#Anyway momma is home and she is going to LOVE Ghost

[muwapsturniolo]

✯𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐃𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐄𝐚𝐬𝐲✯

IN WHICH…We experience a toxic relationship between a drug dealer and his baby momma

WARNINGS: NSFW CONTENT AHEAD!!! Toxic behaviors, slight domestic abuse (not really but I’m putting it as a warning anyway), drugs, sex, broken household

Words highlighted in orange is Chris and how he connects with the song. Pink highlighted words is Y/n (aka you) and how you connect with the song. Purple highlighted words is how both you and Chris (or others in the story) connect with the song.

Chris sighs as the beaten-up screen door squeaks open, the hot LA air immediately rushing past his face. He lets it close by itself as he walks along the porch, taking a seat in his chair. He sets down his cup and sparks his blunt, closing his eyes as he inhales the grape-flavored tobacco leaf and weed.

The sound of laughter catches his attention, making him open his eyes. He scans the lawn briefly before he lands on two bodies rolling around in the yard, one bigger than the other.

He whistles catching both of their attention, the younger one gasping in excitement.

"Mama! Daddy is awake!"

Chris catches the eye of the child's mother and sighs.

I know this ship is sailed and this is dead I'm singin', "RIP," I'm singin', "RIP," yeah

He can see the irritation in her eyes, a feeling he has been all to familiar with for the last three years. He doesn’t know when it started but if he had to guess, it was a month after Kehlani was born, their relationship taking a turn for the worst.

The relationship was dead and he knew it, he knew from the beginning they wouldn't last. But he did it for her, he tried to make things work but it seemed like she was against him.

Kehlani runs as fast as her little legs can take her, diving right into Chris's lap. He laughs and quickly moves the blunt away so he won't burn the four-year-old, or get smoke in their face.

I know you gave up long time ago Boy, I'm singin', "RIP," I'm singin', "RIP"

Y/n watches Kehlani and Chris giggle and play with each other on the porch, her heart sinking. She hates to admit it but she was envious of her daughter having all of Chris's attention.

It seemed like he hated her.

From the moment Chris laid eyes on the child, she was pushed back on the backburner. It was difficult to handle, especially going through postpartum.

She tried to do better, act better, hoping Chris would give her an ounce of attention, but he would just ignore her.

She knew Chris had given up on their relationship a long time ago, and it hurt. However, she has come to terms with it.

She stands up and brushes the grass and dirt off her pants, walking towards the home. She runs up the porch steps and frowns seeing the blunt near her child.

She snatches the four-year-old off of his lap and gives him a dirty look, “Momma I want to stay with Daddy!”

“No, it’s lunch time and then you need to nap.” She says getting ready to walk in the house.

She stops when she hears Chris’s voice, “Let her stay out here while you make us lunch.” She turns and sees Chris putting the blunt in his mouth, his eyes trained on her.

“I said no, Finish your blunt and come make your own food.”

She opens the screen door and steps foot into the house, only to freeze hearing Chris’s mumbling.

“Fucking bitch.”

All I need's some Loving,

"Daddy, do you love me?" Kehlani's words make Y/n chuckle to herself, a small smile ghosting her lips.

"Of course I do baby. I love you with my whole life and beyond."

The four-year-olds next words make Y/n stop in her tracks, "Do you love momma the same amount?"

She knows what Chris is going to say, he's going to mask it to the child but he's going to make it clear that he doesn't love her.

She grabs the plates of food and starts walking to the table.

"I love momma a lot, the same way I love you"

His words catch Y/n off guard and she trips and falls, the plates breaking and the food going everywhere. Chris quickly sets Lani on the couch, telling her not to move before he rushes into the kitchen.

"What the fuck happened?" He asks as he sees Y/n surrounded by broken plates and food. "I-Im sorry, I ju-" his eyes soften seeing her sniffling, her eyes glossy with salt water.

He inches forward, careful to avoid the sharp glass before kneeling in front of her. "Talk to me ma, what's wrong?"

"Y-you said you love me....you haven't said it in so long." She sobs out, her whole body shaking. He quickly pulls her into him, rubbing her back softly. "Shh, I know, and I'm sorry. You know I love you baby, I could never stop loving you."

She sobs even harder and grips Chris tightly,

That's all she ever wanted to hear.

"Why don't we order tonight?"

some fucking

"Shhh mama you don't wanna wake Lani up do you?" Chris asks, holding back a groan himself. Y/n moans quietly, her head thrown back in pleasure.

"Taking me so well mama's. Whose pussy is this?"

"Fuck! it's yours- all yours daddy!"

"That's right."

And you say this shit don't matter But we always goin' at it, ain't no trustin

"Why do we always fight?" Chris asks holding the girl in his arms. He can see the gears turning in her head, thinking of multiple reason as to why they fight, but she tells him it doesn't matter.

"But it does matter...all we do is fight." He thinks to himself.

I need some lovin', good, good fuckin'

It's times like this that make Y/n despise the father of her child. He never wants to address anything, he always wants to leave shit in the air, causing more arguments.

She doesn't want argument, she hates arguing.

She wants love, but he has to settle for sex to 'cure' their problems.

