this fucking bridge. My father sat on this bridge as did his – but I never wanted to. This is my chance at something new, something different!” He then turned to Philip, “I see you have bows and arrows, but in combat you’d be best to do with an extra swordsman, and that I can provide. Besides, you’re the only person to ever give me a run for my money like that – I respect you.”

Philip understood that feeling all too well, the ache in his bones for a different life than the one that was promised to him. He had been given a chance for this quest, and now he could do the very same for this man, he could give Jimmy a chance of his own.

Looking at Ron to gauge his reaction, Ron looked back, and then nodded with a great big grin, “Oh I don’t see why not, welcome to the group.”

“Thank you! I won’t let you down!” Jimmy excitedly hugged them both, his long sandy-blonde hair blowing in the breeze as he ran back to his hut just on the other side of the bridge.

When he came back, he had a horse of his own, and a bag already packed. Philip smiled, he must have had this bag packed for quite some time. It made something inside Philip’s chest warm – one was never too old for adventure, a truth that continued to make itself evident.

“Say, where are we headed anyway?” Jimmy asked, sheathing his sword in the holster on his hip.

“To the forbidden wood, to rescue the princess that’s been kidnapped by King Felix.” Philip responded, sure that no one could hear them up on the bridge the way they were.

Jimmy frowned and looked at Ron, scratching the back of his neck and asking, “We have a princess?”

Ron burst out laughing and slapped Jimmy on the back, “That’s what I said!”                                                  ---------------------

                                             ---------------------

Tagging some friends! Part 2 will be up tomorrow :) @mochabucky @sacklerscumrag @artsymaddie @bitchydecisions @direnightshade @reyloaddict55 @thembohux @kylorenswhxre @sunflowersinthesnow @babayagakeanu @safarigirlsp @rennasiance-mama @steeevienicks @mousemakingjam @the-unmanaged-mischief @materialisthicc @drake-bells-waxed-penis @slut-for-harri @littleevilme13 @erys-targaryen @leillaa @hswritingrecs @miabelay11 @han68000 @rosi3ba3z @chapterhappygirl​ @loverofallthings​ 

[prentissinred]

Already Gone pt.2

Special shoutout to @eprcntiss for the nudge to write a part two ☺️

Rated T Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Emily Prentiss Word Count: 2k  AO3

Part One: Already Gone

Part Two: Love Me Better

Aaron closed the door to the study behind him, pretending he didn't hear that final choked sob. He blinked his own tears back; they had no place on what was supposed to be the second happiest day of his life.

She was leaving.

Some twisted part of him was almost glad. That he no longer had to walk into work and feel like his heart was being slowly carved out of his chest every time she looked at him, every time she got into her own car to return to a home that wasn't theirs. It was unfair to the point of cruelty, having to face the future he had been planning for years, ripped away in the course of an evening...only to return months later, just out of his reach.

He had grieved her, as surely as if she had died on that operating table. Grieved the sight of the diamond he had picked out on her left hand. Grieved the house they'd been eyeing, the one with enough rooms for all the plans they’d made and a yard big enough for the dog they had promised to Jack. Grieved every night of fevered touches under the covers and every night they had been too exhausted to do anything except curl against the warmth of the other.

She had eventually returned, like a phantom coming back to him. Relieved though he was that she was finally safe, there wasn't a moment where he saw her and was not reminded of every deception, every moment she had chosen to tell him that she was fine instead of the truth. Running became the only healthy outlet for the pain. And a few weeks later, it led him to a funny, kind brunette who had him smiling for the first time in over a year.

Beth. He shook himself out of the internal crisis he was having against the wall of Dave's living room. He had to find her, hold her, remind himself why he'd asked her to marry him and why it had felt so right just yesterday. Remind himself of everything good about them. Because she was good — exceedingly so. Because she was not frustrating and complicated and closed-off and asking the worst kinds of questions at the worst possible time. He jogged up the stairs to the master bedroom where she was getting ready with her mother.

“You know it’s bad luck to see the bride before the wedding.” Dave’s voice came up behind him.

He gave his friend a wane smile. "I think we can dispense with the superstitions."

"Say what you will, but I said the same thing at my first, and look how well that turned out." Aaron could only chuckle dryly in response.

Dave clapped his arm. “Nervous?”

"A little." He hadn't been. In fact, he’d been filled with certainty at the start of the evening. He tried not to think too much about why that had changed. I loved you. I love you.

"I saw Emily left.” Dave’s voice was pointedly relaxed.

"Oh?"

"Tonight can't have been easy for her." I love you.

"I suppose."

"Mmm. Anyway, I think Beth's just about ready." Dave placed a guiding hand on his shoulder. "We should head down, get this show on the road." Aaron let himself be led down the stairs, glancing back just once at the door that hid his soon-to-be wife from view.

He stood underneath the decorated archway, next to his beaming son, and faced his team, all looking at him with encouraging smiles. He tried to return them, despite the knot that was steadily growing in his stomach. The music started, a lilting, romantic track, as the crowd turned to face the house. Beth emerged, lovely in her strapless gown, carrying a simple bouquet of white roses, walking towards him on her mother's arm.

And maybe it would have been different if he had spoken to her upstairs. Or if he had never walked into Dave's study in the first place. But as Beth took her first step onto the aisle, Aaron knew with an absolute, terrifying clarity that he couldn’t go through with this. That this moment he had been picturing for so long was missing a woman who was currently making plans to leave the country.

Before he could talk himself over to the side of propriety, he walked up the aisle. The music cut off abruptly, and there was a ripple of whispers from his guests. By the time he reached her, pieces of his heart chipped away at the sight of her confused face. He held her hand in both of his and pleaded, "I need to talk to you."

She listened to his insufficient explanation, the tears welling her eyes the only reflection of the hurt he was causing her. He told her that she was beautiful and wonderful and he did love her and she had made him so happy and yesterday there hadn't been a doubt in his mind when he asked her to be his wife. She let him ramble for a while, eventually shutting him up with a cupped hand to his face. Lips pressed lightly against his cheek, then in a voice infinitely kinder than he deserved, she let him go. "I hope you get her back."

And that was it. He stood there, watching her head back up the stairs, and silently wished her every happiness with someone worthy of her.

With a deep breath and a brush over his face to clear any lingering tears, he exited the house with renewed determination to find a huddled group of guests. The only outlier was Beth's mother, who stared at him in consternation before following her daughter into the house without another word to him. At the movement, his team turned towards him, a mixture of confusion and shock on their faces — or, in the case of Dave, an enigmatic smile.

"JJ," Aaron called out.

She approached him, frown lines etched into her forehead and brows. "Aaron, what's going on? Is everything okay?"

"I need your help, please. The address to Emily's new apartment."

Understanding smoothed her features and she gave him a wide grin as she entered the address into his phone. "Oh, and would you mind watching Jack for a little while?"

"Even better, why don't Jack and Henry have a sleepover tonight? What do you say, boys?" JJ presented her plans animatedly to the two boys who had appeared by their feet. Aaron bent down to tell his son that he would explain everything tomorrow, but his words fell on already distracted ears. He thanked her and made his way to his car, the eyes of his friends on his back reminding him that this was his last chance to bring her home.

Her apartment was tucked away in a nondescript brick mid-rise. A far cry from the lush DC duplex he had spent countless nights in. She opened the door on his second knock. Dressed down in shorts and a loose shirt that hung off her shoulder, makeup-free with her curled hair pulled up into a ponytail. She looked as beautiful as she had a few hours ago. Every impassioned word he had rehearsed on his way over landed dead on his tongue, and instead, his first words to her were a brusque, "Can I come in?"

"What the hell are you doing here?"

He didn't reply, pressing past her into an apartment he had never entered before. Sparse, only the bare essentials, cardboard boxes stacked in the corner. Nothing more than a passing stop, a sign that she had never really come back to them.

"You told me you love me. Was that the truth?" He stood in the center of her small living room, arms crossed over his chest, his tone more biting than he had planned.

She gaped at him, ignoring the question. "Seriously, Aaron, what the fuck are you doing here?"

He forged on, pacing small steps next to the couch, glancing up at her every few seconds. "It destroyed me, you know. Seeing your credentials open in your desk because you had run. Sitting by your fucking hospital bed because I was too late to save you. Listening to you tell me that you didn’t want to marry me. Everything we had talked about, all the plans we had, just...gone."

“Aaron. I told you, I had to." Her voice broke, but her eyes stayed dry. Aaron wondered if the two of them had shed enough tears over the other to last a lifetime. "I had to—“

“Protect me. I know. But, god, Em." He gestured between them. "We’re supposed to be a team. We work through everything, even the ugly stuff, together. You were supposed to trust that I would be there for you. Not run away, and nearly get yourself killed in the process.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is. It is exactly that simple.”

“No.” Her voice was sharp and resolute. “It isn’t. It was my fight. My past, my mistakes. If you, any of you, had gotten hurt because of that, I could have never lived with myself. You can't tell me you don't understand that."

Aaron pinched the bridge of his nose and decided to cede this particular battle. Maddening, stubborn woman.

“Fine. I accept.”

“What?”

"I accept that you did what you had to do. That you thought you had to handle it alone. I accept why you left then." He stepped closer to her and she unconsciously took a step back, nearly flush with her front door. "But why are you leaving now?"

"This again..." she sighed wearily. "Aaron, I told you. I can't stay here anymore."

"And why is that?"

He watched her nostrils flare in indignation. "Fuck, because I can't! I can't pretend anymore, I won't do it. I came back expecting my life to go back to normal. Except it isn't normal. It isn’t even my life anymore. I'm like a fucking spectator, watching everyone move on while I can’t. "

The implication — accusation — was clear, and the guilt struck hard and low in his gut. Her only mistake was thinking that he had ever really moved on.

"I'm sorry," his voice shifted to quiet contriteness. "I'm sorry for not being there when you needed me. It hurt too much to be around you. And you seemed...okay. So I convinced myself you were."

She said nothing for a while, her arms wrapping around her middle defensively. "It's okay. It wasn't your job to take care of me. You've already done more—"

"Emily, why don't you get it?" The frustration pierced through once more, coming out more desperate than anything else.

"Get what?!" she rose to his pitch.

"You're supposed to depend on me. We’re supposed to depend on each other. I know you're strong, you're so fucking strong sweetheart, but I get to take care of you sometimes too. Fuck, how are we supposed to spend the rest of our lives together if you can’t trust me enough to do that?”

She sucked in a sharp breath and her entire body, even the air around them, shifted. “Spend the rest of our lives together?”

“Of course. I thought that was fairly obvious.”

She glared at him. “It really wasn't."

“Oh. My apologies.” He stepped closer to her. “Consider this your notice then.”

He caught the way her lips turned up for a split second before she remembered herself, wanting to hold onto her heated temper for a little longer. “Where’s Beth?”

“At home, I suspect.”

“I already told Easter I’d take the job.” Her voice was just a whisper now, devoid of almost all conviction.

“What, like 2 hours ago? Call him back, Emily.”

He was looming over her, barely an inch of space between them, their eyes locked onto each other. It was a different kind of battle, the kind where victory only came when neither side backed down.

Finally — “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Okay, I'll call him back."

There wasn't an adequate word to describe the relief he felt at those five words. Every inch of him ached to touch her, but he held onto his patience for a few more seconds, bending his head towards her and whispering, “You still haven’t answered my question.”

Her eyes were closed in anticipation. "What question?" she breathed.

"Were you telling me the truth? When you said you love me?"

"Don't be an idiot. Of course I was." And she pushed up on her toes and closed the gap between them.

It felt like coming home. There were still discussions to be had and arguments to be fought as they re-learned and re-trusted. But, for now, the familiar taste of her warmed every particle in his body until he was practically vibrating with want. It was desperate and urgent, their lips and teeth and tongues clashing and biting and invading. His hands roamed the entirety of her, a need to ensure that she was really here this time. She clung to him just as tightly, pressing into him until he could feel her heart hammering away in her chest.

When they pulled apart, both gasping for the air that had escaped their lungs, he touched his forehead to hers. "In case this wasn't obvious either...I’ve never stopped loving you."

[coldflasher]

Title: don’t threaten me with a good time Chapters: 1/1 Length: 7.7k Fandom: The Flash (TV 2014) Rating: Gen Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Minor/Background Relationships: Cisco Ramon/Kamilla Hwang, Barry Allen/Iris West Characters: Barry Allen, Cisco Ramon, Kamilla Hwang, Caitlin Snow, Killer Frost, Iris West, Leonard Snart, Original Male Characters Additional Tags: Alcohol, Drunken Shenanigans, Bisexual Barry Allen, The Flash 7x12 Good-bye Vibrations.

Kamilla leaned forwards to read the front page. “The Barry Allen Drunkenness Scale.” Bemused, she looked up. “What’s this? “This,” said Cisco, “is the result of a great deal of research and a number of hard-earned lessons.” He pulled up a chair and sat beside her, pulling the folder towards them. “There are eight stages of Drunk Barry, each one with a varying level of severity. It begins with stage one.”

Inspired by the Santiago Drunkenness Scale from Brooklyn-99. Team Flash are throwing a party to celebrate Kamilla and Cisco’s departure from Central City, and Kamilla wants to make sure they go out with a bang. But with great power comes great responsibility, and sometimes responsibility means making sure your friend doesn’t break the sound barrier by doing the worm at Mach 2.

Read on AO3

@dctvgen​ (i hope this is okay!! didn’t really use any prompts but i had this one saved up and seemed like a good time to post it, lmk it’s not suitable!!)

Life came at you fast. After seven years being besties with a speedster, working to save the world, Cisco knew that to be true in more ways than one. But apparently despite everything he’d seen, it still had the capacity to surprise on him.

One minute the thought of leaving Central City had been a vague, abstract thought – a ‘what-if’ or a ‘maybe’ he dwelled upon whenever yet another crisis announced itself with a shower of broken glass raining into his Vibeuccino, or when he’d compared the news in Central City, which was all doom and gloom and murderous metas, to somewhere nice and peaceful like Keystone, where the biggest news story of the day was some kid winning the national Spelling Bee Championship. Then the job offer came in, and Kamilla had tested the waters with wanting to leave – and now their stuff was all packed and in boxes, he had a start date at ARGUS, and what had been a daydream was now a very clear reality. He’d hung up the gloves, said a final goodbye to Vibe.

It was the other goodbyes that were going to be the hard part.

“It just feels weird, you know?” he said, pausing in the middle of hanging bunting from the corner of the cortex. “We’re saying goodbye to everyone we know. This has been my life for almost eight years now. Team Flash are my family. It feels weird to celebrate leaving all that behind.”

“Don’t think of it as a celebration of what we’re leaving behind,” said Kamilla, who was sat at the desk, partway through ordering pizza. “Think of it as a celebration of everything we’ve accomplished. Making friends and building inventions and saving the world! I know it’s difficult and change can be scary, but it doesn’t have to be. We’ve done amazing things, and I think it’s important to honour that.”

