#you could stick her on a music box. blow her away in the wind like a dandelion

[hussyknee]

List of Why The Fuck Didn't I Realise I Was Into Women Sooner #2: Catherine Zeta Jones's sword fight with Antonio Banderas in Mask of Zorro.

That part where her hair was hanging loose and wild and he'd cut the shoulder off her nightdress and she disarmed and advanced on him like an avenging Fury, eyes ablaze and breathing hard— fundamentally altered my brain chemistry. Haven't been the same person since.

[lumosandnoxwriting]

No Returns or Exchanges - Fred Weasley

Title: No Returns or Exchanges Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader Summary: Fred and Y/N get to start their happily ever after A/N: this is for @mrs-fredweasley​. I usually do my requests in the order I receive them, but she asked for some fluff with Fred and the reader getting married and having kids for her birthday, and since she’s my birthday twin I couldn’t resist! Feedback is always welcome and requests are open!

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“There you are, Mrs. Weasley,” Fred greets as he sneaks up behind Y/N and wraps his arms around her waist.

“I’m not Mrs. Weasley quite yet, Freddie,” Y/N teases as she turns around in his embrace. Her arms wind around Fred’s neck and she pulls him in for a brief kiss. “You’re about twelve hours too early.”

Fred starts to slowly sway them back and forth, humming quietly to the music drifting through the air from the large tent behind them. Fred and Y/N aren’t getting married until tomorrow, but Ginny, Y/N’s maid of honor, insisted on mixing some muggle wedding traditions in alongside the regular wizard ones. Tonight, had been what Ginny referred to as the rehearsal dinner, where the wedding party and their close family went through the ceremony that will take place tomorrow, before having a mini celebration together.

“Do I really have to go home without you?” Fred pouts. Another muggle tradition Ginny insisted on was that Y/N and Fred would not be allowed to see each other until Y/N was heading down the aisle towards him.

Y/N giggles and kisses Fred’s pout away. “I think it’ll be romantic. Distance makes the heart grow fonder, isn’t that what they say?” Y/N rolls her eyes playfully when Fred frowns at her. “Oh, come on, Freddie. It’s only one night apart.”

“When’s the last time we spent more than 1 hour apart outside of work?” Fred ask, looking down at Y/N expectantly. When she doesn’t answer he smiles. “Exactly. One night is going to feel like an eternity.”

“Okay so maybe it’ll be a bit hard,” Y/N concedes. “But after tomorrow we’ll get to spend every day for the rest of eternity together, that’s gotta be worth it, isn’t it? And have you forgotten that we’ll be spending the next two weeks completely alone together in a cabin in the woods.”

“How can I forget about that?” Fred muses. “Just me, you, and as little clothing as possible for two weeks straight. That’s the only kind of honeymoon I want.” Most of their friends and family were surprised that Fred and Y/N didn’t want to go on some adventurous honeymoon but wanted to just relax together in some secluded forest. But for them that seemed like the only option. It’s only been 13 months since the war ended, and after Fred’s near-death experience he and Y/N decided to take life slow for a bit.

“So that’s why you wanted to go somewhere secluded,” Y/N says, realization washing over her.

Fred laughs. “I may have had ulterior motives when I convinced you to book the cabin in the woods over the beach house.”

Y/N shakes her head fondly. “You’re a bit of a menace, you know that?”

“Yeah but I’m your menace. And you’re way past the return or exchange date so you’re stuck with me,” he jokes, leaning down to press a kiss to Y/N’s forehead.

“Oi, lover boy!” George calls from behind them. Y/N and Fred break apart so they can look at him. “Ginny says it’s time to go, and she’s already wacked me over the head once so get your arse over here before she does it again.”

“See you tomorrow?” Fred asks as he leans down to kiss Y/N briefly.

“Meet you at the altar,” she confirms with a smile.

-

“You sure you wanna marry my brother?” Ginny teases as they get ready to walk down the aisle. “Because I could cause a distraction if you wanna slip out the front door and run away.”

Y/N rolls her eyes and grabs the bouquet Ginny hands her.  “Ha, ha. Very funny, Gin.”

Ginny beams at her before taking her place in line. Y/N takes a deep breath as the music starts, silently regretting that she chose to not have her dad walk her down the aisle. A few months ago, she had bashed the archaic notion of someone giving her away to Fred as if she were a piece of property, but as nerves start to bubble in her stomach she wishes she had someone by her side to calm her down. Everyone in front of her starts to slowly head towards the alter, and she fixes her dress one last time before she follows behind Ginny.

“Holy shit, Y/N,” Fred whispers as she takes his hands at the altar. There are tears in his eyes, and a few leak down his cheeks. “You’re absolutely stunning.”

Y/N blushes, trying to blink away her own tears as to not ruin her makeup. “You clean up quite nice as well, Freddie.”

Fred smiles down at her, maintaining eye contact as the official from the ministry starts the ceremony. Fred squeezes Y/N’s hands tightly as he talks, only half paying attention to what he’s saying. His thoughts are completely consumed with Y/N and how breathtakingly beautiful she is. The dress she picked out compliments all of her best features, and the veil cascading down her shoulders makes her look like a goddess. Fred has imagined this day over a dozen times since he proposed last year, but everything he thought of pales in comparison to how beautiful Y/N looks right now.

“Can I have the rings?” the officiant asks, pulling Fred’s thoughts fully to the ceremony. George digs around in his pocket for a moment before handing the delicate silver rings to the man. He hands the smaller one to Fred. “Now it’s my understanding that the bride and groom have prepared their own vows?” When Fred and Y/N nod, he smiles and motions for Fred to start.

“Y/N, I’ve been enamored with you since I was 11 years old, when you made your cauldron blow up and covered Snape head to toe in the worst smelling goo I’ve ever encountered – and that’s saying something,” Fred pauses as everyone chuckles, and he starts to slide the ring down Y/N’s finger. “When you agreed to accompany me to Hogsmeade during third year I felt like the luckiest guy in the world and I still do. I was so nervous, I had no idea how I managed to convince the pretties girl in school to go out with me, and all these years later I have no idea how I convinced you to marry me. But like I said last night, there’s no returns or exchanges you’re stuck with me for good now.”

Fred slides the ring down Y/N’s finger until it meets her engagement ring. “You’ve stuck by me through every risk I’ve taken and every dumb idea that’s popped into my mind. You were one of the first people to support my dream of opening the joke shop with George, and you were there to support me every step of the way. Every late-night George and I had planning things out or developing products you were right there with me, usually you were asleep, but it was still nice to have you there. You were always the first person to volunteer to test out a product and you were always there for me to vent to when something didn’t work out. You pushed me to leave school early with George, and once you moved in with us you were always there to snuggle with me after a long day.”

Fred takes a deep breath and brings one of his hands up to wipe away the tears Y/N has started to shed. “You gave up so much of your life to be there for me after I was crushed by that wall. No matter how hard I tried to get you to go back to work or just leave the house in general. You’ve always shown me unconditional love and support, and that’s what I’m promising to show you for the rest of our lives. No matter how crazy or hard or scary life gets, I’ll be there by your side, loving you and helping you through it.”

By the time the officiant is pronouncing them husband and wife, both Fred and Y/N are openly crying, but as they share their first kiss as husband and wife, neither of them really cares.

-

“Glad to see you’re feeling better,” Fred greets with a smile as Y/N pushes the door to his office open. He pushes away from his desk slightly and pats his lap.

“Me too, I hate throwing up,” Y/N responds, taking a seat on Fred’s lap. She settles in and presses a kiss to his cheek. “How’s work going today, husband?” she asks with a giggle. They’ve been married for just over two months, and it still gives Y/N butterflies every time she refers to Fred as her husband.

Fred rolls his eyes and grabs Y/N’s face so he can press a kiss to her lips. “It’s been quite busy today wife. The restock of the new whizbang line already sold out.” Fred settles his hands on Y/N’s hips and kisses her again. “What about you? What have you been getting up to on your day off?”

“I had breakfast with Ginny and Hermione. Did some shopping,” she says casually pointing towards the bags she dropped near the door. “Nothing too crazy or exciting.”

Fred’s eyes light up at the sight of the bags. “Shopping, hm? Did you happen to pick up a present for your lovely, adorable, adoring husband while you were out?” he asks hopefully.

“Maybe,” Y/N muses with a wink. “You’ll have to wait until after work to find out.” Y/N giggles as Fred frowns and she kisses him one last time before standing up.

“You’re such a tease,” he scolds as Y/N gathers the bags in her hand.

“I know.” She waves at Fred and blows him a kiss before heading back into the joke shop and upstairs to their flat. They’re still living with George for the time being as they save up for a house, and as Y/N places her shopping bags on the bed she starts to wonder if they’ll have to start looking for one sooner rather than later.

Y/N sticks her hand in one of the bags and fumbles around a bit, humming as her hands closes around a rectangular cardboard box. Her hand shakes slightly as she pulls the pregnancy test out and starts to familiarize herself with the instructions. While her and Fred have already come to the conclusion that they both want a house full of children someday, she never imagined that they may be starting their family so soon after their wedding.

“Now or never,” Y/N mutters to herself as she heads towards the bathroom. Y/N thought they had been careful while on their honeymoon, she knows there were a few times they had forgotten to use the contraceptive charm in the heat of the moment, but she figured it would be okay. However, when her period never came she began to suspect that they weren’t in fact okay, and the random nausea spells she’s been having for the past week seemed to only solidify that fact.

After she’s closed and locked the door behind her, Y/N does what she needs to do and sets the pregnancy test on the counter face down. “Who knew three minutes could feel like a lifetime?” she asks to no one as she watches the time go by on her watch. When the three minutes is finally up Y/N’s hand starts to shake again as she reaches for the stick. She shuts her eyes tightly as she flips it over, and after a few deep breaths she finally takes a peek.

Pregnant.

Y/N starts to cry as a whirlwind of emotions flow through her. On one hand she’s so overwhelmingly happy, being a mother is something she’s always wanted and to be doing it with Fred makes her heart burst with joy. But she can’t help but also feel an intense bout of worry flowing through her. She and Fred are only 21, and they haven’t even been married six months yet. Y/N knows that Fred wants to be a dad, but she can’t help but worry that he’ll think this is a bad thing and that it’s far too soon for them to become parents.

“Hey, love. You left one of your bags downstairs,” Fred calls out as he walks through the door.

Y/N furiously wipes away her tears and sticks the pregnancy test in the back pocket of her jeans. She takes a deep breath and opens the bathroom door, jumping slightly when she sees Fred. “You scared me, Freddie. I didn’t hear you come down the hall.”

Fred frowns at her. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling okay?” When Y/N nods he gives her a look. “Were you throwing up again? You’re all pale, love. Are you sure we shouldn’t go see a muggle doctor or a healer or something?”

“I’m fine, love,” Y/N reassures, pushing past Fred. She starts to head down the hall when she feels Fred’s hand brush her ass. “What are you- oh,” she gasps, turning around to face Fred. He’s staring down at the pregnancy test in his hands. “Fred,” Y/N starts, not really sure what to say.

“Is this what I think it is?” Fred murmurs, looking up at Y/N. He grips the test in his hand tightly, tears starting to form in his eyes. “You’re pregnant?”

Y/N nods slowly as she bites her lip. “Yeah, I am.” Fred falls to his knees and brings Y/N close to him, shoving her shirt up a little. He starts to pepper kisses all over her warm skin, laughing as Y/N starts to giggle and squirm. “Fred! Fred stop that tickles!”

Fred presses one final kiss to her stomach before he stands up and kisses Y/N passionately. “I can’t believe you’re pregnant. I can’t believe we’re gonna have a baby.” Fred lets go of Y/N and starts to head towards the door. “I have to go tell George.”

“Freddie, wait,” Y/N calls with a laugh, chasing after him. She closes her hand around his wrist and pulls him back towards her. “You’re not mad? Or upset?”

Fred gives Y/N a look like she’s crazy. “Upset? Mad? Why would I be any of those things? You know I want to be a dad, love. We’ve talked about this before.”

“I dunno,” Y/N shrugs. “We’re young and we haven’t been married for that long. I just thought you wouldn’t think it’s the right time.”

Fred sighs and comes back towards Y/N, wrapping her up in a hug. “Love I don’t care about any of that. So, what we’ve only been married for two months? We’ve been as good as married since we were 18 when you first moved in here.” Fred presses a kiss to her forehead and smiles down at her. “Besides if we’re gonna have enough kids to fill a quidditch team we need to have them young, I can’t be an old man teaching my kids how to fly,” he jokes with a laugh.

“A whole quidditch team?” Y/N asks. When Fred gives her a wink Y/N rolls her eyes. “You’re lucky I love you Fred Weasley.”

-

“Fred what are you doing?” Y/N murmurs around a yawn. She started to wake up after a warm heavy weight rested on her stomach, and when she finally opened her eyes she saw Fred half hanging off the bed as he laid on his front. He’d pushed her shirt up and his head is hovering over the swell of her stomach while his hand strokes it lightly.

“Talking to the baby,” he responds, as if the answer is obvious.

Y/N shifts so she’s laying on her elbows so that she can look down at him properly. “At 2 am?”

Fred nods, pressing a light kiss to her skin. “I couldn’t sleep. And I read in that muggle book Hermione gave us last week that the baby can hear things now, so I figured I’d try it out.”

Y/N chuckles brings a hand up to rub her stomach. “Well I think the baby likes the sound of your voice, they’ve been moving like crazy.” Early last week Y/N had started to feel the baby move around inside of her. The first time it happened it scared the shit out of her, but now she’s started to miss it when the baby is still.

“Really?” Fred asks, his eyes lighting up. The movements Y/N has been feeling are still far too light for Fred to feel from the outside, but every night he spends hours rubbing her bump to try and feel something.

“Yeah, really. My ribs have become a punching bag.” Y/N smiles as the baby lands a few kicks to her stomach. “Here, gimme your hand.

Fred gives Y/N the hand that isn’t already on her stomach, watching as she places it on the side of her bump. She presses his hand into her skin, and he holds his breath, hoping to feel something. “Holy shit,” he gasps as the skin beneath his hand moves ever so slightly. Fred watches his hand in awe, smiling as it moves lightly with each movement. “That’s so cool.”

Y/N laughs and lets go of Fred’s hand so she can run her hand through his hair. “Innit? Though it does feel kinda weird that it’s like, coming from inside of me. But it’s nice. Like I’m never alone.”

“Hey little one,” Fred coos against Y/N’s skin, pressing down against her stomach as he feels the baby kick him in response. “I’m your Daddy, and I can’t wait to meet you.” Fred presses a kiss to Y/N’s skin and tears form in his eyes when he feels a small movement against his mouth. “I know your Mummy is doing such an amazing job of growing you in there but hurry up and get out of there so I can hold you and play with you and kiss you and cuddle you.” Fred tears his eyes away from Y/N’s bump so he can wink at his wife. “Plus, the sooner you get out of there the sooner Daddy can give you a sibling.”

Y/N scoffs and flicks Fred on the forehead. “Can we finish making this one before you start planning the next?”

“What? There’s no harm in planning ahead,” he teases, crawling up the bed to kiss Y/N sweetly.

-

“Hi there little bug,” Fred coos, gently rocking his newborn daughter. She’s only a few hours old, and her big eyes are bright as she blinks up at Fred. “I’m your Daddy and I love you so much Miss Ellie belly.”  Her actual name is Electra, but Fred has settled on calling her Ellie. Y/N had found her name in a baby book Hermione dropped off, and they both instantly fell in love with it. It means bright one, and after the dark times Fred and Y/N had survived in order to bring her into the world it seemed like the perfect fit.

Fred presses a kiss to her forehead, his heart melting as she makes a little noise. “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me,” he whispers. “Just don’t tell Mummy I said that.”

“Maybe you should check to make sure Mummy is asleep before you start spilling your secrets,” Y/N responds with a laugh.

Fred turns around, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, love. I figured you’d be a goner after the past few days you’ve had.”

Y/N moves over to make room for Fred and pats the space next to her. “I was only in labor for what 36 hours? That’s nothing,” she says with a laugh.

Fred comes over and sits next to Y/N, cradling Ellie tightly against his chest. “Don��t downplay yourself, love. You’re an absolute superhero.” He begrudgingly passes the baby back to Y/N and wraps an arm around her, his other hand coming up to grab Ellie’s foot through the blanket she’s wrapped up in. “We wouldn’t have our perfect little angel without you.”

Y/N blushes, looking over at Fred. “You helped a little bit. And I did nearly break your hand while I was pushing.”

“Aw, Y/N. You flatter me,” Fred teases. He presses a kiss to her temple and takes a moment to just watch as Y/N cuddles Ellie close. “I didn’t know I could love something this much,” Fred says quietly, crying slightly for the second time that day. The first had been when the doctor placed Ellie in his arms for the first time. “But every time I look at her my heart feels like it’s going to burst from how much love is in it.”

“I know, right? Every time I look at her I feel like crying. She’s just so tiny and perfect and ours.” Y/N leans down and presses a kiss to Ellie’s forehead. “I almost can’t believe that we made her. I don’t know how you and I could make something so beautiful.”

Fred gently grabs Y/N’s chin and turns her head so he can kiss her passionately. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world, so it is no surprise that our daughter is the most beautiful little girl in the world.” Fred kisses Y/N again briefly, before letting go of her chin so he can stroke Ellie’s cheek. “How are you feeling, love? Can I get you anything?”

“I’m alright, Freddie, thank you,” Y/N says softly, looking back down at their daughter. “I actually feel really good. To be honest your Mum scared me a bit, I thought it would be way worse.”

Fred chuckles, melting as Ellie’s eyes flutter closed. “I think Healers have revolutionized childbirth in the twenty years it’s been since she had a baby.” He bites his lip, nudging Y/N so she’ll look at him. “So now that this one’s out, when can we start trying for number 2?”

-

“Y/N love, I’m home!” Fred calls, stepping out of their fireplace and into the living room. He dusts the ashes from his suit, frowning when his wife doesn’t answer him immediately. But it turns into a smile when he spots his daughter peering at him over top of her play pen.

“Ellie,” he coos, heading over to her. “Look at you, standing up on your own!” he praises, lifting her out and up into the air. He tosses her up gently, laughing as she giggles madly at him. “Where’s your Mummy?” he asks, settling the infant on his hip. He presses a kiss to her forehead, his stomach turning to mush when she cuddles into his chest. “Let’s go find her then, hm?”

Fred starts to explore the house, grinning as Ellie babbles baby nonsense into his skin. He can’t believe how fast the past 8 months have gone, and while he loves watching Ellie grow and learn new things, he misses the baby stage already. “What do you think Mummy’s doing?” he asks, nodding along to her babbles as if she’s actually answering him. “I think she might be hiding to scare Daddy. What do you think?”

After checking their downstairs Fred starts to head up the stairs, his fingers lightly digging into Ellie’s belly to tickle her. She shrieks with laughter, and it sounds like music in Fred’s ears. “Daddy misses you while he’s at work, Miss Ellie belly. I think I should take you with me tomorrow. What do you think? Do you wanna spend the day with Daddy and Uncle George at the joke shop?”

Fred peppers kisses to Ellie’s head as he walks down the hallway. The door to his and Y/N’s room is shut and as he goes to grab the doorknob it swings open and Y/N practically runs into him.

“Oh, Fred,” she gasps, holding something to her chest. “I didn’t hear you come in, love.” Fred eyes her wearily as Y/N leans forward to tickle Ellie’s stomach with her free hand and press kisses to her chubby cheeks. “Is your Daddy home, Miss Ellie? Did Daddy finally come home to see you?” she asks, laughing as Ellie giggles at her.

“What’s in your hand?” Fred asks.

Y/N looks up at him, trying to seem as innocent as possible. “Nothing,” she responds, showing him the hand that was on Ellie’s stomach.

Fred rolls his eyes playfully. “The other one, gorgeous.”

“Oh, um,” Y/N blushes and looks away from Fred as she takes her hand from her chest and opens her palm. A positive pregnancy test is laying in her hand, staring up at Fred.

Fred gasps. “Another one?”

Y/N nods and snuggles into Fred’s chest as he pulls her into a hug with his free hand. “Dunno why you’re so surprised, you’ve been trying to get me pregnant since Ellie was born.”

Fred laughs and leans down to kiss Y/N deeply. “Guess it’s time to start thinking about the next one then,” he teases.

Y/N glares at Fred. “Are you sure it’s not too late to return or exchange you?”

“Sorry love, I burned the receipt long ago,” Fred responds with a laugh, kissing Y/N again.

[possiblyawesometmblr]

a comprehensive list of songs from hadestown that fit dream smp lore and what i think they fit

because *slaps roof of dream smp* this bad boy can fit so many musicals in it

any way the wind blows -- tommy exile song. just the overwhelming loneliness and feeling of powerlessness, and losing hope in everyone around. “people turn on you just like the wind, everybody is a fair weather friend” sums it up perfectly. 

come home with me + wedding song -- sally and wilbur, i’ve already made a completely separate post about this and i feel like i don’t need to explain it

all i’ve ever known -- bee duo time baby. the nervousness and uncertainty of trusting someone when all you’ve learned to do is block others out. (side note i really like the idea of “suddenly i’m holding the world in my arms” relating to michael) 

livin’ it up on top -- okay i might get pushback for this but i think this is really funny as a drista song. just. here comes drista and her basket of crazy goodies. come get em while they’re hot. anybody want a shulker box?

a gathering storm -- this really screams clingy duo after the second destruction of l’manberg. tubbo needs help and can’t run this country alone but he steps back anyway and lets tommy focus on the discs over everything else, trusting that he’ll come back when it’s over even as things begin to fall apart. 

epic II -- dream’s descent into insanity. the wall is his web of manipulation over the server and the power he wants “with a million hands that are not his own, with a million hands he builds a wall” (also the dnf shippers can have this as a treat) 

hey, little songbird -- dream’s manipulation of tommy specifically. tommy torn between suddenly feeling friendship towards dream and wishing tubbo was there again. “and the choice is yours if you’re willing to choose” throws a wrench into this a bit but i personally hc that if tommy hadn’t run away, dream’s end goal was always to get the key to attachment on his side and the most surefire way to do that is if he does it willingly

when the chips are down -- there’s honestly several different characters that this one could fit but my personal favorite is ranboo, ESPECIALLY after the lessons stream. the voices of the fates sound exactly like the 93 lessons to me. “take if you can, give if you must, ain’t nobody but yourself to trust.” 

why we build the wall -- hey hey hey it’s original l’manberg babey! they’re building a wall to keep out the enemy that is the dream smp, and they don’t realize what they’ve started. also alivebur singing this one? effervescent 

way down hadestown (reprise) -- tubbo’s slow realization that despite following dream’s orders and exiling tommy, l’manberg is anything but free. the realization of what he’s given up, and what he’s become in the process, and struggling to figure out a way to go back. “the deal is signed? yes. about time. get on the line.” 

flowers -- listen, i have no idea what’s going on with fundy’s lore involving his terrifying dreams but flowers feels like it fits the vibe. “nothing gonna wake you now.” i also really like the idea of “i remember someone, turned his face to mine, and then i turned away” relating to his relationship with ghostbur. 

if it’s true -- tommy’s rallying speech right before doomsday. the biggest stretch here is the fact that the people actually do side with him but i feel like it still works because in the moment, people were convinced. the aftermath of the speech when people began splitting apart and forgetting the main goal of defeating dream is when things went south. 

chant (reprise) -- tommy and tubbo vs. dream while the rest of the server finally, finally comes together to see the picture and finally take out dream for good. replace all of the talk about women with talk about power in general and it’s literally perfect. i also love “i have strung the world in wire ...i conduct the electric city!” for dream

we raise our cups -- puffy, eret, and foolish’s funeral for tommy. i feel like i also don’t have to explain this one. 

there’s more than this honestly but those are more based on my own headcanons for potential future events and i wanted to stick with what’s written in canon 

[boldlyvoid]

Amoreena | chapter eleven

chapter eleven

main summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Chapter Warnings: Y/N POV: details of what happened to Stephen, her grandmas cancer, and very detailed explanations of how babies are made (as biologically accurate and not very graphic as possible) this is an angsty trauma filled chapter that made me cry a lot just writing it so I'm sorry in advance

word count: 3K

from the beginning <3

June 13th, 2010

There’s a knock on her parent's door at 4 in the morning, Y/N’s sound asleep on the couch back at her grandma’s, awoken by said grandmother as she hears all the noise beyond the porch. There are 2 cop cars at the main house, worry starts to settle over them.

She puts on a pair of shoes, taking her grandmother's hand in hers as they begin the early morning trek up the road, anxiety seeping in deeper and deeper as they get closer to the lights illuminating their driveway.

Her father is talking to an officer on the steps, her mother is crying behind him. “We’re so sorry for your loss,” the officer says and Y/N’s blood runs cold, numbing her from the impending despair.

“What happened?” Her grandmother asks, rubbing a hand along Y/N’s back in preparation for the worst.

“Evan was in a car accident,” her father says softly, knowing that Y/N knows Stephen was with him tonight. She breaks away from her grandma and without thinking she’s right in the officer's face.

“Which one of them died?”

“Ma’am,” it was never a good way to start the worst conversation of her life with that word or in that tone. She felt like a '40s housewife learning her husband wasn’t coming home from the war, only he wasn’t even her husband yet.

He would have been on next Saturday.

“I’m sorry, Stephen was pronounced dead on the scene,” he says the worst sentence she’s ever heard, and now she’ll never forget it. “The passenger side took the worst of it, once again, I am so sorry for your loss.”

She’s surprisingly calm, managing to whisper, “thank you,” before she’s walking off into the field, pushing everyone's hands away as she travels as far as he feet will take her.

She ends up at the willow tree by the pond as soon as the sun is rising, it happened a lot earlier in June than the rest of the year. The birds singing, the wind blowing against the leaves making them carry a tune in harmony together. The world is still spinning, life is moving on, but how?

She sat there against the tree for a while, picking blades of grass and weaving them into a chain, soothing her brain as she makes a pattern. Giving her hands something to do so they stop going numb, it’s the only thing that really reminds her that she's real, that she’s controlling the twists and tucks, the shape and length and the fact that it was created at all.

Ending the life of the single blade of grass as she picks it, never to be whole again. Snatched from its happy place, where it grew loved and surrounded by other matching green strands as they blew in the wind.

Then she's pulling fist full after fist full of grass out of the dirt, her hands covered in mud as she shouts, throwing handfuls of grass and dirt towards the pond. The once blue water starting to turn cloudy; disrupted and upset with her anger as it swallows her weapons, but it doesn’t make her feel better. All she did was disrupt the earth, changing the way this once beautiful patch of land used to look. She couldn’t help but sob, realizing that she was like this field now and her beautiful green pasture was disrupted, overturned and ruined.

The life that flowed through her died along with the love of her life.

“Stephen was pronounced dead on the scene,” the words echo in her mind in a constant circle like she’s stuck in a tin can.

It starts to reverberate, getting louder and louder as the same 7 words all run around in her head. Bouncing off the walls, smacking her down again and again as she hears them over and over and over… she’s holding her hands on her ears, shaking back and forth, sobbing when she feels someone wrap their arms around her.

She doesn’t open her eyes, instead, she's rushing to push them off of her, struggling out of their grasp as she fights them. Finally, she loses, being held in her brother's embrace as they both cry, he barely has a scratch on him when she finally looks at him.

she’s never been physical in her life, but she punched him right in the face. Her twin brother, best friend in childhood and the person she’s known the longest in her life. He held her close in the womb, crying if they separated as soon as they were born, she loved him deeply and yet she hated him something fierce at that moment.

“It wasn’t my fault,” Evan cries, “we were stopped at a red light, Y/N!”

“I don’t care! He was supposed to be my husband!” She swats at him, smacking his arms again and again as he tries to hold them back, holding her so tightly as she basically screams bloody murder in the field.

All she can see is his face, her beautiful happy Stephen. The first time she ever saw him, standing under a street light in Boston, papers in his hand and wonder in his eyes. The way he looked up at her, the glow of the light making a halo glow over his head.

She should have known he was too good to be true. Always destined to return to the heavens, he was truly angelic with his big emerald eyes that were only the tiniest bit yellow on the edge of the pupil, the way her name sounded on his tongue like a blessing coming true.

They buried him 2 days after what was supposed to be their wedding. Disrupting another beautiful patch of earth to hide him away forever, she placed a single rose on his casket, she never said goodbye and she never planned to.

“See you later, superstar,” she patted the glossy black box once last time before sending him down into the earth.

—

September 2012

This fucking willow tree and 7-word sentences…

“What do you mean you have cancer?”

Her grandma let a tear slip from her eye, “I’ve got colon cancer, honey, the doctors said I have another 2 years, maybe 5 if I'm lucky.”

Every time someone sat beside her in this one spot, she learned the worst information in the world. Sure Evan didn’t mean to kill Stephen, doesn’t mean she’s talked to him at all in the last year. with Grandpa dying only a few summers back, her favourite house cat now buried in the yard, she can’t lose her grandma now too.

“Okay,” she starts to plan in her head, her eyes about ready to jump out of her skull as she tries to think of all the things they need to do before it’s too late, “let’s go to England, let’s blow my bank account, you can’t leave me without going to England with me? We were supposed to get tea and pretend to be the queen and princess?”

She couldn’t stop the tears, her whole body heaving as she sobbed into her grandma’s dress, “you can’t leave me too!”

“Your grandfather and I have a fund for you, you were the last baby we got to raise when your mom went back to work, I want you to use it for that baby we talked about,” her grandma’s voice is barely a whisper, softly getting the words over her vocal cords as the tears joined Y/N’s on her dress.

Without another word, she took her hand and walked home, getting in her car together and heading to the closest fertility clinic, she booked her first insemination for February, pre-paying for a round of IVF hormones and everything to start in January, she had 3 months to plan.

Finding the perfect donor was the only hard part. She had 3 different books to choose from with all the clinics in the DC area sharing 1 sperm bank. She finally made her decision 3 weeks before they were set to get her pregnant when they updated the books.

Sample 2319, male 30’s, healthy, high IQ, 6’1, brown eyes, brown hair (curly). “Sounds a lot like Stephen,” her grandma agreed, saying his name for the first time in over 2 years, she knew this was her guy.

—

June 14th, 2021

Peeing on a stick shouldn’t be as terrifying as it is.

She hasn’t been this nervous since the first time Dr. Collins inseminated her. Laying back on the table at a weird elevation to make sure she got pregnant, her whole body tense as she thought of the possibilities of her future child.

Sample 2319 sitting in a cup not too far from her face as she prepared for a man she barely knew to put the semen of another man she didn’t know, inside her. She only picked this guy cause he was smart and tall, no health issues to report and the number made her think of Monsters Inc.

In her mind, she made a baby with a man she named mike wazowski, not knowing his real name was actually Spencer Reid and he was only just down the road at Quantico the whole time. It was the weirdest day ever, and then it became the second-best day of her life

Nothing could top holding her baby in her arms for the first time. Her grandma and mother beside her as they all cried, the perfect purple baby screaming on her chest as they tried to wipe the white gunk off her tiny body. her sweet little coos, seeing her swollen eyes open for the first time, the silence that overcame her as they made their first introduction to each other. Her little person, the love of her life, her wonderful Amoreena.

Her cry was perfect, like music to her ears she wanted to hear her little voice as long as she could because it meant she was alive and real. She was healthy and beautiful and the most perfect bundle of joy she could have ever made.