And we fussin' and we fight, and you always wonder why

Y/n scoffs as Chris continues to yell at her, "You always do this stupid shit Y/n! You wanna love me one minute, then you accuse me of fucking cheating and hating you!"

"Because you fucking do!" She screams at the top of her lungs. Chris stares at her with no emotion, used to her raising her voice at him.

"You asked me the other night why we always fussin' and fighting and it's because of you!" She stabs her finger in his chest. "You treat me like shit! I hear you calling me out my fucking name, I catch you giving me dirty looks!"

"That doesn't mean I hate you! And it sure as hell doesn't mean I cheated on you!"

Y/n smiles with tears in her eyes, " But it does Chris...I'm not dumb, I've seen the texts in your phone, I've seen you come home with hickeys...and I won't forget the night you came home and told me you cheated on me, because my body changed after I gave birth to your child!"

Chris's stomach falls to his ass as he watches Y/n begin to pack a bag.

"W-Where are you going?"

And my mama told me, "None of this should come as a surprise"

"It hurts so much! I do my best and it's never enough!" Y/n sobs into her mother's arms. She had packed a bag and left with Kehlani after her and Chris's argument, not wanting to spend another second with him.

"Baby none of this should come as a surprise. I've been told you this when you were younger after your daddy." Y/n looks up at her mother in confusion, her brows furrowed.

"W-what did you tell me?"

" love don't come easy, it don't come easy"

Love don't come easy, yeah, givin' up easy

"Don't give up on it yet baby...I know you want it to be a plain and simple game but you have to work for it, the both of you."

Times get hard, but nothing's easy

Let's go out

Y/n approaches Chris in the kitchen who is currently measuring out weed. She sits across from him and waits for him to acknowledge her. "What do you want?" He sounds irritated, making Y/n nervous. She looks down and fiddles with her fingers.

"I was thinking we could go out...like a date... like we used to."

Let's try it out

Chris stops measuring the weed and looks at her, "it was just a th-ok." He shrugs, leaning back in his chair.

"Really?"

She smiles genuinely, something he hasn't seen her do in a long time. He stands up and walks over to her, rubbing a hand over her face. "Yeah, lets try it out." She breaks out into a wide grin and jumps up, planting a fat kiss on his cheek.

You don't hear me out,

Y/n sighs as Chris tells her to be quiet. They were in the car driving home when somehow, an argument started. All she said was that maybe he shouldn't sell as much so they could spend more time with each other.

That's why you always run your mouth,

"You always have shit to say! You never shut the fuck up! It's always complaints and trying to fucking act better than me, and I'm sick of this shit! Just shut your fucking mouth!"

We been talking 'bout our love's runnin' out But you don't hear me out, yeah

"You don't fucking listen to me Chris! that's why I keep saying the same shit!" Y/n yells as they enter the house. She throws her heels in the corner and rushes towards the bedroom, grabbing a bag.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Chris asks, his eyes set on her frantic figure throwing clothes in the bag. She ignores him and goes to Kehlani's room, beginning to pack more clothes.

"I'm leaving you, that's what I'm doing. I'm taking Kehlani and leaving you!" She tries to move past Chris but he stands in her way. "You're not fucking leaving me Y/n, and you're not taking my child!" She ignores him and goes to step to the side but he moves with her. He grabs her making her jerk back, "Don't fucking touch me! Let me go Chri-YOU'RE NOT FUCKING LEAVING ME!" He slams her against the wall.

She winces as her head bounces off the wall, looking at Chris in fright.

That's why you always run your mouth

Chris's grip remains tight on her arms, his breathing heavy. "You're not leaving me, and you're not taking Lani either...J-just stop." His voice breaks as he stares into her eyes.

And all I need's some Lovin',

"You can't leave me, you c-can't take Lani away from me, please." His eyes begin to sting as tears blur his vision. "I'm tired of this Chris" Y/n croaks, her throat closing as she begins to cry as well. He nods, understanding her words. "I know ma, I know and I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry-" he wraps his arms around her waist and starts to kiss along her jawline.

some fuckin'

"Let me make it up to you...Let me show you how much I love you."

And the sex is still compatible But I ain't got no manual for trustin'

She knows she shouldn't, she shouldn't crave his touch, she shouldn't crave to be intimate with him. She should put her foot down and stand ten toes on her threat of leaving, but she doesn't.

Chris sees her hesitancy and continues to convince her, promising he will change, promising he will be more loving.

She doesn't know if she believes him, but she gives in anyway.

I need some lovin', good, good fuckin'

Y/n's head is pushed into the pillows as Chris slams into her repeatedly.

"Fuck, I love you so much Ma. Say it, say you love me."

"Fuck! I love you!" She reaches back, holding Chris's hand as his dick slides in and out of her dripping cunt.

You say something isn't right, only fuckin', gettin' high

"This feels weird" Y/n mumbles as she and Chris sit on the couch. They had put Lani to bed around an hour ago, and now they are on the couch watching TV. Chris looks down at the girl snuggled into his side, "What are you talking about Ma?"

She sits up and crosses her legs, playing with the fraying couch, "I mean...It seems like all we do is have sex and get high. We never sit with each other all cuddled up and relaxed, we're always arguing." Chris sighs and pulls the girl onto his lap, "Is that what you want to do? You want to only argue, have sex, and get high with me?" Y/n shakes her head, begging to play with his chain.