Cisco sighed as he successfully stuck the flags to the wall. He climbed down from the table he was stood on and joined her at the desk in his usual chair, pushing himself back and forth with his foot. “You’re right,” he said. “You’re always right. I’m not getting cold feet, I promise. I’m excited. We’re going to make this work. We’ve done amazing things, and we’re going to do even more. Together.”

Kamilla beamed. “That’s the spirit.” She held out her hand for a fist-bump.

Grinning, Cisco returned it. “You’re such a dork.”

“Which is exactly why you love me,” Kamilla countered, with a few final clicks and a flourish as she placed the pizza order. She consulted the list on her phone. “Okay, so we’ve got the cake, the decorations, the drinks, and the pizza is in transit. There’s just one more thing we need.”

She slid past him and made her way towards the small metallic fridge tucked away in the corner. Kamilla typed in the passcode 05-20-80 – the release date of The Empire Strikes Back – and the fridge unlocked with a clunk, revealing two test tube holders – one containing a single emergency vial of Velocity IX, and another that held eight tubes of liquid a few shades lighter than blood.

Cisco glanced over, bemused. “Babe, did you stash your Kraft beers in my security fridge? Because that seems a little excessive.”

Kamilla eased the second rack of tubes off the shelf like a tray of freshly baked cookies out of the oven. “No, I’m just getting a couple of vials of 500 proof for Barry. I didn’t want him to feel left out of the festivities.”

Cisco had met a lot of speedsters in his time, but in that moment he was pretty sure he moved faster than any of them as he sprinted across the room to intercept. Startled, Kamilla jerked back and the test tubes clinked together like champagne glasses mid-toast.

“Sorry, can we just back up a little bit – you’re what now?” said Cisco.

“I’m grabbing some drinks for Barry,” Kamilla repeated slowly. “This is his special speedster booze, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” Cisco said nervously. “It is, but…”

“But…?” Kamilla prompted.

“Listen,” he said, hands up in a pacifying gesture. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, but that is a highly controlled substance and it’s really in everyone’s best interests if you put it back.”

Kamilla grew wide-eyed. “Why? Is it dangerous?”

“I mean, if any normal person drank it, it’d pretty much liquidize their insides, but that’s not the problem.”

As he spoke, Cisco headed over to the shelf on the wall, ran his fingers along the various binders tucked onto the shelf, and pulled one off. Cisco carried it over to the table, pushed aside the keyboard and laid the folder flat in front of her.

“The problem,” he said, flipping it open, “is this.”

Kamilla leaned forwards to read the front page. “The Barry Allen Drunkenness Scale.” Bemused, she looked up. “What’s this?”

“This,” said Cisco, “is the result of a great deal of research and a number of hard-earned lessons.” He picked up the metal test tube rack and returned it to the fridge, his fingers flying across the buttons to input the code before he slid the vials back into place. “It’s also the reason why this stuff doesn’t leave the lab except in dire emergencies, including but not limited to break-ups, deaths and severe metahuman disasters.” Decisively, he closed the fridge and it locked again with a clunk and a beep.

“I don’t understand.”

“That’s because you are fortunate enough to have never before encountered an inebriated Barry Allen,” said Cisco. “Let me walk you through it.” He pulled up a chair and sat beside her, pulling the folder towards them. “There are nine stages of Drunk Barry, each one with a varying level of severity. It starts with stage one.”

 1 DRINK BARRY: A LITTLE CLINGY

One of Barry’s many wonderful qualities is his propensity for affection. Unimpeded by the bounds of modern-day toxic masculinity, 1 Drink Barry generously bestows physical affection on everyone he encounters. To put it plainly: he’s a hugger.

Standing outside Barry and Iris’ front door, Cisco checked his watch.

Usually at this time of night, he’d be hanging out in the cortex watching the red dot darting around on the monitor as Barry did a lap of the city, or in his lab tinkering with some new invention. Tonight, though, was different. They’d all agreed work was off-limits – time to take a hard-earned break. Cisco had been looking forward to it all week, but he guessed the rest of Team Flash didn’t share his enthusiasm, because they were late. That wasn’t like Caitlin at all. Shrugging, he lifted his hand to knock.

The click of heels made him turn just in time to see Caitlin bouncing up the stairs in her heels. “Hi, I’m here! Sorry I’m late; Frost and I couldn’t agree on an outfit.” She leaned in. “Did you bring the, uh…”

Cisco slid a silver flask out of his pocket slightly. “Sure did.”

“Then I guess we’re ready to go!”

“Damn right. …Ladies first?”

Caitlin knocked. They waited, listening to the rattle of six locks being unfastened one at a time, until the door opened to reveal Iris standing on the threshold wearing a tight red dress and a leather jacket.

Cisco whistled. “Damn. You look good.”

“You’re not so bad yourself,” said Iris as she stepped back from the door to allow them entry. “Barry will be down in a second, he got held up at work, so he’s a little behind –”

There was a whoosh and a crackle of lightning, and Barry skidded to a stop beside her with windswept hair and a grin. “Here! Hey, guys.”

“Oh. Famous last words.” Iris reached for her purse and swung it onto her shoulder. “Well I’m also running late, so I’d better get going. You guys have fun! And try to stay out of trouble, okay?”

“I’m afraid we can’t make any promises, cos everybody knows there ain’t no party like a Team Flash party!” said Cisco. “You sure you don’t wanna come with us? It’s gonna be one hell of a night.”

“Thank you, but I’m going out with a couple of the girls from CCPN tonight, so… rain check?”

“I’ll hold you to it,” Cisco warned.

“You’d better.” She rested her hand on Barry’s arm. “I’ll see you later, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too,” said Barry, and he leaned in for a kiss.

“Boo! Get a room!” Cisco hollered.

Iris rolled her eyes fondly. “Goodbye, Cisco,” she said, and headed out.

Cisco sighed. “And then there were three.” He looked from Barry to Caitlin and back again, stretching out on the sofa. “Okay, drinks!” He headed into the kitchen and returned with a bottle of wine in one hand and three glasses in the other.

“Uh, isn’t the drinking supposed to start after you leave the house?” asked Caitlin.

“Only if you’re an amateur! You always have a drink or two before going out on the town. It’s financially savvy.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” said Barry when Cisco offered him a glass. “No use wasting perfectly good alcohol when it doesn’t even touch the sides.”

“That,” said Cisco, “is why you’ll be drinking this.” He pulled out a silver flask from inside the breast pocket of his blazer. “I call it 500 Proof 2,” he said, and held it dramatically aloft like Frodo holding the one ring.

Caitlin wrinkled her nose. “Really?” she said.

“The name’s a work in progress,” he admitted. “But the drink itself…” He kissed the flask. “She’s ready to go.”

Barry eyed the flask warily. “I don’t know…”

“Oh, come on, you’ve earned it. The city can manage without the Flash for one night. Go on, live a little.” When Barry continued to look skeptical, Cisco started to chant. “Barry, Barry, Barry–”

Grinning, Caitlin joined in. Barry endured it for all of thirty seconds before he rolled his eyes and snatched the flask. Caitlin and Cisco both cheered.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” said Cisco.

He splashed wine into his and Caitlin’s glasses, and passed one to her. She took it with a twinkle in her eye.

“All right, Team Flash!” Cisco whooped, and they clinked their glasses against Barry’s flask before they all drank.

Barry pulled a face. “Jesus! That’s – that’s potent.” He coughed, eyes watering.

“You’re welcome,” said Cisco. “We made a couple of tweaks to the formula. It should stay in your system longer instead of just burning off in thirty seconds flat like the first batch.”

“It tastes like rocket fuel!”

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll put some hairs on your chest,” Cisco said dismissively.

“You can say that again,” muttered Barry, massaging his chest.

“Speaking of hairs on your chest,” said Caitlin, curling up comfortably in her seat. “Did they grow back yet?”

“Not entirely,” admitted Barry. “It’s sort of a peach fuzz.”

“That’ll teach you not to get so close to my experiments,” said Cisco.

“Maybe it’ll teach you to label them better,” said Caitlin.

“Really? Don’t do me like that!”

“Sorry, it’s true.”

This triggered a bout of good-natured bickering as they debated the results of some of Cisco’s more disastrous experiments. Before long they were all laughing, loosened up by the drinks. Barry, who was perched on the arm of Caitlin’s chair, leaned against her.

“I love you guys, you know that?”

“We love you too, Barr – ooof! Oh. Okay,” said Caitlin, bewildered. Barry had slid off the arm of the chair and squeezed up next to her, taking up half the chair like a Great Dane still trying to sit in its owner’s lap.

“Look at him, he’s getting tipsy already,” Cisco teased.

“Shhh.” Barry rested his head contentedly on Caitlin’s shoulder. Amused, she patted his knee.

Cisco downed the rest of his drink. “All right, let’s get this show on the road.”

He offered Caitlin his hand – only to have Barry grab it instead. Then he grabbed Caitlin’s hand too.

“Oh, we’re holding hands?” said Cisco. “Is that a thing we do now?”

“It is when we’re running,” Barry said, grinning.

Caitlin’s eyes widened. “Oh. No, no, no runni–”

The rest of her sentence was lost to the wind.

 2 DRINK BARRY: KINDA CLUMSY

When Barry became a speedster, he gained a massive boost in motor functions, including enhanced reflexes that have massively improved his coordination. Prior to this transformation, his ability to walk unhindered across a flat surface was roughly equal to that of Bella Swan from Twilight. Two-Drink Barry is harmless, but he must be kept at a safe distance from breakable objects.

 Okay, so travelling at super speed sucked – Cisco would stick to breaches from now on, than you very much – but he had to admit it had its advantages. They’d beaten the evening rush by minutes and found themselves a table, where they had been comfortably situated for the past half hour. Since then the bar had filled rapidly, and now they were surrounded by people. Glasses clinked, bodies gyrated. All around them was laughter and the throb of music; he could feel the buzz of the bass against his elbows where they rested on the table.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” asked Caitlin. “No monsters, no metahumans… just the three of us having a few quiet drinks.”

“Don’t jinx it,” Cisco said darkly. “Also, I don’t know that the ‘drinks’ part is entirely accurate. The fastest man alive is about to lose his title. Where the hell is he?” Barry had offered to get the next round, but that was ten minutes ago and they hadn’t seen him since. Frowning, Cisco and scanned the room.

Just as he had started to get concerned, the crowd parted and Barry appeared with three glasses in his hands.

“It’s about time! What took you?”

“I’m so sorry,” said Barry. “I got held up at the bar, there was a huge li–”

Whatever he’d been about to say next was cut off as he abruptly tripped over his own feet.

All three drinks spilled everywhere. Lightning flickered as he lurched forwards to try and intercept, and he managed to right the glasses, but not before the majority of their contents had ended up all over the table.

Cisco’s plastic cup floated across the tabletop in a puddle of dismally fizzing coke, which dripped steadily into his lap. Caitlin looked down at her soaked sweater, hands held up in shock. Her eyes flared white.

“This,” snarled Frost, “is a cashmere sweater.”

Barry’s eyes were wide. “Oh my God, guys, I am so sorry.”

With a jerk of her head, Caitlin regained control. “It’s fine,” she said, then winced, presumably in response to whatever Frost snarled in the back of her head. “Really. It happens to the best of us.” She pulled the sopping wet fabric away from her with a grimace. “Um… does anyone have a tissue?”

“Let me get some paper towels!” said Barry.

Cisco reached out to stop him. “Actually, Barr, maybe you should –”

But it was too late: Barry had already turned around and crashed into a guy going in the opposite direction, who slopped beer all over himself. Cisco winced sympathetically.

“I’m sorry!” Barry said, while the guy glared and shook his wet hands.

“Maybe you should take a seat,” said Cisco.

Still apologising profusely, Barry sank onto his stool and shrank in on himself, nursing what was left of his drink while Caitlin went to get something to clear up the mess.

“So I guess those adjustments we made to the 500 proof are working, huh?” Cisco said with a smirk.

“Oh, they’re working,” said Barry. “Speaking of which, can I get a top-up?”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Caitlin asked, returning with a wad of paper towels. She started to mop up the table.

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m fine. I’m not even buzzed, seriously. Tipsy at best. Come on, hit me.” He waved at his drink.

Cisco and Caitlin exchanged looks. There was a slight flush to Barry’s cheeks, and his eyes were a little brighter than usual, but other than that he seemed stable.

“I have wanted to study how the speedforce interacts with alcohol,” Caitlin admitted. “Metabolic processes aside, I am interested to measure the effects.”

“What the hell,” Cisco said. He unscrewed the cap of the flask and tipped it in to Barry’s glass, pouring a generous measure. “Knock yourself out.”

Barry beamed and picked up his drink. “Cheers,” he said, and they all clinked their half empty glasses.

 Three Drink Barry: Barry Dance-Pants

This Barry is able to flawlessly replicate the choreography for every single Britney Spears music video unprompted. So far we have been unable to determine where he acquired this information.

They all agreed that it was best if Cisco got the next round. He didn’t retrieve the next lot of drinks any faster than Barry had – if anything, he was slower; people kept shoving in front of him every time he got close to the bar – but at least the glasses stayed upright this time. When he returned to the table, though, Caitlin was alone.

“Where’d Barry go?”

Caitlin frowned. “I thought he was with you.”

“Nope.” He passed her drink over to her.

Caitlin worried at her lower lip.

“Hey, don’t stress,” said Cisco. “Barry’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.”

“I don’t know. He’s been gone a while, and he wasn’t exactly steady on his feet. He might hurt himself.”

“Good thing we have a doctor on call,” said Cisco, sipping his drink.

“That’s not funny. Seriously, I’m worried about him. I’m not sure he should be left unsupervised.”

She had a point. Speed and immense clumsiness wasn’t a great combination – they’d learned that the hard way. Cisco downed the rest of his drink with a grimace. “All right, let’s go look for him.”

They got up and headed out onto the dancefloor. The music was so loud that the entire room vibrated, Britney Spears’ Womanizer throbbing through the room. Caitlin pulled back and made a face as she almost inhaled a mouthful of some stranger’s coarse blonde hair. She batted it away like cobwebs.

“Ugh. Remind me why we decided to come out on the busiest night of the week?”

“Seemed like a good idea at the time,” muttered Cisco, craning his neck. “Man, I can’t see him anywhere. It’s like playing Where’s Wally? Hey – hey, excuse me! Can I just squeeze – guys?” He attempted to slide past a knot of people, only to give up with a frustrated sigh. “Jesus, it’s like talking to a brick wall. What the hell are they looking at?”

Caitlin stood on her toes. “It looks like...” She stopped. “Oh, no.”

“What?”

She grabbed his arm and steered him through the crowd, using him as a battering ram to force her way through. Eventually, breathless and sweaty, they made it to the outskirts of the dancefloor, where Cisco finally got a good look at exactly what had captivated everyone’s attention.  

Barry was in the middle of the dancefloor, tearing it up. He strutted up and down, squatted and slut-dropped before he arched his back and pumped his hips forward in several lewd thrusts. The crowd cheered.

“Oh my God,” said Caitlin.

“He is killing it!” Cisco cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, “Yes, Barry!”

Barry winked and blew a kiss, rolling over to air-hump the ground with an alarming level of enthusiasm.