Now she was hiding in the bathroom to pee on a stick while her 7-year-old had breakfast in the next room. Oh, how times changed, but one thing remained the same, she was finding out alone again. Only this time she meant for that to happen, it was exactly 4 days since her period was supposed to start and it wasn’t there, neither was Spencer.

He had something to do that morning, but he’d be meeting them later that afternoon, it was Amoreena’s last day of kindergarten after all. She wanted time to either enjoy the thought of having another baby or cry in peace because for once it didn’t work, giving her a week to recover before trying again.

Amoreena was a miracle, the easiest IVF baby they ever made at the clinic, apparently. If she was pregnant this easily again it was a sure sign that he was Amoreena’s father too, only he could get her knocked up while not even trying.

She didn’t remember pregnancy tests taking this long, she flipped it over and walked out of the room, unable to think of anything else while she waited for 3 minutes to pass. Amoreena noticed she was being weird, studying her mother's movements as she paced the hall outside of the bathroom door.

“What are you doing?” She asked, curious as ever as she twirled lightly in her new princess dress.

“Can you keep a secret?”

“Always mom, I’m the best secret keeper in all the kingdom, remember?” Amoreena smiled, holding onto her leg as she stared up at her.

“Your dad and I tried to make a baby,” she whispered, petting the litter hairs on her forehead as Amoreena looked up at her, her first little baby. “I’m waiting to find out if it worked, but we can’t tell anyone in case it didn’t, okay?”

Amoreena’s eyes were wider than she’s ever seen them, her mouth opened slowly as she understood the words in her mind. She didn’t look happy or surprised, nor upset or worried. She looked confused, “how?”

She laughed then, shaking her head as she lifted Amoreena into her arms, she would have to know soon anyway. “You know how every month mummy has a bad week where she bleeds and her tummy hurts?”

“Yeah?”

“When people with our parts grow up they make little tiny eggs but we don’t lay them like chickens do, they stay inside our tummies and wait to become babies and if they don’t we have a period and release all the stuff our bodies saved up that month to make a little person. You’ll have one soon too in a few years, probably when you're 12 like I was, and when people with a penis get old enough they’re able to help us make the babies like roosters help the chickens. Our bodies are really special and make some really cool things when we try to,” she explained it in the most simple farmhouse way she could.

“Like when the goats are all born in the spring and they just show up?” She tried to clarify, understanding it at the basic level.

“Kinda, you’ve seen the photos of you in my tummy and how aunty Shannon’s stomach grew when she had your cousins, I’ll get really big like that too if I’m pregnant, the baby will grow for 9 long months till they’re nice and healthy and then we’ll have another person in the family,” she couldn’t help but smile as she thought about it.

“How do we find out?”

She opened the bathroom door then and carried Amoreena inside, setting her down on the sink and pointing at the upside-down test stick. “We create a special hormone when we’re pregnant, it’s something that can be detected in our pee!” she explained it like it was magic, watching her get excited instead of grossed out.

“So I peed on that stick and if it has 2 lines I have a baby in my tummy, if not then your dad and I have to try again.”

Amoreena picked up the test and looked at it, keeping it out of her mothers sight as she did so, “there’s two lines,” she lit up waving the stick lightly as she squealed.

Y/N wrapped her up in her arms and twirled her around, “you’re gonna be the best big sister ever!”

“How do we tell dad?” Amoreena’s soft voice whispered in her ear as she snuggled into her shoulder.

“I have an idea,” she whispered back before carrying her back into the kitchen.

Her All About Me project was sitting on the counter, ready for Y/N to drive her into school today. She set Amoreena down on the floor to watch her as she took some tape and taped the stick to the bottom corner of the project. “Pass me the marker, please?”

Amoreena ran to the counter to get it, coming back and placing it in her mom's hand before leaning in to watch what she was writing.

“I’m going to be a big sister sometime next February!” Amoreena read the words as her mother wrote them, unbelievably excited.

“Your dad can read that at the ceremony tonight!”

“I thought you said we can’t tell anyone yet?” Amoreena questioned her, like always.

“Your teacher can know, the other kids won't know what it means, it’s just important Spencer sees it, but we will wait to tell nanny and poppy, okay? Sometimes the babies don’t always stay, it’s sad so we keep it a secret until they’ve got a tiny little heartbeat in there,” she didn’t want to scare her, but she knew it was always a possibility.

“Then we try again,” Amoreena smiled, “It’ll be easier now that you don’t need Dr. Collins to help you, how did you even make me without Spencer?” She didn't use his real name often anymore, only in times when she wasn't referring to him as her father.

She sat down then, pulling Amoreena into her lap so she could hold her while she thought of the right words. “So we have eggs, but people with penises have something called sperm. When adults, and I mean adults you have to be at least 25 to have a baby it’s the rules,” she teased her slightly, ticking her arms.

“Adults have sex, babies are made when someone with a vagina and someone with a penis get together. But when you don’t have a partner with a penis to help, sometimes they’ll donate their sperm to the doctor's offices to help people like me make their perfect little families all by themselves.”

“Interesting,” is all her little mind can say, she has learned so much in one day, Y/N was surprised she was still listening and surprisingly still for once. “Is it a boy or a girl?”

“We won't know for a while,” she smiled, holding Amoreena closer to her chest. “How do you feel about all this?”

Amoreena was quiet as she thought about it, “is Spencer the guy who gave the doctors the sperm for me?”

“We think so, but we don’t know, why?”

Amoreena looked at her softly, “it wouldn’t be fair, I know he said I don’t need a father but why do they get to have him for both?”

“I think Spencer is your father, you’re just as smart and wonderful as he is, there’s no doubt in my mind that you’re his baby too. but if you want to know if he isn't, when you turn 18 the doctors will tell you who it is, it's completely up to you to find out,” she whispered, the tears starting to fall down her cheeks as Amoreena tried to wipe them away.

"I like thinking he's my father, so he is." Her mind worked in the most wonderful way. Y/N couldn’t help but hold her close as she lightly cried, “I had a dream yesterday that I had 8 sisters,” her voice was so soft and innocent as her tiny hand cupped her mother's cheek.

She gasped lightly at the words, remembering Spencer’s panic in the middle of the night last night, how scared he was to leave her all alone with 9 babies and no one to help her. They knew something that she didn’t yet, cheaper by the dozen seemed less like a dream and more like a prophecy.

“I’m so happy to make your dream come true,” Y/N whispered, “I promise I’m happy, the baby just makes me emotional.”

Amoreena placed her hand on her tummy then, “I love you, baby.”

Y/N stuck her tummy out as far as she could, “I love you too, big sister,” she said in a funny voice to make Amoreena laugh, leaning back in the chair as she held her.

And just like that, getting pregnant with Amoreena was bumped into 3rd place for the best day of her life. Sharing the moment with her and no one else was perfect, insuring she knew that she was just as important moving forward as the little person she was growing this time.

tag list: @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @spookyspence @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187 let me know if you would like to be added as well!!

[fairyoftbz]

Tournesol | Changmin

🌻 pairing: shy florist!changmin x fem!reader (briefs mentions of barista!Jacob & tattoo artist!Kevin) 🌻 genre: fluff, slow-burn, strangers-to-lovers (?) 🌻 word count: 3.1k 🌻 synopsis: you are new in town so you decide to explore a bit of your neighbourhood. You never knew that the flower shop down your street would change your life in a good way.  🌻 requested? : yes, thank you so much! ✨ 🌻 A/N: here comes my first ever post for my first personal project! thank you to the anon who requested this and i hope you’ll like it! constructive feedback is always welcomed in my dms or my asks!  I will write the English translation of the French word I used in that way. PS: If anyone wants to be tagged on my future posts for this project, please let me know !!

Locking the front door of the brand-new apartment you had just moved into, you pulled down your light coat’s sleeve after dropping your keys in your little cross-body bag. You walked down the few flights of stairs that separated you from the entrance hall, quickly checking if you had any mail and walked out the door as it was found empty.

Today was your lucky day because the wind stopped blowing right before you woke up, and the sun decided to show up as you were enjoying your breakfast, making you finish it on the little balcony right outside your living room. You couldn’t ask for a better start of the day, the light mood and warm atmosphere bringing nothing but a huge smile on your face.

You greeted the old lady with a wave and a bow as she was swiping the entrance of the bakery, wishing her a great day as you kept your route.

__

Two weeks ago, as you were moving in, the baker happened to be with her son and some of his friends, and instead of helping her serve the bakery customers, she sent them over to your place as she knew who you were, since you visited her place in a rush the day before. She seemed to have the gift of the gab because she was quick to ask if you were new around the neighbourhood. You remember being surprised by her behaviour and politely answered, but you were glad that you had this conversation with her. You weren’t even halfway through your move that the 4 boys appeared in the entrance hall, offering their help. Feeling a bit suspicious at first, you kindly refused, but when one of them offered you a smile extremely similar to the baker and introduced himself as her son, you finally gave in and accepted their help.  

The amount of time you had planned for your move got reduced by almost three thanks to them. They followed your orders like no one else, and once they were done moving the boxes around the rooms and left, you quickly went to the local convenience store you had spotted at the other street corner and bought 4 bottles and some chocolate for them. You walked by the bakery the following day, and the son happened to work here, replacing his mother while she was at a doctor’s appointment. He was touched by your small gifts, and he made sure to call his friends to come over and get them while you slipped away from the bakery to go to IKEA. Before you got to leave, he advised you to take a few walks around the neighbourhood to get to know your surroundings. You wished you could have followed his advice earlier, but you were busy with moving in and get ready for your interviews that could lead you to potential jobs.

But today was the weekend and you decided to take some time for yourself and follow the advice of the baker's son. It was a beautiful day, and you had planned to make the most of it to get familiar with your neighbourhood.

__

Your area was surprisingly calm to be in the middle of the city, but you weren’t going to complain since it was something you were dying to have: a friendly, quiet neighbourhood. The nice smell of the bakery lingered around you as you walked past the building, following you until you turned at a corner, leading you to a new, unknown street. Some shop windows were beautifully decorated, and you mentally took some notes of the various local shops that could become potentially useful one day. You walked past a china shop, staying for a few seconds to admire the detailed and precise work displayed in the window display. Offering a smile to the young lady inside the store, you walked away and looked around, noticing something that caught your attention on the opposite pavement. You quickly checked as no car drove by and crossed the street, smiling as two shops were the polar opposite of the other. The flower shop in front of you was sweet, it smelt delicate and chic, just like flowers. The walls were covered by some off-white roughcast, adding a soft touch to it.

A few meters away, on the left of the flower shop, was a tattoo parlour. You giggled as you noticed the cliche that emanated from the two places. The parlour was covered in black, with a Gothic, biker style, posters of metal and rock music pasted around the walls, hardcore music blasting from the speakers, completely contrasting with the softness and the sobriety of the flower shop. A tattoo artist appeared behind the counter that was situated next to the window and your eyes widened, trying to quickly count the number of tattoos and piercings that was decorating his body. A single front piece of hair was dyed blond among the other jet-black strands, his warm smile standing out from the rest of his physical appearance.

You turned your head to the side as you focused on the flower shop, its atmosphere suiting you better despite the next-door shop spiking up your interest. You smiled at the yellow Beetle parked in front of it and pushed the door open after a few seconds of consideration, a small bell tingling as it hit the glass door.

The smell of pollen and freshly cut flowers welcomed you in, the intensity of the colours making you slightly dazed. They were all gorgeous, the arrangements giving you an impulsion to buy a bouquet of each flower they had in store, but that would never happen.

“Welcome!” a voice from under the counter greeted you, a man appearing behind it a few seconds later, secateurs in hand. You smiled as you greeted him back, charmed by how similar he was to his store, soft and friendly. He stayed behind the counter, watching you walk around his shop, all of his other activities and tasks were instantly forgotten as soon as you stepped a foot inside his store.

Changmin was amazed by your smile, finding you incredibly beautiful, his heart hammering in his chest at the sight of your admiring smile creeping across your lips. He was dying to talk to you and get to know you, but he knew himself, he was most likely going to make a fool of himself if he ever dared to exchange some words with you. He was already pleasantly surprised that he had managed to welcome you without getting in a muddle or stumbling on his words.

With a slightly shaking hand, he diagonally cut the end of the red roses resting on the counter. He couldn’t help but glance at you, which you didn't notice, luckily for him. However, by paying too much attention to you and your gorgeous smile, he began to cut the stems a little too rapidly and too high, alas once pinching a piece of skin between the pruning blades, making him jump in pain and let go of the gardening tool. Changmin stifled a groan of pain and rushed into the back office, looking for the first aid kit. He hurriedly found a sticking plaster and wrapped it around his cut, pressing on the wound to ease the pain and get back to work as quickly as possible.

As he reappeared in the doorway that separated the back office from the front office, he heard the bell above the door chime again, signalling your departure.

His shoulders subsided and he watched you walk away with a disappointed pout. He sighed in sadness and pushed the roses away, nervousness and guilt fuelling his mind and regrets.

"Shit," he sighed, picking up the wilted petals of a few roses that were littered on the floor, shoving them into the front pocket of his apron. He blamed himself for not having spoken to you to at least know your name. Quickly, Changmin walked around the counter to door, showing the “now-closed” store sign as remorse flooded his veins. He let his feet guide every single one of his moves, now finding himself in the storeroom. He took a pencil and his notebook sticking out of his bag before returning to the counter.

Closing his eyes, he tried to remember your face and began a sketch. He erased a line, then two, then several, feeling the frustration overcome him as the portrait did not correspond to what he had seen a few minutes earlier at all. Changmin had a perfect image of you in his mind, but maybe the stress of forgetting you or his shaking hands prevented him from replicating your gorgeous face on paper.

Completely unaware of what was going on behind those four walls, you kept on walking around the neighbourhood until your feet hurt and decided to go back to your apartment.

__

The next morning you enjoyed the rays of sunlight that your curtains had failed to filter for a few minutes, smiling shyly as you remembered seeing the florist appearing in your dreams. He was here, you recognised his face, but you couldn't hear what he was saying. He sounded extremely sincere and filled with love, but it was probably just your lonely mind playing tricks on you. You decided to get up, a sudden urge for pastry invading your thoughts, your stomach growling at the sudden idea. After dressing appropriately for going out, you walked through your doorstep and walked leisurely to your favourite bakery. The baker was sitting on a chair on the small terrace of her shop, sipping tea with who appeared to be her husband.

"Morning Sir. Ma'am," you bowed, greeting them warmly, the baker hurriedly setting down her tea mug to gently grab your wrist. "Dear, this is the young lady Jacob and his friends helped move in the brick building, around the street corner that I told you about. Remember that?" she explained to her husband, who took the time to swallow his sip while nodding. "Ah, the bottle of wine and the chocolate," he says looking at you and you smiled, as it was your turn to nod. "That's right," you stated, holding out your hand for him to squeeze, which he did delicately. “Thanks again,” you told them, and the baker waved her hand in front of her face, a genuine smile on her face. "Oh please, don’t worry about it, it's okay," she declared, and you thanked them again before entering their bakery. Jacob was behind the counter chatting with an old lady who seemed to waylay him. He noticed you and apologised to her, seeing him sigh before greeting you. Jacob was a sweet man, always ready to help everyone and too nice to say no. Talking and getting to know him was a piece of cake, he was so nice to hang out with and a gem to have around.

"Y/N, hello! What can I get you?" he offered you a beautiful smile, which he got from his mother, noticing another time the striking similarity with the old woman on the terrace. "I'm going to get a baguette and one of those," you say, pointing at a pain au chocolat sprinkled with powdered sugar in the little window that separated you from the young man. He smiled and grabbed a metal clamp, placing the pastry in a paper bag. Typing a few things on the machine, you handed him a banknote and he gave you back the change, along with your pastries. You thanked him and started to leave when a familiar figure stood at a table against the window.

Changmin was quietly drinking his coffee when he heard a conversation start from outside the window. He almost spat out the liquid he had in his mouth when he saw you talking with the owners of the bakery, his eyes widening at the sight of you. He pursed his lips to stifle a smile and continued to drink his coffee, tapping on his phone screen. His heart was hammering harder, faster, in his chest as he tried to keep a low profile, lowering his head in case you were to curiously look around the place. He sighed through gritted teeth when he heard your complicity with Jacob, feeling a touch of jealousy pinching his heart without intending to. Changmin nervously finished his cup of coffee in one sip, the warm liquid burning his throat, not bothering looking up. Stuffing his phone in his jacket pocket, he was ready to go when he saw you still in the store, immediately freezing as his brown eyes met your sparkling ones.

"Hello!" you told him with a smile, waving discreetly with one hand while the other clutched the brown bag against you. He blinked several times, your beauty and kindness bouncing around his skull. He answered you with a brief, serious nod and walked away without even saying goodbye to his friend behind the counter. You watched him leave out the window before turning to Jacob, who was looking at you with a thin smile on his lips. "Did I say something wrong?" you asked him, and he exhaled a laugh through his nose, shaking his head from side to side. "Not at all. Changmin is just a very shy person sometimes," he said, and you nodded, still a bit confused from the florist's behaviour, but you said nothing and walked out of the store after wishing for a good day to Jacob. The latter smiled as you walked in the opposite direction from Changmin, greeting another customer as he understood his friend’s behaviour.

__

A week passed and it was time for you to start your new job. You had used up a good chunk of your last salary to pay for furniture and taxes which you barely remembered the names of, so you needed to have a new entrance of income. You applied to a real estate agency that wasn't far from where you live, as a financial chief director, exactly what you worked at in your previous city. You had to walk past the florist to get to your new workplace, but the florist was the only closed shop on the whole street, which surprised you. You had the opportunity to talk a little more with Jacob, and he had confessed to you that Changmin loved his job and was a flower enthusiast, which confirmed your concern when you didn't see his store open.

A smile grew on your face at the end of the day, when you took the same path as this morning, seeing the shop illuminated. When you had assembled your furniture, you remembered that you wanted to decorate your apartment with more greenery and flowers. Seizing the opportunity that the florist was still open, you pushed open that same door you had walked through a few weeks ago, the same wonderful smell and tinkling bell welcoming you inside.

You noticed a brown chunk of hair behind a large, flowered wall, immediately recognising Changmin's slender figure. You heard him clear his throat as he hummed a tune, arranging a bouquet.

Changmin heard a customer walk into his store and finished his bouquet of sunflowers and red roses before revealing himself, his eyes opening widely as he discovered your innocent smile and your office outfit. The pencil skirt and beige suit you wore made his heart fuzzy with warmth, his mind only filled with how pretty you looked.

“Good evening,” you greeted him, and he nodded, swallowing his saliva before answering you. "Welcome," he said, his husky, uncertain voice melting your heart. He managed to smile, finding dimples growing in the corners of his mouth, he was handsome when he was smiling with reddened ears. "I would like to know if you have any flowers or plants to recommend to decorate my apartment," you clear your throat before telling him your request. "May I ask the colour of your walls?" he asked in a hesitant voice, looking everywhere around the shop except you. "White, cream, and some in greyish tones as well," you explained and he nodded mechanically, looking through his stock.

"I can suggest you some dried pampas grass with cotton stems. It's... quite sober and low maintenance," he walked around the counter and you followed, his hands grabbing a few stems which he gathered under your nose. You liked the harmony of the two plants, you already had an idea where to put these at your place. "I like them a lot, I'll take a bouquet," you stated, and he nodded, giving you a small smile as he walked over to the cash register. He remained motionless for a few seconds, his finger hovering above a key. You saw him take a deep breath before disappearing into the back office, making you frown for an instant.

Changmin reappeared a few seconds later and you looked at him in shock, expecting everything but this. He held out an arrangement of sunflowers and roses in front of you, the warm tones of yellow and red reminding you of the summer warmth.

"It's for you," he said, holding your gaze, the tips of his ears turning a crimson red. You remained a few seconds dumbfounded in front of the bouquet, not knowing what to do. "For me? But in what honour? I don't deserve it," you stated but he insisted with a nod, so you shyly took the bouquet and gave him a big smile, your heart pounding. "That's so sweet, thank you very much," you told him, plunging your nose into the flowers, the scent of the two flowers blending beautifully together. He seemed to be breathing again when he discovered pure happiness in your eyes, giving you a big smile as well.

“You are as radiant as a sunflower, I… I wanted to gift you some,” he confessed, and you were touched by his words. “And the red roses… well, I don't think I should draw you a picture,” his voice trailed, and you were both embarrassed, but you could still feel some connection emerge between you two. Looking at the flowers again, you noticed a small card hanging at the base of the bouquet, and you flipped it to read it.

"A date to celebrate my arrival here?" you asked, surprised he knew this information about you. "Only if you want to, of course. I accidentally overheard your discussion with Mr and Mrs Bae, I thought it would be a good opportunity for me to show you around the city," he scratched the back of his neck, an embarrassed look painted on his face, apprehensive about your reaction. "With great pleasure," he looked up and sighed in relief, making you smile at his behaviour. "Saturday morning in front of the bakery, is that okay with you?" "It's perfect." He smiled while nodding, his brown eyes lingering into yours for seconds that seemed to last forever, but he didn't feel so intimidated anymore.

He almost felt confident, and that only sounded promising for the days to come.

[yangsrose]

Owo i noticed your requests are open,can I have an angst with street racer haechan based off the song in another life by Katy perry + haechans death from crashing?

Word Count: 2.9k words

Warnings: street races, mentions of alcohol, mentions of tattoos, mentions of making out, character death, angst

Authors Notes: this is my first time writing something like this so if it’s bad i’m sorry akjdfn also i got a bit too carried away hence the fic almost being 3k words o_O

Summer after high school when we first met

You pulled out the old photo book, flipping through the pictures that you had taken that fateful summer. You felt the memories of the summer before the first year of college flash back to you, remembering how carefree and young you were. As you flipped through the pictures, we saw a familiar leather jacket peeking from the corner of one of the images. Tears pooled in your eyes as you saw his face, memories of him flooding your brain. 

Lee Donghyuck, or Haechan as everyone called him, was your first actual boyfriend. Sure, you had a few flings with other people throughout the course of your high school, but your first actual relationship was over the summer with a certain purple haired boy that lived across from you. 

The day that you met him was forever ingrained in your brain, never letting you forget about him. Your parents had gone on a trip over the summer, leaving you home alone for the entire break. You spent the summer before university just like how anyone normally would, wasting your time by lying around and eating a ton of ice cream. Your summer didn’t truly start until one of your friends convinced you to go to a street race that her friends had invited her to. You were nervous and jittering, not wanting to get caught by anyone by going to the illegal race sites. 

You remember sitting in the bleachers and watching the races, feeling an adrenaline rush surge through your body as you watched the cars zip down the gravel road, constantly trying to overtake each other. The hot June breeze blew your hair around, causing there to be more heat than refreshment one usually gains from the wind blowing. You remember watching a certain light blue and white car zip down, and something in you hoped that they would be the one to win. Maybe it was the fact that the colours popped out amongst the other darker cars, or maybe it was the fact that the driver easily maneuvered around the other cars. Whatever it was, your attention was instantly captured.

After the race was done, all the racers stepped out of their respective cars and your friend dragged you to go see her friend that you had attended the race for. As you walked through the multitudes of people, you saw the person in the blue car take off his helmet and shake his hair that was currently flattened from the helmet. As if the world was going in slow motion, you and him made eye contact, and you felt as if you were being tugged to him. 

His dark purple hair complemented his tan skin perfectly, giving him a carefree and rebellious look to his doe like eyes. His jacket matched his car, having a white body and bright light blue sleeves, patched adorning them. His pants were an odd combination of light and dark washed stripes, but even after all these years, you have to agree that he was the only person that could pull off wearing those. 

While you were still stuck in your trance, you didn’t notice the male walk up to you and stick his hand in front of you. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, you had exchanged numbers with each other and even had a date planned out. You felt a giddy feeling rise up in your chest as you drove away later that night, replacing any doubts that you had about going to the race today. You looked back at Haechan from your rearview mirror and saw him wave at you, leading you to replicate the same motion. Even though you had only known him for a span of a few hours, you were truly whipped for him. 

We'd make out in your Mustang to Radiohead

And on my 18th birthday we got matching tattoos

Used to steal your parents' liquor and climb to the roof

It was now the beginning of August and summer was almost done. Haechan had asked you out in the beginning of July, which meant that you two had been dating for a month now. He took you on frequent dates, them always ending in the backseat of his car, making out, or on your roof. Even though you were pretty apprehensive about climbing up to the top, Haechan was always there for you, holding out his hand so that you could climb up to the top without getting hurt. He was also the first person that you had even gotten drunk with, him bringing bottles of alcohol to the roof. Yes, some people might label him as a bad influence, but you truly knew the type of person that Haechan was. Even though he made some bad mistakes here and there, he was the sweetest person to exist, never letting anything bad happen to you. 

On your 18th birthday, you made a decision that some people might call stupid. You begged Haechan to take you to a tattoo parlor, wanting to get a matching tattoo with him. He denied your requests, saying that you would just regret it later on. But as you pleaded even more, he obligated, taking you on your birthday. 

You remember sitting next to Haechan, holding his hand as the repetitive prick left your arm stinging. An hour later, yours and Haechan’s wrists were wrapped up, and you both left the store, walking hand in hand with a small lock and key tattoo permanently inked on your skin. 

And for the record, you never regretted that tattoo. 

Talk about our future like we had a clue

Never planned that one day I'd be losing you

Eleven months into your relationship with Haechan, you both realised that going to different universities would be really hard for the both of you. Between the long nights spent at the library and the hours in internships, you both soon began to cherish any free time that you had together. Haechan still raced, but you spent more time focusing on your school work, leaving for no free time at all. Today was the only day that the both of you finally had free time in your schedules, due it currently being summer break. You and Haechan currently lay in your bed side by side, talking about anything and everything that came to your minds. 

“What are you planning on doing after graduating?” Haechan asked you, turning to face you. 

“Probably try to get into medical school. You?” you asked, turned your head towards him. 

“I’m probably going to go into music.”

“Music?”

“Yeah, I like singing and not to mention, I’m pretty good at it.” Haechan said, smirking in your direction. 

“Looks like you’ll have to show me one day.” you said, giving him a coy smile. 

“Do you know what else I’ll be doing?” 

“Racing?”

“Spending the rest of my life with you.”

You choked on your spit and sat up, not believing what Haechan was saying. The look on his face was one of pure adoration, showing no hints of deception. 

“Don’t say stuff like that” you said, shoving his shoulder lightly. Haechan laughed at your response and teased you a bit for your shy attitude. But deep down inside, the both of you knew that you would be willing to spend the rest of your lives together. 

I was June and you were my Johnny Cash

Never one without the other, we made a pact

On your second anniversary, Haechan went all out for your date. He bought you a huge bouquet of roses, and even cooked you dinner, setting the small dining table in your shared apartment to make it seem like you were at a fancy restaurant. You remember Haechan pulling out your chair for you and acting extra dramatic that day, making you laugh at his silly antics. Little did you know, he was actually planning to purpose that night. He fidgeted the entire night, sticking his hand into the pocket that held the velvet box encasing the small metal band.

 After dinner and desert were done, Haechan cleared his throat and asked you to listen to a song that he had recorded a bit earlier. You didn’t take much into account because he was always asking you to listen to stuff, wanting to get your opinion on his works. But today, something seemed different. For one, Haechan seemed more jittery, and he kept fidgeting with something in his pocket. You put those all aside and pressed play, the sweet voice of your boyfriend filling the air. Once the song ended, you were met with your boyfriend kneeling on one knee in front of you, holding a dark velvet box containing a small diamond ring, the stones glittering under the bright light in the dining room. Your hands flew up to your mouth and you felt tears form in your eyes, jumping out of your seat to tackle Haechan into a hug. He groaned a bit when you hugged him, but his arms encircled your body, pulling you closer to him. 

Hugging him here, it felt like nothing in the world could go wrong. 

Sometimes when I miss you I put those records on 

Someone said you had your tattoo removed

Saw you downtown singing the blues

It's time to face the music, I'm no longer your muse

“Get out.”

“y/n-” 

“I said get out.” 

Haechan sighed and stormed out of the apartment, grabbing his jacket along with him. You watched him go out, feeling a mix of anger and sadness brew in your stomach. You felt a feeling of anxiety rise in your chest, confusing you at what the feeling meant. 

Six months ago when Haechan proposed to you, he vowed to put his racing days aside. He told you that he wanted to start a family with you, and frankly, racing was slowly becoming more and more dangerous, leading to more people dying from crashes that occured during races. You were relieved, feeling happy that he wouldn’t be putting himself at risk anymore. But two weeks ago, you started feeling suspicious of Haechan. He would always give you an excuse of “having to go to the library for schoolwork”. You investigated into the cause of his absence, and when you did, you found out that he was secretly going back and racing , something that he promised you not to do. When you confronted him, all he did was stare at you in disbelief. How did you find out? He was so careful to cover his tracks, but you still managed to figure out what he was doing. Haechan began arguing back, saying that he needed a way to get rid of all the stress that had accumulated on himself from school. Before the both of you knew it, it had just led to Haechan walking out and you sitting on the loveseat, sobbing your eyes out. 

Three hours later, it was near midnight and Haechan still wasn’t back home, causing you to get worried for him. Even when you two fought with each other, you always managed to make up with each other, keeping true of not letting the sun go down on your anger. You called his phone multiple times, getting the same message saying that the receiver could not be reached at the time. Your hands started to shake as time went on, and you felt a feeling of anxiety take over you. Just as you were about to grab your coat and go outside to search for Haechan, your phone let up with a notification of someone calling you. You immediately grabbed your phone, saying a small “hello” into the receiver.

“Is this y/n l/n?” the person asked. You nodded your head fervently and listened to what they were saying. When they finished, your phone dropped out of your hands and fell onto the floor with a clattering sound, causing it to resonate around the small room. 

Haechan had gotten into an accident while racing and was in the hospital in a critical condition. 

You ran out of your house and got into your car, driving at an unreasonably fast speed to the hospital. You rushed over to the front desk, telling the receptionist that you were there for a patient named Haechan. The receptionist told you the room he was in, and you ran off to the room, hoping that you would reach on time before it was too late. Your wish went into vain however, because by the time that you had opened the room’s door, you heard the doctor announce to the nurse to write down the time of death. You felt the world spin around you, and suddenly, everything turned black. 

All this money can't buy me a time machine, no

Can't replace you with a million rings, no

I should've told you what you meant to me 

'Cause now I pay the price

Two weeks later, you stood in front of the huge headstone that was placed in front of you, feeling the never ending tears well up in your eyes once again. Everyone flocked around you and Haechan’s family, mummering their condolences and placing flowers on his grave. 

That night, Haechan had left the apartment in anger. Wanting to find a way to relieve the stress, he went over to the familiar race track, hoping to feel better after racing for a while. He apparently lost control of his car after he swerved to avoid hitting another racer that was ahead of him. The rest of the details were hidden from your mind, you selectively choosing not to listen to what had happened after that. 

After the funeral was done, you walked back to your car, feeling as if an immovable weight was placed on your shoulders. You sat in your car, the silence of the environment threatening to swallow you whole. You looked down at your stomach, placing a hand over it. 

The day that Haechan died was the day that you took a pregnancy test, realising that you had symptoms of potentially carrying a child in you. You remember waiting to tell him of your news, all of it long forgotten in the process of the events that happened the few days prior. You felt the tears well up once again and you hastily wiped them away, not wanting to break down once more while you were trying to get home. You inserted the key into your car and drove away, your mind clouded with countless thoughts of what you would have to do now. 

You just wished you could tell him that you loved him one last time. 