"Good, because I don't want to either."

And my daddy told me, "Hold your heart in order to survive"

"You have to do better son. For yourself, and your family." Chris sighs as he listens to his father's words. "I'm trying pops, I really am it's just hard."

"I know it is, but you have to hold your heart in order to survive. What I mean by that is that, your heart is your lifeline, without it you would die. Y/n is your lifeline son. Without her, you would destroy yourself. Hold her close, cherish her, water her like a flower so both you and your family can grow."

'Cause love don't come easy, it don't come easy Love don't come easy, yeah, givin' up easy

Y/n couldn't do it anymore.

She was fed up with the toxic relationship, so she left. She left while Chris was out dealing, throwing bags in her car and fleeing to her mothers house with Lani.

When Chris came home and saw the note on the fridge, he broke down. Vases being broken, and tables being flipped over as well.

He couldn't believe she gave up this easily on them, on what they could be.

Love don't come easy, it don't come easy (No, no) It don't come easy

Chris bangs on the door, waiting for someone to answer. eventually, it does open and he sees the girl who has been avoiding him for a month now.

"Chris?" She questions in confusion. She never told him she was staying at her mother's home, so to see him was a surprise. She crosses her arms and looks down at her shoes, "what do you want?"

"I want you back."

"Chris I do-"

Times get hard, but nothing's easy

tears form in her eyes as she looks at the ring in the box.

"I-I know I haven't been the best to you. I've said some horrible things to and about you, I-I cheated, and all in all, I treated you like shit. I'm sorry baby, I'm so sorry. I-I want- no- I need you in my life. You're my heart, my lifeline, my everything. I don't know what I would do without you."

"I'll do better I promise! Things won't be easy, but I'm going to try... Just please don't leave me...Don't take my family away from me, don't give up on me."

Tell your man you trust him

Y/n accepted the proposal, allowing Chris to put the ring on her finger. She quickly brings him into a hug, sobbing softly. "I'll do better, I promise. You just have to trust me Ma. I'll give you the whole world if you just trust me."

"I trust you"

Tell your girl you love her

"I love you so much Ma, I love you so much." He whispers as he rubs her back.

Tell your dad you miss him

"Daddy you're back!" Lani shouts as she runs up and hugs his leg. Chris sniffles and picks her up, wrapping one arm around her and the other around Y/n.

"I missed you so much!"

And call your mom and thank her

Y/n walks away from the father and daughter duo, calling her mother to thank her for being a good guide and letting her and Lani stay with her for the month.

Tell your daughter you love her

"I love you so much Lani, with my whole life." Chris expresses as he holds her close, grateful to have the child back in his arms.

Tell yourself you got this

It's unknown to both adults that their minds are reeling as they drive home, both of them giving themselves a mental pep talk.

"You got this, it will be different this time. everything will be better."

'Cause these times get hard, but nothing's easy

They come to a red light and Chris looks over to Y/n who is staring down at her engagement ring.

"I love you," he expresses as he takes hold of her hand.

"I love you too Chris."

idk how i feel about this so if yall don't like it, ion blame you 😭

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[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

Breaking down the comics: Just a Spector (issue # 5)

Moon Knight, Issue #5: Ghost Story

Written by Doug Moench and drawn by Bill Sienkiewicz

Let’s go further back. Back to early 1981 and back to the start. 

Before things were set in stone, designs were still settling and the characters were still being fleshed out. 

Back when Moon Knight was still very much a supernatural sort of comic. 

I skipped this one originally because it is just a story and there was no real development here. But don’t be fooled, I do love this one. And perhaps, with enriched eyes, we may see a little more than just a story. 

And with any good ghost story, we start with two teens goading each other on to sneak into the locally haunted house. 

We see a large house on a hill with red windows. 

"It's filled with all the ghosts from the red hunter's killin'--And I've seen the shadow of the red Hunter himself, movin' past the windows, holdin' his shotgun..." 

And of course the one kid forces the other to go inside to prove themselves. When the kid refuses, the other decides to prove himself and go in. 

Just as they are about to sneak inside, a real spector eclipses the moon, terrifying the boys into taking off at a run. 

Yeah... He did that on purpose. 

"Sorry I had to do that... But if Creach and Parkins are here, it's better if those kids keep running for miles..." 

He is indeed a Spector on a hunt. A family cemetary sits just off to the rear of the house and before mentioned Creach and Parkins are making their way up through it. 

There used to be three of them. 

"I don't like it, Parkins--It's such a creepy old place! Maybe we should just be satisfied with what we've got and --"

"Are you kiddin', Creach? No way! Not after what Redditch did to us! We ain't leavin' till we find him and get the rest of his lousy 'treasure'!" 

"But how do you know he even came here?" 

"Because he's hurt and he's crazy, that's how. And because he always used to talk about the perfect hiding place for loot-Buried under his mother's house." 

They found Redditch's car out in the woods leading up to the house so they know he's there. 

Parkins grew up with Redditch and was forced to run in his pack due to the small rural area and lack of options. 

It would seem Redditch was known to be pretty crazy. 