“Should we maybe go over there?” asked Caitlin.

“In a second,” said Cisco. He held his phone up, pressed record and zoomed in on Barry’s gyrating body, careful to keep his face in shot. “I wanna get this for posterity’s sake.”

“Cisco!” Caitlin scolded, and reached out to cover the camera.

Cisco jerked the phone out of reach. “You are aware that his ringtone for you is still thirty seconds of you butchering Summer Lovin’?”

Caitlin pursed her lips. “On second thoughts,” she said. “I hope you’re getting this in HD.”

Cisco grinned and went back to recording.

*

“Okay, that’s a little embarrassing,” Kamilla conceded.

“That? That was iconic,” corrected Cisco. “The man has moves. I swear he was a professional dancer in another life. I still have that video; I’ll show you later if you ask me nicely…”

“I’ll hold you to it. But none of this explains why this stuff has to be so rigorously controlled. I mean, being clumsy, affectionate, kinda sloppy, tearing it up on the dancefloor… that sounds like pretty standard drunk behaviour.”

“The first three drinks aren’t the problem,” Cisco said darkly. “It’s what comes after that you have to worry about. See, drunk Barry is insatiable. One drink is never enough. Once he’s had a taste of that sweet, sweet 500 proof concentrated speedster juice, he won’t rest until he’s had more. And while he may be an icon, three-drink Barry soon gives way to…”

 FOUR-DRINK BARRY: LOUD BARRY.

Barry Allen is a hero in every sense of the word. Time and time again he has sacrificed everything for the noble goal of making the world a better place. Barry doesn't save lives for the glory or the recognition; he does it because it's the right thing to do. But four-drink Barry… he thinks a little recognition might be nice.

 The final chords of Womanizer faded out into a sea of applause. Beaming from ear to ear, Barry took a series of bows, flapping his hand as if to say, ‘oh, stop it!’ After a few more moments of thoroughly enjoying the spotlight, he disengaged from his loving admirers and headed back towards Cisco and Caitlin and slid breathlessly back into the booth. His sweaty hair stuck to his forehead.

“Where did that come from?” Cisco asked, impressed.

Barry shrugged. “I’m full of surprises.”

“Clearly. I think you just earned yourself another drink!”

Cisco handed him the flask, and Barry clinked it cheerfully against Cisco’s beer bottle before he tipped it back and swallowed with a grimace. His eyes watered.

“Damn. That never goes down any easier.”

“Well it is just concentrated alcohol,” Caitlin reminded him. “Speaking of which…” She pulled her testing kit out of her purse. “Four drinks should be more than enough to start showing some side-effects. Let me take a quick blood sample.” Before Barry could object, she stabbed a lancet into his finger.

“Ow!” Barry put his finger in his mouth and sucked on it.

“Everything okay there?”

They all turned. A blond man in a grey t-shirt stood a short distance away, looking at them in concern.

“What? Oh, yeah, I’m good. Just hurt my finger.” He held it up ruefully.

Blondie moved closer. “Well it’s your lucky night: I’m a nurse. Why don’t you let me take a look?”

Cisco plastered on a smile. “That’s real nice of you, but our friend here is actually a doctor, so –”

Barry held out his hand, overriding Cisco’s objections. Blondie took it and examined it, tracing his palm with the tip of his finger. Cisco rolled his eyes hard and took another swallow of his drink.

“I was just watching you out on the dancefloor,” Blondie said. “Those were some impressive moves.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” Barry said modestly.

“No, it was definitely something. If I busted out a routine like that I’d be laid up for a week. What’s your secret?”

“Funny you should say that, cos…” Barry leaned in and said impishly, “I’m actually the Flash.”

Cisco choked on his drink. It went straight up his nose; his sinuses were on fire. He coughed hard, eyes watering.

“Are you okay, man?” the stranger asked concernedly.

“Great,” Cisco managed.

Satisfied, Blondie’s attention returned to Barry. “Well, I think your finger’s okay.” His thumb pressed against the inside of Barry’s wrist and his forehead creased slightly. “Your pulse is pretty fast, though.”

“Is it?” Barry said, resting his chin on his hand. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Caitlin rolled her eyes.

Blondie released him, but he showed no signs of leaving. He looked Barry appraisingly up and down. “So you’re the Flash, huh?”

“Yep,” Barry said. His eyes twinkled. “Fastest man alive.”

“Mm. Maybe we’ll have to test that.”

At this point, Cisco decided, enough was enough. He slapped Barry on the back hard enough to make him stagger and complain, “Ow!”

“Ha!” he said. “This guy. He’s a kidder, right? A real riot. Hey, uh, Barry, can I talk to you for a second?”

Before Barry could object, Cisco had grabbed him by the back of the shirt and pulled him out of the main bar area into the corridor, where there was a line of people waiting for the bathroom. Out here it was cooler and while he could still feel the throb of the music through the sticky soles of his sneakers, at least he could hear himself think.

“Dude,” he said. “Seriously? What the hell?”

“Oh, come on. It’s just a little harmless flirting. Iris and I, we have an agreement–”

“I’m not talking about the flirting! You can’t just –” Cisco stopped and made himself take a very deep breath before he lowered his voice. “You can’t just tell people you’re the freaking Flash!”

Barry gave a slow, confused blink. “But I am the Flash.”

He didn’t say it quietly. Several heads turned their way.

Cisco gave an uncomfortable laugh and rolled his eyes, before darting them at Barry like, ‘this guy, am I right?’ After a moment, the bystanders lost interest and went back to their conversation, and Cisco lowered his voice. “I know that, Barry, but it’s a secret, remember?”

“A secret?” Barry’s eyes widened and he clapped his hands over his mouth. “Oh! Right, I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“You know what? It’s all good. Just a little misunderstanding. But uh, let’s keep that one under wraps from now on, okay? Lips…” He mimed zipping up his mouth.

Barry nodded dutifully. “Got it.”

“Okay.” Cisco exhaled heavily. Jesus. Babysitting a drunken speedster was hard work.

Barry patted him on the shoulder. “M’gonna go to the bathroom. I’ll be back in…” He held up two fingers. “Two seconds.”

“You’d better be. And remember –” He made the zipping motion again.

Barry imitated it, pretending to lock his mouth up and tossed away the imaginary key. Then he went to join the queue.

Feeling like he’d just aged a decade, Cisco made his way back to their booth. Mercifully, Blondie had gone to chat up some twink at the bar. Cisco sank back onto his stool and buried his head in his hands.

Caitlin, who was squeezing a few droplets of Barry’s blood onto a testing strip, made a sympathetic sound. “Not having a good time, huh?”

“I’d be having a great time if Black Canary over there could quit singing about his secret identity for five freaking minutes.” Cisco snatched the silver flask off the table and screwed the cap back on with a sharp twist. “We’re cutting him off right now, before we get into any more trouble.”

“Oh, come on, cut him a little slack. He doesn’t exactly get to let loose very often.”

“There’s letting loose and then there’s whatever the hell this is.” Cisco shook his head. “It’s like –”

A high-pitched shriek cut him off, and Cisco grimaced as it rang throughout the room. Everyone turned to the source of the commotion – and Cisco’s heart sank. Barry stood on the stage, fumbling with the microphone stand.

“Is this thing on?”

“Oh God,” said Caitlin.

Cisco launched himself at the stage, fighting through the crowd. As he did, Barry continued to ramble into the mic.

“Hi. My name’s Barry, Barry Allen, and I just wanted to say something real quick. Because I love this city. It’s like… my favourite city. And I love all of you. Especially you.” He pointed unsteadily at someone in the crowd and gave a clumsy wink. “Anyway, I’m gonna tell you a secret while I’m here. You guys can keep a secret, right? Shhh!” He put his fingers on his lips. “See, I’m not supposed to tell you this, but…” He leaned in so close that his lips brushed against the mic. “I’m the Fla –”

Just in time, Cisco jerked the mic away from him. “Flaaa–ha! Okay, that’s quite enough of that. I think my buddy here needs some air.  Come on, Barry, let’s go.”

Luckily, Barry didn’t resist. He whooshed cheerfully as Cisco shunted him back to their booth and into his seat, then lolled sideways against Caitlin, who – with reflexes well-honed from constantly grabbing flying paperwork – managed to save her testing kit from being swept off the table.

Barry giggled. “I’m fast,” he said.

“Okay,” Cisco said resignedly. He turned to Caitlin. “Got any better ideas?”

She shrugged. “Pray that six-drink Barry is a little more tight-lipped?”

It sounded like a terrible idea. But when had that ever stopped them? With a shake of his head, Cisco withdrew the flask from his pocket.

“Hold on.” Caitlin’s voice had dropped an octave, and silver began to creep down from the roots of her hair. “I wanna see this,” said Frost. “It’s gonna be a total shitshow.”

Unfortunately, Cisco suspected she was right. He splashed more alcohol into Barry’s glass. “Here you go, big guy. Drink up.”

Barry looked down at his drink and frowned. “Can I get ice in this?”

Frost passed her hand over the glass and a chunk of ice dropped to the bottom with a clink.

“Awesome,” Barry said, and downed it.

“Oh God,” said Cisco. “We are so gonna regret this.”

 *

“Okay,” said Kamilla, looking up from the binder. “I think I’m kinda starting to see the problem. But we won’t have that issue tonight. Everyone at this party knows Barry’s the Flash.”

“Listen,” said Cisco. “Four-drink Flash is a cake-walk. The worst is yet to come.” He flipped the page. “Let me introduce you to five-drink Flash.”

*

 5 DRINK BARRY: THERAPIST BARRY

Five-drink Barry got a little too invested in Iris’ Intro to Psychology textbook in college. He’s all heart, zero clinical training.

Leonard Snart lay back on his bunk in Iron Heights, one leg resting lazily over the other, flipping through a nudie magazine. At least, that was how it appeared from outside the cell. Tucked between the pages was a blueprint of the prison, which his sister had smuggled in during her last visit. The bed creaked as he shifted his weight.

One of the guards struck the bars with his baton. Len glanced up.

“Snart. Get your ass out here. We’ve got a phone call for you.”

“Who from?” Lisa didn’t usually call so soon after a visit, and Mick never called at all; the signal on the Waverider was terrible.

“What do you think I am, your PA? Just get your ass out here.”

Interest well and truly piqued, Len tossed his magazine aside, careful to make sure the blueprint stayed safely tucked between his pages as he crossed the cell and waited for the door to be unlocked. Given his status as a high security prisoner, the guard cuffed him before leading him to the payphone booth in the reception area, the walls marked with grease stains and graffiti. With some difficulty, Len picked up the phone.

“Hello, this is Leonard Snart speaking. How may I be of service?”

The quality of the call wasn’t great. He could hear the throb of music, people talking and shrieking and laughing in the background.

Then a familiar voice said, “Snart? Is that you?”

Len’s forehead creased. “Barry?”

“Shmart. Snart.” Barry cleared his throat. “Hi. Are you okay?”

“…Peachy.” Len flicked a glance over his shoulder. The two prison guards stood watching him with folded arms and distinctly unimpressed expressions. “Can I ask if this is a business or a personal call? Because this isn’t exactly a secure line.”

“I just –” A loud, deep burp echoed down the line. “Wanted to check in n’ make sure you’re doin’ okay.”

“What?”

“Because I wanted you to know,” Barry said, his voice thick and indistinct, “that it’s okay not to be okay, you know? You shouldn’t bottle up your emotions. You gotta let ‘em out, you know? After everything you’ve been through with Lewis, I just wanted you to know that if you ever needed to talk…” He choked up, before recovering. “I’ll be here.”

“Barry, are you drunk?” Len said incredulously.

“See, there you go again, changing the subject. Have you ever noticed that you often use de… def… deflection as a way to avoid talking about difficult subjects?”

“I’m hanging up now,” said Len.

“No, no, no, no, wait! Wait!” Barry said urgently. “You need to talk about what bothers you. Don’t just bottle it up. Your emotions are a beautiful thing. Emotions are what make us–”

“Barry?” came another muffled voice on the other end of the line. “Who are you talking to?”

“No one,” Barry said immediately.

“Barry, give me the phone.”

“No.”

“Just give me the god damn –”

The sound of static and scuffles crackled down the line, and Len grimaced, lifting his head as far away from the speaker as he could to keep from being deafened. Over the commotion and the continued music blasting in the background, he could hear Barry shouting.

“You can be anything you want to be! Your past does not define you!”

“Okay,” said Len, and went to put the phone down.

“Wait!” said Barry. “Before you go, do you have a number for King Shark? Because I wanted to check in and make sure he’s doing okay. I know he looks scary, but underneath that slimy exterior he has the heart of a –”

Len rolled his eyes and hung up.

*

Sober Barry was a seasoned fighter, with speed, agility and hard-won experience on his side. Fortunately for Cisco, however, Drunk Barry’s combat skills comprised of slapping and some half-hearted attempts to bite, which meant that he was able to wrestle the phone away from him fairly easily. As he hung up, he glanced at the caller ID and blanched.

“Seriously? You’re making phone calls to Iron Heights? Are you gonna tell all the bad guys your secret identity too?” He held Barry’s phone up. “You know what? I’m keeping this; you clearly can’t be trusted.”

“My phone!” Barry said, and made a pathetic grab for it.

“Nope. Not happening, pal.” Cisco tucked it into his back pocket.

Barry pouted.

“Hey, don’t give me that look. I’m going to give it back later, I promise. I just need you to sober up first.”

“Okay,” Barry said sorrowfully. His bottom lip started to tremble.

“Oh, no,” Cisco said. “Not the lip – oh God, Barr, you’re breaking my heart here.”

“What’s happening?” asked Frost, returning to the table with two more beers, frost creeping down the side of the bottles. She gave a disinterested look at Barry, who was staring at the table with tears brimming in his eyes. He sniffed hard.

“Uh-oh,” said Cisco. “Six-drink Barry must be…”

 SIX-DRINK BARRY: SAD BARRY

Shortly after his fifth drink, Barry loses his well-honed ability to repress and crumbles under the weight of well over a decade of trauma. In times of crisis, he can be medicated with chicken wings or, in a pinch, large servings of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.

 Cisco turned to Frost for help, but she inched away, rapidly shaking her head. Great, thought Cisco. Super helpful. He rubbed Barry’s back tentatively.

“Hey, Barry. You doing okay there, bud?”

Barry looked up. “I just got off the phone with Snart. He’s having a really hard time, you know? I mean, some people just can’t catch a break. He had a crappy abusive drunk for a father; he practically raised his sister. In and out of juvie, never graduated high school – and in spite of all of that, he comes up with these brilliant heists – like seriously impressive – and then the Flash comes in and totally ruins every single one of them. I mean, come on. The guy’s gotta make a living somehow, am I right?”

“Uh,” said Cisco.

“I always said to him, you can do better.” He poked Cisco clumsily in the chest to emphasize each word. “You have what it takes to be a hero. So the guy joins the Legends, becomes a hero, and then he freaking dies in an explosion. Kaboom! And then he comes back, returns to Central City to start over, robs one lousy bank and gets thrown straight back in prison. How is that fair?”