In another life

I would be your girl

We'd keep all our promises

Be us against the world

In another life

I would make you stay

So I don't have to say you were

The one that got away

“Mom come on! We have to get going to the ice cream parlor!” you turned around and saw your daughter’s head peek up through the top of the attic, the only thing being seen was her mischievous eyes peeking out.

“Go put on your shoes. I’ll be there soon okay?” you watched as her head left sight, the sound of her hurrying to put on her shoes echoing through the house. You put the photobook back into the box that you pulled it out of, smiling at your past self ten years ago. Your life had changed drastically through those years and even though you still spent days grieving over Haechan, you realised that he taught you to love the little things in life and let loose for once, learning to live in the moment. 

You climbed down the attic stairs and walked over to where your daughter was standing, putting on your shoes as well before feeling her tug at your hand. You laughed and let her lead you, not noticing that your necklace had come out from under your t-shirt when you bent down. The light reflecting off of it caused your attention to be captured, scattering multitudes of small multicoloured diamond shapes all over the floor. Your hand clasped onto the dainty ring that was held on by a thin gold chain, the cold metal sending a shiver down your spine. You looked down at your other hand and saw it being held by your daughter, who you had to admit was the exact same person as Haechan. Her infectious personality and positive attitude reminded you of the days where Haechan would sit next to you for hours on end, helping you with your school work. Even her facial features were the same, the round doe eyes holding bits of mischief in them, lighting up whenever she smiled or laughed. 

The sun shone down on the both of you, finally peaking through the clouds as it scattered the light around. You looked up and smiled, something in your heart telling you that it was Haechan’s way of saying “it’s going to be okay.” You smiled and walked into the parlour, because for the first time in almost seven years, life did seem like it was going to be okay. 

[incoherentbabblings]

Can you please write a fic with fluffy, 67, and Timsteph (rebirth era)? Thanks!

God I know I'm like the one of three Tim stans who's like genuinely gungho for this era but BOY. Okay full disclosure for this one I think I wanna go back one day and expand on this. A lot. The road trip after Detective Comics but before YJ is just too intriguing of a space not to fill.

I got carried away. Essentially. Again.

So thank you anon! You've unleashed something terrible! Good job. I'll try and get the last ones done tomorrow, but there may be a small delay!!

Birthday Ask Game!

67. “I’m right where I belong.”

They’d been driving for a few days now. Stephanie didn’t travel outside of Gotham much, so these open highways, endless horizons with nothing to see or call out, was fascinating to her. Tim liked to drive, so she let him. It seemed that the moment they left Gotham the skies cleared, the sun shone, and the wind was warm. She’d open the truck window, rest her chin on her arm, shut her eyes, and enjoy the breeze blowing her around her face. There was some terrible country music playing the radio, but it suited the mood. The sun was beginning to set, the summer sky lighting up a brilliant fiery orange. Everything felt warm.

She could practically hear Tim grinning next to her, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear stick. The truck was old, beat up but reliable. Arguably one of the best gifts Bruce had ever given him.

He wanted to hold Stephanie’s hand.

He wasn’t sure she’d allow it. Yes, she’d affirmed that she loved him, saving him from Ulysses and Brother Eye in the process. Yes, she’d said she wanted to explore the world with him.

But that didn’t mean she wanted to hold his hand.

They were broken up still. On a break. Tim hadn’t really consented to taking a break, but he respected her too much. Besides, if she’d wanted to hold his hand, she would have reached for it by now. An invisible wall was there, separating her seat from his. Every time they’d stopped for the night at some dodgy motel, they asked for two beds. One time there was only one. Tim had made do on the sofa, shattered from a day of driving. Stephanie had chewed her lip, but ultimately not fought him on it.

Tim didn’t know where to start, how to bring it up.

What were they to each other now?

“Where are we?” Stephanie asked, eyes opening so she could rummage through the dash for her phone. “Hour three hundred and ninety-six of the incredible journey…”

“Is it really?”

“Nah.” Snorting, she quickly checked maps, then whistled to herself. “We’re a long way from Gotham now.”

“Loads to go still.”

She lolled her head round, smiling sleepily. “You’re something else, Tim Drake.”

He grinned, mouth crooked. “I like driving. Especially on open roads like this. Can almost shut your brain off. For me, at least.”

“Hmm. Well, do you wanna stop soon? There must be a place eventually.”

Tim nodded, but, to his slight dismay, over the next three hours nothing suitable turned up. A rest stop with a block of toilets was the best they could do. It was pushing midnight, and with Stephanie falling asleep in the passenger seat, swapping seats was not an option.

Sighing, Tim pulled off to rest, then shook Stephanie.

“You go in the backseat. I’ll go out on the trunk bed.”

She looked very offended at the idea, but unable to come up with a better solution herself. Instead, she weakly asked, “You sure?”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s summer. Roasty toasty still.” He paused, looking a little nervous despite himself. “We have blankets, right?”

“We do,” she murmured, turning around and rummaging through carboard boxes on the floor.

“Cool. Gonna go pee.”

“Nice,” she snarked. “Well, I’ll do my best to set you up somewhat decently. I don’t think it’ll rain.”

Unbuckling her seatbelt, she began to tug out pillows and blankets, determined to set something up for Tim that was somewhat inhabitable for the night.

He returned to find her outside, literally throwing in the towel.

“Uh-uh. No way you can sleep out like this. You’ll break your back and die from exposure.”

He gripped the lip of the truck, watching her refold the knitted blankets into neat piles. He had to admit, she had a point. She rubbed her nose, sniffing through the dust kicked up by their movements. Leggings and a woolly sweater, that was all she had on. He was not much better, but at least he had his body warmer.

Stephanie shut her eyes “Listen. How about you rest up front. I’ll nap in the back, then when I wake up, I’ll drive us to somewhere where we can both get some proper shut eyes.”

Tim sighed, then nodded. “Okay. You’ll be alright in the back though?”

“Course!” she chirped, moving around the truck bed. Tim followed her, as when she gripped and tugged on the door handle. It wouldn’t budge. Laughing uncomfortably, she pulled again. And again. And again. The motion became frantic, her whole body moving as she tried desperately to get the back door open. “Oh, come on you dumb piece of – Oh!”

She ripped the door open, jamming her pointy elbow straight into Tim’s gut. He cried out, Stephanie mirroring the cry of pain in shock as she whirled around, immediately grabbing him and pulled him upright. “I’m so sorry! Sweetie, are you okay?”

She trailed off, catching herself off guard.

Tim, meanwhile, leapt on it. “Sweetie? Still?”

“I…”

The pair stared at each other. Tim expected a difficult conversation – establishing boundaries, talking about what he had done, what she had gone through, laying trauma to rest.

Instead, she grabbed him by the neck and pulled him in close, swallowing up his confused but joyful exclamation.

“What?” he managed to spit out in between licking her lips.

“Got tired of waiting…” she muttered. Her hand was gripping and twisting his shirt tight. Tim shuffled, pushing them back into the truck, and Stephanie hopping up onto the seat, Tim crawling in after her. Despite the cramped space, it did not take long for her to end up on his lap, blatantly feeling his chest up.

She sighed as they broke apart, kissing whatever skin Tim would allow her access to.

“I didn’t know…” Tim panted into her mouth, hot and heavy, trying to clumsily get her sweater off. “If you were okay with – we’d been through – and then”—

She shushed him, a golden smile on her mouth.

“I’m right where I belong. In this beat up monster of a truck. Right here.”

Tim blushed, thankful for the pitch-black night. “In the middle of nowhere?”

“Sure,” she replied easily. “With you. Always.”

He grinned back, chest light and warm. When he kissed her again, he found he could not agree more with her statement.

This moment, surrounded by cardboard boxes, his jeans pulled down past his ass, Stephanie’s sweater hanging loosely around her neck, head smacking against the roof of the truck, at risk from some patrol officer catching them off guard, with uncomfy cracked leather making him chafe… This moment was perfect.

[peakyswritings]

The London Air Raids

Requested by: @writerdream22

Based on the song “The London Air Raids” by Vian Izak

Warnings: war

The gif is not mine, credits to the owner

And we sit here so close in the dark

And we're so close to being torn apart

Ever crash I can feel in our foundation

It runs through my veins and I hate the sensation

You sighed as you laid with your back on the tree behind you, the soft breeze lightly ruffled your hair while you looked up at the starless sky, sat on the cold grass. You were away from the city, from the smoke and the fires and the dirt. It was a quiet night. It was unfair, you thought, how peaceful everything was when there’s was nothing to be peaceful about. When so many young lives where about to be broken because of somebody’s hatred, when so many people where mourning their loved ones. When somewhere, in that very moment, thousands of soldiers were fighting to stay alive, to see another day, to come back to their families, without the warranty of actually making it. Yet, the flowers kept on blooming, the wind kept on blowing and the sun kept on rising everyday, unaware of the carnage that didn’t seem to want to reach its end. It was like the earth was mocking you, laughing at men’s foolishness, showing that it didn’t matter how many people died, the world would keep on turning and life would go on, with or without them.

It was definitely unfair.

You turned your head to the guy next to you, trying to memorise every single detail about him, every freckle, every line, the way he frowned, the way his lips curled into a smile. That beautiful smile, would you be able to see it again? To hear his voice, his laugh?

“They say it’ll be over before winter comes” he stated, taking a drag from his cigarette “it won’t last long”

You stayed in silence, not quite knowing what to say. It didn’t change anything, a lot could happen in a couple of months.

“Don’t go” you whispered, hoping that you could change his mind.

“I have to” he affirmed “what kind of man would I be if I didn’t fight for my country?”

You gently stroked his cheek, looking him in his beautiful blue eyes. They were filled with life and spirit and you knew by the look he gave you that nothing could change his mind.

“Promise me that you’ll come back to me”

He placed his hand on the one that rested on his cheek, giving you a soft smile.

“You know I can’t. But I’ll try. I’ll do everything I can to come back to you, it’s a promise.”

But I know that I'm safe here with you

Cause we made it through everything the old and the new

Just wake me up when all this is over

Wake me up and tell me it's not true

“Dance with me” he said as he stood up and held out his hand of you to take it.

“But there’s no music”

“We don���t need it” he suddenly pulled you towards him, making you giggle. He put his hands on your waist and you wrapped your arms around his neck. Your heart ached at the thought that that could be your last dance with him. You tried to take in the way he held you, how his hands felt on your waist, how you felt when he was close to you. You placed your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat and letting it comfort you. You inhaled his reassuring smell, it was a mixture of soap, whiskey and tobacco. That was the one thing that you knew you would never forget, it didn’t matter how much time passed.

My sweet love watch the air raids

As the streets of London are not safe

And I wish that we could escape

As the beat of the drum keeps on its play

And I long to feel the rain on my face

So I wait, I want the bombs to fade away

Contrary to what people thought, the war didn’t last a few months. It was supposed to be a brief war, but the weeks became months and the months became years. You didn’t spend a day without thinking about your fiancé, about how close he was to death and danger. The thought of him in the trenches, surrounded by mud and blood and destruction kept you from sleeping at night. How could you sleep in your warm bed while he was out in the cold and the rain? Your exchange of letters was slowly decreasing, because it took them a lot to arrive, but you didn’t lose hope. You waited for them like a child waits for Santa Claus on Christmas Eve and you kept them in a box placed on your desk, reading them again when his absence was too much to bear.

Under the bombs, the shooting and the cries of the hurt soldiers, Tommy thought about you. In the middle of chaos and destruction, the photograph that he kept in his pocket was his only comfort. Whenever he felt like it was all too much, like he wanted to give up, he looked at it and your smile gave him the motivation to go through another day. When the cold penetrated his bones, when the noise made him feel like his head was about to explode, when the rudimentary masks weren’t enough to protect him from the toxic gas, when he crawled in the mud, your memory made him go on. When your letters arrived, he ran his fingers on your handwriting, finding comfort in it. You wrote a letter and you sent it to him, it meant that there was still hope.

And the hum of the airplanes is such a sweet sound

As we're coming up from underground

Coming up to see our ruined state

Coming up to see those ruins that you made

And in the east I hear a nation shout

And we wait for the day that we can sing it out

Four years later, the war was finally over. You stood next to Polly, Ada and little Finn at the train station, your heart beating like crazy in your chest while you looked through the flow of people, hoping that the Shelby brothers would make it home safe and sound. Polly sighed with relief as John and Arthur got off the train, walking towards them with her arms open. You hugged the men who were like brothers to you, happy to see them safe and sound, but you couldn’t keep your eyes off the train, waiting for the one person who was missing to show up.

Your heart skipped a beat when you saw his familiar face standing out of the crowd. He didn’t see you right away, the multitude made it difficult to see clearly. It took him a moment to notice you, but when his eyes found yours, it felt like everyone around him disappeared, leaving just the two of you. You literally ran in his arms, holding him like your life depended on it. He tightly wrapped his arms around your waist, closing his eyes and inhaling your scent. You moved away a little to take his face in your hands, looking at him as if you wanted to make sure that it was not just one of your dreams, that he was really there.

“You’re here” you whispered, feeling your eyes starting to well up.

“I’m here” he nodded with a soft smile “and I’m not going anywhere for a long time”

He leaned in and kissed you, gently stroking your cheek. In that moment, everything fell back into place.

My sweet love watch the air raids

As the streets of London are not safe

And I wish that we could escape

As the beat of the drum keeps on its play

And I long to feel the rain on my face

So i wake

Two months later, you finally got married. You were so happy to be together again that you didn’t care if it was rushed. You had been apart for too long, it was time to keep your promises.

The guy who went to France never came back. You could see it in his eyes, that had lost their spark of youthful happiness, you could see it in his smile, that wasn’t as natural as before. His laugh was still the same, but you rarely heard it. Nevertheless, you knew that he was still your Tommy. Sometimes, when it was just you and him, you could see the boy he used to be through a spontaneous laugh, or a sarcastic remark, or a joke.

You saw him the day you got married, when he watched you walk down the aisle arm in arm with your father with tears in his eyes. That day, you promised to stick together for better and for worse, in sickness and in health. You had never realised the importance and the worth of those vows until you found yourself pronouncing them, meaning every single word you were saying. You would always be by each other’s side, no matter what.

Till death would do you apart.

[metinthehallway]

It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Hello! Here is a simple little 3.5k fic! I thank @goldenbluesuit for hosting this spectacular fic challenge! I love what I've read so far and I can’t wait to keep reading. Also, thank you to @lilacobscure and @arrogantstyles for beta-ing and just being...awesome. I hope you all like it. :) 

Warnings: mention of the word bloke from a non-Brit

Annie has had it. She’s holding two of her fluffiest pillows against both of her ears and has her white noise machine droning on at full volume. And she can still hear the sultry bass of Andy Williams singing his little heart out. She can hear him as clear as day, as if he were performing his very own live concert in the corner of her bedroom. Don’t even get her started on the Christmas lights. Annie had actually gone out and bought an eye mask in order to sleep, as her windows faced the neighbors front yard where Annie’s neighbor, apparently, was the sole reason their local supermarket was sold out of blow up decorations and string lights. 

Harry Styles didn’t even have a lot of real estate to work with in terms of space. But he really made every centimeter count. One morning mid-November, whilst getting her mail, Annie counted about fourteen deflated pop-up corpses staked to the frozen ground, multiple candy canes lining his driveway that were about half the size of her, and masses of tangled lights strung up across every visible square inch of his home. If that wasn’t enough, he had a carefully crafted playlist he turned on every night at eight p.m. sharp that was approximately three hours and forty-nine minutes long before it looped back to the beginning song. She thought, fleetingly, that she should invest in ear plugs.

Annie prides herself on being a patient and understanding person. The only reason why she hasn’t held a covert operation at three in the morning to mercilessly stab a hole in each blow-up, or cut every single criss-crossed wire, or even ambush her neighbor while he walks out his front door in nothing but a fuzzy pink robe and no shoes, demonstrating that universal, oh shit the ground is cold, oh shit, oh shit, jerking walk, is because he only recently moved in next door. She was not about to be the one to ask him to maybe take it easy on the city’s power source, that she also needs electricity for her home, and also how do you fall asleep with this godforsaken music?

Annie is not prideful in this moment. All it takes for her to snap is hearing, “It’s the hap-happiest season of all,” for the forty-fifth time. With a loud groan, she tears off her beautiful, beautiful down comforter and stomps into her shoes, scaring Cindy, her sleeping Persian cat, off the bed. It’s two thirty-six in the morning, she realizes in a far off thought that doesn’t seem to make it to the forefront of her brain, and makes her way over to Harry’s front door. She has the immature urge to punch a smiling Santa sat atop a sleigh filled with presents as she passes it. All the lights are off in his house and Annie doesn’t feel a bit of remorse as she raises a half-asleep arm and slams it against the sturdy oak door of Harry’s house. For a full minute, it’s silent and there appears to be no movement from behind the door. A sliver of apprehension begins to worm its way into Annie’s bones. 

There’s a better way to do this, Annie. Like, in daylight, during normal people hours. 

She starts to turn on her heel, continuing her internal chastising and also external chastising, muttering to herself like a lunatic, when she hears the tell-tale creak behind her and a porch light flickering to life. Annie stands there, her right hand over her eyes, shielding them from the harsh yellow rays. She can make out Harry’s figure, dressed in flannel pajama pants that look like they were previously crumpled on his bedroom floor, a white T-shirt on backwards and inside out, and his signature pink fuzzy robe. His hair sticks up hazardously, sort of like a halo illuminated by the bulb behind him. His eyes are puffy, brows furrowed together and indenting a line in the center of his forehead. Lips as pink as a rose purse together as nostrils flare.

“Is there something I might be able to help you with?” Harry asks, a slight lilt to his gravelly voice. It’s a polite enough question, however it holds an air of carefully restrained annoyance. For a moment, Annie thinks she would be annoyed as well if someone pounded at her front door in the wee hours of a Tuesday morning. She quickly dismisses the thought, actually raising her hand in the air and waving it off as if it was a tangible thing. Harry raises one eyebrow. 

“Good evening, well- morning, my name is Annie. I live next door, I’m twenty-two Ambrose Ave,” Annie starts. She doesn’t know why she announces her house number. She watches his eyes flick to his right where an engraved twenty-four lies, and back to hers. Annie shakes her head slightly before launching into a speech she never prepared.

“I’m here because I think the way you decorate is rude. Do you think, at all, of your neighbors? How do you fall asleep? Do you even have a job?! I never see you leave your house! Not that I’m keeping tabs, I’m just genuinely worried for your electric bill,” she continues, pausing to take a breath. “I have not had a single good nights rest since you started all of this, back in November. I have never hated the sound of Andy Williams’ voice more deeply than I do this holiday season.”

“Excuse me—,”

“Ah-ah! I’m not done, sir. Some of us are employed and have to work at eight a.m., some of us have cats that wake us up in the ass-crack of dawn anyway with their screeches and need all the sleep we can get. Do you know I had to buy a sleep mask because of you? Because of,” she pauses, a red rotating light from a candy cane passing over her face ominously as she turns around and gestures wildly to the commotion around her, “all this?”

“Can I just say—,”

“And the music. Are you eighty years old? The least you could do with this god-awful playlist is add some Mariah Carey, some Buble; even Ariana Grande has some sick Christmas tunes. The ones you chose haven’t been remastered since nineteen thirty-eight,” she finishes, eyes a little too wide, hair disheveled and falling in her face. Her hands are shaking and her heart is beating entirely too fast. Confrontation has never been Annie’s strong suit, evident of the lack of response from Harry as she cuts him off throughout the duration of her mini rant. He just peers back at her, face as still as stone as an uncomfortable silence falls between them. Frosty the Snowman rears its nasty head and Annie finds herself slowly closing her eyes and clenching her fists.

The second Annie starts to open her eyes, she hears the light closing of Harry’s front door and two locks click into place. She stands there, mouth slightly open as the early December chill works its way into her bones. She stares ahead of her and a murderous look takes over her face, cheeks red with the winter wind, lips chapped and tears starting to form on her lash line from the cold.

“What a fucking prick,” Annie mutters to herself. He can’t even respond to her? How childish. She turns around slowly, walking back through the winter wonderland, feeling defeated. She didn’t know what she expected to feel after finally expressing her thoughts, but she knew defeated was not it. 

As she crosses the threshold into her home, she thinks, maybe I could’ve handled that better. Annie prides herself on her patience. She was not patient that night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Over the course of the month, Annie and Harry bump into each other way more than either of them would like. Once, when the mailman dropped off her mother’s monthly care package to Harry’s house, another when Annie had to begrudgingly ask to borrow his shovel when she found her car snowed in one early morning and a broken handle on her own. 

They’ve even begun to see each other in the aisles of their local supermarket. Annie enters the store, unsuspecting and looking for ingredients to make her world renowned charcuterie boards for a work fundraiser. She stops in her tracks and almost drops her jar of green olives when she sees a familiar head of frizzy brown hair. 

Harry is hyper-focused, reading the back of a spray cheese can. Annie tries to sneak by him and grab a box of herb filled crackers. Tries. She is unsuccessful, however, when her purse strap catches on a display and yanks her arm backwards, making her lose grip of the glass jar. Everything seems to happen in slow motion, as she watches the jar sail past Harry and hit the ground, glass exploding all over his shoes. The chattering happening around her ceases, as all of the blood in her body travels to her face. 

“Clean up in aisle four,” deadpans a nearby worker dressed in a horrid shade of neon green. He sighs heavily, murmuring under his breath that he doesn’t get paid nearly enough to be picking up all of these olives. 

Annie is mortified. She is unable to tear her focus away from Harry’s soaked suede shoes.  It’s only when he clears his throat and shifts his feet that she raises her head.

“I see… that you’ve really got a vendetta against me,” Harry scoffs, eyes trained on his feet, where the olive juice has to be seeping into his socks. No one likes wet socks. 

“That was completely on accident! I swear! Why is that display sticking three feet into the aisle anyway? That has to be a a safety violation,” Annie pushes out in a rush. There doesn’t seem to be enough air for her lungs in this store. Especially not with Harry now looking intensely at her, almost like he could see right through her. She folds under his gaze.

“It’s okay. I didn’t like these shoes much, to be fair,” Harry shrugs. 

“Really?”

“No,” Harry says. 

“Oh. Well, I can buy you a new pair. How much did you pay for those?” Annie asks, pulling out her wallet.

Harry raises a single eyebrow, the left corner of his mouth turning up and a dimple appearing out of thin air. 

“Too much. Really, it’s fine. The juice is translucent enough. I’ll just use them as house slippers,” he says. He opens his mouth to continue, but is interrupted by the loud squeaking of a bucket skidding across the floor. The neon green worker returns, a dingy looking mop in hand and a frown on his face. His free hand makes the shoo motion to Harry, starting to swipe at the floor, completely ignoring the glass scratching the linoleum that’s mixed in with the olives.

“Do you want any help?” Annie offers, stepping forward to at least pick up the larger shards scattered across the floor. The worker, whose name tag reads Roger, holds up a single pointer finger in her direction and shakes his head. Annie takes the hint, while Harry just shifts his gaze between Roger and the mess on the tiles, mouth somewhat agape. She nudges his shoulder with her own and gestures with her head for them to leave the aisle. 

Annie makes her way up to self-checkout, Harry following suit. They ring their items up in silence next to each other. They find themselves walking through the front door together, and it’s only when they’re outside in the sunshine that Harry lets out the deepest belly laugh Annie has ever heard. 

“Oh my god, my toes are so wet,” Harry says in between breaths. “Did you see the way that bloke’s vein was popping out of his neck? I thought he was about to commit second degree murder right in the condiment aisle.”

Annie’s heartbeat starts to pick up and she begins to laugh along with him. Tears form in both of their eyes and they sparkle in the cold afternoon sunlight. 

“I feel so bad! I don’t even like olives. They were just for my stupid charcuterie boards,” Annie says, laughter dying down. She sighs, wiping at her cheeks. She looks up, meeting Harry’s eyes. He looks down at her, smile fading slowly but his face still holding traces of warmth. 

“Well, I should be heading home. See you soon,” Harry bids his goodbye. Annie nods her head in his direction and turns, palming her keys and unlocking her car across the parking lot with a chirp. She unloads her groceries into the trunk and slides into the drivers seat, thinking for a brief moment about the shape of Harry’s smile. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The snow outside is falling. And it’s falling hard. So heavy and consistent that the power lines are drooping underneath the weight and the electricity in Annie’s house is flickering in and out. It’s Christmas Eve and all she wants to do is sleep the night away, then sleep the morning away, then sleep the weekend away. She draws back a curtain and peers at Harry’s lawn, the usual eyesore dark and covered in a blanket of sparkling white snow.

A sharp crack and the sound of something large tumbling to the ground close to Annie’s house makes both her and Cindy jump, eyes alert and tail all puffed out. She goes to open her front door to investigate and sees Cindy dart between her legs a second too late, a gray blur running into the stormy night.

“CINDY!” Annie yells, voice carrying eerily across the empty street. She takes off after the small cat, wearing only her pajamas and a pair of worn slippers. Annie loses her immediately in the snowfall. While outside, she sees the huge tree limb that fell onto Harry’s front yard, covering a third of his decorations, deeming a good chunk of them broken. She wonders for a short second why he hasn’t come out to check on the noise. 

Annie’s heart starts to race as she tries to get a rein on her growing panic. Cindy is a strictly indoor cat, only having been outside for vet visits. She thinks of what would bring her cat back home, yelling her name sweetly and kissing her teeth loudly. She starts to walk towards the tree line, snapping her fingers and chattering her teeth. 

“Annie?” She hears her name being called out from behind her. She throws her head over her shoulder and locks eyes with Harry, standing there in his infamous robe. He’s got his face turned away from the harsh wind and his face is scrunched up in confusion. “What on Earth are you doing out here?! Are you mental?” 

“Cindy got out! I don’t know where she went. She ran in this direction. She never goes outside, I don’t know what to do,” Annie exclaims, feeling the urge to tear at her hair. 

“Who’s Cindy?” Harry asks.

“My cat! She was scared by the branch falling and snuck right past me when I opened the door,” she explains, arms crossing over her chest as the chill of the night bites at her skin. She shivers, turning back towards the trees. They look like they’re beginning to come alive.

Harry looks her up and down and comes up behind her, wrapping that godforsaken robe around her shaking frame. She looks up at him, grateful for the extra layer. He has a serious look on his face, determined with a mix of compassion, and also curiosity. Annie is suddenly relieved that she has someone with her to handle the situation with more calm than she ever could.

“Why don’t you go inside and grab her favorite treats? And a blanket she loves? Something that smells like you would be best,” Harry says, listing off the necessary items as if he’s done this before. She looks at him, a bit puzzled, and he reads her expression easily.

“Our cats growing up were professional escape artists. I’ve done this once or twice,” he lets out a small chuckle. She nods and heads towards her house, grabbing everything they need and changing into a pair of winter boots and shrugging on a coat, shoving Harry’s robe towards him. 

“I got everything. Here’s your robe,” Annie says, unable to meet his eyes. She already feels indebted to him, and they haven’t even found Cindy yet. “Thank you for helping me. I’m just… scared,” she confesses, tears starting to well up. She presses her fists into her eyes roughly as if she could stop them from falling. 

Harry just nods, takes the garment, and starts shaking the treat bag. His deep voice carries into the night more than hers did as he walks around, zig-zagging across the snow. Annie holds Cindy’s favorite blanket that resides on her bed and wraps it around her. She follows Harry, both chorusing, Cindy! Cindy, baby! Come back! It’s too cold for you out here!

They walk the perimeter of Annie’s house, keeping to the tree line, when Harry shushes her. He stops in his tracks and listens to the silent night. Faintly, from the direction of Harry’s house, comes a small mewl. He walks briskly over, slowing his movements as he gets closer in order not to scare the small Persian. 

“Cindy? Where are you girl? Come out for your mama,” Harry half-whispers, half-shouts. He’s still shaking the treats lightly, starting to open them. From their right they can hear a crumpling of plastic, a flash of gray shooting out from underneath the collapsed blow-up of Santa on his sleigh. Annie cries out in relief as Cindy comes running towards them at full speed, crashing right into Harry’s legs. He scoops her up swiftly with one hand and holds a treat out to her in his other. 

“You had me so worried, Cindy! I cannot believe you. You want nothing to do with the outside world but decide to run out into the coldest night we’ve had so far! You’re crazy,” Annie half-sobs, holding the cats face in two hands. Cindy shakes the snow out of her fur and licks at Annie’s nose. Harry watches the interaction, feeling something unfolding in his own chest. He gestures for Annie to take her cat, picking long hairs out of his robe.

“I see everything’s all in order here, I’ll just—oh,” Harry lets out a grunt as this peculiar woman collides into his body, cat trapped between the two of them and licking at the pink fuzz surrounding Harry as if she were grooming a kitten. His eyes go a bit wide, arms frozen around Annie while she releases a string of, thank you so much, you have no idea how much she means to me, you didn’t have to do this but you did so I owe you, I’m sorry for what I said that night, I’m sorry about the olive juice, thank you, thank you, thank you, muffled into his chest. His hands find themselves resting on her back, stroking up and down in a means to calm her.

“Hey, hey… it’s okay. I know what it feels like. I’m glad she was okay,” Harry soothes. Annie pulls away, and a strange longing passes through his heart. He frowns slightly and clears his throat. 

“I’m going to go to bed now, and get this little gremlin inside. Thank you so much, Harry. I really do appreciate it, more than you know,” Annie says, a bit breathless. Snowflakes lay themselves to rest upon her eyelashes, lips pink from the cold and Harry has the innate urge to tuck a piece of unruly hair behind her ear. He blinks, forcing himself out of his head.

“Really, it’s no problem. I’ll be heading in as well. See you soon, Annie,” Harry declares. Annie realizes with a jolt that Harry just said her name for the first time. She’s suddenly overheating, and gives a single nod, holding Cindy tight to her body as she walks up the few steps to her front door. Harry watches her leave, only taking his eyes off her when he can’t see her anymore. He then turns around, looking at the demolition of his lawn. He inhales deep. 

“Fuck.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Harry does a double take when he sees Annie outside his home the next morning, attempting to break apart the large tree branch. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For the remainder of the season, Harry and Annie spend an inordinate amount of time together. From binge-watching their guilty pleasure TV shows to roaming the streets downtown at midnight, sharing the same love for empty places. It seemed as though, somewhere in the universe, a story began to unravel itself.

As the last snowflake melts on the first stem emerging from the soft ground, Harry kisses Annie. He wasn’t even planning on it. It was like second degree murder. He found himself looking at her looking at the bluest sky, the sky looking back at her like it wanted to kiss her as well; so he kissed her first. 

[heli0s-writes]

As it Was

Summary:  Sam warned him when he arrived at the compound, returned to the timeline he ran from: It’s different now, she doesn’t do the superhero thing anymore, she’s got another life now, but he wouldn’t listen. He can’t. He must hope that some things are the same, that your love is the same. Pairing: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader A/N: ANGST. Re-written Post-endgame kinda thing because I’m bitter. 3.3k word count. Very inspired by Hozier’s “As it Was” :^) 

As it Was Masterpost

There is a roadway.

The tires crunch over rock and gravel as Steve drives down the familiar path. Flanked by overgrown grass and wildflowers in full bloom, insects flutter around the petals, sunlight glistening on waxy blades of green. He can smell it, even inside the car, ignited in his nose and blazing into his chest.

The smell of summer. The crushed earth beneath muddied boots.

He can taste the watermelon sugar, tingling on the sweet tongue encased in an even sweeter mouth.