"There were some disappearances around here back then. They stopped after Redditch's old man was killed! And they never found the other "Hunter" who shot him. The theory was that after the guy killed him, he panicked--didn't think the cops would believe it was self defense--and never came forward with his story. Anyway, at the time I was too young to care about the gossip." 

He's pretty sure that Redditch killed his own father. He notes he was a real Momma's boy who often stayed home with her rather than going out to play.

In fact, earlier in the day we see Redditch talking to the other two as he reads the paper. 

"My Mom... She's dead... I hadda put her away nine years ago... Never got a chance to see her again cuz the stinkin' cops woulda grabbed me...And now she's dead...and they didn't even tell me..." 

The other two note that Redditch's mom had thousands of dollars hidden away in an old shoe box and a sealed lockbox missing a key. 

Having just robbed a liquor store and wanted by the cops, Redditch can't go claim his mother's inheritance. 

Pissed off, Redditch decides to go rob the bank and steal his inheritance and he demands that the other two help him. 

Apparently it didn't go well. 

Now they're looking for Redditch and his money. 

"They're trapped inside now--And if what Parkins said is true, all three of them could be in there... But it's odd that both the kids AND the crooks should be so obsessed with ghosts-- Especially after what happened this afternoon." Moon Knight watches them enter the house from the rooftop. 

EARLIER back at Grant Mansion…. 

Now, this is a few issues before Jake Lockley figures out he can wear a fake mustache. So it’s weird looking at that incredibly handsome face in his trademark clothes without his friendly ‘stache. 

Also I love Jean-Paul. “Time for zee Moon Knight’s prowl, no?” 

“Eh–? Oh…Yeah…Sure. Listen–Can I tell you something weird, Frenchie–Something that makes me sound even more crazy than I am?” 

“Oui, Marc–tell me. We are all crazy born into madness.” 

One has to admire Frenchie’s approach to life. How willing he is to go with the flow. How accepting he is for any and everything that may be thrown at him. 

"It's got nothing to do with birth, Frenchie--Maybe rebirth, but it's mostly about death. It's this statue of Khonshu--From the tomb where I 'died', And was reborn as the Moon Knight. 

He's supposed to be the Egyptian God of the Moon...And also some kind of an avenging Angel of Death, well, the weird thing is... Sometimes I believe it.

I get a chill when I pass the thing--All kinds of weird vibrations... ANd when I stare at its face, I could swear I'm in contact with something inside it... With its ghost, I guess... 

And it makes me aware of my own spirit, something restless stirring inside me... My own ghost, even though I'm not dead yet." 

Oh yeah, we’re dealing with Marc Spector here, and his constant struggle with his death, rebirth, religion, and personal spirit. 

"Now that you mention it, Marc, it has always conjured a touch of zee strange for me as well. Perhaps it is not so crazy after all." 

"Yeah, well, let's move. I'll be Lockley tonight--start out in the cab. You follow in the chopper--Fairly close in case I need you." 

Now this early on, he would always announce aloud who he was going to be. Usually when going to Jake. It also almost felt like a sheepish announcement to me, but perhaps I’m reading too much into it. This is so early in the comics that it’s before they even realized their own individuality. To them, they were all still Marc pretending to be someone else. They were almost shy about trying to strike out on their own and be their own people. 

Anyways, it's always interesting how spooked Moon Knight often got early on when it came to dealing with ghosts, considering that he himself often thought of himself as a sort of ghost. 

Back to the creepy house, Moon Knight is still feeling spooked. 

"And little did we know that the night's patrol in Manhattan would end up out here...But it has so let's hope I can really end it--before dawn." 

Knowing that the team is armed with a shotgun, Moon Knight moves silently and carefully through the house. 

The two criminals are nervous as they too explore the house. 

This is normal. Owls get caught in curtains all the time. 

Creach and Parkins are spooked. 

"We ain't givin' up that loot, not after all we went through today to get it!" 

Earlier in the day: 

The estate lawyer is going through the effects from the Redditch estate. One of the people notes that "How can they be sure she's dead? She vanished, but..." 

"After non years, Miss Belvins, she is legally dead, and legality is all that concerns us." 

Just then, the three men barge in with their shotgun and demand the money. 

Just as the two are discussing what to do with all the cash in the office, Redditch busts in. 

Miss Belvins pleads for them not to shoot, she has an old mother she cares for. This enrages Redditch and he shoots. 

Creach and Parkins are horrified and make a run for it. 

Redditch meets up with a security officer as he makes a run for it. He is shot and he shoots in return. 

They dive into their get-away-car and make a break for it, but Redditch is hurt. 

Jake has his police scanner on in the cab and picks up the call for help. He makes a quick decision to head there in his cab. 

Crashing his cab to avoid a collision with the get-awa-car, he changes to Moon Knight and takes off. 

But now the three men are desperate. They take off across the bridge and open fire on the cops in pursuit. 

They make a mess of things, causing some nasty accidents. 

The Moon Copter follows, trying to catch up. 

Back to the present! 

Back to the chase! 

They stop for gas now that they've lost the cops. 

Redditch struggles to open the lockbox and manages to jimmy it open. 

He is excited once he sees what was hidden inside. 

"Listne-You guys can have the shoebox--I'll take this!" He gives up the money without a second thought. 