“Jail time seems like a fairly reasonable consequence for grand larceny,” said Frost.

“It’s just a bad habit,” Barry said forlornly. “He deserves help and compassion, not a prison cell. Do you know what it’s like in Iron Heights? The food is terrible. My Dad spend a decade in there and he always said…”

He trailed off. For a moment Cisco thought he’d gone into a trance, as he stared down at the table, forehead slightly creased. Then he saw the haunted look in Barry’s eyes. The face of a man who had seen terrible things.

They needed a distraction. Luckily, Cisco had just the thing. “You know what?” he said. “Maybe the food in prison isn’t great, but you know what’s awesome? The food you can get delivered right here. Nice, starchy, alcohol-absorbing food. Let’s look at a take-out menu and see what we’ve got.” He pulled up JustEat on his phone. “We could get you a pizza… maybe some fries… a couple of burgers; that sounds–”

“Chicken wings,” Barry said distantly.

They both turned to look at him.

“Chicken wings?” said Frost sceptically.

“Chicken wings,” Barry insisted.

“Okay!” said Cisco. “We’ll get chicken wings.” He added one portion to the basket. Then took another look at Barry’s face and hit the plus button several times. “Lots… and lots… of chicken wings.” He locked the phone. “Okay, food should be with us in a couple of minutes. So what now?”

“More drinks!” Barry said.

“No! No more –”

It was too late; there was a crackle of lightning and then the flask slammed back down onto the tabletop.

Cisco closed his eyes in defeat.

 8 Drink Barry is a Michelin-star chef

Sober Barry’s cooking is average at best, but 8 drink Barry reveals a deep inner passion for the culinary arts.

It was a little past two am when a breach opened at the top of the stairwell, pulsing and flickering with pale blue light. Frost and Cisco staggered out of it, each holding one of Barry’s arms to keep him from escaping.

“Okay, almost there,” said Cisco. “You’re doing a great job. Can you let us in?”

Barry patted himself clumsily down until he found his keys and tried to open the first lock. He kept missing the keyhole. After his third attempt, Barry sighed and collapsed forwards, head resting against the wood panelling. Then he started vibrating.

Cisco suddenly realised what he was trying to do. “No, no wait, don’t–”

There was a buzzing sensation, a sickening lurch, and then all three of them fell straight through the front door.

Frost gave a full-body shudder and released her hold on Barry’s shirt to rub her arms.

“Never do that again! It makes my skin crawl.”

“I feel like we should have a rule about phasing under the influence,” Cisco muttered.

Together, they managed to get Barry onto the couch, where he lay blinking up at them, floppy as a rag doll, barbecue sauce smeared down his chin. More of the wings had ended up on his face than in his mouth, but Cisco hoped the restorative properties would kick in soon.

“Hey, Sad Flash. How’re you holding up?”

“I’m hungry,” Barry said. He clawed his way to a standing position. “Gonna make food.” Yellow light blazed as he sprinted into the kitchen.

Frost turned to Cisco. “He’s still hungry? He had like, eight servings of chicken wings!”

“Just go with it,” Cisco muttered, and then the alarming sounds of crashes and bangs came from the kitchen. “Barry? Do you need some help in there?”

Lightning crackled erratically as Barry sped around the room. Within seconds, every available surface was strewn with culinary equipment: a chopping board; a stained knife; various ingredients. A knife flashed as he rapidly diced an onion and swept it into the pan too fast for the eye to follow, and then the burner came on with a click and a whoosh. Oil sizzled as Barry dropped a steak into the pan. He grabbed a wine bottle off the side, yanked the cork out with his teeth and spat it across the room; it missed Frost by inches, and she recoiled in disgust. Barry sniffed the wine, and after a moment of consideration, he sloshed a generous amount into the pan. Flames leapt skyward, and Barry expertly tamped them down.

“Uh… what are you doing?” said Cisco.

Barry flipped the steak with a flick of his wrist. “Cooking.”

“Yeah, I can see that, but I thought you were going to make pasta, or fries, you know – normal drunk people food, not –” Cisco inhaled. “What even is that?”

“Braised steak in a red wine sauce, with asparagus on the side,” Barry said.

“…Right,” said Cisco. “Sorry I asked.”

*

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” said Kamilla.

“It isn’t,” said Cisco. “It’s goddamn awesome. The problem with 8-Drink Barry is that hot on his heels is –”

*

9 DRINK BARRY – SLEEPY BARRY.

On the night the particle accelerator exploded, Barry went into a coma and remained unconscious for nine months. During that time, his score on the Glasgow Coma Scale was a 5. Rumour has it that nine-drink Barry scored even lower than that.

 “This is the worst night out I’ve ever been on in my life, and I share a body with Caitlin. Her idea of fun is wearing hideous pyjamas and watching documentaries on Hulu,” Frost hissed.

They stood on the doorstep laden with plastic bags while Cisco searched through the assortment of keys Barry had given him, trying to find the one for the first lock. “Look,” he said, inserting one into the lock with a crunch, “I know it hasn’t exactly been smooth sailing, but hopefully he’ll have got the rest of it out of his system while we were out breaching to every grocery store in the city.”

“Right, because Gordon Ramsay in there had to have…” Frost slid the bottle of wine out of the grocery bag. “Whatever the hell this is. Chateau Belair Mona–whatever. As if a hundred-and-fifty-dollar bottle is going to taste any different than the fifteen-dollar fifty bottle from the liquor store.” She rolled her eyes. “What the hell is he even going to do with it?”

“To be honest, as long as he doesn’t drink it I could care less what he does with it. Just keep him distracted for long enough to get some more food inside of him and make sure any breakable objects are out of reach before he gets down to the two-drink level.” He shook the keys in frustration. “Jesus, how many keys do they have?”

“I still don’t see why we had to–” Frost paused and narrowed her eyes. She sniffed sharply. “Is something burning?”

They looked down. Thick grey smoke billowed out from underneath the kitchen door.

Seconds later, the door burst off its hinges in a cloud of icy fog.

Inside the loft was total chaos. Barry slumped at the kitchen table, dead to the world, his hand still loosely clasped around the flask of speedster booze. A small puddle of drool on the table shone in the firelight. Behind him, his frying pan lay abandoned on the range, smoking violently while flames leapt towards the ceiling.

The piercing shriek of the smoke alarm tore through the room. Frost blasted the frying pan with a thick stream of ice and cold energy crackled from her palms, barely making a difference in the temperature of the room. Cisco grabbed a damp tea towel off the side and beat at the flames, trying frantically to extinguish the blaze. Behind them, Barry didn’t so much as twitch, his snores drowned out by the alarm.

*

“Okay, I think I get the gist,” said Kamilla, looking up from the folder. “No-booze Barry is the way to go.” She hesitated. “But just out of morbid curiosity, what about nine-drink Barry?”

“Unchartered territory,” Cisco said darkly. “We figured eight drinks was enough.”  He closed the folder conclusively. “So yeah, it sucks that Barry can’t drink with us, but with great power comes great responsibility. And sometimes responsibility means making sure your friend doesn’t accidentally break the sound barrier by doing the worm at Mach 2.”

Cisco went to slide the folder back onto the shelf. As he did so, his gaze caught a framed photo on the countertop. He paused and picked it up, smiling sadly. It was a picture of himself, Caitlin, Barry and Thawne – or Wells, as they’d believed back then – from the early days. They all looked so young, grinning at the camera, hair tousled where Barry had sped out from behind the phone before the shutter clicked. His chest ached.

Kamilla put a hand on his arm. “You’re going to miss them, aren’t you?”

“Always.” He put the photo down. “But we gotta keep moving forward. Speaking of which, it is beyond uncool to be late to your own party, so we’d better get shaking.” He held out his arm. “Ready?”

“You go,” said Kamilla. “I just have a few last-minute things to take care of. I’ll catch up.”

“Okay.” Cisco kissed her on the cheek and slipped out of the room.

Kamilla glanced over her shoulder, bit her lower lip. Then her gaze slid over to the fridge.

Tiptoeing across the room, she approached the container and input the code again. Her hair tossed as she glanced over her shoulder to make sure that no one was watching. Then she slid out a single blood red vial and tucked it into her purse.

Just in case.

[valeriehervo]

Valérie Hervo runs Les Chandelles, the legendary Paris sex club where members of French high society, politicians, barristers and rock stars (and an increasing number of Brits) come to indulge their erotic fantasies. Can it survive the twin threats of the pandemic and a moral backlash?

Adam Sage

Saturday March 20 2021, 

Valérie Hervo is outraged. She has just been listening to a radio station where two male presenters, chatting about her forthcoming appearance on their show, kept referring to her as the owner of a “group sex club”.

“That really is low-class vocabulary,” she tells me. “It’s very macho as well. Only a man would say something like that.

“And it is not what this place is about. To me, it is a journey through the mystery of the senses to a land of sensuality and encounters.”

Hervo is particularly aggrieved at what she took to be the implication that she organised sexual games for the benefit of men.

Nothing could be further from the truth, she insists. “Here, everything revolves around women’s pleasure. This is a place where a woman can do what she wants, when she wants and with whom she wants – and if she wants to do nothing, she does nothing.”

Hervo opened Les Chandelles, her recreational club – as she would prefer it described – in 1993, and it has since become a part of French high-society folklore.

Any Parisian will tell you that this is the place where the country’s political, economic and cultural elites live out their sexual fantasies beyond the sight of ordinary mortals, where government ministers, television presenters, rock stars and chief executives engage in the ancient practice of libertinage.

But what exactly goes on behind the plain façade in a narrow street near the Louvre in central Paris? And what might this tell us about French values? Or indeed about British values, given the steady flow of clients rumoured to have crossed the channel in recent years in the hope of fulfilling their “erotic potential” under Hervo’s stewardship?

With telephones barred from the club (they have to be left at the entrance) and hardly anyone willing to talk openly about their evenings there – “It’s a matter of intimacy,” says Hervo. “You don’t start telling everyone about your sex life at dinner parties” – such questions have given rise to few answers and much speculation.

Now, with the club closed because of the pandemic, Hervo, 53, has written a book that explains what happens when the dancefloor empties, usually around 1.30am, and the salons around it fill with writhing, sighing bodies.

Les dessous des Chandelles, which could be translated either figuratively as The Secrets of the Chandelles or literally as Underneath the Candelabras, is the portrait of a quintessentially French establishment.

Where else would the lost property include designer thongs or customers eat Ladurée macarons off the back of a naked woman, a famous male barrister end up in an alcove with his female rival days after their clash in a criminal court, or Mick Jagger reportedly be turned away for wearing a pair of jeans?

Hervo explains that her club is a bastion of French “savoir vivre”, where a select group of beautiful, intelligent and well-educated people conduct themselves in a way befitting a nation that has given the world some of its greatest suggestive literature, from Molière’s Dom Juan to Laclos’ Les liaisons dangereuses.

Consider, for example, her account of one of the Eyes Wide Shut theme parties she holds from time to time. “A naked woman, her gaze hidden by a Venetian mask, lies on a table,” she writes. “A nymph in a transparent toga joins her. She kneels down and delicately pulls her legs apart.”

She has torrid encounters herself, for instance with a woman whose perfume she found bewitching and whose body she discovered behind a veil in an alcove.

Much of her time, however, is spent looking after her patrons, like the couple of regulars who realised to their horror that their adult son and his partner had also begun going to Les Chandelles. Hervo tells how they begged her to help them avoid what they said would be a “regrettable” meeting.

On another occasion, a male customer arrived with his mistress, explaining to Hervo that his wife was stuck at home because she was ill. An hour later, the wife arrived with a younger man, she writes. “Don’t say anything to my husband,” she told Hervo. “He thinks I’ve got the flu.”

Hervo promptly rushed downstairs where she found the husband, “naked and frolicking with his partner and a few other accomplices”. She advised him to leave through the emergency exit.

I am discussing these and more adventures with Hervo at a table in her club’s pink and white restaurant, which is to be found at the bottom of stairs that wind down from an ordinary-looking blue door on the street.

Opposite us is another staircase that leads to what could easily be mistaken for an 18th- century Parisian literary salon – were it not for the mattress in the alcove at the end of it.

A third staircase, encased in walls painted in gold leaf, descends to a dancefloor, a bar and more salons with their alcoves, benches and mattresses.

It is difficult to find an English word to describe Les Chandelles. Some have called it a swingers’ club, although that conveys none of the cerebral sophistication and cultural aspirations that go with elite sex in France.

Others have used the term wife-swapping (or échangisme, as the French call it), but Hervo is no more happier with that than with group sex.

“For me, échangisme is very reductive and sad,” Hervo explains. “It involves some kind of contract between four people and they all need to agree, which can’t happen very often.”

What prevails at her club, she says, is libertinage, a concept dating back to a 12th-century rebellion against the church by disaffected clerics who were determined to place physical love above the courtly version promoted by troubadours and their ilk.

The contemporary version of this philosophy involves making “everything possible and nothing obligatory”, Hervo says.

One couple might go for sex, either with each other or with someone else, she says. A second might go along to watch. A third could be happy with a turn on the dancefloor.

“For some, it is enough to have an imaginary journey. For others, they will want a little bit more. But what happens in the salons is the icing on the cake and it doesn’t matter if nothing happens, because we’ve had such fun with the preliminaries.

“Everyone goes at their own rhythm. You may be happy with a look, a caress or with voyeurism. But that is all very different to échangisme.”

Libertinage, which has come and gone in France over the centuries – the early 17th and the mid-18th being among the high points – enjoyed a return to fashion from the late Nineties with the emergence of hundreds of clubs amid a spirit of unrestrained freedom.

The number has since fallen, with adepts taking to organising their own house parties. At the last count there were 269 such clubs left, according to French state radio.

The health crisis looks likely to drive many more out of business, their activities scarcely being compatible with social distancing.

Les Chandelles, however, has a status apart, and this should offer it protection against the vicissitudes of fortune.

Hervo says her customers include “politicians from both the left and the right” and “celebrities from across the whole world” (she refuses to divulge their names).

Hervo says that as her club’s fame has grown, so has its allure to visitors from Europe, the US, Asia and “a lot from Britain”.

It is not enough just to cross the channel and knock on the door, though. In order to get in, you need erotic knowhow, Hervo says, along with familiarity with Parisian savoir-vivre.

“It is an alchemy. A way of being,” she says.

In his Histoire du libertinage, Didier Foucault, a history lecturer at Toulouse University who is a specialist on the subject, writes of how the practice became fashionable after 1600 among aristocrats driven “by a haughty refusal to bow either to common law or to any authority whatsoever, be it temporal or divine”.

There may be something similar about the French elite that frequents Les Chandelles. The entrance fee is €96 for two, or €310 with dinner and a bottle of Deutz champagne thrown in. If Deutz is too downmarket, there is Cristal Roederer for €490 or Dom Pérignon Rosé for €470.

But the selection policy is not based on money, Hervo insists. More important to her are “elegance, refinement, education and taste.

“I have a very tough door policy. I turn away a lot of people.”

The badly dressed, the ugly, the vulgar, have no hope of getting past her, she says, while the overweight may struggle as well, at least if they are male.