Your bright pink lips wet with cold bites of fruit. He loved the way you would collect the smooth seeds and pinch them between your teeth. He loved the way you’d spit them into his face—silly with joy under the shade of a tree. Too slow, baby!

He can hear your laughter in the dead air-conditioned chamber of one of many compound cars. If he could bottle it up into a music box and wind it up just to hear now, he would.

He would.

Steve’s heart twists tighter as the road continues its winding way deeper through the thicket of verdant trees. Sunlight pours through in golden rays, slipping past the cracks of parted leaves. A pathway the two of you walked many times over, hand-in-hand.

There’s a separation of the blades to the left, a well-worn spot leading into an open space where you would spread the picnic blanket, stuff him full of cold cut sandwiches and fruit pie. Iced lemonade, tart. Then, under the light of the sun, or moon, or any time or season in-between, you would wrap yourself over him, love him so sweetly he could weep now.

But then is not now.

For the past three years of your time, then had been now.

But now that he’s back... now is something else.

His phone rings, echoing through the car with its shrill tittering. Sam’s number appears, as it has been every five minutes for the past two hours of his journey. Sam calling. Sam leaving messages. Sam texting.

Don’t, Cap. Don’t go there. It’s changed, Cap. Things have changed. Trust me, man. It’s better if you don’t go.

But Steve has to. He has to change your mind. Make you forgive him because he loves you so much. He has to make it all go back to as it was.

Back then, on the platform, he had been sure. In the sepia-colored minutes of his wayward past, he had been sure. That unreachable possibility had become so nearly tangible he could grab it in his hands. He was inches from her—from Peggy, and it took him decades away from you.

So, he leapt. He followed his foolish boyish heart to its dream. He told you the night before under the awning in front of the cabin, windchimes striking in the draft, fireflies all around. He’s never been a part of this world, not truly. He’s got to go back to where he belongs.

With Peggy, you mean?

You cried and cried then, wrapping your arms around your middle, refusing to say anything else, and he had never seen you so shattered. But he had been sure.

And then, only four weeks into the returned years of Steve Rogers, suddenly, like a cold hand tugging him awake, the dream slipped.

He wasn’t sure after all.

Sam calls again, but Steve is obstinate. The cabin peeks over the hill, sunken in the distance of the field just as he remembered—the little cobblestoned well in the field, string lights around the perimeter, mailbox at the edge of the road, rainbow pinwheels you’d planted in the ground because they’re cute, Steve.

From the thick branch of the oak tree you have hung a tire swing-- endearing, and so like you. Next to it is a picnic table where a single copper watering can sits in the middle, bunches of wildflowers sticking out. A tangle of yellow and green. Like your arms wrapped around his waist, linked fingers squeezing him tightly, playfully, pretending you could crush him.

Gonna kill you! Crack ya ribs!

He would grunt dramatically behind a muffled chuckle, Yes, baby. I’ve died! You’re so—ugh! Strong! B-Bucky! Avenge me!

Bucky would roll his eyes with a smirk, You two are nauseating.

You would stick your tongue out, turn it back around to Steve and lick a stripe from his throat to his chin, making him shudder all over as he watched your pretty pink mouth curl into a grin, and growl. Steven Grant Rogers, growled, and Bucky‘d throw his hands up and abscond before his eyes might see Captain America do something indecent.

He didn’t have that with Peggy. He didn’t have the twinkling of your mischievous eyes, the flame of your passion. He only had the bitter chill of your absence and the stark realization that a first love and a true love are two different things.

Sam warned him when he arrived at the compound: It’s different now, she doesn’t do the superhero thing anymore, she’s got another life now, but he wouldn’t listen. He can’t. He must hope that some things are the same, that your love is the same.

How long would you wait for me?

Steve pulls the car into the patch of trodden grass he once parked in, steps out, and closes the door quietly. There’s a clattering inside before the wooden door creaks open— as it always has, even after he loosened and tightened all its hinges— it still creaks, same as ever.

Your shape in the doorway.

One leg at a time, you emerge.

A weightless gauze dress hangs from your frame as you linger in the opening, back turned to him. In one hand is a small twine basket lined with gingham fabric. A pair of garden shears sit nestled inside. He remembers this— the walks to clip flowers and pick berries. You would put the berries in the pies, place the blossoms and leaves in mason jars all over the countertops until it looked wild in the house, too.

Your hair is longer, he smiles as he continues to watch, gazing at the loose braid you’ve fashioned your locks into. You used to complain about how fast it would grow, annoyed at how the buzzed side with the sharp chevron pattern needed to be maintained closely.

He supposes you’ve grown tired of the upkeep. You’ve let it grow out now.

The braid is new. The dress is new. But the way you lean into the house, so relaxed and carefree, that is familiar.

Steve is unsure how to approach. He doesn’t want to startle you, even though his very presence is startling. He knows your capabilities, and with those razor-sharp shears next to your elbow he wouldn’t try it. No, you couldn’t crush his ribs, but you could slice him gullet to belly in a second.

He opens his mouth to call your name, but the door creaks louder as you lean down and push it further back into the house, urging faintly. You turn, duck your torso behind the wall, leaving a deliberate space by your legs.

And then he sees it. The change Sam warned him about. The life.

His heart drops. And trembles. And feels like it could burst entirely.

Two tiny bare feet tap forward, kicking with each step. A happy, shrill, cry leaps into the air as the boy clumsily jumps one foot at a time, and lands past your dress.

The child.

“Wait for me, baby,” you call, still tucked halfway inside, “Wait for mama.”

“Mama!” He sputters and giggles, “Mama!” Mama.

God. The boy is beautiful. He is barefoot and his face is eclipsed by a canvas bucket hat, shielding the plump, pale skin of him from the summer sun. Even if Steve can’t see his face yet, he knows, because of you, any child would be perfect. A cherub. A little cherub that could have been his.

“I’m coming, just… let me get my hat. And sunscreen for you. Ah, mama has been so bad with that sunscreen.” There is more fumbling as you drop the basket on your arm into the dark house and briefly slip inside.

The boy stops at the step leading down, pondering his own confidence to tread forward. He sits, instead, letting his bottom save any potential fall before he scoots his legs over. After braving the first step, he looks up. He blinks slowly, and Steve catches sight of his enormous blue eyes, and long lashes, button nose, rosy red cheeks, slightly open mouth slack with surprise and a little bit of wonder.

“Mama.” He says, before tilting his head, “Mama, Mama. Body! Some here.”

“Someone’s here?”

You quickly emerge, hand fisting a wide-brimmed straw hat, arm reaching forward to scoop your child up and away. He is plopped firmly on your jutting left hip before you tear the hat off your head, stare into the tall and broad figure of a man you have known too well. A surprised breath tears itself from your throat.

“Steve?”

His mouth jerks into a careful smile. Nothing he had practiced during the car ride feels right in this moment; all his words have been tossed into the yard by the hands of a three-year-old boy. The hat drops from your hand, quietly slides on the dusty wooden patio, speckles of it catching light and blowing away in the easy wind. You blink, eyes shifting side to side as if questioning your reality.

“Steve?”

His name slips off your tongue so sweetly and he can’t help but close his eyes to memorize you again. That voice, his name, the years have passed, and he hasn’t forgotten it. He is so goddamn sorry to have left it at all.

From the first time you called it, to the first time you whispered it, promised your allegiance to it, to the first time you sobbed it, following him into the unknown and the darkness for five years. No matter how black the night, he had you.

Your love was unmoved.

“Sweetheart,” He pleas, stepping forward with a shaky outstretched hand.

You stand frozen like a statue, everything stiff and still except for the fluttering of your creamy dress and the boy on your hip, babbling freely. His little fingers and their little fingernails prod and poke at your neck, grabbing onto the strands that frame your face—too short to stay in the braid.

God. You’re beautiful. You glow, softened by the years without fighting and training, tanned by the sunlight, kissed by the breeze and rain and butterfly wings, and everything else but him.

“Mama, mama. Want down, down!”

The boy squeezes and releases his soft fists, reaching out and kicking your back with his foot. He begins to grunt and whine, head thrown behind and lolling over at Steve. “Down!”

“Hey,” Steve smiles, taking a finger to caress the boy’s palm, calming his motions, “What’s your name?”

You slowly turn to look at your child, eyes beginning to focus on him, as if suddenly remembering his weight perched on your side. A quick breath is sucked into your lungs as he blinks and grins, laughing. “Jams! This is mama an’ this is Jams.”

“J-James.” You correct with a broken, wet, laugh, “H-he’s.. his name—it’s James.”

Steve watches him continue to thrash against your side out of joy, now, as if being held by you is a game in itself. He brings your hair to his mouth, blubbering into it, giggling when it tickles his face. He taps on your collar with a finger, gnaws impishly on your shoulder until a line of drool trickles down. Then, he laughs again, and pushes his cheeks into it, hugging your bicep tightly.

The boy—the angel—James. Steve feels himself clench up with the new knowledge. His name is James.

“James?” There is betrayal in the way he questions it. As much as he tries to steel it, a tiny rupture creeps through the single syllable.

You pull the boy close to your body, maneuvering until you’re holding him with both arms, one slanted over his back, the other under his bottom. He sighs and leans his head onto your shoulder, makes soft noises of contentment. “Mama… walk? Go for a walk, mama.”

Between your overcast eyes and Steve’s inspecting blue ones, James is tucked like a pebble in a cobblestone wall, desperately holding back the torrent from both sides. You grip him unwaveringly, shush him now for the time being.

“Is he—Bucky? He’s Bucky’s?”

Steve inspects the front yard, the blindingly hopeful curtain finally lifting from his eyes—there are three seats on the porch, three flowers painted on the mailbox, three little stumps further away surrounding an extinguished fire.

A home—his home, his place, now filled in with the bulk of someone else. And not just anyone else, he thinks bitterly, but Bucky. His best friend, now his old lover’s new lover. It spins him out of control.

Your face scrunches up with disdain, mouth twisting into a scowl he’s known rarely, but still—he knows it.

“Yes, Steve.” You spit, nostrils flaring with anger, “He’s named after his father. He’s named after his real father.”

Steve frowns, broken-hearted, apologetic, confused. Your eyes have welled up with unshed tears, your lips pinched tightly together, as if holding back your words will keep the tears at bay, too. He doesn’t know what you mean as he stares vacantly at your protective stance.

But then he sees it.

He sees it when James grunts, bored now of a conversation that is years beyond his interest and comprehension. He beats his fists on your chest and leans back in agony.

His hat tumbles from his crown. Down, down, it falls noiselessly and when Steve looks back up to where his perfect little head is—returned to your collar, he sees brilliant flaxen curls, catching sunbeams.

Blindingly gold—almost white.

James twists his little body around and stares at Steve with some mysterious indulgence now that they are both wholly revealed to each other.

“He was there for me, you know.” You whisper, heavy teardrops running down to your chin, pooling until they barely hang on. “He was there the entire time. Nine whole agonizing months, knowing that I was growing something that was yours. I had nobody but Bucky.”

You press your lips to James’ head, inhaling the sweet scent of his skin, “I was out of my mind with grief. Th-thought, I couldn’t—I couldn’t have it. Couldn’t have a baby that was yours—you’d left me. You left what we had for something that was barely a dream, Steve.”

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. I didn’t know—I didn’t.”

“Bucky was there.” You continue, ignoring Steve’s confession. He bites his tongue, hopes it draws blood, hopes in secret you might take his very life from him. He can’t stand to be alive anymore, staring now at two people he left behind.

“Bucky was there, and he loved me through it. And when this little… when this sweet boy—” you press your eyes to his forehead, “When this boy came, we held each other and wept.”

A little laugh is muffled in James’ hair.

“So, yeah. He’s named after his real father, not his biological one.”

James leans his face towards yours, places his palms onto your cheek and pats the wetness away, “Mama. No more rain, mama. Mama, sunny outside.”

You burst apart, crumbling into tears against his little palm, pressing kisses to his fingertips, and Steve crumbles too. The boy, the precious boy, who is both his and not his, turns and looks at him earnestly. You whisper to him, kiss him on the cheek, Mama’s okay, baby. Mama’s got you with her now. Sunshine boy.

And then you turn your eyes to him. Those once doting eyes he always found gazing longingly, even after he was yours. Now they cut him, sharp and cold, holding him in their deep, dark light.

“You need to leave, before he comes home.” You whisper over the sound of insect wings and birds in the distance. The trees rustle and sway, as if egging your words on.

Home. Your home is with Bucky. Not Steve, not anymore.

“He’ll want to see you, but not like this.”

He wouldn’t even know what to say to Bucky. He wouldn’t know what to expect to hear, either. You and Bucky, and his son—your son, Steve’s son, Bucky’s son. All strung up together in a terrible web, waiting for the spider.

Somehow, he feels like the spider.

“Steve,” you call, and for a second, he hears it lovingly. Like how you might have called his name in front of the fireplace, nestled in his arms, snow settling in sheets outside. Steve, I love you.

“Steve.” It’s firm again, hard and cutting, ice chips crunched through your teeth, “When you left, you left Bucky, too. In your absence, we found each other. You didn’t just break me, Steve; you broke him. And you need to go, because I won’t let you do that to him again.”

You don’t have to say it, but he can parse it from your clenched jaw and the way you aim your words at him. You love Bucky.

The trajectory of the truth burns straight through his guts. It churns and twists and drugs his entire being until it leaves every last cell numb.

Once upon a time, you loved him, too.

But that was before he knew the darkness, before he knew the possibility and lost himself in the what if, the then, burning away the now and the love he already had.

You set James down softly in the dirt after landing soft kisses to his cheeks, watch his toes flex and grip the grass. He places the hat back over his head, lopsided, but on, regardless. He bounces on his feet, bending his knees and getting a feel for the ground beneath him. The silly ritual completes when he pads away, chasing a hovering dragonfly. Every few seconds, he looks back and laughs.

Steve’s heart cracks open with every inch of the boy’s smile.

The two of you stand for what seems like an eternity, trying to find something to end it on. He can’t do anything more than laugh resentfully, because if he doesn’t, he’ll cry, and he’ll never stop. It comes out as two clipped scoffs before he splinters anyway.

So, he nods, accepts the defeat he’s given himself and lets the tears trickle down his face to match you. Blinking the sea from your eyes, you sniffle loudly and turn, splitting the grass with your feet to follow the trail James has made into the field.

Pulling out of the driveway, Steve watches you next to your son, his son, Bucky’s son— that beautiful boy, blue-eyed like both of them. You bend and lift him, toss him gently, nuzzle him and smile before you take him down into the grass and continue the walk away from the house. He plucks flowers and raises them up and you let him tuck them inelegantly into your braid, still lovely.

Steve closes his eyes one last time to sear the image into his mind. He interjects himself into the scene, walking hand-in-hand down that habitual path. He imagines James on his hip, stares into the phantom face of that boy of his, your laughter ringing next to him like the wind. He laughs and laughs, and cries and cries. And then, he drives until the house is gone from the rearview mirror.

No, it will never be as it was again.

The dream, honeyed, sweet, as beautiful as it may be, it would only be half as beautiful as the truth could have been. Half as beautiful as the boy. Half as beautiful as you.

Next

[cosmica-candy]

Chapter two: one pretty fishy

Another chapter written by @mechamastermind​ with illustrations done by yours truly for our Coraline NSR Au!! I apologize for the lack of illustrations 

POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING, Abandonment and Neo getting in trouble

Chapter one

Neo was returned back home later as his Daddy grabbed the last of the briefcases, before calling Neo back over. 

“Neo! Come on, help me carry Papa’s luggage up to his room!” 

Neo was stomping around angry cause of the way his father treated him, he got a proper scolding when he came home just for being over the hill with Yinu, to Neo he was out playing with a friend, but to Neon he was out far past where he could see him, and that demanded a scolding apparently.

Neo kicked his feet through the dry piles of dirt, the terrain so old and worn out that a mini cloud of dust filled the surrounding area, leaving Neo to cough and try to fan away the debris. When the dust settled though Neo looked down and saw a glint in the yard. Buried under the falling dust seemed to be a palm sized metallic object, and Neo's natural curiosity would drive him to pick up said object. 

“Neo! Come on!” 

He looked closely at the thing in his hands now, pressing a little button at the top as it sprung open, revealing a system of moving gears and clicking springs. A pocket watch. None like Neo had ever seen, it was clearly very old in design yet shiny despite its age. A jade ring around the minute and hour hands, and the X’s in the roman numerals were all made in gold.

“Woah…” neo simply said, before hearing his daddy call out to him a second time. 

“Coming daddy!”

Neo pocketed the watch and ran after his daddy following him up the stairs. Neon carrying the big heavy briefcase with all of Nova’s shorts, and Neo carrying the small little snow globe with the solar system in it, gently shaking it as they walked up the creaking stairs, and past bits of wallpaper peeling down like the curled nails of an elderly woman. The second story was so much more quiet than the first, the wind blows outside and into the front door, but once it starts making its way upstairs it stops dead in it's tracks. The insects they refuse to chirp on the second story, instead they do their best to crawl through the walls of the mansion without disturbing a thing. Even the wood of the stairs as they go up begins to silence itself, as creaks become quieter and quieter with each step, until even the wood falls peacefully somber. The second story was so much more quiet, it was certainly peaceful in its own way. 

But even silence has its own killer, and does not live forever. As the quiet and dull silence that has draped over the second floor is suddenly cut down in its prime by a deep gutteral animalistic growling, air flowing in and out of a mighty beast. Neo froze when he first heard the hall suddenly filled with the boom of something much larger than him making its presence clear, meanwhile neon had no such fear… as he simply opened up the master bedroom door to reveal the source of sound, being that of a passed out nova face down in the bed, his snores pouring into his pillow and shaking the bedframe. 

Neon walked over to the dresser, beginning to unpack the briefcase of shorts he carried, while neo walked to the bedside with his snowglobe in hand. Placing it on the nightstand next to nova, as he turned the key on its side… playing Neo’s favorite tune. Neo looked to his Papa for approval, thinking it might rouse the beast from his slumber. But nova’s eye was still shut even if pointed at Neo… Neo reached up to tug on his papa’s sleeve. Tug tug. He was only responded to with a small groan as Nova laid their still asleep. 

“Papa… Can you play yet?” Neo asked, and before he could get his answer Neon scooped him up under his arms and held him to his chest. 

“No buts neo… If you want to play with someone so badly, let's go find someone then!” 

“No No Neo, let Papa rest, he had a long night driving…”

“But…” 

“I…” Neo looked down at his feet, kicking them softly as Neon took him out of this room, and watched the door shut on his sleeping father. 

“...Can I go play with Yinu?” He asked, 

“Oh neo no one lives around here but us in the mansion… Oh! How about we go meet our new neighbors! I hear there’s a group of young kids!” 

“Yinu? I don’t know any Yinu here.”

“Oh! She’s the girl I met in the field!” 

Neo pouted once more, he knew of the group his father was talking about, he overheard him talking with papa about the other mansion tenets, the people living on the first floor were a group of college students, still much older than Neo, but comparatively young to Neon. But he was already in daddy’s arms and he couldn’t quite reach the floor anymore, so it was off to meet the neighbors, to his disappointment. 

First it was down the stairs, the first floor, past the entry room that led up the stairs to the other tenants. Neon stood in front of the first floor housing, with Neo in his arms. The door was the oldest one in the house, the tenants having done nothing to repair it even as it hung off its hinges. What they did do was manage to carve their initials into the front of it, “D, R, S, T.” there was also a newly installed doorbell made of sleek and shiny plastic, sticking out against the backdrop of the aging house. Neon reached out and pressed the button, making a horribly loud buzzing noise, as both Neon and Neo had a bit of a jump. Neo was set down at the door, as the crashing of foot steps came from behind it, door knob slowly turning, breathing heavy, shadow stretching out underneath the doorframe. Click. 

Door swung open, and a tall man with blue skin, covered in large white orbs all across his jacket looked down at Neo, holding all the emotion in his face. For a few seconds there was just silence between Neo and this stranger. Neo’s eyes quickly scanning him up and down as his child mind raced to try and find anything comforting, but he looked so cold, and what didn’t help was the katana strapped to his back, worrying neo even more. The silence finally broken by Neon as he greeted the young man, 

“Dodo! How are you?” Neo felt reassured by the sound of his Daddy’s voice, but the blue man would not respond… Neo still felt unnerved by his lack of a smile… 

“I wanted my boy to see your fun project! Perhaps you can show him?” Neon said, and this lit up the blue man's eyes, as he looked down at the young neo with a smile of excitement now, he stepped out of the doorway to reveal a hall lined with fish tanks, and at the very end was a door with many flashing colors coming from underneath it. Neo felt his fear all wash away as suddenly he felt at ease seeing the man finally smile, and the beautiful tanks full of fishies behind him. Neon gently pushing him inside as Dodo lead him in. 

Neo ran straight up to the fish tanks along the wall, bouncing on his toes with glee. He peered into the glass boxes, and into their bright colorful miniature worlds, each one designed specifically for them. Each one seemed to only hold a single fishy, and it was given the entire tank to play around inside of, filled with glowing castles, divers that created bubbles, and plenty of moving parts to keep the small fishes entertained. 

Atop her shoulders in place of a head, there was  blue ringed octopus instead, gurgling its tentacles out at neo much to his fright as he leapt like a cat into Mr. Dodo’s arms. The others extremely disappointed as well as their creation turned into a half fish, half human, half octopus monster of legend. So they gave it all a hard reboot, and once it was gone from their sight everyone slowly began to laugh at the experience. The girl in the pink hoodie hanging to Neo a poster, a design of what it was meant to be, and there on that poster was “Sayu”, a pretty mermaid girl with adorable features, bouncy hair, and a fish tail. 

Mr. Dodo opened the next door, the sound of music bopping in the background as it led into a backroom, lit only by colorful nontraditional lights, like Christmas lights strung up against the wall, or the dozens of computer monitors sat around a small glowing table. Sitting at that table were three other kids, all college aged roughly the same as Mr. Dodo. There was a larger man in a yellow tee, wearing an umbrella hat. Next to him was a girl in a pink hoodie, her face hidden by her attire as she didn’t look much at Neo. And lastly there was a boy in a plaid shirt and shorts. Each one hunched over a monitor with a piece of recording equipment in front of them, a microphone, drawing tablet, and a simple mouse and keyboard. Everyone's eyes lit up though when neo walked into the room, the boy in the plaid shirt standing up. He began pointing at the others in the room, despite their silence they all seemed to be on the exact same page, they began to work overtime for Neo, as the table in front of them lit up like a mini projector beaming its light upwards at the ceiling. All the other lights were switched down until there was only the glowing of the projector. And suddenly the light began to move and form a shape, starting from the bottom neo watched particles fall together and form a fishy tail, a bright and colorful pattern along its scales, then the middle, the waist was made, the torso and the arms, of a pretty and thin little woman, dainty and elegant her form was, complimenting her bubble gum like skin… Neo was enthralled seeing this amazing light show turn the air into this pretty lady.

At that moment one of the monitors exploded, lights began to flicker, as the rest of the girl was rendered. Poorly. 

Neo enjoyed the rest of the hour he spent with the Sayu Crew, even though they did not talk very much at all, they mostly sat around on their devices trying to remake Sayu again and get her modeling correct, occasionally taking breaks to drink sparkling water and stare at the fishes in the tanks for inspiration. Neo’s favorite part was the fish tanks, each fish seemed so happy in that little box, and shined so brightly. 

At the end of the hour neon came back around to see a much happier looking Neo being brought out to him with a little mini bottle of lemon sparkling water. Scooping him up under the arms and holding him to his chest, Neon thanked the Sayu crew for their friendliness and carried his boy back outside and down the steps, towards the lower floor now, residing under the house itself. 

Neon held neo in his arms, and stood in front of a painted door split down the middle in two coats of paint, on one half was white, and the other half was pink. To Neo the bright colors of the door were slightly alarming, they weren’t gently painted like the rest of the house, they were bright and vibrant, splattered on by paintbrush. 

Neon took his hand and pounded it lightly against the door, only to find it slowly creak open… 

Neon sat his boy down on his feet, taking his hand as he walked him into the bottom tenants housing, calling out to her. 

“Miss Eve? Miss eve? Are you home?” 

Neo looked around the hallway they walked in, to see the divots in the walls, and along those divots there rested statues of a woman's head, her skin tone split down the middle, pink and white, long blonde hair, her busts lined the walls. 

At the end of the hallway Neon and Neo walked into a large dugout, surrounding this hexagonal room were even more statues of this woman, standing in various positions and holding various objects. And in the middle standing atop a ladder with a chisel and bucket of paint in hand, was the very subject of all these statues, Miss Eve herself. Neo was wandering around the room, excited at all the fresh buckets of paint, as Eve was mindlessly painting her latest statue. 

Neo tapped a green paint can, expecting it full but finding it very empty, it shifted off the edge of the desk and fell onto the floor. The sudden sound shifted Eve off her ladder as she took a step off the ladder from surprise. The buckets of paint she was holding in her hands going flying and clattering against the floor completely recoloring the room. 

Neon gave his boy a scolding look as neo began to rub his arms. He ran over to help eve up as she seemed quite upset. 

“Did you not hear us coming in, eve?” 

“Neon could you go fetch me more buckets, they’re in the back room.” Eve asked, Neon nodding as he went and fetched buckets. 

“I was in my minds eye…”

She looked over at Neo, frowning at him as he shrunk in on himself… 

Eve walking up the step ladder again, but when she walked up the top she looked down at the floor, and saw what the paint cans had fallen into, the paint splattered in a beautiful but completely random pattern, and this put a smile on eve’s face, suddenly from upset to very happy as she looked down at neo now, seeing a tiny artist. 

She stepped off the ladder and knelt down in front of the boy with cupped hands against her cheek. 

“Well hello there little artist! I’m afraid we didn’t get introduced properly… I’m eve.” 

But neo didn’t respond back, he was still startled by the mess he made and worried about the trouble he was in. It was quite clear he was very close to crying… that’s when eve got an idea. 

She went over to her fridge and pulled out one of her Artistic Juice boxes, neo’s eyes almost instantly lit up as he saw her pull it out. 

She walked back over to him with the juice box in hand, as she looked down at the tiny artist, 

“Perhaps you’d like some juice? I find juice helps me when I feel down…” 

Neo bounced as he looked at the extremely tall woman with the juice. Reaching up with the grabbiest of hands, clamming up at her wanting the juice already. 

She pulled the straw off the back and poked it into the top for him, kneeling down as she handed it off. His eyes sparkling for a moment as he took a long hard sip. 

Neon walked back in to see his boy and eve giggling over two juice boxes, their feet covered in paint as they stomped around on the wet floor. 

Neon darted over taking neo up into his arms, a mix of frustration and concern. 

“Thank you miss eve for your hospitality but I think we must be going now.” Said Neon, as he took away neo and carried him back up to their floor, passing by the other boys as they all walked to their rooms for the night. 

Neon set him back down in the kitchen as he sat him against a kitchen chair, pulling his shoes off as they were absolutely covered and ruined with paints. 

Neon was upset for sure, so he left neo in the kitchen for a moment, coming back escorting a half asleep Nova into the kitchen, as Neon pointed down at his feet and the shoes on the floor.

“Look what our boy did, his shoes got ruined!” Neon exclaimed, as Nova began to frown at neo… Neo felt a new level of fear he didn’t know he had before… as he watched his large space dad kneel in front of him, picking up one of his shoes and holding it. 

“Neo… What were you doing to make your shoes all messy?” Nova asked, as neo couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes. 

“I was… painting with miss eve… and stepped in the wet paint…” Nova simply sighed as he shook his head. 

“You can’t be ruining your shoes like this Neo… Your father will take you to get new ones in the morning.” He was so stern and direct, and Neo felt his heart sink… 

“You mean… you won’t take me, Papa?” 

“No Neo, i’ve got work to do.” 

“...But I didn’t… get to see you all day…” 

Neo felt his little heart twist as he was about ready to cry, he hadn’t spent time with his Papa in days it felt like, and it was just too much for him to handle… He tilted his head down as a few tears began to roll down his cheeks, hidden to both of his father’s… as nova simply turned away and went back to bed. 

Neo felt the tears burst like dams holding back too much water, as Nova leaving felt like the last straw. He hopped off his chair with one arm covering his eyes, darting past Neon who was too slow to catch him. Neo ran to his room, eyes tucked into his elbow soaking his sleeve as Neon stood back and just watched him run, gently sighing as he felt pain in his heart as well… 

Neo leapt into his bed, boxes upon boxes of unpacked toys and clothes stacked to adult height levels in his room, the only thing he had ready for him was a blanket and pillow, of which he held onto tightly as he poured the rest of his tears into it… 

Minutes and one tear stained pillow later, neo was laying there clutching onto it still, as his sobbing turned to sniffling and all he could do was look at his door, wishing, waiting, hoping that maybe Papa would come back and apologize, and tell him they’ll look at the stars again together… 

Neo ended up staring at the door for hours. 

Waiting. 

He fell asleep waiting. 

Another time, another place… large fingers, massive like loaves of bread descended down carefully against a workshop desk. Atop this desk laid a small mouse, as if disassembled of all it's parts. One by one the pieces were picked up, cogs and gears, springs and levers, in such massive hands carefully putting it back together again. The eyes put back into place, a tail reattached. But when all the pieces came back together it looked like any other mouse, just with a small keyhole in its back. It was missing the final touch. The massive hands reached into the desk, pulling open the large drawer to reveal a collection of hundreds of keys, various shapes and sizes, materials and textures. It hovered over the pearl section for the longest time, sometimes switching back and forth between it and the silver keys… but ultimately deciding on the bronze keys, picking one up and rubbing it in oil and wiping it clean with a delicate rag, before slowly pushing it into the back of the mouse. Locking into place as it turned the key several times, winding up now… 

The mouse sprung to life as soon as the hands let go, scurrying across the desk before leaping into a grandfather clock and disappearing. 

“You’re coming home soon, neo.”

Chapter three

[shadow--writer]

I Dream of you Almost Every Night, Hopefully I won't wake up This Time

so uh this got so fucking long. Song here (vibe with me)

Maeve x Lucas. First dates gone horribly wrong (or horribly right) 6.4k (I shouldn’t be suRPRISED) 

TW: eel, a bit of blood.

@dela-png

Her footsteps were quiet as she hummed to herself. She held the stems of flowers she had found on her walk to the dock. The sun painted the sky in orange and pink as it slowly started to set. Along the pier were lit candles, flickering with the breeze. 

Her footsteps faltered when she saw Lucas leaning against the railing, a small bouquet of lilies gripped tight in his hand. He looked lost in thought, staring at the water turning purple. 

His outfit was simple enough, yet vastly different from what she normally saw him in. His hair was slicked back, making her smile. He was fidgeting with the cuffs of his jacket, biting his lower lip. As she moved closer she saw that one stubborn curl falling over his eyes and melted a little.

He heard her walking, turning around and lighting up when he saw her. 

She smiled back, waving shyly. 

“Hey,” he breathed as she leaned on the railing next to him. “You um...look…nice.”

“You look nice too.”

It was silent for a moment. “I got you flowers,” he said, face darkening as he held the bouquet out. It was a mix of red and pink lilies. He was acting so weird, it made her giggle. 

“I got you some as well,” she whispered, taking his gift. Their fingers brushed. 

He turned redder at the touch, turning away from her and rubbing the back of his neck. “Y-You didn’t have to!”

She adjusted the flowers in her arms, pulling him down by his shirt collar to kiss his cheek and tuck the chrysanthemum behind his ear. “Neither did you, but here we are,” she whispered. 