The other two are confused and demand to see what's inside the lockbox, thinking it's something more valuable. 

Redditch cries out that the treasure is his and bolts from the car. He jumps into another car and takes off. 

Moon Knight catches up and follows the car up to the old spooky house. And this brings us back to the point where Moon Knight scares off the two kids from before. 

Back to the present! Creach and Parkins find a locked door marked "Eddie's Room". It's Redditch's old bedroom. 

They kick down the door and find: 

There is also fresh blood on the floor. 

"Quit actin' like you're gonna have a heart attack, Creach! Ghosts don't bleed--but Redditch does. That cop nailed him good in the side. Don't you see--? All's we gotta do is follow the blood till we find Redditch..." 

The blood trail leads them to a cracked door. 

Redditch must still be inside!

Oh, wait, no. It’s more Skeleton. 

The Skeleton fires the shotgun! 

The men are spooked. A skeleton did just take a shot at them. 

Wait a second...

They’re doing fine. 

The men head down stairs to the basement, still in search of the treasure. 

And where is Moon Knight in all this gunfire?

“Someone else IS here–I can FEEL it–And somehow I know it’s not Redditch! But since I’m not quite ready to believe it’s a ghost, I’d better make my move now–Before someone innocent gets hurt…” 

Moon Knight… Surrounded is a strong way to phrase that. The three of you (four) aren’t surrounding anyone. 

Creach and Parkins freak out, thinking it's the cops. Thinking that if the cops don't catch them with the evidence (money), they can't charge them. 

They frantically light the furnace and throw the box of money in. 

The furnace, however, hasn't been maintained in a very long time and can't handle the sudden fire or build up of smoke. In fact, it starts to shudder and shake. 

It explodes! The explosion reveals a hidden trap door in the cellar floor! 

Still thinking the police are after them, they flee down under the floor and find themselves in a narrow tunnel. 

"It could still lead to whatever Redditch ran away with. He always said he had a perfect hiding place under the house --and I feel a breeze up ahead! Maybe we can find the box AND escape the cops! Keep goin'!" 

The tunnel does take them outside, but it leads right to the cemetery. And a waiting Moon Knight. 

Spooked by his ghostly appearance, Creach makes a run for it only to take a truncheon to the back of the head. 

Now it's Moon Knight vs. Shotgun. 

A crescent dart sinks into the hand that holds the shotgun. Moon Knight is in no mood. 

"You were wrong, Parkins! The ghost of the Moon...The avenging ghost of DEATH!" 

He punches Parkins hard. 

Frankie Parkins is out before he hits the ground.

Parkins' dropped flashlight illuminates a headstone that belongs to Edward Redditch. 

"Redditch?! Redditch is dead?" Moon Knight can't believe it. "There's a tombstone and an open grave for him?!"

And yes... There in the open grave lays Redditch. His hair is pure white and not only has he lost a lot of blood from the police bullet, but he also has a fresh shotgun blast. 

"Just like his dad." An old woman comes up behind Moon Knight. "...Always out hunting for something...Only coming home when he needed something...Covered in fresh blood...Red...COuldn't ever see anything but red...Then leaving right away...Leaving me alone again..." 

Ah….A sort of Norman Bates situation.

He finds the open lockbox that Redditch had been after. Inside, the treasure: The deed to the house. 

"He was named Edward too, you know...His dad was... Got hurt in a shooting accident, he did... Never came home...Then they put me away...But I had to come back home. So I could go out and get him...Bring him home for good....Take care of him... And now the boy's come back all red...covered in fresh blood like his hunter dad... All you can see...No matter which window you look out.." 

Seems she was waiting at home for Redditch and when he got back, he wasn't expecting to find his mother, who he thought was dead. Scared to death, the gun went off and accidentally shot him. 

Yeah, what I’m getting out of this is that he used to help his mom clean his father’s kills. (all the skeletons). His father was then killed by accident or in self defense by either the son, the mother, or one of his prey. She then went and collected his body and cleaned it to skeleton perfection, dressed it up in his hunting gear, and did a little Norman Bates. 

Now, her son is dead in his father’s empty grave, she goes to fetch his body too… But the house is burning and it’s time to end it. 

This was a fun little ghost story! Action, good storytelling, and a little spooky! Kinda felt like an episode of Twilight Zone or something. 

It also really sets the stage for how a lot of Moon Knight is going to go through the rest of Moench’s run. The story is more about the people fighting past demons, traumas, and their own ghosts. And his own fear/exploration that he himself is nothing but a Ghost out for vengeance. 

[mrvlbimbo]

I just know that bimbo! reader is the mom that all the kids teachers and friends have a crush on 😭 like when the triplets are in elementary and she goes to pick up the boys by herself I know the teachers be trying to flirt with her. Or the boys friends always wanna come over and talk to their momma LMAO

Aaaaand the trend of every man and woman in Hawkins’s being in love with her continues.