“I know I shouldn’t be saying this, but I am going to say it anyway. I think I would be more concerned by a fat man than a round woman. Round women can be very beautiful but, in general, men who are fat are… Well, someone who lets himself go physically is someone who does… not respect himself. And if he doesn’t respect himself, he is less likely to respect other people.”

Les dessous des Chandelles is a strange, almost dual work. On the one hand, it is a window onto this secretive world of privilege and exclusion created by Hervo beneath Rue Thérèse in the French capital.

On the other, it is a tale of the author’s personal voyage through libertinage and her claim that the sexual liberation she found along the way, first in other clubs and then in her own, helped to unshackle her from a traumatic childhood marked by incest, guilt and depression.

Our conversation reflects the same duality.

For much of the interview, Hervo comes across as the archetypal Parisian businesswoman, complete with carefully applied make-up, an elegant hairdo, an articulate discourse, a headstrong Yorkshire terrier and a well-trained fiancé – Tom, the maker of an excellent Sancerre white wine, who rushes off shortly after I arrive and returns later with an armful of her outfits for the photoshoot, including an all-white suit and a glittering jacket.

One minute she is talking with off-putting clarity about the female orgasm, telling me in a tone that brooks no argument that “a woman’s sexuality is so much richer than that of a man”. The next she is explaining, with equal equanimity, how she resisted underworld attempts to take over her club following her divorce in 2005.

Like all self-respecting Parisiennes, she knows how to throw a strategic fit of pique as well, announcing that the photographer is driving her mad and that Tom had better summon a friend for help, and be quick about it. The friend duly arrives with a bottle of sancerre to enable Hervo to get through the afternoon session.

Yet, from time to time, there are signs of the scars left by childhood, as when she concedes that she took refuge in libertinage in part because “at night-time, you can’t see the suffering so much… the glitter masks the pain”.

At one point, her eyes fill with tears as she discloses that her relatives have refused to speak to her since the publication of her book, which recounts her rape by her grandfather as a young girl, her parents’ refusal to believe her, her teenage struggles with depression, her toxic marriage to a man 20-odd years her senior, and her salvation in swingers’ clubs.

It was her former husband who introduced her to libertinage. She writes of her first experience in a club where “in a salon plunged into darkness… some couples are making love while others are observing them”.

She did not want to join in – at least not the first time – but says, “My emotion [was]great and my excitement real.”

“I was 24 and I instinctively knew it was right for me,” Hervo tells me. “What I liked in those places was a feeling of freedom and especially a feeling that I was meeting couples who seemed to get on well together.

“That was not the image of the couple I had received as a child because my parents argued all the time. It was like Disneyland as far as I was concerned.”

When her former husband suggested opening their own swingers’ club in Paris, she jumped at the chance. He put up some of the money, they borrowed the rest and she became the manager.

“It was a success straight away, because I think it was the first club to give so much importance to women,” she says. “At that time, in 1993, in other clubs, the women were just treated as objects and it was the men who took charge of the games and who brought along their wives.

“I think that they were probably men of little courage who were not able to cheat on their wives and who went to this sort of place instead. But that was not at all in the spirit of libertinage.”

Les Chandelles would be different, she decided. “Women who are objects are women without humanity. Here, I made sure that the women were subjects.

“In fact, I created here what I never had myself. I tried to encourage women to take their time, to dare to set the tempo, to ask men to be attentive and unhurried and to be gallant, because women adore gallantry.”

She says her door policy has always involved refusing entrance to couples if she suspects that the woman is being dragged along against her will or kept in the dark about the true nature of Les Chandelles. “Even now in 2021, there are boors who don’t tell their partners where they are taking them,” she says. “It’s increasingly rare but it still happens. But if I have the slightest doubt, I question them. You get a feeling for these things.”

Inside the club, no means no, she says, explaining that men can be expelled for repeating a request to a female customer if they are turned down the first time.

“I think women are much safer in this sort of place than in traditional nightclubs where they get hassled all the time,” she tells me.

She says that she herself came to see Les Chandelles – of which she has been the sole owner since extracting herself from her disastrous marriage 16 years ago and buying her former husband’s share – as a refuge from the wounds left by her troubled childhood.

“This has been my bunker and my incubator,” she says. “It was where I revitalised myself, and where I discovered myself too.”

Can her club really be as idyllic as she pretends?

For years, Les Chandelles has been described in the French press as a favourite haunt of Dominique Strauss-Kahn, the former head of the International Monetary Fund, who resigned following his arrest on suspicion of rape. Although the charge was ultimately dropped, reports of his attendance at Les Chandelles have done nothing for its image.

Recently, it has also been linked with Gérald Darminin, President Macron’s interior minister, who, it has emerged, went to Les Chandelles in 2009 with a woman who had asked him for help in overturning her criminal conviction – he was legal affairs adviser for an opposition political party at the time – and who has accused him of raping her later that evening.

He denies her claim, but the publicity has scarcely been an advertisement for Hervo’s establishment.

She says the coverage has been misleading and unfair. DSK, for instance, barely ever visited Les Chandelles, she insists.

“There are many other politicians who came more often than him and who were much more important than him,” she says.

As for Darmanin, she says that when he dropped into the club a little over a decade ago, he was a young bachelor, and that young bachelors sometimes visit “for an evening with – what’s that word they use now? – oh yes, les sex friends, that’s it.

“And there’s nothing wrong with that. If you find yourself on your own for a year or so, you might want a regular one of those. Why not?”

Until now, the interview has gone smoothly enough, interrupted only by the barking of Cerise, Hervo’s Yorkshire terrier, at the emergence of the photographer from below.

But then I make a big mistake. Noting the entrance policy favours single women – who are allowed in on evenings otherwise reserved for couples, when single men are banned – I ask Hervo whether she uses them as an enticement for male patrons seeking a threesome with their wives and another partner.

She looks daggers across the table. “That is really a stupid, male, Cro-Magnon thing to say,” she tells me. “It’s very maladroit of you.

“Single women come because they want to have fun, because they could meet a man who pleases them, or a woman, or perhaps neither. Sometimes, it’s just two women friends who come for a drink because they know that here they won’t be bothered and because they will be appreciated because they are pretty.

“When I began here, I didn’t receive single women in the evening, because society considered that a woman who came alone to an establishment like mine was either a whore or a bitch. I fought to make people understand that life does not work like that, and I am proud to say that today I have single women among my customers.”

I ask Hervo if she is a feminist. “I certainly am not a neo-feminist,” she says, explaining that she laughs off wolf whistles in the street, likes being complimented on her looks and wants to “seduce or to be seduced, freely. But I am feminist for some things. I am in favour of women being able to experience pleasure alone at first, to discover their bodies and to enjoy their bodies, and only afterwards to share all that with a partner if they so wish.

“That sort of thing has not always been possible in the past.”

Pointing out that Foucault’s history of libertinage shows how sexual freedoms have come and gone over the centuries in France, I wonder out loud whether the country is shifting back towards greater restraint.

“You’re right, it is,” she says. “The difference is that today, it is not religion that is trying to cover everything up, it’s our moralising society. There is a very prudish scent around these days.”

In a thinly veiled attack on #MeToo, she complains in her book that the social networks have been transformed into “popular tribunals”, that the law has come to treat women “as weak beings which have to be protected” and that the ancestral French game of seduction is being subjected to new codes and new rules.

It is difficult to determine whether the pandemic will brake or accelerate this trend. Some predict that when the crisis ends, we will see a repeat of les années folles (the mad years), as the Twenties were known in France, with a yearning for freedom, parties and libertinage.

Others forecast the continued spread of the Anglo-Saxon-style feminism that Hervo abhors and the curtailment of French love-making and seduction. She is not overly worried, though. On a personal level, she has emerged from years of therapy able to confront her past and look forward to the future, she says. She has become a part-time therapist herself, has a house in the country, where she has spent much of the past year, and is planning to “marry the man I love” this summer.

Even if the moral backlash gathers strength, she thinks that Les Chandelles will continue to triumph.

“There have always been currents and countercurrents, but if society goes one way, people will need a place of liberty where they can do what they want, where they will have the freedom to talk, to exchange.”

Indeed, she believes that her club may even come to play a role similar to that of literary salons in the 18th century, when they nurtured the ideas that helped to topple the ancien régime.

Only in France could there be dreams of Enlightenment amid the shadows of a basement sex club. Les dessous des Chandelles by Valérie Hervo is published by Cherche Midi

[circuses-and-childhoodtrauma]

3, 4, 8?

Sorry this is late, I haven't been on Tumblr in a while, but it's currently 4 20 am and I'm at a friend's house so rn is as good a time as any to answer this lmao

Spoilers for Gone-Light!

3- "who's your 'problematic fave' if you have one?"

Well, tbh I don't really know if it's considered problematic, but I very much prefer the Coates kids over the PB crew (besides Penny, she just never sat right with me, but she had her fair share of cool scenes and dialogue). I just always love seeing them interact and their schemes, especially in the 1st book when there was such an abundance of Coates characters even on the sidelines. I remember enjoying Hunger so much more because if the dynamic of the Coates crew when they regroup with Jack, I just love reading about morally dubious (and sometimes just straight up bad) lil teens, it's so interesting! Most of the hc I made and the stuff I talked abt with my friend Scott who is also a gone fan was largely centered around the Coates kids, be it their pre-fayz life we imagined where Caine was a theatre kid who would dye his hair when he had an emotional crisis, Drake not knowing how to show affection other than violence (thanks to his twisted lessons learned from his parents) and ending up stealing a Minecraft onsie from Walmart to give to Jack as an "insult", or Diana doing Jack's eyeliner in the shared dorm bathroom while you can hear Caine screaming because he saw Drake attempt to shiv Andrew and Frederico watched from on top of the fridge they managed to SNEAK to their dorm. I just have such an attachment to the darker, more morally grey characters and the way they interact with each other.

4-"do you think Caine was redeemed in the end? Orc?"

For Caine, no. I personally don't think he was redeemed, while he did gain some points for his actions in the last book, his wrongdoings are still stacked up against him. And to be honest? I don't think he sacrificed himself for the good reason. A person like Caine's main goal is to be in control, and at the very least make an impact and be remembered. He saw that he wouldn't be getting out of the Fayz a free man, so how else do you make your mark? You sacrifice yourself in a way that will leave every kid remembering you. Plus it seems fitting that he would want to go out in a bang. There's also Diana wanting to sacrifice herself to atone which was definitely a pushing factor for Caine. I just feel like even if he had done it for heroic reasoning, it doesn't really combat everything else he's done yk? He was still a majorly bad person, and arguably he could be unredeemable period, but let's just leave it as unredeemed.

As for Orc? Yes, I believe that he was definitely redeemed by the end of Light. Since he killed Betty, Orc was wallowing in guilt (an emotion that Caine didn't show) and anguish. He repeatedly tried to make up for it, and yes, he had his rough moments (like the murder if a small boy that almost made me rethink his redemption, but it was a fit of emotion and misjudgements, and he still has at least tried to do more good than bad), but in the end he was trying his hardest to reform, and his sacrifice wasn't for game or attention. It was to help. And I think that makes him redeemed.

8- "what do you think the characters dress like? Who's fashion sense is most similar to yours?"

Ooh boy, this one is quite a doozy considering I have designed a lot of gone characters clothes pre- mid- and post-fayz, so I will include it if and when I have the time!

[maximumsnow]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Faith (Airdorf Video Game) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Characters: John Ward (Faith Video Game), Amy Martin (Faith Video Game) Additional Tags: Michael is kinda here too but not the main focus, yet anyway, First game has five endings but here's another one because I don't have problems, Faith Crisis, Other note John is Specifically called A Young Priest so he's like mid-twenties here, Canon typical violence referenced, I've been calling the verse this leads into the demon children au, But I'm not sure how much further I want to go with dedicated writing, So enjoy this and I may or may not come back with more.

Summary:  What if John was able to speak with Amy at the end instead of only having the option to shoot her or leave her to die?

The gun was heavy in John’s hands. There was only a single bullet in it, and the words written in red on the wall made it clear who it was for.

“KILL HER.”

This was the only way to finish the job, wasn’t it? Amy was already too far gone physically to be brought back, and putting her soul to rest was how he had to end it.

Wasn’t it?

That’s what his teachings had taught him. They had been very insistent that there was generally a point of no return, and Amy had crossed it.

Then why would she run? Was it a ruse?

Why was a demon telling him to end her life? That in itself should be a red flag, shouldn’t it?

When had he gotten to the point that killing a child would be the kindest mercy he could offer her?

John knew what the demon possessing her could do. He had been front and center to the performance, and it still haunted his nightmares, despite what he had told the psychologist. The fact that everyone kept telling him it couldn’t have been real only added fuel to the fire of his broken mind.

His reflection felt less and less like him as the days passed.

He shuddered as he stepped out of the broken down house. The woods were eerily quiet outside of the wind blowing through the trees. The white creature that had chased him was nowhere to be seen, and he didn’t hear the telltale rustling of trees that warned him of its coming.

Even if she was still possessed, Amy’s body would still be weak after the confrontation in the attic and throwing herself out of the window. Whatever he did next had to happen now, or all the lives lost would be for naught.

The blood trails were hard to follow, but even when the red blended in with the foliage, the sharp smell of rust would guide him along.

If she wasn’t dead yet, he doubted she would be alive for much longer. Human bodies only had so much blood they could lose, and demons were quick to forget that when playing with their pawns. The consequences were only temporary for them, after all.

He had to finish this. Not break down like he had a year ago.

That was what he told himself as he continued his hunt through the dark woods.

The sound of crashing through the underbrush caught John’s attention, and he swung the gun in that direction and waited with baited breath and a thundering heart.

When a herd of deer ran by, he didn’t ease his stance until silence fell again, and he was sure that whatever had spooked the animals wasn’t coming behind them.

He contemplated going in that direction, on the off chance Amy had gone that way, but the blood trail was too fresh for him to ignore. And the likelihood of finding something else was high.

Eventually, the trees opened into a clearing, and at the far end, he could see Amy. The torn hem of her dress was flecked with blood, and even from this distance, he could see blood seeping through the cuts in her back. She was facing away from him as she staggered towards the woods.

John had to make a choice.

He could shoot her and end it now. He could let her live, and the demon could use her for more death and destruction before she perished. He could leave her, and she would die from her injuries because the demon had already left.

One could never tell which ploy a demon would use to kill their victims. It was often safer to kill a vessel to make sure the demon couldn’t hurt anyone in that form anymore.

But she was a child.

And he wasn’t even a decade older than she was.

Please, God, take this cup away from me.

His eyes were starting to blur.

… When did his face get wet?

Trails of tears were falling down his face as the weight of what he was contemplating fully hit him. The grip on the gun had grown shaky as it pulled him down.

He dropped it when he dropped to his knees.

I can’t do this, Lord.

The safety was still on, thankfully, but the impact made a noise that made the mostly purple blur turn into a brown and purple blur.

When he wiped his eyes, he could see the red void her face had turned into pointed in his direction.

I’m going to die.