“Thank you.” He offered his arm with a shy smile. “Now my lady, would you do me the honour of joining me for dinner?”

She bit her lip as she smiled, pressing the gardenias and other chrysanthemum into his other hand. She looped her arm through his as his fingers closed around the flowers.

“Why my good sir! How kind of you to ask, I would be delighted.”

He grabbed her other hand, kissing her fingertips. Her laughter carried over the wind as he led her to the gazebo. She picked up her skirts as she climbed up the steps, smiling wider when she saw the layout. An old tablecloth covering some boxes, pillows on smaller crates acting like chairs. 

Lucas ducked his head, placing the flowers she’d given him into the empty vase at the center of the table. “Sorry if it’s...a little...underwhelming.”

“I love it!” she blurted out, letting go of his arm to spin around as she looked around the gazebo. Lights twinkled around the roof like fake fireflies. Light magic. An easy spell. 

She kissed her palm, blowing softly into the air. Small glittery lights followed her breath. 

Lucas watched, mouth hanging open in a small ‘o’ as she spun around. The lights gathered around her skirts as she laughed. 

“It’s beautiful,” she said, smiling at him. 

“Y-Yeah,” he said, staring at her. The magic reflected in his eyes, making the blue glow. “It is.”

“So…” she started, pushing her hair behind her ear, swaying a little as she walked over to him. “What’s for dinner?”

“Well…”

“...you don’t know.”

“Yeah.”

She giggled, fluffing the back of her skirt. “Well surprises are always fun.”

“Not when they involve food! Those usually go wrong.”

She only shook her head, pursing her lips in a small smile. “C’mon, where’s your sense of adventure?” She jabbed jokingly at his arm. “Live a little. It’s a date, not the end of the world.”

“But it’s a date.”

She brushed her knuckles against his, humming as she sat down. Her skirt fluffed up around her legs. “I know you’ve been on plenty.”

“A couple but…”

“But?”

“This is with you and I...I really don’t want to mess this up.”

Her eyes softened, playing with one of the magic lights. She blew it off her palm to him. “It’s with me. You don’t have to worry about messing up at all. In fact, I might be the one to mess it up.”

He snorted as the light brushed past his cheek, it scattered into glitter. “I doubt it.”

“We’ll call it even and look back on our mistakes laughing.”

“That is, if you go on another date with me,” he said, taking a seat across from her. She held her hand out, resting it palm up. He took her hand, lacing their fingers. 

“Oh I’m sure I will.”

“Hello hello!” Lilith said, bounding out of the small abandoned restaurant. There was a poorly drawn mustache on her upper lip, and she wore an apron made of a ratty curtain. “Welcome to the best restaurant in all of Vesuvia that doesn’t have a name and totally doesn’t have a rat problem!”

Maeve giggled at the antics as she pulled out a notepad. “What can we get started for you? We have soup. Soup. Soup. And! Soup.”

Lucas snorted. They really were ridiculous. “Hmmm,” he said, tapping a finger on his chin as he pretended to think. Maeve cracked up. “So many options, what am I supposed to do?”

“I’ll have the soup,” Maeve said through her pearls of laughter.

Lilith’s lips twitched and she looked like she was going to laugh too. “And for you sir?”

“All have what my lady is having.”

Maeve fluttered her lashes. “Oh my good sir you are a flirt.”

Lilith made a face. “Hey, don't be gross in front of me. I’m not paid enough for this.”

Lucas laughed, letting go of Maeve’s hand to ruffle the teenager’s hair. “Mmhmm, whatever you say.”

Lilith swatted at his hand, muttering bitterly. She wrinkled her nose at Lucas once she smoothed her hair down enough. “I’ll get your soups out soon,” Lilith said, mock politeness. She made a face at Lucas and he made one back when her back was turned.

Maeve snorted, smacking his arm lightly. He laughed, throwing his head back a little to look up at the lights. 

“So you let the kids handle this one?” she said, catching a light on her palm. “Nervous?”

“Did…they tell you?”

“I figured it out when Lilith was our waiter.” She looked over at him, blowing the light at his face. When it hit the tip of his nose it erupted into glittery lights. “You don’t have to be. You could’ve told me and I would’ve helped.”

He didn’t meet her eyes, watching the lights she blew into his face. “You were just...so excited to see what I’d do.”

She reached over the makeshift table to turn his head back with her hand. She tapped the tip of his nose, sitting back down. Cupping her cheeks in her palms and resting her elbows on the crate, she smiled.

“Lucas. I don’t need a fancy date. The point of a date is to spend time with someone you like. All I want is to spend time with you. Does that make sense?”

His cheeks were red, and he rubbed the back of his neck. She liked the tic, it was cute. 

“W-Well yeah. But I didn’t…”

“If you dare say ‘didn’t think you’d want to spend time with me’ I’m kicking your ass.”

He blanched, before letting out a snort. Then a chuckle. His shoulders trembled as he laughed.

“Good luck, shortie.”

She gasped in offense, holding a hand to her chest. “I will take you right here and now in this dress!” She slammed her hands on the crate, rising to her feet. 

“Maeve, I don’t want to fight you here! Or ever.”

She faked a sneer, sticking her tongue out. “Why? You chicken?”

His eyes narrowed. “Oh well now you’ve crossed a line.”

“My Batsaikhan Karmoiv better not be a chicken. I’d hate to date a coward. What would my father think?” she leered, dancing back and forth on her feet.

He stood with a laugh. “Alright then. Let’s see how cowardly I am. I’ll even go easy on you since I don’t want to hurt you.”

Her pride smarted at the comment, but she only faked a look of relief.

Oh he was playing with fire.

“Why thank you, I’d hate for my pretty face to get messed up,” she cooed, holding her hands under her chin. “And it has been a while since I’ve done this.” A lie. 

He shrugged his jacket off his shoulder, bouncing from foot to foot with his fists raised.

She only hummed, tucking the hem of her dress into her sash (if she flashed him she flashed him. It was a sacrifice she was willing to make). Tugging her hair back with a ribbon tied around her waist she let out a small musical note.

He jabbed at her, and she stepped out of the way. He nodded in approval. Kind in theory, but insulting in practice. 

Humming a bit more, she stepped closer to him, kicking her shoes off. They hit the clothed crate with a small thump. 

He blinked at her discarded flats, lowering his hands. “Why did you do that?”

She popped her back and cracked her knuckles, bouncing from heel to toe with a smile. 

He was quite a bit taller than she was. That much was obvious. She might have to jump. With the force of jumping and kicking she might break his nose. The chances of her breaking his nose were higher with shoes on. Even with the small barefoot handicap she was nimble. 

And thankfully, she had a small advantage.

He didn’t know what she could do.

“So I don’t break your nose when I do this.” With a smile she leapt into the air, kicking his nose and sending him flying into the railing. She landed on her toes, bouncing back onto her heels, her smile turning smug.

Advantage thoroughly destroyed, but oooh was the look on his face worth it.

He leaned against the railing, rubbing at his lip and nose. The skin on his nose was reddening.

“Oh! I’m so sorry I didn’t know what I was doing,” she said, eyes going wide like saucers as she held her hands to her mouth to hide her smile. Her voice just dripped with sarcasm. “Please, go easy on me.”

He cracked his neck with an excited grin, wiping the blood away from his nose. She hoped she didn’t break it. That would be unfortunate.

“Lucky shot,” he joked, bouncing back and forth again. Her eyes narrowed. “You surprised me. But how will you do without your shoes?”

He jabbed at her and she dodged with a forced giggle. She was going to kill him. “Oh my darling I think you almost hit me there!” she said as she danced away from him, spinning on the tips of her toes as she grabbed the pillar of the gazebo. “But you still missed. Better luck next time.”

He didn’t say anything in reply, just came at her again. This time he was pushing a bit more. And he was getting faster. He got her cheek and she knew it would bruise. 

Her smile grew into a grin.

“You know,” she breathed, ducking under his arm. She brushed her fingertips along his skin, moving behind him. 

She kicked the back of his ankles, twisting his arms behind him as he stumbled. With a devious smile she gave him a good boot in the ass to send him toppling over. He managed to regain his balance before falling flat on his face though (boo).

She blew her bangs out of her face with another grin. “For someone so big you’re quite fast.” She crouched, fingers twitching. “But not fast enough.”

His form felt familiar. Street fighter. The way he shifted from foot to foot, judging his surroundings and her. He underestimated her so of course he was going to get his ass kicked this early.

Besides, it was no fun if he didn’t have proper motivation.

“Let’s say we put a little wager on this fight,” she said, lowering her fists. “Since you are having quite a rough time I’ll let you set the terms.”

He shot her a glare with no heat, rubbing his back. “How sweet.”

She bowed. “Like sugar.”

He cracked his neck. “Okay then. If I win, you can’t be mean or sarcastic for a day. And I get to teach you how to cook.”

She batted her eyes, stretching up onto her tiptoes and back down. “And if I win?”

“I can’t drink brandy for a day.”

She tapped her chin. “I’ll make some revisions, seems a bit unfair.”

“Unfair?”

“If you win, I won’t be sarcastic and mean for a week. And during that time you teach me how to cook. If I’m sarcastic during that time a day is added.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Okay…”

“And if I win, no alcohol for a week. You drink and another day gets added. You seemed a little too eager to jump on no brandy so I’m banning you entirely.”

He looked stricken. “You wouldn’t.”

Ah there’s the reaction she wanted. This should make things interesting.

She narrowed her eyes with a cat-like smile, running her tongue along the points of her teeth. His gaze flickered to the movement. 

“I would. Now step up your game and fight me, you candy-ass.”

His eyes narrowed into slits and she lost sight of him. 

She smirked.

Now this would be fun.

His first punch was more of a shock than anything. He got her right in the shoulder, making her spin around to look for him. He darted off to the side, jabbing at her other shoulder.

He wasn’t trying to hurt her, even now. Sure it smarted but it didn’t hurt.

“Not so bad for a big guy huh?”

She smiled, knowing how she could end things. But she didn’t want to spoil the fun so early. 

At least give him a fighting chance.

Oh dear she was getting cocky.

“And you’re a little slow for someone so small.”

Ouch. Another hit to her pride.

She clenched her hands into fists, listening closely. He was light, fast and quiet, but she was barefoot and he was in boots.

There. The light tap of him bouncing up on his toes to keep quieter. 

He moved closer. He was going to go for the back of her head. Hit hard enough and she’d be knocked out, but a nice hit would at least knock her off kilter enough for him to win. 

Which, she wasn’t about to let happen. 

When he was close enough she ducked and elbowed him in the stomach, grabbing his arm and using his momentum to flip him over her shoulder.

The ground shook as he landed, the air being knocked out of him.

His eyes went wide with shock as she straddled his chest and used her palm to smack the inside of his biceps. He let out a hiss of pain and she knew she hit his pressure points. His arms lay numb and flat.

He stared at her for a moment as she blew her hair out of her face. She smirked, leaning closer to brushing his hair back. She tilted her head and her teeth grazed his earlobe as she whispered.

“I win.”

She kissed his cheek, sitting back to look at him. His arms would be numb for a few minutes and when feeling came back they were going to hurt.

He only stared at her, face slowly getting redder as he looked at her. He ducked his head away, his hair coming undone to fall into his face. 

What he did next startled her more than anything. 

He started to laugh. 

She felt herself blush. “Why are you laughing?” She tightened her grip she had on his chest, placing her palms on his sternum. “Lucas,” she whined. 

He looked up at her, smiling so wide she thought his face would crack. The lighting made his eyes soft. “And where did you learn how to do that?” he asked, shifting a little. His arms were still numb.

“What do you mean?”

He grinned at her. “You flipped me over your shoulder. You!”

She puffed her cheeks out in a pout. “Well of course I did! What did you expect!”

“You’re tiny and you beat me in a fight!”

She flicked the tip of his nose, sitting back a little. She untied her hair, letting the gnarled curls fall over her shoulders. Her dress hem was slowly slipping out of where she tucked it into her sash. 

“I have eleven years of training thank you very much,” she sniffed, making him chuckle. She had to fight her smile. She was full of surprises. 

“I would’ve thought you had magic enhancing strength.”

She glared at him from down her nose. “Well I am currently on top of you so we’ll see who should be making the insulting quips.”

His eyes flicked down briefly before he met her eyes again with a lopsided smile. “I will say I do have a nice view.”

She rolled her eyes, pressing the back of her hand to her lips to hide her smile. Flirt. His hands twitched as he got feeling back into his arms again. “We’ll see how you feel about that after you go a week without liquor.”

He groaned. “Do I have to?”

She crawled forward a little, resting her chin on her forearms. She lay just against his collarbone, her back arched a little as she kept her legs tightly around him. “Why yes you do. You made the wager.”

“‘I made my bed now I must lie in it’?” he said with a dramatic eye roll. 

She smiled, pressing a kiss against the base of his throat. “Bingo. But this time I’m lying with you.”

“...uh oh.”

Her smile grew. “‘Uh oh’ is right! I’m going to drive you insane!”

He sighed, not meeting her eyes. But she could see his lips twitch up in a smile. “You already did that.”

“Oh with your months of pining? I went through it as well.”

“Yeah but you didn’t get your kiss rejected.”

“And you didn’t do the rejecting.”

“...how is that worse?”

She snorted as he reached up to brush her hair over her shoulder. “You got feeling back.”

He winced, hissing a little. He brushed his knuckles against her cheek “Did you have to hit me so hard?”

She took his hand, holding it against her face with a wicked grin. “You held back so I didn’t have to. Though...I did hold back a little.”

He glowered at her, she only shrugged. “I could’ve killed ya. Don’t wanna kill my partner this early in the relationship. That wouldn’t be very good now would it?”

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline and his smile grew slightly giddy. “Partner?”

She nodded, biting her lip with a smile. “Well it seems appropriate.” 

“So...you’re stuck with me?”

“Mutually stuck with one another.” 

He brushed her lower lip with his thumb, smoothing out the corner. “I like the sound of that.”

She opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted. 

“...you do know you aren’t alone, right?”

Lilith. 

She jumped off of him, flushing from her toes to the tips of her hair. Lucas’ other arm still seemed numb, but he covered his eyes with his had-feeling-arm. 

Lilith made a face at them, placing two bowls on the crate-table-thing. “Ugh I can’t believe I got stuck with you guys.”

“You volunteered!” Amanda called from somewhere inside the abandoned restaurant. 

“Not for this!” Lilith yelled back. 

“Like you can talk!” Will this time. “You and Amanda are gross!”

Ooh dragged by the seven year old. 

“Hows so?” Lilith demanded. 

Will poked his head out from the doorframe, making a face. Lilith made one back. “When you get all blush-y n stuff. It’s gross.”

“Is not!”

“Is too!”

“Is not!”

“Is too!” He stuck his tongue out at her, Maeve and Lucas shared a glance and cracked up. 

Lilith growled, shoving her tray under one arm. “Enjoy your soups. Emmie made them herself so be nice and don’t die.”

Lucas stopped laughing. “Don’t what?”

She didn’t reply, stomping back to the abandoned restaurant to presumably strangle Will. 

Amanda walked out to greet her, planting a big kiss on her cheek. Lilith froze, and Maeve could see her blush from the gazebo. 

Well that seems to be progressing nicely. 

Will looked out the ordering window, pointing a finger at his mouth and dramatically gagging. Amanda winked at him and he pretended to vomit. 

Maeve snorted, watching Lilith let out a roar and chase him throughout the restaurant. Will squealed, jumping out the window and started to climb. 

“Should we help him?” she asked, looking at Lucas. Amanda’s laughter filled the air. 

He only smiled back at her. “Nah. He can handle it.”

~~

As it turns out, Lucas is a terrible liar. Watching him try and choke down the mystery that was Emmie’s soup (Maeve swore there was sand in it) was amusing. 

Emmie stood on her tiptoes, grinning up at him. “So did you like it big bro...brofther?” Maeve almost melted with how she pronounced brother.

Lucas forced a smile, looking like he was trying not to puke. 

Maeve snickered, pressing her palm to her mouth to stifle the noise. 

Lucas heard it and glared at her. 

“Looking a bit green there,” she said with a giggle. “Need some water?”

“You’re not helping.”

“Lu Lu? Did you not like it?” Emmie asked, her lip jutting out in a pout.

Maeve snorted. “Lu Lu?”

Another glare, this one promising a lecture later. She sat back, amused. He huffed and looked back at Emmie. “I loved it,” he said. He twitched at the lie. 

Emmie lit up. “What was your favourite part Lu Lu? I made it especially for you! Are you gonna finish it?”

He greened again, making Maeve chortle louder. 

“Y-Yeah! I’ll finish it soon, just let me talk to my date for a moment,” he said with a low glance at her. She only batted her lashes back, taking another bite of the soup. All and all it wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever had. 

He looked ready to puke just watching her. 

“No!” Emmie said with a pout. “I want to watch you finish it! I worked hard on it!”

Maeve laughed so hard and abruptly she sputtered out her soup. Oh how was he going to get out of this one?

“Very unladylike,” he mouthed at her, looking ready to throw himself out into the water.

She only straightened her back, sitting poised like a queen looking over her table. Her lips were upturned slightly as she delicately fluttered her lashes. 

He rolled his eyes, looking back into his soup bowl. Emmie bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. 

“You like it right Lu Lu?”

“Lying is very ungentlemanly. But it is very entertaining to watch.”

He glowered at her. “Just because your sense of taste died a long time ago doesn’t mean mine has.”

She dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin, hiding a smile in the cloth. “It’s terrible that you can’t wash it down with any kind of alcohol. I will say the wine makes a lovely pairing.”

“Cruel woman,” he sniffed, making her giggle. “Cruel and unjust.”

“Better eat now, Lu Lu. Your soup is getting cold.”

His cheeks brightened at the nickname and he stared at the soup. When he started eating again he winced between every bite, looking like he was doing his damndest not to gag.

She decided to enact a little mercy on him. “C’mere Emmie, we should get you to Amanda and Lilith again. I hear it’s almost time for one Princess to get some sleep.”

“But I’m not tired!”

“Lu Lu-” If it was possible to turn any redder, he did. And quite frankly, she was loving every second. “-and I will give you our full review on your soup tomorrow if you get some sleep now. Amanda says she has a bedtime story for you.”

Emmie peaked up. “Story?”

“Mmhmm!” 

“...fine. But Lu Lu better eat his soup!”

Maeve winked. “I’ll make sure of it. Sweet dreams now, Princess.”

When Emmie bounded away, Lucas spat out his soup to the side. “Thank you,” he wheezed. 

She laughed. “I’m sure with a little help she’ll get better. Have some faith, mo stór.”

He rolled his eyes, getting to his feet and shrugging his jacket back onto his shoulders. He took the flower she tucked into his hair and put it in the vase with the rest of what she had given him. The small bouquet he gave her sat in a bucket of water by her feet.

He offered her his arm. “Shall we walk a turn around the pier, my darling?”

Her heart fluttered at the nickname. She brushed her hand down the fabric of her dress, smoothing it out. It fluttered around her ankles as she stood, looping her arm through his and pressing close. 

She could feel his heart race a little under her fingertips as she brushed against the sleeve of his jacket. “I’d thought you’d never ask,” she said with a smile, shifting to put on her flats as they walked out of the gazebo and down the small pier. 

“So, where did you learn to fight like that?” he asked, looking down at her. “You never really answered my question.”

“It’s um...a long story. But to shorten eighteen years of my life...it was how I was raised. My dad is a retired general, and my whole culture is surrounded by our fierce fighters and learning how to fight and survive ourselves. Our lands are very rich with farming and mountains so we got...attacked for them a lot.”

“So you were taught how to fight for eleven years?”

“Mmhmm. My parents are highly regarded because of their time, my mom dying to a god themself. It’s a lot of pressure to live up to, even though I know they don’t want that for me.”

She fiddled with the necklace hidden by her bodice. One from her sister, who was also rising in the ranks of the Huntresses rather quickly. 

All and all she was kind of the disappointment of the family. Aislin had already made a name for herself back home. Rhiannon was talented, strong, and just...the pride in her family. 

And all she was...was a failed plague doctor. A failed...a failed person. 

She chewed on her lower lip. She loved her family. She adored them and missed them. But it stung to know that she wasn’t...really anything to be proud of.

“Well I thought it was...um…” his cheeks were red, but he was smiling. “Attractive.”

She snorted, bumping their hips together. “Oh really now?”

“It’s not every day I get put in my place. Well, by someone besides Amani. Or thrown to the ground like that. It was awesome.”

She giggled, pressing her face into his arm. “If you ever want to spar with me or want me to teach you anything here’s the offer.”

He brushed a hand down her hair, watching as her curls bounced back. “I’d like that,” he said softly. “You’re a sight to behold when you fight.”

She fought back her blush. “Spice up that street fighting of yours?” she joked, looking up at him. 

He snorted. “It’s a bit different but yeah.”

“Different? Trial and error different?”

He looked stricken. “Y-Yeah,” he replied, not quite meeting her eyes. He didn’t sound like he was lying. From his display with Emmie she was sure of that. 

But it wasn’t the whole truth either. 

She let the subject drop.

“Hey look,” she said, pointing to the water and letting his arm go. “The sun’s setting.” She moved to the railing, the wood buckling under her hands. 

He watched it move, voice raising in warning. “Maeve move away from there-” He startled her by touching her back, making her jump into the railing.

And it snapped under her hands, falling into the water below and taking her with it. 

...oh goody.

She turned around in her panic as he dashed forward. He reached out to grab her, she lifted her arm to take his hand. Their fingertips brushed as she fell into the water.

The water was a biting cold, strange for an area with such warm climate. It invaded her senses and left her dizzy. 

She was going to drown. 

Her dress floated around her as she tried to swim, but the soft waves kept throwing her this way and that. 

It was dark. Murky. She couldn’t breathe. Her panic spiked as she felt a sharp pain on her calf. 

Her scream was enveloped in bubbles and silent. 

Her head swam with her vision. 

She would not die like this. She fucking would NOT. 

Opening her eyes, the salt burned. She ignored it, trying to figure out which way was up. She couldn’t swim. She knew this. She would sink and die. Lucas was probably panicking and waiting for her to surface-

And what the fuck was hurting so fucking badly?!

She looked down at her legs, spotting a fairly good sized eel. 

Fan-fucking-tastic. 

She kicked at it, but couldn’t get much force behind it. Instead she tried shaking her leg. 

It let go after a moment, her blood a slow trickle and spiral through the water. Her lungs burned, both from inhaling salt water and the lack of air. 

Great. Great. Fantastic! 

She was going to drown on the first fucking date. 

Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her up. 

The air was almost sweet as she gasped and coughed, hacking up water and trying not to throw up everything in her stomach. 

She threw her arms around Lucas’ (she knew it was Lucas) neck and hacked over his shoulder, shaking. 

“I have you now,” he murmured, wrapping one arm around her waist and using the other to slowly move them to shore. 

She spat out water, burying her face in the crook of his neck. He smelled nice, and it was grounding. The skin there was rough with those odd cheetah like scars. She gently kissed them, trying to slow her racing heart. 

“You okay?” he asked as they slowly washed up on the shore. 

He let out a small yip as she breathed softly against his neck. He smelled savory and like seawater. She wondered what he was cooking before the date. He was warm despite the water’s chill.

“D-Doing better,” she replied, hissing when he shifted. Her leg ached, almost burning.

“You don’t sound it.”

“Mmm,” she hummed with another pained groan, throwing an arm over her eyes. “Might’ve gotten bit by an eel.”

“...you what?!”

She groaned again, rolling off of him and onto her back. The water lapped at her ankles, blood leaking from the wounds on her calf. 

Eels and those damn double jaws.

Lucas, bless his heart, started to freak out when he saw the amount of blood.

“What do I do?! I don’t have any of your fancy whatever they are or your expertise with eel bites.”

She pressed the palm of her heel to her eye. Judging by the slow ooze no arteries were hit. She didn’t feel a tooth either which was good.

“Just…” she hissed, pain sparking up her calf. 

“Can we use sea water? It’s all we have around us.” He sounded panicked. She appreciated it, but it really wasn’t anything to panic about.

She reached out blindly, finding his leg and patting his thigh. 

“Sea water is fine. Clean the sand away. We can…” she was sad about this option but she really didn’t feel like bleeding on the dress. “Tear the hem of my dress to make a bandage.”

“We can use one of my bandages.”

“You…” she squeezed her eyes shut with a shuddery inhale. Ouch this hurt. “Have extra?”

“No. The ones around my arms are clean though. It should…be fine. Fine. It’ll be fine.” He was saying it like if he didn’t she’d die.

Touching, but she was insulted he’d think an eel could take her out that easily. It was a bite to the leg.

Sure she was in a shit ton of pain but one eel wasn’t enough to take her out. 

And even if it did, she would live out of spite. Who wants to go down to an eel? Her family would never let her live it down. She would not stand for that humiliation.

“Fine!” She hissed through her teeth. “Just be careful with the bite.”

“You’ll…be okay right?”

Her head lolled and she glared at him. “If you got me killed because of an eel I’m going to haunt your ass.”

“Haunt me?!”

She hummed in response as he unwrapped the bandages around his left hand. “Yes. You’ll never be rid of me.”

“And what happens when I die?” She looked at the blackened skin on his arm, brows softening. 

What happened to him?

“I kill you a second time.”

He snorted, propping her foot up on his knee. “Ah so that’s how that works. Good to know.”

“Of course that’s how it works! I, Maeve, the great and powerful all seeing and knowing say it so!”

He laughed, resting his forehead against hers. She was glad he wasn’t freaking out anymore. Her heart had slowed to its steady pace, she let out a small happy hum as she closed her eyes. The water lapped at where they sat.

“So,” she started, her eyes fluttering open. His eyes were a very vibrant blue, she loved them. She wanted to paint them. “Do you always get your dates bit by eels or am I just lucky?”

He sputtered. “Maeve!”

She kissed his cheek with a soft giggle, pushing herself up and out of the sand. Her leg ached but it was nothing life threatening.

He rose up to his knees, staring at her. She breathed in once. She was never going swimming again.

She caught his eye and smiled. “Aww all this trouble for a date and you haven’t even kissed me yet.”

He let out a startled chuff, making her smile grow. 

“Why don’t you kiss me?” he asked after a beat.

She moved closer to him, brushing his hair back. Water trailed down his cheeks and lips. She brushed it away with her thumb and kissed the salt water off her skin. 

“Hmmm, only if you say please.”

“Please?”

“Well, since you asked so sweetly,” she whispered, brushing his hair back from his face and kissing his forehead.

He let out a tiny whine, making her giggle.

“Okay okay. But I can finally reach your face so let me savour this.” She kissed above his brows, his eyelids, his temples. She buried her hands in his hair, tugging his head back a little as she kissed both of his cheeks, whispering soft things in her language. 

He sighed, eyes fluttering shut as she kissed his earlobe and down his jaw to his chin. She flicked at the piercing under his lip with her tongue before nipping at his lower lip.

“Please,” he whispered. The word gave her pause, making her heart flutter with how he said it. 

She smiled before pressing a kiss against his lips, his hands firmly planted on her hips as she rocked back and forth. He didn’t taste like the abomination of soup they had, but instead of something strong. Different spices that left her dizzy. 

“Thank you for saving me,” she whispered, brushing his cheeks with her thumbs.

“You really should learn to swim,” he whispered back.

“Har har. Good luck.”

He snorted, trapping her legs between his. She had to lean down a little to kiss him again, playing with his hair. Water fell between her fingers.

“Let’s get you home before you get sick,” she murmured, breath fanning his face. He rubbed his nose against hers, sighing softly.

“It’s you I’m worried about.”

“I’ll be fine. We can go back to my clinic to fix up my leg and get into something warm.”

“You think you have anything that I could wear?” he joked, getting to his feet.

She started walking away, swaying her hip as she limped. She looked over her shoulder and winked. “I’m sure I have a few blankets or a towel.”

He laughed, jogging after her and scooping her up and out of the sand. She giggled as he held her close against his chest. 

He kissed the back of her neck, nuzzling the skin there. 

“I can walk you know,” she said, shifting around to look at him. He tucked his arm under her knees, cradling her close with a smile. 

“Yes, but you’ll be limping all the way back. This will be easier.”

She sighed, resting her head under his collar. “Fine. Just this once.”

He kissed the top of her head. “We both know that’s a lie.”

She laughed, kissing his neck. He wasn’t wrong. As much as she complained about being carried it was...nice. She let out a happy hum, tracing the scars on his neck with her fingernails.

He shrugged out of his jacket, placing it over her, making her laugh. 

“Lucas, leannán, this isn’t any help.”

He chuckled, pressing his forehead against hers. “You looked cold though.”

“Because of you!”

“Hey, I’m trying!”

She giggled, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Besides,” he murmured. “It looks better on you.”

“Everything looks better on me.”

He snorted, nuzzling her hair and letting out a small sigh. “Despite getting poisoned by Emmie, you falling and almost drowning...”

“Then getting bit by an eel,” she added, making him cringe. 

“Tonight was…” he paused, looking out at the stars with a soft smile. His eyes reflected the soft light. Gods she wanted to paint his eyes. She wondered how he’d react to her doing so. “Fun. I don’t know when I’ve had this kind of fun.”

“On a date?”

“Yeah.”

“It was fun kicking your ass.”

He snorted. “It won’t happen again I can guarantee.”

“We’ll see about that, Mister ‘I have to go a week without anything alcoholic to drink’.”

He pouted, making her giggle. “Mean.”

She tapped his arm, tugging him down to kiss him again, the water softly washing up against the sand. She liked how he felt. How he tasted. 

“Fear caillte na himeartha goirt.”

[alias-b]

Nothing Lasts Forever.

Summary. The town of Derry changes people. Sends them running away. What it draws in is arguably worse. Humans create the hate and evil monsters come to feed off of. Eleanor Baker knew that well at a young age when she stumbled upon a painted figure in the distance. Pennywise never forgot the girl without fear. It’s possible that they haunted each other.

AN: I take no responsibility for this. Me flexing some horror and hopelessness bc I have nothing left to lose here. Wrote this to work through some things and sorta in love with it. TW: Should be obvious. Trauma. CSA mention. Abuse. S*xual references. G*re. S*icidal thoughts.  Death. Pennywise F*cks and it’s canon. Sorry, Mr. King.

Pennywise x OC Eleanor Baker ~ Also on my ao3

   They say she saw It first.

   They say she smelled the circus. Sugary sweet and the rusting of metal.

   They say she heard the bells toll soft. Once. Twice for her.

   They say she felt no fear.

   A branch cracked under pristine shoes, distracting a clown in the midst of hunt. The prey; small and blue eyed, barely five years old, ran into safe arms where their family set up camp for a weekend by the lake. 

   Body twisting around, It saw her last. Six years old. Curious green eyes shimmered even under grey skies. Pigtails. Feet behind her, father was hunched over to change a tire with mother beckoning from the window. Pulled over to the side of the road near a Derry forest. The Baker family. Well known and beloved because they had money.

   “Eleanor. You’ll ruin your new shoes. We can’t be late for your recital. It’s going to rain!” Mother’s voice went under heard. Leaves rustled while the clown made a path to slink toward her. Her lips parted, eyes fixated and unblinking. Yellow eyes faded to baby blue like the pretty jewels her mother wore. Safe.

   They were face to face. Drool dripped to hit her once untouched shoes. Those bejeweled eyes surged from that delicate blue back to a hungry orange, glowing brighter and yet he smelled nothing. 