<3 She’s always alone when she picks up the boys because Eddie won’t go with her (He’s worried his kids will be bullied bc of him)

<3 So she goes by herself and people assume that she’s single because her kids go to a private school outside of Hawkins and the ppl there don’t rlly know her and Eddie

<3 Her kids are rlly friendly (they take after her in that way) and they make a lot of friends

<3 And one of these friends has a single dad :0

<3 He thinks he’s being really cool and sneaky abt it when he asks if he and his son can come over so their kids can have a play date

<3 she’s like “oh great, we have a pool btw.” And maybe she winks just a little, because she has a habit of winking at the end of a conversation for no reason.

<3 but this dude totally thinks he’s going to get lucky with her

<3 Her, being the oblivious sweetheart she is, goes home super excited and tells Eddie all about it and he’s instantly like “hmmmm. Sounds fishy.”

<3 when they arrive she practically skips to the door, Eddie close behind her so he can do his protective husband shtick.

<3 She can barely open the door bc he’s got his arms wrapped around her waist and he’s kissing all over her neck.

<3 (with no malice) she swats him away and asks him to grab drinks

<3 she opens the door with this big smile on her face greeted both of them with a hug “oh hi Roy!”

<3 She leans down to talk to the kid “hi Johnny, the boys are in the sunroom. I’ve got some snacks in there if you want.”

<3 the kid brushes past her and into the house, she hoped he would be able to find his way around.

<3 “big house you got, must get lonely.” It’s so clear he’s trying to size up if she has a husband, glancing into the house behind her and then to her fingers to look for a ring.

<3 he’s met with the sight of an array of rings on her hands, any of which could be a wedding ring.

<3 “it’s a big family. You need a lot of space for three boys,” she replies, completely oblivious to his motive.

<3 “and more on the way if I can help it.” Eddie sneaks up behind her, slipping an arm around her shoulder and reaching out to shake Roy’s hand with the other.

<3 to an outside viewer it seems perfectly friendly but on the inside Eddie is seething at the way this guy is looking at his wife

<3 “did you get drinks, baby?” She askes, giggling when he kisses her on the cheek.

<3 “mmm. Forgot,” he murmers, hiding his face in her neck to avoid her gentle scowl.

<3 she goes to fix the drinks instead, knowing Eddie likes the way she makes them better anyways.

<3 this leaves the two men alone to subtly glare at eachother.

<3 when she gets back they instantly straighten up, mostly because they don’t want to make their growing feud obvious. But also a little bit because she had changed into her bikini

<3 it’s a small pink number with a sheer skirt attached to the bottom, which does nothing to cover her ass even if that was maybe the intention.

<3 “fuckin hell babe. Lookin good.” He practically growls, pulling her into an intense kiss. Their lips smacking together for far longer than was appropriate in front of company, especially with his hands ghosting down her sides to grab a handful of her ass. “Bring my drink out to the pool, I’m gonna go get changed.”

<3 when he gets back, in all of his ratty band tee and black board shorted glory he’s upstaged by his wife’s new friend, very much shirtless and very much ripped

<3 he’s got that like that silver Fox 6-pack and biceps the size of Eddie’s head and he just kinda shrinks back and sits down quietly

<3 “Eds baby, take your shirt off you’re gonna get a funny tanline.”

<3 “oh I don’t want to take away from the main show,” he scoffs, gesturing at the man in the pool.

<3 “but babeee. You’re so sexy shirtless,” she whines, grabbing at the hem of his shirt.

<3 he hesitantly peels the shirt off, tossing it down on the patio. “next to that guy I look like a scrawny teenager,” he huffs, crossing his arms over his now bare chest.

<3 “Eds. I love the way you look.” She gets off her chair and crawls into his lap, her warm skin pressed against his.

<3 “I know baby. It’s just…when I look at you and then look at me… I can’t help but think you deserve someone who looks like that.”

<3 “Eddie, you’re my husband and the father of my kids. I don’t want anyone else, I never will,” she assures him, her fingers clutch at his chest as she slowly drags her lips against his.

<3 “mhm.” His fingers are needing at the flesh of her hips, almost enough pressure to leave bruises.

<3 they pull away from eachother when one of their kids yells “ew gross, leave mommy alone.” (They’re very protective and anti-pda)

<3 she lies on his chest, tracing his tattoos (her favorite is the one of her name right above his heart)

<3 the soft touch mixed with the fact she’s barely wearing anything is getting him embarrassingly hard

<3 “hey Roy. Can you watch the kids for a sec we got uh… laundry emergency,” he yelps out before picking her up and toting her into the house.

<3 in his defense they do fuck in the laundry room so he wasn’t completely lying about that part

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Run to You Part One

Derek Morgan x Reader

Words: 2474

Summary: Having been dating for a while, you finally feel comfortable enough to introduce your boyfriend to your daughter, Angelica. Derek takes on the role better than you could have imagined and you start to feel like a family. Then one day, Angelica disappears from a friend’s house and your ex husband starts making demands. 

Notes: Hey look it’s another one shot that got turned into a mini series. Whoops. Anyway, Derek Morgan, like Reid, holds a very special place in my heart and I hope you guys enjoy. Let me know what you think!

More Criminal Minds: HERE

-

You swirled the wine around in your glass, blowing out a long sigh before checking your watch. You’d been sitting there for about twenty minutes, deflecting glances from the waiter and reading the menu over and over again. You were about to call when you felt a pair of hands on your shoulders, the contact nearly making you jump out of your chair. You whirled around, heart pounding and breathing heavy. You sighed with relief when a familiar charming smile greeted you. 