The realization should have scared him. Especially since he knew how violently his end would be at her hands. But all he could feel was a vague sense of relief and guilt. It would no longer be in his hands to do this, but everything indicated that he had failed her again.

Unless…

“Amy, is that you?” He didn’t mean for his voice to catch on her name, but he knew he was throwing a hail Mary.

“You’re that priest? Why are you...” He wasn’t sure how she could see given her condition, but the way her head moved indicated that she was looking him up and down. He could see her body tense as he assumed she saw the gun.

She backed away from him, but her legs did not agree with the movement and she fell to the ground. “It’s gone! I swear!” She started to scoot herself backwards. She probably didn’t think he’d believe her.

Did he?

The distortion in her voice was gone, but that was something the demon could easily turn off when it wanted to. That was how it convinced the officers that what happened the year prior was a vast misunderstanding gone horribly wrong.

John’s arms refused to move. “I-”

Why can’t I do this? I can’t fail her again. I can’t. I can’t. I can’tIcan’tIcan’t-

“Watch out!” Amy’s voice cracked as she suddenly jumped to her feet. The movement wasn’t smooth given her condition, but she started bolting in his direction.

He couldn’t do it. Instead he fell forwards onto his hands in fear as he waited for the end.

That’s when he heard it. There was rustling behind him, and he was again reminded of the other creature hunting in the woods.

“FAAAaaaATHhHEEeeeERRRrr!” The cry activated the habit of yanking his crucifix out, and he swung it around behind him as he tried to turn and stand at the same time.

It wasn’t necessary.

As the creature leapt towards him, a red arm swung out over him, caught its face, and threw it against the ground.

His eyes traced the arm back to its owner, and it went back to Amy’s face. The connection made him scramble away from her, but she collapsed as the arm retracted back into the void.

“Leave her, demon!” He cried out as he pointed the crucifix towards Amy. At this point, he wasn’t expecting the command to work, but the gun wasn’t practical to grab for now, and the protection the crucifix offered was better than nothing.

“Purge the demon, now! Before he gets back up!” She called out instead. She wasn’t jerking away from the cross, but she wasn’t really in a state to run, either.

… He couldn’t point the cross at both of them, and the tangled limbs on the white creature were already starting to scramble to stand up again.

He had to take a chance.

John finally stood up tall and pointed the crucifix towards the demon possessed creature and started to recite the Latin that Father Allred had forced him to memorize. Even if his own faith in a higher power was fading, his faith in the words was strong.

The creature caught on to what he was doing, and the unnaturally long arms and legs started to crawl backwards.

Until the red arm once again appeared and latched onto a wrist that was far too thin for a creature this size.

It struggled against the grip and screamed a wordless cry that reverberated in John’s ears, but he could vaguely still hear Amy over the horribly loud noise. “Keep going!”

He kept speaking the words of the rite even as his ears started to ring, and he persevered even as a clump of dirt was chucked in his direction.

As he finished the last word, the screaming and flailing suddenly stopped as the creature suddenly dropped limp.

The red arm disappeared as well, and John could fully take in the scene. The white vaguely humanoid creature was laid out like puppet with the strings cut, and the glowing red eyes were shut as if they were asleep. Amy’s bloody form was nearby, and since she was face down, it was easy to forget what had happened to her.

She hadn’t reacted to the crucifix even when the creature had pulled her into the line of fire, and he now had to consider what that meant. As well as figuring out whether the rite had worked on the other… what he had to guess what had once been a human.

Neither reacted to the cross being pointed at them now, and even if the host appeared unconscious, demons did not like holy symbols being directed towards them.

The gun was close by, he remembered. Even if it only had one bullet… He stopped.

Instead he stowed the crucifix away and stood over Amy with an offered hand. “Can you stand?”

There was a moment of silence, and he suddenly feared that maybe it was too late. Then a quiet voice said, “Yeah. It hurts though...” She turned over and weakly reached for his hand.

He pulled her up and offered her a shoulder to lean against. “You lost a lot of blood. I have some bandages in my car, but we have to get there first.”

“What about...” She trailed off as she looked towards the unconscious person.

John weighed his options, before lightly pushing her away. She got the hint and balanced herself so that she could stand without him. In a move that he only learned from one of his college friends, he picked them in a fireman’s hold. The hands and feet were only barely off the ground, but despite the their relatively large size, they were much lighter than he expected.

Whatever that demon had done to this person’s physical body was extreme. He highly doubted this would ever come undone. Much like what had happened to Amy’s face.

Thankfully, Amy could manage without his aid, because even if the other formerly demon possessed person was lighter than expected, he was not someone who lifted for a living.

The trek back to the car was extremely quiet. He had so many questions to potentially ask Amy, but he didn’t think she would be able to give straight answers right now.

He also had questions for the person passed out on his shoulders.

The car was a welcome sight on the side of the road, and for the time being, he laid the person down in the back seat. It was cramped, to say the least, but there was a chance that someone could drive by, and possibly freak out if they saw them.

As for Amy, he bandaged the worst of the wounds, but the first aid kit he kept in his car was not meant to handle so many at once.

“We should probably go to the hospital,” He said as he patched up a nasty gash on her arm.

“How are we going to explain this?” She said with a wave at her face. If her face had simply been mutilated, it would have been difficult, but the red void made it impossible to explain to an everyday person.

He sighed. “I don’t know. But you jumped out of a window-”

Amy interrupted, “I know. I was in the backseat of my own body.” The reminder made her voice tremble.

There was a visible flinch as he muttered an apology. Instead he tried to go back to the original topic. “We can try a mask or something, but most places don’t like it if they can’t see your face,” he mused aloud.

“You know that won’t work.”

“… I know.”

With the worst taken care of, she sat in the passenger front seat, and he got in the driver’s side.

Night was starting to fall as he followed the winding roads back to the town he lived in, and Amy passed out within a few minutes of the drive starting.

With both of his passengers out cold, he could think on the last few hours without interruption. He hadn’t needed to take a life tonight, and he was grateful for that above all else. He hadn’t signed up to be a priest in order to kill people.

… Frankly, he hadn’t really signed up to fight demons like this, either, but that was what his training had been focused on, for some reason.

While he once would have attributed his success to Providence, now he wasn’t so sure. There were a lot of lucky circumstances today, for sure, but a part of him was. Uneasy. About what was to happen next. He wasn’t considered experienced enough to say that the exorcisms were successful, but they had to be if they weren’t reacting to the crucifix anymore, right?

He wasn’t sure even what the next move could be for Amy and the other person, but he had a few contacts in the Church that were still willing to speak with him.

Maybe someone else with more experience would know what to do.

[theabominableblogger]

Rewatching “Fright Night” (the 1985 version)

No I ain’t watching the remake with David Tennant.  ‘Cause I said so.

*does Borat impression while loading the movie on Amazon Prime*

“Sit here beside me on the veranda.”  Is this the... TV show scene?  The show with Roddy McDowall?

SCARE CHOOORD!

“So... luminescent.”  *laughs*

Those were some... horrible kissing noises

I like the out of context implication that as soon as the woman asks the dude to lay on her chest, Peter Vincent’s like “NONE IN THIS HOUSE!”

“IF SHE BREATHES...”

What idiot puts their smelly ass soccer cleats on their headboard?

“We’ve been going together almost a year, and all I ever hear is ‘Charley, stop it.’“  Well then maybe that’s a you problem

Also what the hell is that map thing next to Amy?

“Let’s get into bed.”  *bug eyes*

Amy, that is not the look of someone who is ready to have sex.

“It says right here that the divorce rate is 76% higher among couples who don’t argue before marriage.”  Shut up, Mom.

“Thank you [Amy] for helping Charley with his homework.”  ...I was gonna make a sex joke here but nah.

Oh I hate Charley’s friend in his movie.

Charley’s car, while super nice, looks like a sunburnt cow

“My luck.  He’s [the neighbor] probably gay.”  AAAAAHHH THEY EVEN SAID IT!

I really Charley to slap Teach [Ed] at some point but I know it’s never gonna happen.

For a moment, I thought that the carpenter dude partner was gonna be like Kenny from “The War at Home” but nah.  He probably just uses his teeth a lot.

*silently jamming to the background synth music*

*Charley spots a woman removes her bra in the window*  What was this rated again?

AN:  It’s rated R

*yells when Jerry looks over to see Charley through the window*

*Shot of Jerry’s hand pulling down the window blind*  That... is a lady hand.

AN:  They were actually extensions that Chris wore and he helped apply them himself so that he could just rip them off after a day of shooting

*Charley’s mom ruins Charley’s cover*  DAMN IT MOM

This movie is basically “Who Cried Wolf” but with vampires?

“I’m his roommate Billy Cole.”  Can you believe just that the fact that this movie was made in the mid 80s when the AIDS crisis in the US was getting ready to happen and director Tom Holland and the screenwriter went “YES they’re gonna be GAY and THAT’S FINAL”

“You actually saw the body, Charley?”  Uh doesn’t that tone raise any suspicion from the detective STANDING NEXT TO HIM?

*snorts in hilarity when Billy jokingly does the sign of the cross*

Charley, I would not trust anything Teach tries to tell you.

AND OF COURSE CHARLEY’S MOM INVITED JERRY OVER

OMINOUS SYNTH CHORD

My God, Chris Sarandon...

What’s with the celery?

Charley’s mom is the most oblivious character in this whole movie, I swear

FISH EYE LENS

I forget, do we ever see Jerry in vampire bat form or do we just see him as Chris Sarandon with fangs the entire movie?

Why yes, Charley, use your tiny crucifix.

Doesn’t the whole “enter with permission” count with bedrooms too or just the house in general?  If it counted with bedrooms, couldn’t Charley just put up a sign on his door that said “NO ADMISSION WITHOUT PERMISSION” and that would keep Jerry out?

Jerry is the most casual vampire I’ve seen so far.  Someone would just throw a chair at him and he’ll just No-Sell it like “Listen... I was just saying...”

There’s got to be a logical way to explain this Christmas thing.

We just need a vampire that’s like Catherine O’Hara from “Schitt’s Creek”

I love how Charley’s like 80% out the window and yet he can still reach for an entire mug of pencils

NO WAIT WE SEE HIS [Jerry’s] VAMPIRE FACE NEVERMIND

Valium?!?

Christopher Lee!

THAT FRAMING [of Billy kneeling directly in front of Jerry’s legs] ISN’T OBVIOUS AT ALL TOM HOLLAND

The logic for this movie is something else.  Charley sees someone on TV perform a vampire killing ON A TV SHOW and thinks “YES I’m going to ask him to help me with this vampire situation!” 

This is like asking Drew Carey if he can assist in a vampire hunting

*imitates Peter Vincent shooing Charley away*

*snorts at Teach and Amy walking in on Charley setting holy stuff ALL OVER HIS HOUSE*

Also I absolutely forgot about the weird side plot with Amy being an incarnation of a past love.  What is it with this and Bram Stoker’s Dracula going this route?

Man, Roddy McDowall is just a masterclass in classical acting.  You can tell the different style between him and the other actors.

There’s a bust of Klaus Kinski’s Nosferatu in the glass box!

AN:  *in best Janet from ‘The Good Place’ impression*  Fun fact, Klaus Kinski was actually an asshole

I like the red and black plaid night coat

God, all those clocks going off at once reminds me of the scene in Pinocchio.  That would give me so much anxiety in real life.

WHO TOSSED JERRY THE APPLE?!?

OH AND THEY [Jerry and Billy] WALK OFF TOGETHER OF COURSE

*imitates Peter Vincent saying “Good evening good evening”*

*going through AO3′s Fright Night 1985 tag as Peter explains what he’s doing*  Wow there’s four pages.  I might have to bookmark some of these.

Ohhhh kay, nevermind on half of these.  Not into that.  Nope nope nope.

I forget, is Billy also a vampire?  Or is he like some ghoul?  Werewolf?

...Interspecies romance?

For a fact, I know that if CinemaSins covers this movie, they would award Jerry the “eating an apple because he’s an asshole” sin and I would laugh

Oh he’s [Jerry] gonna go for the hand kiss, isn’t he? 

OH GOD DAMMIT

*has to still register it*

Wait, did Jerry hold the bottle up in front of the fire in case there was actually holy water?  Would heating it up counteract the holy water inside?

WAIT DOESN’T PETER CATCH JERRY’S LACK OF REFLECTION IN THE MIRROR AS THEY LEAVE?

How did they do that?  Did they just... comp Chris Sarandon out or did they have him tuck out of frame but still say his lines?

AN:  Tom Holland originally goofed up the shot I guess but they ran with it

JERRY IS BI HEADCANON CONFIRMED

WAIT HE FOUND THE MIRROR SHARDS

The overhead tracking shot following Ed in the alleyway is actually pretty good.  And the way it slides to a normal shot is great.

Oh they do the creepy Dracula fog!

Wait, this movie came out the same year as Nightmare on Elm Street 2.  Dang.

And that movie also had a weird homoerotic tone to it.

You know what, the way Jerry offers Ed salvation only to attack him was actually pretty solid.  Just good acting from both of them.  I was sold.

WAIT IT’S THE CLUB SCENE!

*Peter presses a cross to Ed’s forehead*  Great prosthetic too, holy crap!

*jams out to the song playing at the club*

Why do Jerry’s dance clothes look like either my pajamas or really lame exercise clothes?

God, it’s [Jerry pacing back and forth watching Amy] like a cat stalking a bird holy crap

NOOOO I DON’T NEED TO WATCH THIS SHE’S LIKE SIXTEEEEENNNN

*jaw drops when Jerry runs his hand up Amy’s leg*  NOOOOOO

Not gonna lie, this song almost sounded like a remix of the Nightmare on Elm Street theme

NOOOOOOOO STOOOOOPPPP CEASE DESIST

Amy’s hair just gets wilder and wilder during this dance sequence

STOOOOOOPPPP

Quick, Charley, start a fight!  Just... punch someone!  Commotion!

*just yells when Jerry steals a kiss from Amy*

*Amy wakes up in a white dress in Jerry’s house*  NOPE

God and he [Jerry] took off his shirt too just *hides face in hands*

*covers mouth with hand in attempt not to say anything*

*Jerry’s dragging finger scrapes off wood on the banister*  Oh that’s just mean

*Jerry drapes his arms over the back of Billy’s shoulders*  HMM

They would be that duo who would pick up a phone and take turns to go “...surprise, Sidney...”

*A wolf walks out of Mrs. Brewster’s room*  WHAAAAATTT?!?

Dang they really just tossed a plushie wolf off the stairs

WAIT the guy that did the VFX for this movie also did “Ghostbusters” if I remember correctly

AN:  Yes

They are just... really dragging out Ed’s death scene

That kinda exasperated look Peter gives the smoking house is great

Wait is Billy a vampire too?  Zombie?  What is he?

I really just want Charley to reach out and just slightly poke dying Billy in the chest so that he crumbles backwards.  That would have been hilarious.

How long is Amy’s hair?

HE [Jerry] DOES TURN INTO A BAT!

Real plot twist would be that the bat bite also starts turning Charley into a vampire so Peter would have to kill three birds with one stone (heal Charley and Amy and kill Jerry)

Boss move:  Peter closing the coffin in front of Jerry

And it ends with the same shot as the opening!