   She had no scent. No fear. A deep, wide nothing. Vast as the ocean could reach. There was no advancing, no will to bring forth the deadlights. She’d probably think they were pretty stars watching over her. Cinderella wishing for a fairy godmother and a prince to whisk her away. He could only watch her make an utter fool of him. Somehow that charmed.

   “Eleanor, now!” Came the shout from her father. A drop of red emerged from the trees. Shiny and terrible. “Where did you get that?”

   A red balloon skimmed against the breeze.

   “From the clown.” She said, getting into the car. “He gave it to me.”

   “Enough playing around, Nell.” Father pressed her inside. The grip was lost along the tangled string. That spot of blood floated up toward the endless sky. Became a floating star too. She wished to float with it. 

   Eleanor danced her little heart out. Prima Ballerina in the making. Perfection was not everything, it was the only thing. She gazed into the audience beyond the balmy stage lights. Rows and rows of orange eyes. Glowing into her. No fear to be cast. Not for any of them. This world didn’t deserve it.

   She saw It again that same week. When they attended a big family reunion. Picnic and all. And her uncle pulled her into the closet full of coats and old board games that were gathering dust. He called this a game too. A secret game. 

   After he’d decided the game was over, a pang snatched his heart to squeeze. Gushing. Eleanor saw those glowing eyes from the shadows. Thought for a moment it was the old cat who roamed the grounds.

   Her uncle asked for help with no breaths left. Tore her frilly dress clutching at her. Hit the hardwood with a finishing crack. Blood pooled.

   Nell didn’t want it to stain her shoes or Mother would be upset.

   That white face bent down toward her. Spine curving to push out against skin. Utterly inhuman.

   “Can you smell the circus, Nelly?” Painted lips full of clustering teeth rumbled. She blinked. White cheeks threatened to tear open with the grin curling.

   “Yes.”

   Little, pretty bells chimed in the ruffles of his garment as he laughed. Soft and sweeter than any sound in this world.

   "Who are you?"

   "Pennywise. The dancing clown." He caught her looking at the body behind his feet.

   Big eyes full and empty.

   “Oh, don’t worry about him, he won’t float.” The clown paused. “You’re a little wonder, aren’t you?”

   She said nothing to that.

   “Go on, grow and see if the world devours you. Tumble back to the weeds where I'll find you again.” His own curiosity was a growing sickness. This fragile human. Unbreakable. 

   The thing about Pennywise was he never considered himself the villain. He only came to feed when that evil and hatred humans brought this world was potent. Natural order. Clockwork. Wolves feed on sheep. The worlds spun on.

   Predators tore into prey, he wouldn’t apologize for that. He didn’t create the hatred, just fed from it. Didn't stop it either. Little dash of fear did a body good. Gave it a sweeter taste.

   Fear was painfully human. A trait that tore us open to display the soft underbelly because it betrayed us down to the core. Granted us something to overcome. A test of endurance. Truly let our true colors pour fresh and obscene. Beautiful. Even when it overcame.

   Pennywise gave her head a pat, leaned down to whisper into her ear.

   “I see into your blackest heart of hearts, Nelly, deep down you’ll know. You'll always know.”

   The door opened. Tiny footsteps away from the dark and the figure there always watching her. Like the stars above in a black sky.

   “You’ll know.”

   Eleanor walked downstairs. Out into the sunny day full of festivities and family. Asked her aunt for another piece of cake. Frosted with yellow buttercream flowers. They discovered her uncle in that closet at the same time the flies found him too.

   They found the cloth clutched into his meaty, stiff hand and began to ask questions. She didn’t want to talk about the secret games he played when she was in that house. They sent a bolt of thunder rattling into her brain. Unraveled the synapses.

   Her mother burned the cloth. Vowed to never speak of it in hopes she would forget. Children forgot things all the time.

   Nell never forgot. Not for a moment. Not her uncle or her festering relatives who seemed to easily put her in the back of their memories.

   She wanted them to always remember too. If anything, they owed her that much.

   The pictures her mind fleshed out with crayons were not what children should be drawing. Twisted bodies sometimes. Other days, it was those eyes. Molten lava. Mother and father decided this wasn’t something they could deal with. Seeing her looking so still and motionless around the house like a ghost was too much. Knowing they failed their daughter was just too much. A lock clicked.

   They put her in a place that watched over mistakes of all ages from rich families. Paid it well. They told Eleanor it wasn’t her fault and yet, she was the one locked away in a tower for it. She was the one ignored and doped up.

   Ten years and she gave them nothing. Years of homeschooling. Counseling. Medications. Years of sticking her tongue out to swear she’d swallowed her pills. Years of giving them nothing. No laughter or tears. She never hurt a fly and she was the monster.

   Sometimes, it was easier to become the monster they wanted, she supposed.

   Eleanor got out and married the first man who smiled at her. Called her pretty. Just to be away from mother and father. They’d rot in the weeds soon enough. The rest of her family dwindled. Terrible accidents. She vowed to never reproduce to spite them.

   Husband played games too when dinner wasn’t just right or when she dressed just a little against his wishes. Seven miscarriages. Too many broken promises. A car accident pulled his body apart. Left her with some money to return home. 

   Mother and father needed her now, sick and dying in their lavish beds. Life always went on in Derry. Father went still snug in his tomb a month later. Few more weeks and mother’s harsh insults became apologies.

   This girl she ignored was all she had left.

   “Nell, I hope you can forgive us.” Her mother croaked one day.

   “You’re free to do that, mama.” She’d turned and came to sit on the bed.

   “Do what, my dear?”

   “Hope.” Eleanor tucked some brittle hair from mother’s face. Made room for the pillow she pushed into place. Eight minutes and it was over. Twenty seven years and members of her family dropped like flies. She told herself it was a curse. Or fate.

   Bloodlines dying had never been so beautiful. Not built to last forever. Not at all. There was justice in that much.

   Both Eleanor’s parents became ashes in two ornate urns. She drove them out to the Barrens and poured them into the festering waters. Stinking of Derry’s rotten bowels. Wind swept. Picking up green and brown leaves. Wading the waters to give them some appearance of peace.

   Nell didn’t smell the stink of death. She smelt the circus. Hot buttery popcorn and cotton candy. Twang of metal from the old, rusted rides whirling all directions. A child’s laughter echoed out from the giant pipe ahead. Covered in sludge and moss. 

   She followed the lively sounds. Enticed. No long holding to this world. Another one awaited. It always had. Marked with two glowing orange eyes.

   Reminded her of the lights twinkling every Halloween. Jack-o-lanterns you couldn’t blow out before midnight because it was against the rules and would bring you bad luck.

   Through watery rot and dead leaves, Nell went into the pipes. Caught glimmers of light between cracks. Felt her way. Heard the uttering of the seven children she lost beckoning her home.

   Down.

   Down.

   Down.

   Ruined her clothes in the trance. Clawing for more because the world couldn’t hope to deliver. Into a massive nest with a skylight. Candlelight danced. She heard the trill of a music box until the room came alive. Whirled from rust and rot to marble and gold.

   Prettier than her wedding day. A church with decorated pews of red taffeta. White roses hanging from every corner. Petals crying into the cherry wood floors.

   A man smiled at her who wasn’t Husband. Sharp, brooding face. Swept brown locks slicked like Clark Gable. Pink lips curled and crystalline eyes gave a twinkle. A white suit and one red rose at his breast.

   She came to him when he reached. Body heavier because a dress dragged behind her. Full skirt of those same delicate white roses. Tight bodice that twinkled under candlelight. Nell smiled too. Utterly lost and found all at once in this room that smelled like decadent caramel apples. 

   A gloved hand curled into hers.

   “Am I dead?” She asked.

   “Oh, yes. For twenty seven years now. You wandered the Earth. But, you're home now.” That voice. All shivers. Chilling until the candles started to snuff out. “That was not life, Nelly. You existed by a thread.”

   “Nelly.” She mused in her deepest dream of dreams. The hate and the neglect and the sheer evil brought by humans who were supposed love and protect instead tore her soul far asunder.

   The man leaned in near her hair. Inhaled.

   “Nothing. Even still.” He recounted the memories. All those times he tried and failed to devour her. “Little wonder.”

   "Pennywise." She puffed, barely audible.

   “I watched you dance. All those years. You can dance down here too in the dark."

   Nell realized as he brought her out for a romantic spin. She’d been seeking him out all her life. All the decay and twisting vines in her soul. Begging to just cross over and stop this pain. But, he wouldn’t finish it because she had no fear. So she danced until the room began to peel. He wiped his cheek on one sleeve. Peachy makeup smeared the fabric to display that red smile upon white skin. 

   She pushed off him. Watched blood rain and melt the rest of it away. This place. A nest. A stomach. A pile of trash and metal twisted up toward the sky. Gouging. Figures floating around it. Waiting. Sleeping soundly because evil couldn’t touch them anymore. At the very least. They fueled something brand new.

   No cry. No scream. Nell succumbed. Stumbling back into a worn mattress as the clown crawled up toward her at some inhuman speed. Slapped his hands on either side of her head. They just breathed.

   Existed together in one space.

   Sometimes good and bravery didn’t blossom from overcoming fear. Sometimes you still wanted to die because enduring a lifelong ache was not growth. It just hurt. There was power in it, but it fucking ached.

   It burned. Plenty of things in her life burned. The scorn of her parents. Her uncle's games. The rotten nurses tossing her around. Husband's hands indenting skin.

   But, Pennywise didn’t. He just showed up to watch the fires grow hot and breathless into a black sky. The terrible view was still a breathtaking thing. Something shattering to become a supernova. Rebirth.

   Enduring pain was worth it. That sick curiosity that there was something more to life. It was worth it. So, fight. Endure. Ache. Be human while you have the chance in an inhuman world because it needs you.

   Gloves opened her dress. Tore layers of tulle and chiffon. Slashed silk. Hands pressed against his chest. Not pushing or pulling. Just holding. Shifting over thick, stitched cotton. Ruffles swayed. She felt a heart beat so hard there under her palm.

   He was alive. Something brand new. Not of this world.

   “Am I like you?” She begged finally. Years of searching and asking why. He stopped to see her green eyes. Glowered. One blue, one orange.

   “Not yet.” Was the truest answer he could form. Fingers gripped his fabric sleeves. Twisted just to hold onto something tangible for the first time in all her existence. Alive at last in this place. Water droplets echoed distantly. “You cannot last forever. Nothing lasts forever.”

   Except love, she thought. Except desire.

   Pennywise seemed to hear it even still. Felt the truth of it carve out his heart that was still beating powerfully. Profoundly.

   Something flayed her open. Pushed inside. Made her moan deliciously until two gloved fingers touched her mouth. Bodies connecting. Moving together.

   There were hands everywhere. Stroking soft caresses up and down her naked flesh. It felt like a million little pieces of candlelight were swirling up her body. Those same orbs that had been following her around for too many years shined behind his eyes. Resonated. Beautiful.

   She made out parts of him between thumps. Orange hair. Pristine paint. His mouth on her skin. A heart that was pumping vigorously. Low rumbling growls. Nell felt she’d been starved all her life and was finally feeding. Finally letting the ache flood out that she’d held onto for too long. Finally alive. Feeling. Deep down and drawing in it.

   Her voice came to beg for more of him. Hands grasping to touch him back. To delve into this earth and just feel. He touched her everywhere. Lips and neck. Down her breasts. Between spread legs.

   The combined sensations made her cry out for him to never stop. A gloved hand on her jaw brought their eyes together. Hot, wet touch. Boiling. The peak shattered them both. Nell fell to shuddering pieces. Curved up. Moaning and shameless. Weight fell into her body so lips could touch her own. Once. Just once while they were warm.

   Pennywise lifted off fully to see her eyes. Inhaled again and got what he’d sought too. Years and it was finally there.

   Those green eyes glimmered at him. A waft of sweet candied apples bubbled with heat. Fear. Clear as a crystal, dewy morning. It was the most beautiful thing in the world.

   There was finally something found that could be lost. Something she sought out and held and hoped for.

   And the fear of losing it was almost too much to bear.

   One gloved finger caught a tear that trickled out from the corner of her eyes.

   “Please.” She said, unable to find much else. Like she wanted him and nothing else for the rest of these long days. Do it. Just do it. Nell’s hand lifted. Gentle fingers drew lines along his face. "Pennywise. Please."

   It was a soft prayer.

   He lunged down. Sunk teeth into her tender neck. Tore the scream out before she could hope to give it. Nell choked there. Made an odd sound like she was laughing. It bubbled. Claws grew out from those gloves. Shoved forth into her raging heart. 

   A squelch.

   Her lips were still upturned when it was done. Green eyes pointed on him. Peaceful and bloodied. Naked under the moonlight. Dripping rubies.

   He tossed his head back and wailed. Teeth sharp and bared. Bloodied. Lost. A shattering sound that bent time and space apart. Pennywise plucked her up. Climbed high and vast to the very top of the twisting pile. Watched the dead children float like little falling stars. Something to make wishes upon. Peaceful for only a second in this life.

   He placed her there in a sheer drape. Closed her eyes. Let the deadlights swelter above them. Spinning all directions. 

   A scar thickened.

   Three days passed. The deadlights danced high and wide. Fluttering like a swarm of butterflies. The world spun on a new axis. Pennywise sat below upon his stage. Curved over in wait. Marble statue. 

   A low rumble like a purr erupted. Dainty feet came to him with a newfound grace. Little dancer. Deadly ballerina all porcelain and blushed. Blood red shoes made soft taps across the stage.

   A white hand touched his shoulder. His little wonder. Bells tolled distantly three times.

   “Can you smell the circus?” Her voice poured white hot. Purring louder so he'd feel it vibrate his own chest.

   Lips curled wide. Split. Pennywise rose to see her in the light. Perfection. Those green eyes shimmering like emeralds. Haunted. Totally alive and willing.

   “Yes.” He hissed. Cupping her face to see the angles. Not ruining the permanent brushstrokes that came with her rebirth. “Yes, I do.” A bond struck.

   I do. I promise. We'll float. Always.

   Nell smiled to match him. Totally and irrevocably his equal. A pulse of light drew them together. She granted him a single kiss, tasting candied. A new horror in this world hungry for the evil it would always bring.

   “We were built to last forever.”

[tiny-smallest]

in little ways

Rating: G Characters: Steven, Greg Warnings: none Description: The world changing is inevitable, but there’s one thing that will never change in Steven’s life.

Also on AO3!

—

Holy mother of god did I finish something? Slap a hammer in my hand and call me jesus because I’m making miracles.

—

Steven Universe is five years old. He wakes up in the little guest room of Miss Vidalia's house that he lives in every winter when Daddy says she goes to visit her family and crawls out of bed, gulping back tears as he pads his way down the hall to the living room where he shakes his father's sleeping form on the couch.

"Da-daddy?" His tremulous little voice sounds way too loud in the quiet house.

His father is awake in less than a few seconds, sitting upright with a soft gasp and rubbing at his eyes and Steven bites his lip, reaching up for his father's arms. Daddy reaches down and scoops him up and Steven nestles right under his chin with a sniffle, rubbing his nose on his pajama sleeve. "What's wrong, Schtu-ball?" he soothes, fingers stroking through his curls, eyes worried in the light from the street outside.

"Ba-bad dream!" he sobs in a wail, tilting his head back as it comes bursting out of him. "The-there was- there was a bi-big- a big robot! A-an' and it gobbled you all u-up and then it cha-chased me an'-"

"Shhhhhh sh sh shhhh." Daddy's hand is big and warm on his back, rubbing circles into it. "Deep breaths. A bad guy came and ate me?"

"Mmhmm." Big, wet eyes peek pitifully up at him from his chest. "A-an'- an' I was all 'lone."

His father presses a kiss to his forehead, his voice warmer than any blanket. "I'm sorry. That must have been so scary. But I'm right here, kiddo. It didn't happen and it won't ever, okay?"

"Mmmnnn."

"... How about this; why don't we make a plan in case it ever does? That way, you'll know just what to do."

He sniffs. "O-okay..."

"Okay." He smiles, and it is soft and gentle and nothing will ever hurt them ever, so long as Daddy is here. Steven lays his head against his chest. "So here's what we do..."

The rest of the world melts quietly away.

—

Steven Universe is seven and sitting in the van, plucking quietly at his ukulele. His tongue sticks out of his mouth, tiny fingers carefully working to coax the right notes from the strings.

Despite his hard work, the intense concentration, a string snaps. It avoids catching his fingers and the sound isn't even especially loud, but the suddenness of it pulls a sound that is part squeak, part yelp from him.

"How's it going, Schtu-ball?"

He looks up to find Daddy putting a knee onto the edge of the van floor, leaning over to pull a water bottle from the package they'd stopped to buy on their way here. His eyes stray from aiding him in freeing the bottle from the plastic to looking over at Steven with a smile.

The smile fades, a frown of concern taking its place. "Steven?"

Steven looks down at the broken ukulele string with a sniffle.

"Oh," comes the response, further softened. "Here, let Daddy fix that for you?"

He holds his hands out. Steven lifts the ukulele up and over his head, Daddy accepting the instrument and pulling out a repair kit from where it sat behind the box of water bottles.

Steven watches in silence as Daddy pulls out a string and sets about restringing the instrument. He watches as he slides the string through the hole in the back of the piece of wood--the bridge, Daddy had called it--and tied it in place, then pulls it a few inches past the tuning peg he was going to tie it to. He snips off the excess and feeds it through the tuning peg.

"You know," his father says as he worked, "you've been snapping strings more often than usual. Is something wrong? Are you stuck on something?"

Steven shakes his head without really thinking about it. "Jus' not payin' attention as much as I should."

"Oh, well- that happens sometimes." He looks up at him and smiles kindly at him, eyes crinkling at the edges. "It can be hard to focus if you're thinking about something else. Maybe that's a sign you need a break?" He lowers his head to resume his work, but keeps talking. "Remember that talk we had about burnout?"

Steven nods without really thinking about it. There is something really nice about watching him work. He watches Daddy's hands, rough with callouses, carefully work with the tiny pieces of the instrument to restring the ukulele, turning the tuning peg afterwards to tune it.

He wants to be able to do that someday. Maybe he should ask.

What would be the point if you can't play and your song's awful?

"What if they don't like it?" he mumbles.

Steven doesn't realize he'd said that out loud until his father's head jerks up with a look of surprise. "Huh?"

"Nothing," he says quickly, kneading his too-large shirt in embarrassed fistfuls.

Daddy reaches over to draw his fingers through his hair. "Kiddo, is this about the song you wrote for them?"

Steven hunches his shoulders with a wince, but the gentle touch coaxes his head up. His father is still smiling, eyes kind with understanding.

"It's scary," he soothes, "putting your work out there. I know."

He returns to the ukulele for a moment and finishes tuning it, handing it back to Steven before sweeping the small boy onto his lap. He cuddles him close, Steven laying his head back against Daddy's stomach.

"Sometimes you realize how what you made has your heart and soul in it, and it's really scary, exposing that heart to other people. But the gems love you, kiddo. And they'll be so proud that you wrote something for them- much less that you can play it for them!" Steven closes his eyes, listening to the smile in Daddy's voice. "They'll love it because it's your heart and soul. And honestly, also because it's really good."

Steven makes a little noise and his father gives him a light poke.

"I mean it, mister. You've got real talent!"

Steven blinks and looked up at him. "Really?"

"Mmhm." Another poke, to his side. That tickles! He giggles. "With your cute lyrics-"

Another poke. Steven squirms, giggling louder.

"And your nice harmonies-"

"Daddyyyyyyyy!" He tries to shove at the hands both poking him now half-heartedly, overcome with squirming laughter.

"And can't forget that nice angelic voice-"

"Eeeee noooooooo stoooooop!" Steven begins poking his father's belly, making his daddy laugh too. His father lifts the ukulele over his head and begins to tickle under his arms, making Steven shriek with laughter, but he stops after a second and Steven mimics him, prompting his father's own snorts and shouts.

It ends with his father lying on the floor on his back and Steven on his chest, smiling into his face.

His daddy smiles back, laying a hand on his head.

"You do your old man proud already." His eyes shine. "I can't wait to watch you grow up, kiddo. I love you."

Steven wraps his little arms around his father as best he can. "I love you too."

—

Steven Universe is ten, and the autumn breeze is cool on his back as he sits on the bench and swings his legs, ukulele on his lap, fidgeting with the strings. He is bored, frightfully bored, the feeling nails scraping along the inside of his brain, but he just has to try to be patient just a bit longer.

The wind blows a ballroom of fall leaves past him, dancing and twirling on the updraft. He could write a song to that, right? Yeah, he could!

little leaves fall from the trees come twirl up a dance for me! play on the breeze on your way towards the sea come twirl up a dance for me!

He's getting better at the ukulele, he thinks. Dad ran out of stuff to teach him ages ago; said he'd covered all the bases and now there was nothing to do but play. Hone his craft, Dad said. But don't overdo it. Burnout was an awful monster.

So he's careful to follow that advice. But it's hard to, sometimes. He loves to play and write music. He loves snatching new songs from thin air and breathing life into them. He doesn't think he could live if he couldn't create it, play it, learn it, listen to it.

It's like breathing. If he can't do it, he'll suffocate.

He assumed for awhile that everyone was like that. It was jarring when he learned the other children in town didn't experience the same thing.

It's still confusing, even now. Maybe he could understand if there was something they needed the way he and his dad need music, but one of them just... doesn't seem to have that.

It was when he realized that that he also realized this same boy was usually alone. And he always seemed so sad.

Steven swings his legs again, plucking a few idle notes. That song needs work, but he's not feeling it right now. Doesn't mean he can't try coaxing other music from his instrument, though.

How long does it take a bus to get from Ocean Town to Beach City, anyway? Drive faster bus man! I'm dying!

A honk startles him and his mouth falls open as the bright yellow bus pulls up. "I SUMMONED IT!" he crows as the children file off the bus. They all look at him, but he's only looking back for one boy-

And there he is!

"LARS!" He leaps up and waves, and the other boy flinches back, staring at him first in confusion and then... frowns?

The other kids are staring too. Weird.

"St-steven- what- what are you doing here!" He recovers fast, hands on his hips. Steven smiles despite the scowl.

"I waited for you! I thought we could go to the arcade-"

"No." He glares around. Steven isn't sure who he's glaring at. The other kids are gone.

Lars's face relaxes a bit when he realizes this, and without another word, he turns to walk away.

"W-wait!" Steven jumps up off the bench. "I- I thought-"

Lars doesn't stop.

"O-okay! M-maybe tomorrow then!" Still nothing. "Uh- Saturday! Saturday's fine!"

Lars turns the corner. Steven droops.

"They've got a Saturday special?" he pleads to no one.

The leaves whirl again. Steven watches them before sighing and grabbing his ukulele.

It's a quiet walk to the car wash. He finds his dad just inside the building with the big brushes, hosing it down, and can't find the will to wave when Dad waves first. The bright smile droops, and Dad turns the hose off as he draws near.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked, setting it aside.

"Lars didn't wanna go to the arcade," Steven mumbles, folding his arms across his chest. His father pats his shoulder.

"Maybe he's just busy?"

"Maybe..." He looks away. Dad crouches onto one knee.

"Maybe he's just grumpy. Maybe he had a bad day and he needs space." He hesitates. "Maybe he's just- not a very nice kid."

Steven balks. "Oh no! He's not a bad kid! He's just sad."

"Those things aren't exclusive, buddy."

His dad's voice is gentle, but Steven isn't having it. "But he just looks sad! Maybe he's scared of anyone knowing."

He fidgets.

"Or maybe I'm just not doing it right," he adds in a sad little whisper.

"Oh- Steven, no..." Dad cups his face with both hands. "... One of the hardest lessons you'll ever learn is... sometimes you can be the nicest you you can be, and it still won't be enough."

He tucks a particularly unruly curl behind his ear, something in his eyes heavy. "Sometimes people just aren't compatible. And sometimes they're just mean. That's not your fault, son."

"... But he seems so... lonely. Won't he feel better if he just has a friend? Doesn't he just need a friend...?"

His father's smile was sad. "... He probably would feel better if he had a friend. But you don't need to be that friend."

"But I wanna be."

Dad kisses the top of his head.

"You're a sweet kid," he murmurs. "But you don't need to be everybody's friend."

"I wanna be his. He's nice. I like him."

His father let out a soft sigh, cupping his face. "Maybe he really is just grumpy today, or sad, and needs space. But there's no shame in leaving something be."

Steven's insides squirms. "I... I wanna keep trying. But... he doesn't wanna today. And I don't wanna go alone."

Dad straightens up and looked around the car wash, a hand still on his head. "... You know what? It's been a really slow day here, stchu-ball. Let me finish up here and I'll close up early, and we can go."

He brightens, feeling the stars return to his step as he starts bouncing. "Really!?"

Dad never closes up early, though!

He smiles at him. "As long as you don't mind hanging out with your old man."

"Never! Never ever! Oh my god c'mon dad let's go let's hurry up what do you need help with-"

His father's laughter echoes around the building as Steven grabs the hose and charges deeper inside.

—

Steven Universe is fourteen, turned fourteen three days ago, actually, and is standing side-by-side with his father at his bathroom sink, razor held in nervous, twitchy fingers. "Like this, right?"

"Yup, just like that. Now you want to put it against your face like this-" Dad demonstrated with a razor of his own, the protective plastic casing over the blade to avoid actually maiming his beard. "And then slowly, carefully draw it down. No need to rush."

Steven draws the razor down his face in a slow but shaky motion, letting out a soft gasp of pain. "Ah!"

Dad winces in sympathy. "Well- close, yeah. You okay? How good did it get you-" He leans over his son to check without waiting for an answer. Steven let him look at the cut on his chin for a moment before reaching for the box of bandaids, his hand touching his father's hand instead of the box. They look at one another and laugh.

"Sorry," Dad apologizes as he withdrew his hand to let Steven take the box, smile sheepish. "Guess you can uh- patch up your own cuts, huh?"

"Well I mean..." He looks at the weeping cut and winces. "... Yeah, but still. Thanks."

He blinks as Steven opens the box and fishes out a bandaid. "For what?" 

"For taking time out to help me," he answers as he peeled off the paper and aligned the cotton part with the cut. "I guess I was a little eager and a little too nervous at the same time?" He laughs, a little shakily. Like his hands. "I always mess up worse when I'm like that. Too excited to do the thing and too nervous to really stop and think and steady myself so I can do it right."

His father's warm hand comes to rest on his back, and when Steven looks up and over at him, it was to kind eyes gazing down at him with a fondness beyond measure. "Everyone's a little nervous about new things. Even good things. Especially big, new things, like milestones."

Steven thinks about the way Connie smiled at him, and cuddled into his chest, and how the wind had tugged at her curls in the summer sunset. Like growing up and falling in love? he wants to ask.

"Like shaving?" he asks instead.

"Like shaving," Dad ruffles his hair. "And sometimes you make mistakes, but that's learning any skill. Your old man will always be here to help you master them, however long it takes."

Steven looks back into the mirror, at the only facial hair he'd grown and yet still somehow managed to miss.

Connie declaring she liked him even if he didn't grow at the same pace as her, would always care about him, something that felt so, so obvious in hindsight by how she panicked when she thought he'd melted into a microscopic thing.

"Even if it takes awhile?"

"Always."

He stares at their reflections, side-by-side, the hand on his back, and picks up the razor again with a smile.

"Thanks."

—

Steven Universe is sixteen and sitting across from his father at breakfast, resisting the urge to swing his feet like a child because the buzz in his brain and the core of his being won't go away.

He meant it when he told Dad he thought he could pull off the new look, he really did. Dad is Dad and will always be Dad, no matter what his hair looked like.

And it is because of that fact that his gut still aches. As his father makes small talk about the weather and Little Homeschool and some of the new Beach City gem residents, Steven finds himself staring at the short hair, especially when Dad turns to address their waitress, removing the threat of him noticing Steven staring for about a minute.

He sees the look she gives them, too. Not many people know the Universes that well, but everyone knows of them. Dad is less invisible to the fellow humans of Beach City than he is to the gems that inhabited the town to work and learn and play. While they remain oblivious to the fact that something awful must have happened, the human townies sure aren't. Their waitress's look is one of nosy worry.

Steven prays she won't act on that worry.

He likes to think that all these years together means he can read Dad like a book. Every gesture, every crease and line in his face, every widening of the eyes. Steven prides himself on reading people in general, and he knows his Dad better than he knows just about anyone else. Better than just about anyone else knows Dad, actually.

And what he reads right now are glaring signs of upset. It shows in the slight shake of his hands when he goes to cut his waffles, the lines around his eyes, the slightly-too-wide look he throws the way of the door when it suddenly opens with too much force because quartzes never know their own strength ever.

It reminds him of when they escaped the Zoo. The tremors, the fake smiles, the frightened eyes that sometimes glazed over. The realization he'd failed in his promise to make sure gem stuff never touched his dad again was something that had hit him earlier, but it doesn't make the resurfacing of that realization suck any less. His gut feels like lead, filled with so much guilt he could be sick with it.

His dad trembles a little all over as the quartzes step inside, crowing about... something he has no context for.

He desperately doesn't want anyone to call attention to it. Dad's already not having a good time. Please don't make it worse.

Thankfully their waitress does not. She sticks around for a second as Dad cuts into his breakfast, left frozen for a moment by the sudden loud entrance of the quartzes, before smiling at them and going to see what the gems might want.

His father laughs, a little too forcefully, and shakes his head. "You'd think they'd learn how light wooden doors are sometime!"

"You'd think," Steven manages to chuckle, shoveling a bite of pancakes into his mouth. It tastes like sawdust. Maybe the cook's new.

Something must have shown on his face, because Dad pauses before lowering his fork and reaching across the table. "Hey," he says softly. "Are you okay?"

He asked that question not even an hour ago and somehow it's harder to answer this time.

"Yeah, I'm fine." He forces a smile. It must not have worked, because Dad's frown only deepens and the knot in his forehead only gets more pronounced. "Really," Steven adds.

"... I know what happened this morning was- scary." Dad's grip tightens on his shoulder before letting go. He doesn't return to his food so much as push it around on his plate a little. "I know you said you were okay earlier but- really- if you need to talk-"

"No, I'm fine," Steven promises. The words fall out so easily and naturally he barely hears himself say them, doesn't have to think about it. "Really."

Dad puts his fork down and looks at him with a gaze so strongly empathetic that Steven for a moment fears his father is actually staring into his soul. "... I believe you," he said after a moment. "But if it ever suddenly becomes... not fine, come tell me, okay? I won't be bothered by it."

Steven nods, still smiling. Dad said the same thing when he kept asking after the Zoo, kept getting the same answer, but really, how wouldn't it be a bother? Dad had his own worries then, and he does now.

Dad believed him after the umpteenth time of being promised he was fine, his gentle offer always present each time but especially stressed the last time before he dropped the questioning entirely, and this time is no different.

If only he had believed Dad's promise in return.

—

Steven Universe is seventeen and curled around his phone, under his comforter, trying to ignore the sunlight against his bed.

He should get up. He should go take a shower and brush his teeth. He should get something to eat. He should go sit outside. If absolutely nothing else, he should do just that really short list.

But he can't move. He should get up. He should get up. Why can't he move? He notices a pink glow against his phone and lets out a noise somewhere between a whine and a growl.

"Schtu-ball?"

He jolts, brain taking a minute to catch up to reality. Steven pushes his comforter aside a little to peek out, his father's worried face looking back.