“Jesus, Derek, you’re lucky I didn’t pepper-spray you.” You groused, feeling your body gradually calm down. He pressed a quick kiss to your lips. 

“Sorry, baby, I got caught up at work.” 

“Uhuh.” You coyly turned your head away, pretending to ignore him. He ran his hands up and down your arms, giving you goosebumps. 

“I’ll make it up to you…” He coaxed, his breath hot against the skin of your neck. Damn, he was impossible to be mad at. 

“You’d better.” You surrendered to another kiss before he sat down across from you. 

While you kept up your usual cool and collected appearance, on the inside you were sweating like a pig. Tonight was the night. Usually, on nights like tonight, you would get either dumped or ghosted. Most of the time it was both. But you had a feeling, a desperate hope, that Derek was different. 

“Earth to Y/N.” Derek laughed. You hadn’t realized that you had spaced off. He reached across the table and put his hand on yours. “Where’s your head at, sweetheart?” 

“I, uh,” You laughed nervously, “I was thinking we could go back to my place after this.” The biggest smirk spread across his face. 

“That’s what you’re getting antsy about?” He chuckled, shaking his head. The waiter came back with the check and, though he offered, you took this one. 

“You paid for the last date.” You reasoned, though you also didn’t want him to shell out for dinner if he was going to run off later. 

“Independent woman, I get it.” He teased. He knew that something was off about tonight. You kept looking at your watch, fingers tapping on the table anxiously, and now your eyes kept darting from the check to his face. 

Once the check was taken care of, you both headed back out to the parking lot. Derek took your hand and stopped suddenly, pulling you into his arms. He lifted your chin so that you were looking into his eyes. You looked pretty freaked out about something and it was worrying him. 

“Okay, sweetheart, what’s going on?” 

“What do you mean? Everything’s fine.” You couldn’t even convince yourself, let alone a behavioral profiler. You took a breath and let the tension built up in your shoulders fall. “Okay, there’s something I haven’t been telling you about me and when we go back to my place, you’re going to understand.” His eyes widened. 

“Don’t tell me you're married.” 

“No!” You exclaimed. “Well, not anymore. My ex and I split a long time ago.” 

“I’m confused. You were married?” You nodded, looking down shamefully. Derek put a hand on your cheek. “Baby, you could have told me that.” You let out a frustrated sigh. 

“That’s not the problem, Derek. That’s not the part that sends every other guy I’ve dated running for the hills.” 

“You’re really freaking me out here, Y/N. What is it?” Did you really think he was that kind of guy? You bit your lip nervously. 

“My roommate.” 

-

Your apartment should have been dark, but the living room lamp lit up the room, revealing the little bundle of blankets curled up on the sofa and the fast-asleep teen in the chair. You sighed, putting your keys in the little bowl on the table and walked over to the couch. You knelt in front of it, searching for a little nose and a pair of eyes. 

“I know you’re awake, Jellybean.” You tapped her nose lightly and earned a chorus of giggles. Her eyes popped open and her arms latched around your neck. 

“I missed you.” She pouted, making you laugh. 

“Baby, it’s only been a couple of hours. Besides, you had Amy to keep you company.” You motioned to the teen who was snoring in the seat across from you. Angelica made a face. 

“Who’s that?” She pointed over your shoulder to an awestruck looking Derek. You picked her up, blankets and all, and walked her over to him. 

“This is Derek. He’s a friend of mommy’s.” You tried to read his expression, but he was just looking at her. 

“Hi Derek, I’m Angelica.” She beamed. He smiled. 

“Hi sweetheart. That’s a really pretty necklace.” He motioned to the chain around her neck. It had a little locket on the end with a picture of the two of you inside. 

“Thanks! It was my mom’s, but she gave it to me for my birthday this year.” 

“Alright, munchkin, why don’t you go brush your teeth and get into bed?” You put her down on the floor, ignoring her pouting lips. “Go.” She scampered off to her room and you slowly looked back up at Derek. “So…”

“So.” 

“I’m going to send Amy home and then can I get you something to drink?” You asked, but you were really waiting for him to run. He nodded. 

“A drink would be great.” 

After Amy was gone and you finally got Angelica to stay in bed, Derek was patiently waiting on the couch, glass of wine in hand, awaiting the explanation that sent most guys out the door. You nervously sat down beside him and took a long drink from your own glass. 

“Your roommate?” Derek chuckled, quirking a brow. You laughed anxiously. 

“Yeah… I was afraid if I came right out and said ‘daughter’ you wouldn’t have even left the parking lot.” You curled your legs up underneath you, trying to get comfortable despite the situation. “That’s also why I didn’t tell you about her sooner. It seems every time I like a guy, he bolts as soon as he finds out I’ve got a kid.” Derek nodded in understanding. 

“How old is she?” 

“She’ll be eight in two months.” You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself. “They aren’t kidding when they say they grow up fast.” 

“Yeah, well if she’s anything like her mother, I’m sure she’s a piece of work.” Derek chuckled, teasingly poking your side. He seemed pretty laid back. He wasn’t gunning for the door or itching to leave as soon as your back was turned. His face turned serious, but he still didn’t seem angry. “You know you could have told me, right?” 