“Oh, you’re so cool, Brewster.”  So is Ed alive?

[bobcathoneybee]

that’s some next level catering to a yt person. reasons will become more clear as we go along for the ride. esp hurtful bc of everything going on in the last year alone. twinkie never rang more true until this year. 

one. around xmas 2020:

“whatre you doing for nye”

“oh im going out to a small gathering”

“oh with who?”

“I DONT HAVE TO TELL YOU”

“whoa. okay...” 

i was just asking since he NEVER wanted to go out to anything related to NYE in the five years. the reply was always, “YOU can go, i will be at home.” so see how i can be confused? also the spanish/grapes tradition? what happened to never not doing it? “oh last year really sucked so i dont see how doing it will help” cop out. 

two. NYE to ring in 2021:

“how does this look?”

“i think you should button it, looks more put together”

little did i know i was helping him dress to impress new girl. that in itself was just rude and so disrespectful to me. if you’re going to see someone new. figure it out yourself. 

a few days later he decides to finally tell me bc he knows he’s been acting so damn weird. but i dont think it’s bc he respects me too much (his rationale). i actually think it’s bc he feels guilty, and telling me will make HIM feel better, which was the driving factor for the previous Oct when he was not letting me pay for packing supplies and helping me pack. “it’s time (for me to start dating again)... weren’t you dating someone when you asked me about the boat noodles?” “NO. i was talking to someone and it was ONE date, which conveniently fit in the schedule while on my way home.”

three. a week before my bday:

“how was your weekend? what did you do?”

“oh K and family drove down in an RV so i was at my parents’ house”

“you went over both days?!”

“yeah”

“did you take pics of the RV or with family?”

“no” 

in retrospect, i wonder if she was intro’d to the whole family that weekend. esp after seeing the pics from first friends gathering a few weeks later (two down).

sometime this week, he tells me that he’s thinking of taking june 1 off bc he wants to take me out to lunch for my bday. my bday is 5/31. so i’m like huh, cos it’s the day after. it’s the weekend. he doesn’t like to talk to ppl on the weekend. 

four. my birthday:

bcb calls me in the morning but i miss it bc i wasn’t up yet. i called back at 230p or so and he doens’t pick up. calls me back around 430p and says he was at a bbq with some friends. 

i believe this was when my spidey senses started tingling again. i bit my tongue and didn’t ask during lunch the next day bc it would make for such an awkward ride home. and me thinking oh he spent my actual birthday with new girl. i see. 

five. convo from last week:

“whatre you doing this weekend?”

“oh i’m getting together with the guys bc it’s the first time we’re seeing each other since the pandemic started”

“ohh okay tell them i said hi!”

BET HE DID NOT TELL THEM I SAID HI. *side eye

six. social media that night, pics happened to pop up as i was doom-scrolling:

bcb likes to untag himself in things so i duno if R tagged him at all or if it was removed after he received the tag notif so that i wouldn’t see it. 

either way, i was hit in both places since it’s posted on more than one platform. 

wasn’t sure if they were still dating until i saw the pics. was finally able to put a face to the name. the name bc someone mentioned it to me thinking i knew her first AND last name. how absurd. why would i know this bit of info to begin with? maybe bcb needs to be more clear with what he’s telling his sibling about his dating life and how that relates to how he’s treating me. 

seven. thursday, 6/17:

convo #1: in the afternoon - 

“hey whatre you doing friday?”

“i’m not sure yet, why?”

“i’m having lunch with a family friend, thinking i could stop by (before my family dinner) since i’ll be in the area.”

“oh i was thinking of going to my parents house but i haven’t decided yet.”

“oh, okay”

convo #2: on my way home from dinner in the city - 

“did you decide if you’re going to your parents house tmrw?”

“i’m probably going to hang out with some friends”

“oh okay.”

realized “friends’ is codeword for new girl. 

oddities in behavior:

bought a new bike even tho he won’t use the rowing machine he purchased last summer that is LITERALLY sitting in his apt, doesn’t even need to go outside and see ppl. how many more times will he use it? not sure. it depends on how much how big the drive in proving me wrong is for this sort of thing. 

watches hockey now. NEVER watched it before nor was he super interested. seems like he picked it up recently so there’s something to talk about if nothing else. (after breaking his NYE tradition)

went to a playoff game on a WEEKDAY. HE NEVER did that. to DRIVE to LI on a weekday for that sort of thing. complained that the tix were exp ($200+ each). and i’m like then why did you get them? “well they’re for the playoffs” “oh i didnt think you even liked hockey” i’m going to guess he paid for it bc someone wanted to go, and a topic they can connect on. 

for trips and tickets to things, i usually split down the line and exclude a trip dinner or a few smaller things bc he says he got it and would like to pay for it. not sure yt ppl would offer to pay back in general. it’s an asian thing to offer/not let others always cover no matter how generous we know them to be. it’s to “not take advantage” bc we know better. and it’s considered rude to have someone else pay all the time. 

at this point, it’s the emotional part that i’m supplementing (if it’s a missing piece) bc i have no idea if hes ever talked to her in regards to concerns about his life in general or if he’s still putting up some facade and only wants her to see the presentable side.

he didnt do his usual NYE tradition of the grapes this year on top of GOING OUT to something with other ppl present. he would rather invite ppl over to his place and provide entertainment and food instead of ever going out there. that is MAJOR.i cannot even begin to explain how impt doing this is to him. but not doing it and bending over backwards already. he NEVER misses the grape thing during the countdown no matter how “bad” a year may be. it’s like him having to watch it’s a wonderful life before xmas every year. it’s a thing he does NOT miss. 

maybe it’s a mid-life crisis thing, like buying the car and then sort of regretting it bc it’s another thing to pay for so therefore has to stay at his job longer. btw, there were weird crumbs in the crevices of the front passenger seat the day after my birthday (when he picked me up), and then the whole actually voluntarily hanging out with ppl for a change. he absolutely hates being around ppl, yet he’ll do it for her. i’m sensing a pattern here for how he treats and changes for yt girl vs me and i didn’t even plan that many outings with my own friends for him to go to, max once every half year for a triple date. 

but again, it’s like when we broke up, he removes things he can control when he’s super stressed. job he cannot control so the next thing to remove was me bc he can control that. now he’s finally thinking of leaving current job bc he has a sufficient amount saved. guess who helped him itemize and estimate his sinking and emergency funds? such a clown. 

i’m done. i can’t do this anymore. it’s taking a toll on my mental health. all this walking on egg shells all the time when we speak on the phone/FT on every single workday/weekday. what C said about the situation rings true. i hope it happens. <^>

this brings me back to something i posted on my finsta:

“if you have to choose between me and her, choose her. because if you really loved me, there wouldn’t be any other choice.”

[peakyblinderswhore]

My poor heart... your Finn imagine was sooooooo good!!!! Could you possibly do a part 2 to it where they make up or not maybe she gets with Isaiah or Michael all up to you

A/N: since so many of you liked the first one, here’s a part two, as requested by a few in the comments and this anon here!

W/C: 1.9k

You learnt up against a wall and cried. Finn had come running out looking for you but you had dipped in and out of alleyways and stayed away from lampposts, mostly so it didn’t illuminate how red and puffy your face was to others but also so Finn couldn’t find you.

He hadn’t always been one to think on his feet so he just ran down the street in hopes that you’d be waiting for him at the end of one. He did make it as far as the Garrison and gave the bartender a good talking to for having not served his girlfriend. Funny that only five minutes ago he was saying the exact opposite. 

Whenever you went down to the Garrison you never managed to catch any of the Shelby boys and when you did, Arthur was too drunk, Tommy was too busy being haunted by his dead true love, Michael was trying to overthrow his cousins with his ideas for the Shelby company in the states and Finn was never around to be seen. Mostly you tried to talk to one of them or join in but they didn’t know how to face you when they knew full well their youngest brother was leading you on.

When you got to the Garrison yourself, you were served a drink without even looking up from the bar. This was how you knew that Finn had been round doing his bit as best he could. 

Isaiah was the one who saw you, sitting by yourself. None of the other men on there would’ve touched you with a six-foot barge pole. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asked softly, noticing that Finn was nowhere to be seen.

You look up from where your head rested on the bar, your eyes had lessened but were still slightly puffy and Isaiah could see that they were strained.

“You could say, I’m having a mid-life crisis.”

“But you’re only 19…”

“My bad, a three-quarter life crisis.”

You flop back down into the position that you were in before, head on arms on the bar, hidden from the other men in there. Isaiah wasn’t stupid but he didn’t want to push you much further before finding out what was up.

“Your face is red,” he whispered, leaning closer to you, “you gonna tell me why you’re upset?”

“No,” you sulk.

“How about we settle in the snug and I’ll fetch you a drink.”

You agree, liking the sound of a dozen men not staring at you like you were an alien.

Trudging over to the snug, Isaiah opens the door for you and has whoever serves there now (you hadn’t taken much notice after Harry died) put your drink through the window to the two of you.

You drop yourself onto a seat in there and Isiah passes your drink over to you. You try not to slump over in your seat as you wouldn’t like it yourself if someone did the same to you after being kind enough to ask how you were. You sigh heavily as you come to terms with the fact that you’re going to have to tell Isiah what is happening since no one else will listen to you.

“Isaiah,” you begin, “Finn and I got into an argument.”

“I gathered that much. I don’t see you very often down the Garrison since Harry died, less so after dark.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing. How is it that not one of these men will say that I know a Shelby but the second that Finn and I get into an argument, he comes round and now they’re all scared of me like they were when I used to walk in with Finn and the other Shelby boys.”

You whimper, realising how pathetic you sound.

“Because they preferred Grace tending to them and they also preferred when women weren’t served in bars so with the new bartender and the lack of Finn as of recent, they blurred you out,” Isaiah says, sliding next to you on the seat.

You lean your head on his shoulder and he wraps an arm around your shoulder and he rubs up and down your arm, “You know, you should talk to him about it.”

You lift your head so he can see your expression as you raise an eyebrow and reply, “The fuck do you think I’ve been trying to do for months, Isaiah?”

He shrugs his shoulders, “I don’t know, I don’t live with the two of you.”

“I’ll tell you then,” you drop your head back, not wanting to face him in case you begin to cry again, “I waited up for Finn tonight. I don’t like waiting up for him and he knows it. I wouldn’t mind if it was every once in a while but it’s every night and I don’t know what to do about it anymore.”

“Don’t wait up?” Isaiah offers and you poke him in the abdomen before he can object.

“My point is,” you continue, “I waited up for him tonight; I haven’t in weeks. I’m pretty sure he thinks I’m out to argue with him every time we talk now. It’s never just a talk; it’s always a fight or a fight and a fuck to make up – even those don’t happen very much anymore.”

Isaiah chuckles at your words and you say, “Funny, eh? I told him Polly fucks more than I do and he said that me and him fuck too,” you quieten as you say, “I told him he fucks more without me than with me.”

Isaiah lets out a big blow of air, “Woah, you went there.”

You laugh lightly, “I did.”

A small silence was welcomed between the two of you where every now and then Isaiah would sip from his whiskey glass.

Looking down at you, Isaiah thinks before saying, “What do you want from all of this, with Finn, I mean?”

“I wanted what we had, you know?” Isaiah grabs your face, lightly pulling you up by your chin as you say, “A relationship. Something loving, maybe,” he pulls you closer, putting his glass down on the table in front of you before staring down at your lips, “some sex now and then… you know?”

At this statement, he closes the gap between your faces and presses his lips against yours. Before you can pull back he puts his hand on the back of your head and tangles it in your hair. You lightly moan at the sensation rippling through your scalp at the same time as your mouth moving against his.

Isaiah deepens the kiss, keeps a steady hand on the back of your head and moves a hand down to your thigh, inching it up and under your dress that had hitched up slightly. When his hand connected with your skin after finally moving your dress out of the way you made a split-second decision and pulled away, gasping at him. Well, at yourself too.

“Isaiah…” you pause, trying to come up with the words to explain yourself, leaving your mouth to move without words coming out.

He grins at you “I–”

You put up a hand, “No, Isaiah, that was lovely, but no.”

His smile falls and for a second you pity him, “Honey, I think you pitied me at that moment…” you wince at your own words, “but as much as I hate him sometimes, I still love Finn.”

Isaiah’s eyes turn dark, “he doesn’t care about you. He’s always out with other women, you said it yourself!”

You flinch at him raising his voice, “It’s not just me I’m thinking about now. Isaiah… I’m pregnant.”

He recoils from you, “Pregnant?”

“Pregnant.”

“How, I thought you barely fucked him?”

You sigh, “the last time we fought he hadn’t been out too late and turned around my anger when he started flirting with whatever rude words I threw at him. It was a make-up fuck. Should’ve known better to be fucking honest, shouldn’t I?”

Isaiah scoffs at your words, “Nah, I was just testing you anyway. He’s out back waiting for the bartender to tell him it’s safe to come out.”

“What?”

“Here,” he pulls you up by your hand before letting go and walking out and fetching Finn himself.

Finn appears at the door and Isaiah winks at you before putting his cap back on and walking out of the front doors.

Finn walks in and closes the door behind him so that the two of you had some privacy.

“Pregnant, eh?”

He stood wringing his hat in his hands for something to fiddle with while you crossed your arms and scowled at him.

He sighs, knowing that it’s going to take some talking to get out of this hole he’d dug for himself, “I do love you.”

You point your nose in the air and turn from him, “Doesn’t show.”

“But I do,” he reaches out to touch your arm but you step back, he looks down at coughs before saying, “I know, I know, that I fucked it up this time, real good.”

You scoff.

“But I also know that I really do love you. I don’t know what’s going through my head those times I fucked those whores.”

You wait, watching him as he says his peace.

“I’ve stopped since the last time we had sex. That was love, to me, love. I love you and I didn’t know how to come to terms with myself over it. I knew I loved you because I had a bad feeling whenever I tried with someone else. It might’ve been Polly sending me glares every now and then cause she manages to know before it’s even happened when women are pregnant.”

You can’t help but laugh a little at that one as you know first-hand that it was true.

He looks up, happy to hear you smile, you drop your arms and shake your head at him, “Come here.”

He walks over, pulls you in by your waist and kisses you full-on, emotion and all.

“I want to be yours and for you to be mine.”

“Oh, Finn,” you whisper to him, resting your forehead on his, “but we always have been. You’ve just been too blind to see it.”

“Marry me.”

You pull back, “What?”

“I mean, would you – marry me?”

“Finn… are you serious?”

“We’ll move into a bigger house together, somewhere for our child. I’ll have breakfast and dinner with you – I might have off days where I come home late or leave before dawn but you’ll know about them. I’ll send for Ada and Karl for you or see if Tommy can find Esme and the kids so you can learn off of them. Maybe Linda will take a shine to you now that you’re pregnant, she’s very good with Billy.”

You stand, eyes brimming with tears, “Oh Finn.”

“What? Are you saying no? Please don’t –”

You cover his mouth with your palm and smile widely at him, tears threatening to spill, “Of course I’ll marry you,” and you kiss him one more to quieten him.