At the sight of him, Dad's concern melts into a smile. "Hey," he says in hushed tones. "How're you feeling?"

Like I can't even talk. He gives his father a grimace. A knot of concerned sympathy set itself in Dad's forehead.

"Want food?"

Does he? He thinks he does. He should eat something anyway. So he nods. Dad smiled at him and straightened, leaving the room.

Steven isn't sure how much time passed in a foggy haze, but it's disturbed when Dad returns. The smell of pancakes make him blink, pushing his comforter aside to sit up.

"You didn't have to-" he starts, voice cracking as his father passes him the plate. His creaky protests are immediately smothered with a very careful hug.

"I did," Dad soothes. "And I wanted to."

"But-"

"Shhh. No buts." He draws back, smoothing back Steven's hair as he sits on the edge of the bed. "Is it a talking day? Or a quiet sharing space day?"

Steven hesitates before holding up two fingers.

"You got it." The large hand begins to rub his back in circles as Steven rubs tears from his eyes. Stupid! Why is he crying!?

He's nibbling at the meal when his father adds, very quietly, "It's a lot. Sometimes things overflow. It's okay to cry. It's okay to talk. It's okay to not talk. Whatever you need, I'm here."

He turns to look at his father's face, at his dark brown eyes filled with so much love, before he rubs his eyes and begins to eat, really eat- slowly, but surely.

He leans into Dad's side.

Dad pats his back.

—

Steven Universe is eighteen. The world snaps into focus with jarring, sickening suddenness, like he just fell from one plane of existence to another. In a way, he did.

He lays there, gasping in the silence that thunders in his ears, in the thick heat settling over the room. He shudders, feeling tears track down the sides of his face, head full of cotton and fog. Where is he? What day is it? What time is it? It's dark.

He doesn't like that it's dark.

He tries to get out bed. Falls. The thud shakes the house and Steven whimpers as he tries to kick away the sheets twined around his leg, the feeling of being pinned making his stomach turn. He succeeds, flailing to his feet, opening the door to the balcony.

He hesitates, slams it shut, runs downstairs, and flees out the front door instead, taking the stairs two at a time and nearly falling his way down them.

The sea spray is a nearly welcome bite against his skin at first, but despite doing better to draw him into reality, it doesn't make the sick pit in his stomach go away. He is now wide awake, painfully wide awake, and yet every fiber of his body still shrieks sirens. His pulse is near painful.

He slows to a stop along the beachfront, doubling over, hands on his knees, breath coming in gulps and gasps.

What now?

He could go find the gems. He has full access to the temple, welcome whenever he wants.

He doesn't want to find the gems. They can't help him here.

Steven takes a moment to contemplate the trembling of his body before he admits what it is he actually needs to do, and he straightens, turning to jog back around to the boardwalk. Reaching where the wood meets the sand of the beach and the grass of the hill, he runs up the block towards the car wash, feeling his gut churn. He doesn't realize until he stops running that he'd even started, chest heaving.

He hesitates at the sight of the van before he pushes back the faint this is dumb this is dumb this is duuuuumb you're too old for this sort of shit echoing in scolding bursts from the back of his head and stands on his tiptoes to peer through the diamond window in the back of the van.

There's Dad, asleep, bundled comfortably in what was probably a more orderly setup at some point and during the night devolved into more of a nest than anything else.

Overpowering relief sweeps in like the tide he had just been running adjacent to a few minutes ago. His knees turn to jelly and a powerful burn creeps into his eyes, Steven covering his mouth and putting his back to the van, sliding to the ground and stifling as a sob. The van is icy against his back even through the random yellow shirt he'd decided to designate a pajama shirt. His hand finds his hair, grasping fingers twisting themselves into his curls, his other hand still over his mouth.

It's unusually chilly for a summer night. In two weeks he leaves for his road trip. These are random facts that have nothing especially to do with the situation and yet they're dredged to the forefront of his mind. Why?

Steven takes a moment to sit with the thought. The former is probably just because it's miserable. He's miserable. He doesn't want to be here, in this moment, right now, and the chilly night air is compounding his inner turmoil. The second...

Can he really say he's ready for this venture when just a single nightmare is enough to rip him apart like this?

It's a thought so upsetting he yanks himself away from it like touching a hot stove. His therapist would be disappointed in him for not engaging with the thought. He really doesn't have the energy to do much but hate his cowardice for a brief moment and then try to move on.

Dad. Dad is fine. Dad is safe. You can go home now.

... But he doesn't want to.

The thought makes his stomach squirm. What is he supposed to do? Wake Dad up? Bother him with the figment of his imagination? Hey Dad, I know it's like three in the morning, but funny thing- I had a dream about Eyeball and Aquamarine using that knife to do exactly what they were planning! So, how about the weather, huh?

No, he really doesn't think he had to bring that up again.

... He could wake him up without telling him details, though. Should he wake him up? Would that be selfish?

He could hear his therapist. "Steven, people love you. Let them love you. It's not a crime to accept the different ways they love you even when it inconveniences them; relationships are give and take."

Well, guess Dad's getting his money's worth, he thinks, slowly, shakily rising to his feet.

It still feels wrong. It's the reminder that Greg would be even sadder if he didn't wake him--even if Steven knows that's not the proper motivation--that makes him swallow and knock on the window, finally.

Greg jerks, sitting upright so quickly Steven can hear his back crack. This was a mistake.

But it's too late now. Greg's head turns towards where the sound came from, blearily blinking sleep from his eyes, and freezes as awareness hits. He scrambles up to his knees and Steven can hear him fumbling to crawl over to the doors, throwing them open as Steven makes his way around to the back. "Steven? Steven what-?"

"Hi Dad," he whispers around the thick lump in his throat, feeling supremely stupid, standing there shivering the way he is.

Dad makes a soft hushing noise, ushering him inside with sweeping gestures of his arms, and Steven is too weak to resist, especially since he did just wake the man up. He crawls inside, Greg immediately bundling him in one of the blankets he'd been using for sleeping before hugging him tight. Steven watches as he unsuccessfully tries to close the door without letting go of him by hooking his foot on the inside handles, but he manages it before Steven can apologize and move to do it himself.

"You're freezing!" he laments, letting go of him just enough so as to lean back and get a look at him. "What happened!?"

Feeling his father's warmth retreat even just a little leaves a yawning yearning somewhere in his center. Without giving himself time to think much more on it Steven moves forward to follow his father's movement and buries his face into the crook of his neck. "Nightmare," he croaked, willing his voice to hold and disappointed it doesn't do anything of the sort. "I just- I just had to make sure you were okay."

The tenseness in his father's form melted a little with the promise of no imminent threat, Dad reaching up with one hand to softly stroke his fingers carefully through his hair. "Oh Steven..." He felt his father's face press against his head for a moment and only half swallowed the whine that slipped out. "I'm here. Everything's okay. You need to talk about it?"

"No no nO NO DON'T PLEASE STEVEN HELP-"

He couldn't shake his head, buried against him like this, but he untangled his hands from the blanket enough to fist them in his father's shirt. You can feel his pulse like this. This is him. He's okay. He's alive. They didn't hurt him. You didn't let them. He found a way out, and you made sure they didn't go into the house after him, and then the gems squashed them outside.

"... I can't," he pleads. His father's arms squeeze him tighter.

"Writing?" comes the soft suggestion.

"Not this time. Not-"

Would he be ready to share this anytime soon?

... No, he can't promise that. He can't say 'later' when he didn't know when that would be. It would be too much like lying.

"Not yet. Dunno if soon."

"Okay," Dad soothes. He begins rubbing circles into his back. "Do you want to stay the night?"

"... Do you mind?" His voice sounds pathetic even to him.

"Never," he promises.

Steven swallows back a sob with a gulp and nuzzles his face into Dad's shoulder. His father's chest begins to vibrate as Greg starts to hum; a low, soft, gentle white noise he's heard a million times.

And will a million more, Steven realizes.

And will a million more.

Steven lets the heavy tension begin to leave, feels the coiled bands in his muscles loosen.

He lets his heavy lids finally close.

The rest of the world melts quietly away.

[copias-thrall]

There’s Magic in the Night

A new year is breaking, and it's full of possibilities.

⬅️ Previous

(Reminder: not Repugnant accurate.)

It’s a 15min walk from the nearest subway stop in a part of the city that hosts low-income and broke college folk, and you’re beginning to wonder if your heeled boots were the best choice—but the shiny patent of them so nicely offset your cheap pink and black tulle skirt and fuzzy black crop sweater with inlaid tinsel that you’d decided on form or function. You’d almost changed your top when Mary had knelt and given your tummy a raspberry where it hung over the waistband a little, but his cute little pout had placated you a little after you’d threatened to do just that.

“You want a piggyback?”

“Nah, I’m all right, Mare. We’re almost there, right?”

“Yeah.” 

Using his chin, he indicates a house down the block with a light on in every window and that’s lit up with string lights. It’s a little run down, but not falling apart. The neighborhood is full of three-story homes that are either co-ops or rented out by various floor configurations. 

You’d tried to follow his explanation on who he knew and how, but the most you’d retained was that of the 6 people who rented the entire house, Mary knew 2 of them intimately. (“Yeah, they’ve had it every year that they’re lived there. I’m pretty sure a good third of the crowd is party crashers, but the more the merrier, right?”)

The closer you get, the louder the din from the house becomes—it sounds like there are 4 different playlists fighting for dominance, and the crowd ASMR is strong. There is a gang of smokers spilling from the front porch, down the cement steps, and clumped into murders in the small yard.

Ed and Dee are leaning against the railing on the steps, shivering in their best band tees as they take drags of their cigarettes.

“Hey, man!” says Mary as he leans forward and engages them both in a sloppy approximation of a cool, secret handshake.

“Hey, Goore!”

“Long time no see, dude.”

You nod at them, and they nod back.

“Where’s the rest of the gang?” asks Ed as he strains to see behind you in the dark.

Apparently Mary usually pregamed with his bandmates and then they headed over en masse later in the night. Horrified, you’d tried to convince him to uphold the tradition, but he’d insisted he could break off one year (“I’m not gonna toss you to the wolves, Suey. I see those assholes all the time.”).

Mary blows out a breath, and it hangs in the air like the puffs of smoke.

“Still pregaming. They’ll be by later. I wanted to give Suey the grand tour.”

Mary makes a sweeping motion, then wraps that arm around you. Ed and Dee’s eyes flick back to you.

“He’s a fucking liar; he was afraid one of you would steal me away.”

Ed coughs out the drag he was taking, and Dee snorts.

“You’re killing my street cred, woman.”

“Whatever, dude,” says Dee with a smirk, and Mary glowers at him. “You wanna bum one?” Dee holds out his pack as if in contrition.

Mary’s hand twitches, but he shakes his head.

“Nah, dude. Not unless it’s that chronic shit.”

“Yeah, they got those somewhere.”

“Cool. Cool cool cool.”

A few merrymakers exit the house—laughing and screaming—and they push by the lot of you as they presumably journey on toward another party.

“All right, dudes. We’re gonna go make the rounds, get some cold ones. See you on the other side!”

“Sounds good!”

“Do it.”

Mary ushers you inside, and—despite the open door—the warmth of the house hits you, making you feel suddenly uncomfortable in your winter coat. Like the outside, there’s a general mass of bodies that are sectioned off (in the hall; on the stairs; spilling out of the kitchen; lounging in the living areas) like music notes in a run of measures. You spot a worn-looking chair that’s piled high with coats, and you go to toss yours on, but Mary grabs your arm.

“Geez, Suey. You wanna get your coat jizzed on?”

“I—what?”

“C’mere, let’s not add our stuff to the pile that’s gonna make someone a nice sex bed later.”

He yanks your coat out of your hands and opens a door that leads to the hall closet. A beach ball tumbles out and is joyfully absconded with by a trio of party goers walking by, and Mary catches one golf club in his hand as it falls out from the top shelf and another under his arm. Unfortunately, he doesn’t catch the one that hits his booted foot, but you managed to stand on tiptoe enough to prevent the entire bag from depositing its contents on Mary’s head.

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

Between the two of you, you manage to get the clubs back in order from whence they fell.

You can see that there’s other junk up there and in the back—whether it lives there permanently or was just shoved in there pre-party, you guess you’ll never know—but there’s an entire row of coats on a rod, which seems to be the closet’s main purpose.

“Here.” Mary rifles through the mess until he finds a free hanger. It takes some adjusting, but he finally gets his leather jacket and your coat onto the same hanger and manages to squeeze it back into the mass.

“OK. Let’s go find Shonda.”

“Not Murray?”

“Apparently he’s elsewhere tonight.” He shrugs.

There’s a sudden squeal of voices, and when you turn, you see Kara and Elsie hurrying toward you. Elsie is in a sequined dress so garish it must be fashionable and Kara sports a sparkly red sweater over black jeggings that she’s wrapped fairy lights around.

“So you’re not dead!” says Kara

“Uh … no?”

“Christ, I would have called you, but I’ve spent the last few days with my head in a toilet,” laughs Elsie.

“Yeah, thanks for that guys,” says Mary. “What I really wanted to do at the crack of dawn was take care of this lush.”

“Pffft,” snorts Elsie. “You’re one to talk, Goore. As if your head doesn’t live in the toilet.

“Yeah, total karma, Mary. Remember that time you got your stomach pumped?”

“Jesus, Mare,” you say at him with a bemused smile. He scowls.

“Look. Honey whiskey goes down easy.”

Elsie and Kara cackle before grabbing up your hands.

“C’mon, let’s get you a drink, hon,” says Kara.

“What about me?” pouts Mary.

Elsie sniffs over her shoulder at him as she pulls you down the hall.

“Sorry, Goore. Girls only. Go set shit on fire or something.”

“That was once!” you hear Mary call down the hall after you.

“Wait—what did he set on fire?”

Elsie looks at you and mimics locking her mouth and throwing away a key.

The kitchen is full of bodies. In one corner, there’s a game of beer pong set up, and in the other, people are digging beer containers out of a giant cooler. On the counter are a few bowls half-filled with various snacks—the other half of which seem to be spilled over the counter and crushed into the linoleum floor. There’s a dark-skinned woman in a black & white plaid rockabilly dress and red cardigan who’s struggling to empty a bag of ice into a second cooler.

“Here—let me help, Shonda,” says Kara as Elsie leads you to the full cooler.

Shonda looks up. “Yeah, could you? Dunno where my asshole roommates are.”

By the time the two of them have the contents of the bag in the cooler—the cubes sliding in with a rough whoosh and plinking softly over the beers in the bottom—you and Elsie have fresh beers that she’s poured into solo cups.

“Thanks, Kar.” Shonda wipes her hands on the bottom of her dress, makes a face, then fumbles for a dingy kitchen towel hanging over the fridge door handle.

“Shonda,” says Elsie, catching the woman’s attention. She pushes you forward a bit. “This is Mary’s new squeeze.”

“Oh, um, hi.” You stick out your hand.

“No shit.” Shonda gives you a once over before giving your hand one firm shake. She nods a few times. “Yeah, ok. I see it.” She pats you on the arm. “Good luck with that.” She turns to Elsie. “Is that little shit here? We need to have words.”

Elsie jerks her thumb over her shoulder. “We left him down the hall.”

“He can run but he can’t hide,” Shonda says as she stomps away in impressively high red heels.

“Do I need to go defend his honor?”

Kara snorts.

“Nah,” says Elsie, waving your question away. “She’ll probably just make him do the heavy lifting the other stooges wheedled their ways out of.”

“He is stronger than those skinny arms make him look,” you muse.

Kara leans in. “Oh?”

You grin at her.

The two of them lead you into what must be a dinning room that seems to be the official set up for the snacks and libations. A bar with liquor and mixers have been arranged in the built-in, and there’s a folding table in the corner with an array of chips, snack foods, and a pile of wilted-looking pizza boxes. There’s a center table—which looks more permanent—that some sort of drinking game is occurring over.

You make a beeline for the pizza.

“I think I need a good base.”

As you juggle the pizza slices on a plate on the top of your cup, Kara and Elsie talk rapid fire across you, sometimes asking you questions (about you, about Mary, about you and Mary), other times going into long-winded stories about people you’ve never met, but are hilarious nonetheless.

“Fuck. I’m not drunk enough for this party yet,” Kara laments.

“Well, yeah,” says Elsie. “I thought we’d get our game on.” She pokes you in the belly, and you suck your stomach in away from her touch. “You done ‘getting your base’ yet?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” You dump the paper plate and crusts into a trash bag slumped in the corner.

About the time Elsie is squeezing you three into the game at the table, Mary wanders in. His face brightens when he sees you, and he makes his way over to you, wrapping his arms around you from behind.

“There you are, baby doll.”

“I thought I told you ‘girls only,’ Goore,” says Elsie.

He jabs a finger at her. “I gave you more than enough time to monopolize my girlfriend, Ford.”

“Just keep your dick in check.”

“I do what I want.”

For the next half hour, you engage in a rousing game of flip cup, which you have always been terrible at, but Mary seems to dominate. By the end, Kara and Elsie are hitting their buzz—playfully shoving themselves and others—and you’re beginning to feel more at ease in this sea of unfamiliar people.

Ed and Trevor wander in and motion to Mary, but seem to address the whole crowd.

“Yo!” says Ed. “Wanna go upstairs?” He stimulates smoking a joint at Mary.

“Yeah, man!” Mary turns to you. “You wanna join?”

You shake your head. “Can’t. I get tested.”

“Laaaame,” says Kara, and you jump because you didn’t realize how close she’d gotten.

“You sure it’s ok?” Mary scrunches his face.

“Yeah, Mare. Go! Be free!”

“Don’t worry, Mare,” says Elsie coyly as she drapes an arm around you. “We’ll take good care of Suey.”

Mary looks horrified enough that you think he might change his mind, but then Ed and Trevor are pulling him away. Elsie looks down at you.

“What did you do to that boy?”

You squint up at her. “What do you mean?”

Kara insinuates her way in between you and hands you both disposable shot cups.

“She means you’ve got him pussy whipped.”

You scrunch your face further. “Mary? He’s like a stray cat that shows up sometimes for food.”

“Is the ‘food’ ‘sex’?” Kara jumps her eyebrows at you.

Laughingly, you shove at her. “Maybe.”

Elsie throws her hands up. “PUSSY. WHIPPED.” She downs her shot.

You and Kara follow suit.

“Ok, but seriously,” you half cough as you wipe a dribble off your chin. “Mary does what he wants. I don’t tell him what to do.”

“Aww, hon—we know,” says Kara. “Elsie is just giving you a hard time.”

Elsie shrugs. “I’m a Class A Bitch.”

“She is,” agrees Kara. She turns her cup upside down; a few droplets drip out. “Hey, bitch—go get us more suds!”

“Demanding,” grips Elsie, but she turns to make her way into the kitchen.

You and Kara wander over to the food table to graze, the howls from the newest drinking game dolcet background noise.

“Hey, I know Elsie tends to make people butthurt, but she just has no filter.”

“Oh. No, it’s fine.” You shrug. “People tend to think I’m an elitist snob, so I try to be, um, more open minded.”

Kara grins at you. “‘Splains why you’re dating Mary.”

You throw a withered carrot stick at her. “Don’t fucking call me out like that.”

Kara laughs as she tries to block the attack. The conversation seems to stall after that, so you try and dredge up a question.

“So you guys know Mary from high school or something? Mary was … vague.”

“Just Elsie. That’s why she’s a little protective. He’s seen some shit.”

“Yeah, I know,” you say quietly. You turn to look at Kara. “Did they ever …?”

Kara waves her hand at you dismissively, swaying slightly. “Shit, we’ve all fucked around with each other at some point or other.”

Your eyes bug out. “You and Mary?”

She snorts, and leans toward you at a dangerous angle. “Well I never slept with Mary. But I’ve been with Elsie and Dee, and Mary with her and Trevor, and Trevor and Dee had a thing with Ed.” She screws up her face. “I think I got that right. I can never keep it straight, honestly.” Kara shakes her head out; then her expression changes and she bites her lip. “Shit. Maybe I shouldn’t’ve told you all that.”

You pop a Jax in your mouth. “Mums the word, sister”

As she’s giving you a sloppy, grateful smile, Elsie finally appears—tottering carefully—with three solo cups precariously balanced between her hands and tits.

“Shit—come get your drinks.”

You and Kara scramble to relieve Elsie of her haul without dropping the prizes as the drinking game breaks with an Awwwwwww.

“You guys wanna with another round?” Elsie throws her thumb over her shoulder as she sips from her cup.

“Fuck yeah, you know it!” exclaims Kara as she throws her hands up, beer spilling over the side.

After doing OK in a few rounds of Finger Spoof (you’re feeling the buzz nicely), you look around and realize you haven’t seen Mary in a while. You leave Kara and Elsie to their own devices and head into the kitchen. Grabbing your own solo cup in your teeth—ignoring it as some of its contents sloshes over the side and down your chin—you fish for a lite beer floating in the lukewarm cooler water for Mary.

If you can locate him.

He’s not in any of the rooms downstairs, nor is he outside with smoker’s club. You make your way up to the second floor, hoping he’ll be easy to find up there. There’s a door that’s locked and another where there’s a group hanging out on the bed and each other as Kpop loudly plays.

You find Mary in an open bedroom full of haze. He’s softly strumming an acoustic guitar—his fingers fumbling slightly on the unfamiliar strings as he tunes his way up the frets. He’s propped up in a corner, legs crossed under him, as the others in the room pass a joint around.

Picking your way carefully through the crowd, you make your way over to Mary. People shift and sway out of the way and scoot over when you smush yourself in next to him.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” You lean your head onto his shoulder, and Mary passes off the guitar to someone else. “Where’re Ed, Edd, and Eddy?”

He snorts.

“Went in search of snackies.”

He looks down at the beers resting in the small slick of condensation on the floor and licks his lips.

“One of those for me?”

“Yeah,” you say as you hand him the room-temperature bottle, which he takes up and chugs half of in one go. Watching his adam’s apple bobbing, you lean in to lick his neck. Mary jerks, then coughs, half spraying the beer out his mouth and nose. A few people squeal in surprise as you cackle, and Mary glares at you, wiping at his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his shirt that he’s curled over his hand.

“Fuck. You’re a pain in my ass.”

He drapes his arm around your shoulder, the bottle in his hand resting on your arm. The person who has the guitar now is strumming up a familiar song, and soon everyone is singing along (screaming or shrieking off key in some cases). Under the guise of getting his drink close to his mouth, Mary subtly maneuvers you into his lap—his other hand sneaking up under your shirt hem to rest on the curve of your belly with the tips of his fingers brushing just under one cup of your bra. You’re too loose from the drinking game to really care, so you lean back into his chest, warbling along to the tune as well.

You’re swaying, drink in hand, as you screech along to another song, when suddenly you become very aware of Mary’s erection pressing into your ass.

You turn your head. “Seriously?”

He rumbles into your ear. “Whaddya want? You’re squirming on my lap.”

Giggling, you purposely grind back on him, and he grabs your hips.

“Fuck, baby doll—keep that up and I’m gonna make a mess.”

You lean your head back on his shoulder as you circle your hips.

“You love making a mess, Mare Bear.”

He leans down to bite at your neck.

“I love making a mess on you. Not in my pants.”

“So stop me.”

Mary’s arm comes around your waist, effectively pulling you flush against him.

“FucK.”

More people wander in as the songs turn from nostalgic familiars to those of the drinking variety, and they raise solo cups and bottles in joyful celebration.

Everyone is sloppy; some sway to the rhythm of the songs, others drunkenly half mosh, spilling their drinks everywhere. You grinding your ass back into Mary—and him twitching up into you—is hardly a blip on anybody’s radar. His head thunks down onto the slope of your shoulder, his hips wanting to rut faster than subtlety or your own movements allow.

People are stomping, clapping, and spraying beer on each other as they half mutter words to drinking songs they realize they only half know.

Mary is a mess, trembling as he presses into you and mewling softly with each pass. Conversely, you’re having a grand ole time: rocking your hips as you sway and sing along to whatever the person in possession of the guitar is currently playing. Ignoring your own wetness and the growing throb in between your legs, you try to give him the pressure he needs.

You can feel his chest heaving into your back and the sweat from his forehead on your skin when it’s clear he’s getting close. His limbs shake as his arms squeeze you tighter, his movements almost stilling to nothing—and then he blows out a held breath like a drumbeat, his crotch pressing into you in pulses as he bites down into the juncture of your neck. Gasping, you spill a good amount of your drink as you jerk forward—Mary still rutting shallowly into you.

A few people cheer at your party foul—which hopefully takes any attention off Mary, who is clearly no longer hiding the fact that he’s cumming hard in his pants. He finally slumps behind you, his arms loosening and sprawling open.

“Shit,” he says.

You lean back. “Mmm … good?” you purr.

His hands sneak back under your top to sink into your flesh, and he leans up enough to whisper into your ear.

“You’re a fucking menace.”

“You could’ve stopped me.”

He growls. “You know what you touching my dick does to me.”

“Was I, though? Touching your dick?”

Mary rubs his face into your neck as his hands squeeze your chub.

“Close enough.”

“Get a room, Goore!” screams someone before some of the group toss a couple of empty solos your way.

Mary looks up and grins.

“Maybe I fucking will.” He starts to stand up, bringing you with him—probably to hide the wet patch on his jeans. “See you losers later.”

There’s a general chorus of hoots and whistles, but mostly the crowd goes back to their drinking songs.

“Are we really getting a room?” you ask—arousal curling—as Mary directs you around the second floor, hands on your hips to keep you in front of him.

“A bathroom, yeah.”

There’s a slight wait—one Mary fills with his roving hands and lips—before the woman ahead of you stumbles out, wiping her wet hands ineffectually on her party dress.

Mary ushers you in, locking the door behind you. The two of you look down to inspect the damage. It’s actually not terrible. You can hardly tell at all on his jeans, and Mary undoes them so he can half shuck them down. His boxer briefs are a completely different story; they’re visibly soaked through at the top, and when he peels away the waistband, he reveals a sticky, slimy mess coating his stomach and flaccid cock.

“Shit. This may be a lost cause,” he says as he inspects the inside of the fabric.

“TP?”

“Yeah, unless you wanna lick it off …” Mary looks up at you with a smirk. “Which would be kinda hot, actually.”

“Sorry,” you say as you roll toilet paper around your hand, “but I like my jizz how I like my coffee: hot and fresh from the source.”

He runs a finger through the mess and then wiggles it at you. “It’s still kinda warm!”

You wrap your mouth around it because it’s the last thing he expects you to do.

“Uh …”

He’s momentarily rendered speechless as he watches you suck his finger clean and then smack your lips as if appraising.

“Nah. None of that reheated crap either.”

He blinks down at you. “Should I be horrified that I’m rubbing off on you?”

You give him a smile with your tongue half sticking out as you rub the wadded up toilet paper across his belly.

“I’m pretty sure I was just rubbing you off, Mare.”

Mary’s hands come up and sink into your hair. “Shut up.” He pulls you into a deep kiss. “Fuck. Love it when you tease me,” he says as he pulls away.

“I know.” You beam up at him and continue trying to clean him up.

He looks down at himself. “Fuck it.” He goes to toe off his boots, realizes that he’s wearing his “dress boots”—the less-scuffed ones that lace up to his knees—and snarls in frustration.

When he goes for the medicine cabinet, you step out of the way and toss the slimed wad of paper into the toilet. Making an Ah-ha! noise, Mary turns to you and snaps a pair of hair scissors triumphantly.

“Do the honors, will ya?”

“Wait—you want me to … cut your boxers off?”

“I’m sure as fuck not taking these boots off or spending the rest of the night marinating in my own jizz.”

You snort at him. “Whatever you want, Mare Bear.” You shuffle forward and hop up onto the sink. It only teeters a little.

“Hey! Hurry the fuck up in there!” comes a male voice through the door accompanied by banging.

“Fuck off, I’m taking a dump!” barks Mary.

“Dude,” says the voice, but the banging stops.

Mary shifts forward into the V of your spread legs as he hands you the scissors. He keeps his face close to yours. “Try not to cut off anything important,” he breathes at you.

“Of course—you’re no good to me clipped.”

His eyes meet yours, then travel down to his crotch. Carefully (willing your eyes to focus), you start from the top down, snipping the fabric—bunching it up with each shear—until you reach the end of the leg up to the crotch, Mary only flinching slightly (“Careful with the goods, woman!” “Fucking hold still!”). Once each side is cut, Mary and you work together to pull each half free.

As you ball up the front half to toss into the trash basket, Mary uses the back half to wipe up the lingering stickiness coating his cock and stomach.

“Better?” you ask when he’s finished and zipping his jeans back up, the other half of his boxers joining its twin in the trash.

He wiggles a bit. “Eh, it’ll do.” You expect him to back off, but instead he crowds closer. “What about you, baby doll? Maybe I should check on you.”

Before you have a chance to respond, Mary is shoving up the layers of your skirt and pressing his hand into your damp tights. You gasp at the sensation.

“Hmm,” he rumbles, “seems like you could use some clean up yourself.”

And then he’s maneuvering his head in between your spread legs, trying to position your knees over his shoulders. You let out an Oh, as your hands fly down to brace yourself on the edges of the sink; Mary growls in frustration as he tries to first pull down your tights, then to rip them apart to no avail. Before you can stop him, he’s picked up the shears and has snipped a slit in your crotch.

“Mary!” you yelp, but he just dives back down, tongue wiggling through the rip in the fabric to trace your seam before delving into your folds to flick at your clit. At the burst of sweetness, you moan, and your head thunks back into the mirror.

Head swimming, you lose yourself in the feel of his tongue as it swirls around your nub and then presses into it a few times before he’s sucking it in between his plush lips. He repeats this process, sometimes running his tongue down to your entrance and then back up, and at others holding the tip directly on your clit until you start squirming in frustration … only to then flick repeatedly back and forth.

A finger enters you, and you cry out, “Oh fuck,” as you tighten around it. Mary starts to slowly ease it in and out of you as his tongue continues its massage of your hardening clit. You’re really squirming now, rocking into his mouth and down onto his finger—making sure you light up every sweet spot. You feel like a guitar string wound too tight, ready to snap, and your pussy pulsates in warning.

Mary sets his tongue speed to 11, and you feel the tidal wave of your orgasm start rushing toward you. You let out a squeak as your one hand sinks into Mary’s hair right before your climax breaks, and you start bucking into his mouth. Like a good boy, he manages to follow the lead of your hips until your pussy stops popping and your body relaxes—your butt slipping down into the bowl of the sink.

After catching your breath, you look down to find Mary’s twinkling eyes staring up at you from beneath the layers of your skirt. You pet down the side of his head with an Mmm, and his eyes close as he leans into the touch.

“I think you only made me stickier, Mare.”

His head tilts to rest on your one leg.

“Not my fault you get wet as fuck. There’s only so much I can lap up at once.”

You shift up into a sitting position as Mary wipes his face—and the lower part of his makeup—onto your tights.

“Shit. Are the tights a lost cause too?”

“Stand up?”

You hop off the sink, and Mary inspects your backside. He gives it a slap before saying, “Nah, I think you’re good. Just a little damp.”

You crinkle your nose. “Well, I feel slimy. Turn around so I can take care of business.”

Mary peers into the mirror to even out his smudgy face before slurping some tap water from the faucet as you get your situation into a tolerable state.

When the two of you exit the bathroom—Mary’s arm draped back around your shoulders—there are two guys lounging on the bottom of the stairs leading up to the 3rd floor. They look up at the sound of the bathroom door opening, and one scrunches his face at you.