“How about that new home, then?” you ask.

“Anything for you, now that I know what’s good for me.”

You laugh, “Polly tells you a few things before you made it here?”

“Maybe.”

You walk out hand in hand, your head resting on his arm, happy for how things turned out.

Maybe things do work out for the best after all.

[thickwamuu]

can u pls do more pillarmen I really like the lab experiment one

Um… hell yes I can??

Self-indulgent cuddle pile with your modern!human!pillar men roommates.

Words - 1760 (not proofread)

-

Getting home, you could hear the sound of bickering of your roommates in the kitchen and not wanting to deal with it, you snuck into your bedroom for a nap- knowing you barely had enough time for a quick one before the blind date your friend was forcing you to go on later that evening.

Getting out of your work clothes and slipping into some soft shorts accompanied by your old high school t shirt, there was a knock at your door.

“Yeah?” You called, wondering what one of the boys needed to borrow this time.

“I just noticed you hadn’t said hello when you got in and wanted to check on you. Are you alright?” Santana’s concerned voice inquired from the other side of your door.

You opened the door, missing how Santana’s eyes drifted to your bare legs. “Just kinda fed up from work and didn’t want to deal with the noise at home on top of that.”

“Rough day?” He asked, leaning his toned body on your doorframe. You nodded and opened your arms pathetically, and as if he could read you mind, Santana happy wrapped his large arms around you, causing you to let out a long sigh as you nuzzled your face into his expansive chest.

You really liked everyone in the house but you undeniably shared the closest bond of all your roommates with Santana. Although he could be a bit overprotective at times, he was by far the most considerate of the four and had been the one who warmed up to you the fastest when you moved in. He said it was because he was no longer the baby of the group and that he could now stop being teased- despite that not coming true when it came down to it, but you knew your personalities just gelled well together as you greatly appreciated his observant, at times stoic and aloof low maintenance nature. You loved the way that when you spoke to him, he would listen intently, as if learning some new and revolutionary information each time.

“Can I braid your hair again?” You meekly asked into his pecs, the prospect of playing with someone’s hair already relaxing your tensions from the day. A chuckle resonated through the two of you. “Of course.”

Getting on your bed and splaying your legs open in a ‘V’ you patted the space between them and looked at him expectantly, combing your hands through his long, dark red hair in preparation for the braid once he was situated between them, head in your lap.

The momentary peaceful energy in the room was disrupted by the two overgrown children bursting in. “Y/N! Esi refuses to admit he cheated in mortal kombat and is acting like a toddler because I called him out for it!” Wamuu announced loudly, as if you could do something about it.

“Am not! Don’t blame me for your lack of skills and call it cheating!” Esidisi defended himself quickly, before widening his eyes at you and Santana’s intimate positions. “…what’s going on here?”

Wam snapped his eyes up to you and his mouth fell open.

You removed your hands from Santana’s hair and sighed, irritated. “I’m just braiding his hair, You knucklehead-besides what did I say about knocking first?”

“Looks fun, can I join?” Esi asked ignoring you, already striding over to your bed and taking a seat on your side. Looking smugly over at wam he grinned. “I’m not in the mood to win against you again, you can go play a game on your own.”

Wamuu looked at him angrily with a huff and an eye roll as he moved his gaze back to you. “Y/N, would you mind if I sat with you guys?”

Letting out another long breath, you were just thankful you decided to get a larger bed when you moved. “I mean, If you really want to, wamuu.”

Plopping himself down with a creek, he fell back onto your pillows, kicking his feet up and grabbing the remote on your bedside table before turning on the tv across from your bed, flipping through Netflix titles.

You resumed playing with Santana’s hair as Esi got comfortable laying down as well. “Why is your bed so much softer than mine?- oh shit wam I love that movie.”

Wamuu scoffed “It’s hardly a well written movie, the dialogue is laughable and the fighting scenes at repetitive, not to mention horribly choreographed.”

“Okay, tough guy.” You snorted out in a laugh as you let go of Santana’s hair, Esidisi grinning triumphantly from beside you at his rival knowing you were defending him.

Wam carelessly tossed the remote at Esi with a quick “whatever, you pick if it matters so much.” Before wrapping his arms around you, pulling you down beside him, effectively locking you in a soft version of a chokehold. “Don’t think I don’t know exactly where you’re ticklish spots are! You’re 1000 years to early to believe yourself a worthy opponent of the great Wamuu!” He announced in a dramatic tone. “Luckily for you though, my generous self has taking a liking to you, and I do not wish to completely obliterate you- instead, I offer you my protection from the hideous old beast Esidisi, along with anyone else who tries to pursue you!”

The white haired male shot wam a look, “don’t lump me in with the animals chasing after Y/N. I may not have youth, but I certainly make up for it in class.”

“Esi, you’re only a few years older than Wamuu, stop acting like you’re having a mid life crisis.” You chided, quirking up an eyebrow, hoping your stern face would stop the bickering.

“I’ll stop using my superior intellect to outsmart him when he learns the basic lessons you learn in kindergarten...” an impish gleam erupted on his face “like how to share your things.” Yanking you from Wam’s arms, he circled his own around your waist.

Tired and admitting defeat, you just allowed it as you began to watch the movie Esi had chosen, letting out a yawn before you felt Wamuu rest his head on your shoulder and Santana readjust so he could see the screen, head still lazing in your lap contently as your eyes drifted closed.

Groggy, you became vaguely aware of the front door slamming shut, knowing the ‘head of the household’ was home. Falling in and out of consciousness, you startled as the sound of someone clearing their throat impatiently snapped you right out of your sleepy mood, Kars standing at the foot of your bed.

“What the hell is this?” Kars demanded, gesturing to the mess of limbs on the bed.

Before you could answer, the phone you lazily tossed on your dresser dinged, causing Kars’ attention to divert from you. He grimaced. “Who’s Adam And why is he asking if you’re still on for tonight, Y/N?”

“Shit.” You spoke, attempting to sit up from beneath the now groaning tired mass of muscles tangled around you. “Kars can you pass me my phone? I have to let him know I’ll be late.”

His striking gaze turned cold. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Your roommates- now fully awake, observed the situation with watchful eyes, all interested as well in why you would be texting a man when they had clearly been trying to woo you for months now.

“Why does it matter to you.” You argued.

“Shall I take away your phone privileges?” He threatened.

“What the fuck? You’re not my-“

“Up.” Kars instructed, gesturing for you to stand. Fearfully, You obeyed as you knew how Kars got when you didn’t show him respect. Being the one to earn the largest sum in the household at his glitzy CEO office job and often covering most extra expenses without complaint seemingly making him overbearing and authoritative towards the other cohabitators.

To your surprise he settled himself where you had sat in between Wamuu and Esidisi, Santana Sitting at his feet as he still held your phone.

You knitted your eyebrows together in confusion at the sight of him in his luxurious dress clothes, surrounded by the other three in their casual tees and sweats, all peering at you. “Wha-?”

Kars motioned for you to sit down on the bed… right on his lap. With a blush, you shook your head making Kars give you ‘the look’.

“You seemed cozy enough when I came in here, am I not up to your standards? I sure hope this ‘Adam’ is a millionaire in that case.” You’re face turned multiple shades redder. “Perhaps we should give him a call and let him know you won’t be meeting with him tonight.” He teased, wagging your phone in the air.

You laughed, irritated but used to putting up with Kars’ bullshit. “Nice try, you don’t even know the password.”

Looking at you with a smirk and facing your phone screen towards you, he simply pressed his thumb to your home button, the phone unlocking first attempt with no issue.

Widening your eyes at the invasion of privacy, you lunged at him to retrieve your cellular device, Santana latching onto you as you did so to prevent you from clawing out Kars’ eyes.

“So you are useful for something Santana.” Kars remarked to the redhead, making him grumble and tuck your head under his chin to calm himself down.

Kars put his hands under your arms and lifted you from Santana’s grasp and onto his lap, the Younger man immediately latching to your waist and legs.

Hearing the dial tone through your phone behind you, you struggled to prevent what he was about to say to Adam. Your friend was going to have your head for this.

Kars held the phone away from his face. “Esidisi, Wamuu. Would you mind assisting me?” He inquired. Nodding, they trapped both your arms.

“You guys too?” You cried out.

Sheepishly, they shrugged as Esi spoke up. “Well..” he trailed off. “You know what they say, the enemies of my enemy are my my allies.” His words made you deflate, knowing you had no chance against 4 hulking men.

“Ah, yes hello.” Kars greeted when the call was answered. “I’m calling on behalf of Y/N… they’re a little tied up right now and won’t be able to make it tonight.” There was an angry voice on the other end, making you wince. “Calm down your pathetic babbling. Its not as if I’d let them go regardless, this is just how things are, I’d be more than happy to settle this with you face to face though, if you still insist on acting like a petulant child.”

More angry words were thrown at him before the beeps of a hung up call met your ears. Kars tossed your phone onto your night stand sighing as he wrapped his arms around you from behind, taking on a patronizing tone. “Some people have such a temper… it’s wildly unbecoming, but no need to fret over being set up with such a barbaric Neanderthal… you’re meant to be here with us anyways. You were already ours the moment you stepped through the front door.”

[heartslogos]

newfragile yellows [977]

"Aedan," Ellana's eyes are barely open as she shoulders the door to the sitting room open, “It’s seven in the morning and you aren’t doing yourself any favors to the occupants of this house. I know that no one actually expects us to end up together, but if you’re going to go through with the farce of attempting to change my mind you should at least make an effort not to actively piss me off.”

“Oh boo, I bought you tea.” Aedan says, standing up and handing her a rather sturdy cup. Ellana squints to read the strange mash of sharpie that’s probably the name and order on the side, but fails to comprehend any of it. “Come on, we’re going out.”

“We are?” Ellana glances down at herself. “Do I need to get changed? I mean. Obviously I do, I’m in a dressing gown. But what are we talking about here?”

“We’re going to get breakfast, and then we’re going for a walk, and maybe we’ll be out long enough for lunch,” Aedan waves at her. “Go on. Get changed. Match me if you can’t figure anything out.”

Ellana glances over Aedan. Ankle high dark brown leather boots, dark wash jeans, navy jacket, loose white button up, cream muffler.

“Match you? What, and give the collective underworld a stroke? Not on your life,” Ellana replies. “I’ll be back in ten.”

“Fifteen,” Aedan corrects.

“An expert on my morning routine are you? Do tell, was that in the dossier that was passed around about me?”

Aedan presses a finger to his lips. “Fifteen, Ellana. Go on. I’ve got breakfast reservations.”

Ellana retreats to her room, nearly scalds her tongue on the tea, and gets dressed in ten minutes. And then with the other five she quickly applies eye liner and mascara.

She’s back down with a whole minute to spare, securing her scarf around her neck and making sure her hair isn’t stuck down the back of her coat.

“Lovely,” Aedan beams, offering her his arm and barely waiting for her to take it before marching them both out to the front hall, out the doors, and into his mid-life crisis of a car.

“God, if we had met under any other circumstances I think I’d want to have you killed.” Ellana slides her tea into the cup holder in the center console, notes that Aedan has a matching one, and immediately picks that one up to give it a try.

“Sure, Ellana, go ahead and try my coffee that you’re definitely not going to like,” Aedan says, “It’s got three shots of espresso in it and caramel syrup.”

“That explains so much about you, Aedan, it isn’t even a joke.” Ellana quickly puts the cup back and tucks her hands under her arms, jaw cracking a little as she yawns. “Did you really have to come fetch me so soon? We saw each other eight hours ago. At a party. You know? The one where we first met face to face?”

“I do recall, seeing as I was there. I wanted to be the first one to see you afterwards,” Aedan says cheerfully.

“Careful, Cousland, if you aren’t careful someone’s going to think you’ve fallen in love with me.”

Aedan laughs, delighted by the idea. “Me? In love? With a person? Not in this lifetime. Adorable! I suppose I’ll try it eventually, just to see what the fuss is about.”

Ellana pinches the bridge of her nose. “I can’t believe I put on eyeliner for this. Hold on. I’ve got to text my family, who is asleep, that I went out with you and I’m not being held hostage or anything.”

“You know I met your mother before you came downstairs. She does not look her age, let me tell you. I hope you have her genes, that would be a wonderful gift to pass down from generation to generation.”

“I meant Carver.”

“Ah, Hawke.” Aedan’s tone goes from casual to the unnerving side of polite.

“Oh tell me how you really feel why don’t you?” Ellana rolls her eyes, pulling off one of her gloves and cringing at the cold as she quickly taps out a text message to him. “And he was staying over last night along with the rest of his family in the guest wing of the manor.”

“You’re not picking Hawke, as we discussed previously. Does he realize that yet?”

“I think everyone’s that matters has realized it and Carver’s just in denial over the fact that he can’t save me from the politics of being a daughter in a crime family,” Ellana answers. “Seriously, Aedan. What are we doing?”

“We’re going to get breakfast. I’m going through the motions of wooing you for the sake of it,” Aedan replies. “If I back off immediately it makes me and my family look bad, and it also does you some disservice. Also. I want to know everything. You and the Iron Bull were out of sight for a whole hour.”

“You’re not going to ask about Edric?”

“Edric? Please. Between the two of them Edric isn’t the one with the reputation for breaking hearts and in some cases literally breaking beds across Thedas.” Aedan smirks. “I doubt you and Edric and a conversation worth talking about. Did you two just talk about his niece or his sister?”

“Yes.”

“And I’m sure he promised you the most chaste and polite and business like of arrangements in order to assure your comfort.”

“Yeah.”

“It was all very pleasant in the most banal of ways.”

“I hate that you’re right.”

“Get used to it, I’m always right. Now. The Iron Bull. That’s an interesting conversation that I must know all about.”

“And I must tell you?”

“You could lie.” Aedan shrugs. “But keep in mind that appearances aren’t always the truth. And while I may appear like the most devastatingly handsome and intelligent man in our generation who’s talents will be overlooked and mourned years down the line — “

“I will throw myself out of this car, Aedan.’

“ — I am definitely that but I am also much better at reading people than most would give me credit for. And when one is often written off as a loudmouth who’s in love with his own reflection and won’t give the time of day for anyone else, people tend to say things around me without much mind to the content of their speech.” Aedan shoots Ellana a pointed look. “People tend to have loose lips and they’re quite easily cajoled into saying more than they mean to in blunter terms. So yes, Ellana. If you’d like to know some more details about the Iron Bull — because let’s face it, he probably told you scant to nothing — you’re going to tell me at least a little bit of what you and he talked about last night.”

Aedan smiles. It’s a beautiful smile. Ellana wants to kick it in with the heel of her boot.

Ellana sighs, hitting her head against the her seat.

“Aedan Cousland, you and I are way too similar for our own good.”

“I know. That’s another reason why you’d never pick me and I’d never want to be picked by you.” Aedan hums, tapping his fingers on his steering wheel. “Just sitting in this car with you makes my hair stand on end you know. I think after this whole business is done we’ll be excellent long distance friends, where we can’t physically read each other. Now, enough small talk. The Iron Bull. Details.”