“Dude. I thought you were taking a shit.”

He holds up a blackened Yankee candle.

Mary shrugs at him. “We don’t kink shame here.”

The guy’s companion bursts out laughing even as you elbow Mary in the ribs. He just laughs as he says, “C’mon let’s get some suds.”

The two of you make your way back down to the kitchen where Shonda The Beer Færie has replenished the coolers again. Mary shotguns a can—foam spritzing everywhere—as you search for the elusive opener. Unable to locate it, you try—and fail—to pop the top off on the counter.

“Gimme,” says Mary—belching—grabbing for your bottle. After fishing for another bottle in the ice, he aligns the caps and pops them both with the other.

“My hero,” you say in an affected tone as you bat your curled eyelashes at him.

“That’s fucking right.” He makes an arm in an attempt to bulge his bicep.

You test it with your hand. “Nah. Too small, throw it back.”

Pouting at you, he says, “You’re the worst, and we’re in a fight.”

You shrug as you take a swig of beer. “Eh. I got what I wanted.”

Mary makes a grab for the bottle, but you twist out of his reach and bolt out of the kitchen. He doesn’t catch you before you seek sanctuary in the living room. All the furniture has been pushed against walls, the rug rolled and resting in a corner, and more bodies than there should be are packed into the center as a party mix thumps from the speakers.

You wiggle your way into the crowd and run into Kara and Elsie, who shout Hooray! and pull you into their bump and grind. The 3 of you raise your drinks into the air to avoid spilling on each other as you rock and sway, alternating who gets sandwiched.

Suddenly, Mary is at your elbow.

“Hey! Gimme back my girlfriend!”

“Sorry, Goore,” says Elsie. “Finders keepers.”

For a minute he looks genuinely put out, but then he just smirks. “Whatever, I’ll just enjoy the view.”

“Pig,” Kara spits.

Mary shrugs and starts to do a god-awful wiggle that you think is supposed to be dancing. He has the rhythm—and his ass jiggle is pretty nice—but that’s about all he’s got going for him in the moves department.

The mix must be trying to appeal to all types, but ends up being a spastic mix with no eye for continuity. Nineties Girl Pop transitions into Metal, which transitions into Country, then into Alternative, then to 80′s Power Ballad, then R&B, then Punk.

After screaming along to “Toxic”, Elsie leans in. “Fuck, I’m about to pass out. I need to get some air.”

“Want me to come with you?” asks Kara.

“Up to you, dear.”

They look at you.

“I should throw Mary a bone.”

Kara smirks at you. “Kinky.”

Elsie rolls her eyes at her friend. “C’mon you bitch ass.”

Seeing his opportunity, Mary gives a head nod as he seamlessly switches places with them. He pulls your back into him as his hands come round to rest on your hips.

“Good thing you emptied my dick earlier, or we’d have a problem,” he murmurs into your ear.

“Don’t be gross.”

“K.”

You and Mary grind or shimmy or jump depending on what the song calls for, your beer long drunk by now. At some point someone opens a window, and the chill, near-January air curls in—its icy but brisk tendrils working their way through the crowd. You shiver a little as the sweat on your skin tingles and cools at its touch, and Mary pulls you in tighter.

Meatloaf comes on—🎶 On a hot summer night, would you offer your throat to the wolf with the red roses? 🎶—and Mary snuffles his face into the crook of your neck, you tilting your head to the side to give him access.

🎶 Will he offer me his teeth? 🎶

He worries at you with his teeth.

🎶 Will he offer me his hunger? 🎶

His blunt teeth sink into you, and you let out a pleased rumble.

🎶 And will he starve without me? 🎶

“Yes,” he whispers into your ear right along with Jim Steinman.

You roll your eyes even though Mary can’t see you do it, but you let him spin you out—jostling the other revelers—and back into him (stumbling) as the drum beat drops. He tries to twirl you, but the crowd has packed back in around you, and all you accomplish is tripping over his boots.

🎶 …I was dying just to ask for a taste 🎶 he mouths at you.

“You’re fucking ridiculous,” you say.

He leans in and nips at your lips, but you turn your head to whisper in his ear.

“I gave you a taste earlier, mister.”

“Mmm, but I’m greedy.”

You let him mouth at your neck as the two of you sway back and forth, Mary’s hands dipping lower and lower.

A sudden commotion is like a record scratch, and everyone turns to the front hall. Mary’s bandmates come into sight—caterwauling with 12 packs of shitty beer held aloft—encouraging the cheers of the other partygoers.

One spots Mary and points his finger at him.

“Goore! Goore! Goore!”

The other band members pick up the chant.

“Goore! Goore! Goore!”

The crowd takes up what has become a war cry:

“Goore! GOORE!  G O O R E !”

Mary points back, then puts his hand up in supplication at you as he backs his way out of the room.

“You’re a goddamned tease!” you cry after him.

He shrugs before spinning on his heel to be assimilated in the group, the chant turning into whoops and hollers as they make their way into the kitchen.

Mary had warned you that the band usually did an unplugged set, and you surmise they must need to set up.

Without Mary or the girls, the dance room has lost its appeal, so you meander around the first floor. The drinking games have devolved into “Never Have I Ever,” and while the pizza is gone, a homemade-looking mac and cheese dish in a tinfoil baking pan has appeared.

You pile some onto a paper plate (whose structural integrity you seriously question) and are content to watch the proceedings until a girl in the circles demands you squeeze in with a slurred “None of this wallflower shit!”. They shove a solo cup into your hand, which is then promptly filled with whiskey from a Jack bottle.

For the next hour or so, the guests on either side of you—Lila and Marty—become the best friends you never knew you had while you all hoot and catcall each other to the escalating scenarios. The bromance comes to a swift end, sadly, when Dee appears in the doorframe, sees you, and points dramatically.

“It is time for the festivities!” he yells in deep baritone.

“I’m being summoned!” you yell, and there’s a chorus of boos as you wobbly make your way over.

“Come, yon neophyte, and join us at the gathering spot.”

“Lay on, McDee!”

Dee leads you out into the backyard, which is done up with myriad bulb lights. Mary winks at you as you pass him on the porch—picking your way around the hodgepodge of instruments—before you join Ed, Trevor, Kara, and Elsie at one side of a well-used iron fire pit on the grass. The girls are passing a flask back and forth as they snuggle you in between them.

It should be fucking freezing out, but with the alcohol, the body heat, and the fire, you actually feel quite cozy. There’s a buzz of voices as the band arranges and tunes the borrowed instruments. You think you can see human shapes on back decks in other lots, but it’s hard to tell through the glare of the lights.

The band members take their places, there’s a countdown, and then Mary and the guys jumpstart into their first crowd favorite. While there are some general cheers at favored sections, the intimacy of the party and the lack of mics or speakers make it a quieter affair than their venue shows. You and the girls sway back and forth in your triplet, and even the guys are fist pumping and mouthing along. They play two more of their own songs before doing a few classic 80′s punk covers that really get everyone hyped.

It’s not perfect—none of them are sober, they’re unaccustomed to the instruments, and the cold air isn’t helping dexterity. At one point the lead singer forgets the words and just la la las his way through the verse, which in turn sends some of the other members into a musical stutter. Not everyone is invested in the whole set—some people went back inside after the first few tunes, and others see the band as just background to their conversations. Those who are fully invested have gravitated closer to the porch—but your group of Mary’s bffls are content to hang out by the fire pit where a few people have started roasting marshmallows.

After an … interesting … mashup of “Rudie Can’t Fail” and “Classics of Love” that sounds like a physical representation of a key smash, the band closes ranks, and there’s some whispered conversation and emphatic gesturing.

“Ok!” says Donnie, the lead singer. “We’re gonna switch things up. Usually on backing vocals, Goore is going to take lead for our last song.” There are some boos that probably have more to do with the set ending than Mary singing, but also some whistles that are probably for Mary. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But it’s a party for us too!”

“Huh,” says Elsie.

“What?” you say into her armpit.

“Mary hates lead.”

You know. He’s mentioned ad nauseam.

Mary steps forward and takes position up front. When he brushes his forelock out of the way, he looks up briefly and catches eyes with you. You give him thumbs up. A grin breaks out on his face, and he winks at you. Slowly, he strums chords until he finds what he’s looking for, and you can tell he’s humming along quietly—it’s a familiar sight now to you, but you wonder how much of this crowd has seen Mary chart out a song.

Finding the key he’s looking for, Mary clears his throat. His voice isn’t rich in timbre, but he rasps out with feeling, and his pitch is near perfect.

🎶 So I hear you been wondering I've been wondering too Just what this crazy world has in store for me and you 🎶

You’re surprised at his choice, and you feel your face burn. Mary’s eyes flick up to you—glinting boyishly—and you stick your tongue out at him. He slows the song way down as he sings, changing the frenetic energy of the original into a soulful ballad to which he can growl along.

🎶 You scratching to find a way A tortured soul back from the grave O Baby Doll back to kill them all Now please won’t you stay 🎶

Mary pauses, looking full up at you before taking in a deep breath. A few heads turn to see who he’s looking at. You scrunch your face at him to convey your mortification, but he just shakes his head at you—he’s not going to stop.

🎶 Baby Doll whoa Baby Doll I need you I love you Baby Doll whoa Baby Doll O Please come back to me 🎶

You suddenly feel naked under the interested gazes of the curious onlookers as Mary continues on. He’s mostly singing at the guitar, but his few pointed glances at you make it clear who he’s singing to.

🎶 The tortures of your soul The rotting flesh pain never dulls O Baby Doll you will kill them all Now please come to me 🎶

You try to sink back into Elsie and Kara, who just push you forward again.

“Dude,” Elsie breaths at you.

“This is awesome,” says Kara.

“I’m going to fucking kill him,” you mutter through your plastered on smile.

Some of the amassed crowd—which suddenly seems to have multiplied—start clapping to the slowed beat, and it causes a ripple of well-timed claps as well as those who can’t keep a rhythm.

Strumming in deliberate strokes, Mary looks up to hold your eyes once more.

🎶 I see you standing there In the shadows and in the rain A lifeless beauty Nothing could ever ease you of all your pain But Baby Doll the revenge you seek I dunno It will never be sweet But you'll never give it up Now come to me Come on 🎶

You shake your head as Mary continues to repeat the chorus into a soft fade. There’s a moment of silence after he’s finished, and he points out at you.

“Give it up for my very own baby doll!”

Applause breaks out and you give him double Fs.

Mary sets down the guitar carefully as Donnie steps forward again.

“All right! That’s it, motherfuckers! We’re about an hour away from the New Year, so grab a drink and sign up for our mailing list if you haven’t already!”

The crowd is whooping and whistling. A few people crowd up on the porch, as do Trevor, Ed, & Dee. Mary shakes hands, shoulder bumps, and backslaps his bandmates and some of the crowd, but his eyes are on you.

“I’d fuck him,” says Kara with a smirk.

Elsie groans. “Please don’t fuck in front of us. At least find a broom closet.”

You turn to her and give her a wolfish smile. “Who says we haven’t already christened it?”

Elsie buries her face in her hands as Kara tipsily attempts to fist bump you and ends up smushing your tit.

“Whoops! My bad!”

“Bitch, we’re cutting you off.”

“No, you’re not. Who would you do shots with?”

“Suey’s more than capable.”

You make a “who me?” face.

“Mebbe, but I think her mouth is spoken for.”

You’re about to respond, but arms suddenly encircle you, a mouth presses to your neck, and you squawk.

“If you’re not Mary Goore, you better watch your nuts!”

“I’m me, and I have to watch my nuts, anyway.”

You squirm around so that you’re facing him.

“Forget your nuts, I’m going to fucking kill you.”

“Aaaand on that note!” says Elsie, and she and Kara pat Mary’s arm before heading inside.

He looks down at you with hooded eyes.

“Whatever. You’re pleased. You fucking love that song.”

“Oh? Am I?”

“Yeah.”

“And what makes you say that?”

“I still have my nuts.”

You narrow your eyes at him, then point your finger in his face.

“You’re on thin ice, mister.”

“Mmm, I can think of a few ways you can take it out of my ass later.”

Your stomach flips, and you press into him, grabbing his jaw.

“Damn right I will.”

Mary bites his lip as you wiggle your hand in between the two of you to palm at his crotch. He closes his eyes and sways a little 

and that’s when you step away from him.

“C’mon—my cup is empty. I need a refresh.”

Mary’s eyes pop open, and he whines while making an exaggerated puppy-dog face.

You snap your fingers at him. “That’s for earlier.”

There are still enough people mingling outside that it takes a while for the two of you to actually make it back inside—some are Mary’s friendly acquaintances he wants to say hi to and others are fans he can’t help but chat up.

“We’re going to be on Instagram again, aren’t we?” you say when you finally start your trek inside, his arm lazily resting around your shoulders.

His head turns to face you, and he gives you an impish smile.

“Tell me if I give a shit.”

You quirk your eyebrow at him. “You might give a shit later.”

His smile turns vulpine. “Promise?”

Your hand slips into his back pocket and squeezes.

It’s actually pretty close to the ball drop by this point, so you and Mary grab up two of the bargain plastic champagne glasses you find lined up in rows on the kitchen counter. When the cheap champagne starts being passed around like you’re all in a pirate shanty, you hold out the glasses (Mary’s already lost the base to his) for a fill.

There’s no way everyone is going to fit in the living room; the majority of the attendees are spilling out into the hall, up the stairwell, and out onto the porch, with you and Mary are squished in by the stairs—but the volume for Rocking New Year’s Eve is turned up so loud the speakers are fuzzing, and a few people are streaming it on the phones.

“T-Minus one minute!” someone screams, and a cheer goes up.

“Oh shit!” you exclaim and start digging around in your bra.

“What?” asks Mary as his eyes flick down to your tits.

You retrieve two silver dollars, warmed by your skin, and press one into Mary’s free hand.

“What’s this?” He holds the coin up at eye level.

“Silver dollar. If you hold onto one as the year turns over, it’s supposed to bring good fortune.”

He looks at you skeptically as he turns it this way and that. “Does it work?”

You shrug. “Can’t hurt. My grandma swore by it.”

“THIRTY SECONDS!”

“Where d’you even get these?”

You grin.

“Amazon.”

Shouts come from the living room: “10 … 9 … 8 …”

Mary turns to face you, and the two of you take up the chant.

“7 … 6 … 5…”

He crowds a little closer, the fist holding the coin draped over your shoulder with yours resting on his hip.

“4 … 3 … 2 …”

You don’t get out the “1” because Mary smashes his mouth to yours—just a hard press of lips to lips—then he’s pulling away to press his glass to your mouth. As you try to sip out of it, you fumble your own glass to his mouth. The two of you only succeed in spilling half the contents all over each other before conceding defeat.

There’s some shrieking a moment before everyone in the hall gets sprayed with foamy champagne. Since there really isn’t any room to escape, Mary and you try your best to duck and cover, laughing as the droplets come raining down. The beach ball from earlier comes out of nowhere, and you punch it back into the air, the plastic of it slick from the champagne shower.

Everyone is still screaming, separated friends are trying to find each other amidst the revelry, and some dude on the stairs is shouting Tennyson over an off-key rendition of “Auld Lang Syne”.

“Ring out, wild bells, to the wild sky!” 🎶 Should old acquaintance be forgot, 🎶

Elsie and Kara are jumping up and down from where they are in the living room, pointing, and starting to make their way to you.

“The flying cloud, the frosty light!” 🎶 and never brought to mind? 🎶

The beach ball beans you in the face, and Mary takes it and lobs it onto the porch where it hits the back of Donnie’s head, causing the rest of them to cackle and holler back.

“The year is dying in the night!” 🎶 Should old acquaintance be forgot, 🎶

Like magic, Mary procures a half-full bottle of bubbly from the train of people maneuvering in the hall and takes a big swig before passing it to you. You chug the rest, coughing as the lukewarm bubbles fizz up your nose.

“Ring out, wild bells, and let him die!” 🎶 and auld lang syne? 🎶

Laughing, Mary wipes at your face with his sleeve, and you realize he’s still got the silver dollar clutched tight in his hand.

Song List

Next ➡️

[kirk-spock-in-the-impala]

Wait for Me (I’ll Come for You)

Cross-posted to AO3 here

It took Geralt three weeks to track Jaskier down after that fateful confrontation on the mountain.  A week to realize Jaskier wasn’t coming back on his own.  A second week spent in bitter denial. And a third week spent picking up the bard’s trail at the base of the mountain, sniffing it out from village to village, following Jaskier’s footsteps and the townsfolk singing his praises in equal measure.

The first real snows of winter were falling when Geralt reached the gates of the walled city of Talgar.  The fat flakes caught the last rays of the mid-afternoon sunset as it sank below the western edges of the Dragon Mountains.  This far to the north, winter came early and hard. The city dwellers had long since packed in their harvest, preserved their meats and vegetables, and battened down their homes and businesses for the violent winter storms to come.

As Geralt led Roach slowly over the icy, cobbled streets toward the public stable in the main square, her breath steaming out with each exhale, he paused at a careful distance from the door of each inn, public house, or noble’s dwelling he passed to listen for the familiar sound of Jaskier’s lute.  Even though the main street was full of such establishments, none emitted the melody he sought.  

Fuck.  I waited too long and now this damn snow will only obscure his tracks.

Disheartened, Geralt reached the stables in the square at the end of the main road, dragging his gloved hand across his face to clear the melted snow and letting out a rough breath. He paid the wide-eyed stable keeper a silver piece for a well-appointed box stall to compensate Roach for the long, cold ride to Talgar.  He removed her tack, laying it carefully on the racks outside her stall, and wiped her down, checking her hooves and legs for any stones or scrapes.  Finding none, he let her loose to explore the thick straw bedding, eyes softening as he watched her wuffle in pleasure before sinking down for a good roll.  He tossed her some sweet-smelling hay and added a measure of oats to her feed bucket before slinging his saddlebags over his shoulders and heading back out into the snowy night.

Geralt stalked across the main square, shoulders hunched against the icy wind, and headed down toward a more residential section of the city, across the way from where the main street entered the square.  Geralt passed a series of elegant, brightly lit homes, all ensconced behind high, wrought iron gates winged with guards who glared and spat at him as he walked by, the high wind making it impossible to use his hood to hide his distinctive features. This close to Blaviken, there was no love for the Butcher.

Suddenly, the wind shifted, bringing a familiar scent of rosin and golden honey.  Geralt spun to his left, lifting his head and taking in deep breaths of air.  

There.

Geralt followed Jaskier’s scent to the door of a luxury inn, the stone façade bearing a tasteful, gilded sign reading: Bramblebush Inn.  Stepping into the windbreak of the inn’s graceful, wooden entryway, Geralt could hear the soft sound of Jaskier’s lute playing a slow ballad.  

Finally.

Geralt took a fortifying breath, heart rate increasing in anticipation of the confrontation ahead. Placing a firm hand of the brass door handle, he stepped into the warm inn.

The innkeeper, who stood at the bar facing the door, startled as he came in, eyes quickly scanning over his golden eyes and white hair before settling into a pinched expression of disdain.

“We don’t accept your kind’s patronage here, Witcher.  This is a respectable establishment.”  She said, tight frown pulling her aging features tight.

Geralt held up a hand, “I’m not here to stay, Innkeeper.”

“Then what do you want?  Speak and begone!”  The innkeeper demanded, her sharp tone cutting through the genial atmosphere of the inn’s common hall.

Geralt stepped back, opening his stance and showing her his empty hands, attempting to look as non-threatening as possible.  “I’m here to speak to the bard, Jaskier.  I heard he’s staying here.” Geralt said, his voice low.

The innkeeper drew up in offense, crossing her arms across her chest and looking down her nose at Geralt.  “I’m hardly going to discuss the private business of my clients with strangers, least of all a beast like you!”  The innkeeper’s voice was tight with ire, all attention in the common room now on the confrontation.

I don’t have time for this.  Geralt sighed, confirming at a glance that their audience would not miss his use of Axii to ease this along.  “Innkeeper,” he started, before a familiar tread drew his attention away from.

“Now, what’s this? Imelda, dear, is something the matter?” Jaskier’s gentle baritone cut in.  Geralt’s shoulders relaxed, glad to have found his quarry.  

Jaskier appeared in the doorway behind the bar, seemingly having been in a more private, back room. He immediately stilled upon seeing Geralt, relaxed expression freezing before his face went cold and hard.  Geralt’s stomach dropped.

In an instant, the warm smile was back as he rested a reassuring hand on the innkeeper – Imelda’s – shoulder.  “I have business with this Witcher, my dear.  Not to worry, I’ll deal with him outside and he won’t trouble you any further.”

Imelda’s face softened, expression fond as she placed her hand over Jaskier’s, squeezing it fondly. “If you say so, love.”  She turned her gaze to Geralt, eyes narrowing.  “Be careful with that one,” she said, indicating Geralt with her sharp chin, “they’re barely more than beasts.”

Jaskier smiled down at her reassuringly. “Not to worry, won’t take a moment.”  He stepped around the end of the bar and walked past Geralt to the door.  “Come, Witcher.”  He said, not turning back, before walking out into the cold.

Geralt followed immediately.

Jaskier lead them around the inn and into the adjacent stables, out of the wind and snow.  With dark already fallen, the stables were deserted, quiet but for the soft sounds of horses munching on hay.

Jaskier turned to face Geralt, expressionless, the entire width of the stable aisle between them.  

“Well?”  He said flatly. “Why are you here?  I thought you would have made every attempt to stay away from me since I obviously bring you such ill luck.”

Geralt felt a stab of pain through his chest at the flat delivery.  It felt worse than if Jaskier had raged at him.  Hit him.  Hurt him like he had hurt Jaskier.  He expected that.  He deserved that.

“I--” Geralt started and stopped, jaw clenching as he fought to gather the words.  His fists clenched at his sides, his eyes darting up and away from Jaskier’s.  He drew in a sharp breath.  “I was wrong to say what I did.”  He bit out, gaze on the floor, nails cutting bloody half moons into his palms.  

When Jaskier didn’t respond, he drew in a breath, shakier than he would like to admit, and met Jaskier’s gaze, shame drawn across his expression.

Jaskier raised an eyebrow, taking in the tension in Geralt’s frame, the white knuckles, and the miserable expression.  His face softened, lips quirking into a wry grin.  “You’re terrible at apologizing.”

Geralt flinched, turning his eyes back down and away, waiting for judgment.

Jaskier sighed, stepping closer to Geralt.  “I’ve known you for the better part of two decades, Geralt, I knew what you said was nothing more than misdirected anger.  I just got in the way.”  Jaskier’s tone sharpened.  “But you cannot treat me like that and expect me to stick around.  I do not deserve it.”

Geralt pressed his lips together, pained.  “I know. You deserve more than I could ever give you.”  He could not bring himself to meet Jaskier’s eyes.

Jaskier’s expression lightened and he stepped fully into Geralt’s space.  “I will forgive you,” Geralt’s eyes widened, snapping up to meet Jaskier’s.  “But not yet.”

Geralt furrowed his brow, mouth opening to speak.  Jaskier raised a hand to silence him.

“You hurt me.  I know you regret it, but I’m not ready to forgive you yet.” Geralt felt his words like blows.  “I’ve followed you and waited for you all these years, so I think it’s your turn to do the same.”

Dropping his hand, he stepped back.  “I’ve taken a contract to provide entertainment here in Talgar for the Lady Agnieszka from now until the Vernal Equinox.  If you meet me here then, outside the Eastern Gate, I will be ready to forgive you.”

Cold dread spread through Geralt’s chest.  It must have shown in his expression, because Jaskier was quick to continue.  “I do not mean for this to be a dismissal disguised as a delay.  I have truly taken a contract and I truly have no desire to travel in this ghastly weather.  Even if I were not contracted, I would need time before I am ready to forgive you.”  

Jaskier’s tone regained an edge of its former hardness. “Keep in mind, you can be assured that my future forgiveness will be immediately revoked if there’s a repeat of such appalling behavior.”

Geralt kept his gaze on the floor, nodding sharply.  “Until the Vernal Equinox then.  I will be at the Eastern Gate.”  He said quietly, tone hollowed out, before turning and disappearing into the darkness, footsteps unusually heavy.

 ___________________________

 As the first snows deepened into true winter, Jaskier was safely ensconced behind the thick walls of the Lady Agnieszka’s lavish home, enjoying comfortable lodgings and excellent food in exchange for his nightly musical performance.  Unlike the lean winters spent on the road, Jaskier never wanted for food or warmth, letting himself relax and letting the rich, abundant food work to fill in his lean, traveler’s frame.  

The Lady Agnieszka was an older woman, well past her prime but in full possession of her faculties, who understood the power of good music and a comely face to lift the gloom of the Far North’s long, dark winter.  As one of the highest-ranking nobles in the city, it was her burden and her pleasure to host near-nightly salons and parties to bring culture and cheer to the high-born denizens of Talgar.

So, she did all she could to keep her resident bard in good voice and good spirits in order that he may reliably fulfill his role entertaining her endless stream of well-heeled guests. As expected from a bard of his fame and caliber, he raised the standard of her parties, and her guest list had never been longer.  

Jaskier thrived in the atmosphere and his anger at Geralt slowly cooled.  He frequently thought back on Geralt’s awkward apology and, knowing his Witcher as well as he did, he understood how hard that had been for him and how ashamed he had felt.  

When the Vernal Equinox comes, Jaskier thought to himself as he strummed a light tune on his lute to accompany that night’s third dinner course, I’ll be ready to get back on the road.  

   ___________________________

As winter reached its deepest point, days short and nights long, bitter wind cutting through every layer, Geralt sat with his back to rocky hillside, protecting a small fire from the wind, curling as close to it as possible to stave off frostbite. Although Witchers were hardy against the cold, they were not immune, and this weather tested even Geralt’s limits. A small squirrel, his first catch in two days, roasted on a stick suspended above the weak flames.

Without Jaskier as a buffer between him and the general public, especially this close to Blaviken, life had returned to how it had always been – townsfolk were just as like to stone him as pay him for a job, and inns and merchants were more like than not to refuse his patronage, forcing him to rely on camping and what meager provisions he could hunt or forage in the frozen, barren woods.

Although Geralt continue to travel and take jobs, he did not stray more than a couple days’ ride from Talgar, unwilling to risk anything preventing him from meeting Jaskier at the appointed time.  Returning to Kaer Morhen, far across the mountains, to wait out the winter was not even worth considering.

The image of Jaskier’s heartbroken expression on that mountain never left him.  The memory of Jaskier’s sharp words, of the promised meeting, drove him onward.  

After his last hunt, a brutal fight against a large nest of drowners, left him soaked and badly injured, he had dragged himself back to that hunt’s ealderman only to be met with a stoning.  Willing to let him defeat the monsters but unwilling to pay him, the villagers drove Geralt back out into the woods.  That night had been the closest Geralt had come to death in many decades.  As the blood flowed and froze down his side, as he clung to the slim chance that his potions could save his life, all he could think about was failing Jaskier.  Hurting him again by failing to show up at the appointed time.  

I deserve this, but Jaskier does not.  As blood loss pulled him into oblivion, that was the only reason he wished the loss of consciousness would not be permanent.

   ___________________________

Before daybreak on the Vernal Equinox, Geralt positioned himself outside the Eastern Gate of Talgar.  He let Roach loose to graze and knelt on the far side of the road leading to the gate, palms on his knees and back straight, in full view of the gate.

“Freak.” The nightguards spat, but didn’t disturb him.  They placed their hands on their hilts of their swords to make it clear he was to stay back.

As the sun broke across the horizon behind Geralt’s back, he let himself slip into a light meditation.  Enough to garner some rest, but light enough to be fully aware of his surroundings.  

The hours slipped by and dawn turned to dusk.  

He’s not coming.  Geralt thought, a cold certainty settling over his bones.  There’s no reason why he should.  He deserves better and I deserve nothing.  

Despite his near certainty of the futility of his wait, Jaskier had not specified a time, only a day, and Geralt would not leave before the end of the appointed day.

As the setting sun cast bright colors across the sky, Geralt heard a commotion behind the closed gate and the scent of rosin and honey flooded his senses, breaking his meditation.

Voices laughing, pleading, begging, with Jaskier to “please, just stay a few more weeks, we can’t live without you!” Followed by Jaskier’s cheerful demurral that he “had to travel for inspiration, my dear!”

Geralt’s heart lifted even as cold fear gripped him as he waited anxiously for the gate to open. Slowly, it did, and Jaskier stepped out the narrow opening made, walking backwards as he waved at his adoring fans. As he exchanged final words with the gathered crowd, Geralt carefully studied him.  

Jaskier looked well-fed, clean, and his eyes sparkled with joy and humor.  He wore thick, expensive, wool travelling clothes, brightly colored, and sturdy boots of the finest make protected his feet.  He held the reins of a handsome dapple-grey gelding, saddle bags new and packed full.  

He looks good, well-loved.  Geralt thought to himself, as equally happy to see Jaskier looking so well as he was unwilling to entertain the possibility that he might still intend to travel with Geralt, forgive Geralt, after spending the winter season so well treated.

After one final goodbye, Jaskier indicated to the guards to close the gates, and turned to face Geralt at last across the twenty paces of road separating them.  

“I heard you arrived at dawn.”  Jaskier said, smiling fondly as he walked across the width of the road.  “I guess you were serious about being on time.”

“Hmm.” Geralt intoned, indicating his agreement.  Now that Jaskier was finally there, finally looking at him as he used to, he couldn’t find any words.  

“As talkative as ever.” Jaskier huffed, “you’re going to have to work on that.”  His words were sharp, but his tone was light.  “I don’t expect speeches, but a few words here and there wouldn’t go amiss.”

Geralt looked up as Jaskier stopped in front of his kneeling form.  Jaskier’s eyes widened, taking in Geralt’s appearance.  The harsh winter, and the harsher treatment from the locals, were writ large.  Geralt was dangerously lean, worn, threadbare clothes hanging off his frame.  His hair and skin were coated in a layer of grime, hands dry and cracking at every joint and cuticle.  Small cuts from stones littered his face and arms, and the fresh claw marks gained on his latest hunt were barely starting to heal where they had cut into his clavicle.

Geralt opened his mouth, expression haunted with shame, but couldn’t force himself to speak. He hoped for forgiveness but didn’t expect it.  He would commit himself to penance until – if – Jaskier forgave him.  It’s only been a season.  That’s not enough to make up for what I’ve done.

Jaskier’s heart clenched and he knelt to be eye level with Geralt.  “Oh, Geralt,” he said gently, “I forgive you.”  He reached out and slowly, carefully, placed a hand on Geralt’s. “You’ve punished yourself far too harshly.”

Geralt tensed under Jaskier’s hand.  “No,” he forced out.

Jaskier gently rubbed his thumb over Geralt’s hand and said firmly, kindly, “it was too much.  I was angry, I needed space, but I never wanted you to suffer.”

Jaskier poked at Geralt’s uninjured shoulder in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Come on, you can’t tell me you starve and work yourself to death every time you fight with a friend?”

“I’ve never had a friend before.” Geralt stated.  

Jaskier’s heart ached as it always did when Geralt said something so horrifying so matter of factly, but he knew that Geralt would not tolerate anything even remotely resembling pity.  He smiled at Geralt and forced cheer into his voice. “Well then, I’ll just have to teach you as we go along.”

Geralt felt months of tension finally leave his body, relief and surprise infusing his tone.  “You still plan to come with me?”

Jaskier pushed himself back to his feet and held out a hand to Geralt.  “My dear Witcher, there’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Geralt grasped his hand.