“It’s not you, Derek.” You stared at the wine in your glass, watching it swirl around like a crimson whirlpool. “I just have a hard time trusting people, especially when it comes to her. But I’m sure your profiler brain figured that out the day we met.” You cast him a knowing look. He shrugged. 

“I knew that you weren’t telling me something, but I always figured you’d tell me when you were ready to tell me.” He moved closer to you, setting his glass on the coffee table. “And now you have.” 

“I know that this isn’t exactly what you signed up for, and I’m not asking for you to step in and become her dad or anything like that, but I really want to keep seeing you and-” You took a breath. “Sorry, I’m rambling, aren’t I?” 

“Just a little, but it’s okay.” He wrapped an arm around your shoulders and you both sank further into the couch. “She seems like a good kid.”

“Oh, she is.” You beamed. “She’s smart and way more creative than I ever was at her age. And after everything that’s happened…” You stopped. You didn’t want to get into that now. One big reveal is enough for one night. “She’s a great kid.” 

Derek didn’t miss your hesitation, but he decided not to push it. You would tell him when you were ready. 

-

Three weeks later

When you stepped into the kitchen, you couldn’t help but laugh. Derek was standing over the stove, eggs cooking in the pan and music playing from your speaker. 

“Alright, show me your moves. Dance with me, Angel.” He laughed, Angelica jumping and spinning around him. Derek was beaming, picking her up in his arms and twirling around, spotting you out of the corner of his eye. “Morning.” 

“Morning momma!” Angelica exclaimed. You smiled and kissed her cheek. 

“Good morning Jellybean.” You kissed Derek, smiling against his lips. “Good morning Derek.” 

“We’re making you breakfast.” Angel grinned. “We’ve got eggs and bacon and french toast.” 

“Don’t forget the coffee.” Derek added. You laughed. 

“No, never forget the coffee.” You poured yourself a cup and watched as Derek continued his playful dancing with your daughter. It was hard to believe that he didn’t know she existed a month ago. In just a few weeks, Derek had become a fixture in her life. He was sweet and funny and, most importantly, he really cared about her. “Oh, Derek, I almost forgot. Could you pick Angel up after school today? I have a bunch of meetings today that are supposed to go late. Obviously if you have to leave for a case, I can figure something else out, but I figured if you were here you might be available?” 

“I’ll let you know if we have to take off, but I should be able to otherwise.” 

“Yay!” Angel cheered, placing a big kiss on his cheek. Derek chuckled. 

“Alright, Angel, you’d better go get ready.” He put her back down. “And if you’re quick, I’ll make you an extra piece of french toast, okay?”

“Okay, Derek!” She grinned and sprinted to her room. You watched him in awe. 

“I can’t believe how good you are with her.” You mused. Derek smirked. 

“What can I say? Chicks love me.” He teased. You rolled your eyes. Dereke snaked an arm around your waist and kissed your cheek. 

“I have two sisters.” He chuckled, shrugging slightly. “Besides, Angel is a sweet girl.”

“She’s crazy about you, that’s for sure.” You laughed lightly, taking another sip of coffee. Everything felt exactly the way it was supposed to. Derek made you feel safer than you had in a long time and, even more, he made you happier than you had been in years. 

Derek gave you a quick kiss goodbye before jetting off to the BAU. You watched his car pull away as he blew a kiss to Angelica with a grin on his face. 

When he got to work, an eagerly curious face was awaiting him. Penelope had been trying to figure out who Derek’s new girl was for a while. He hadn’t told her your name, partially because it was fun to watch her squirm with not knowing, but also because he knew her too well. She’d find out everything she could about you and he wanted to find it out for himself. He didn’t want you getting profiled by anybody else on the team. 

“You can stop grinning like that, babygirl, I’m still not going to tell you.” He smirked. Garcia pouted. 

“I can’t believe you torture me like this.” She huffed. “I am your best friend and therefore am privy to any and all relationship details. Hiding them is like breaching our deepest form of trust.” 

“I have given you details, Penelope.” He chuckled. “I’ve told you I’m seeing someone, it’s more serious than a usual fling, and that you would approve of her.” 

“How do you know I would approve?” Garcia challenged, punching his shoulder. “She’s got to be one hell of a woman to be good enough for my Derek Morgan.” 

“She is, babygirl. Believe me, she is.” He put an arm around her as they walked in together. Prentiss gave the pair a smile. 

“Did he finally tell you who she is?” 

“No and it is killing me!” 

“I still think he made her up to torture us.” Reid laughed as he walked by. Derek thwacked the back of his head and everyone laughed as they went to their piles of dreaded paperwork. Derek stopped by J.J.’s office. 

“Hey, J.J. what does today look like so far? Any cases?” 

“None that aren’t going to take me all day to prepare, why?” She smirked. “Got a hot date with your mystery woman tonight?” Morgan chuckled. 

“Something like that.” 

“Seriously, we are all dying to meet the woman that finally caged our resident playboy.” J.J. whined. 

“You’ll all meet her soon enough, I promise. I just don’t want all of you scaring Y/N off yet.” He wiggled his eyebrows, content with giving her just enough of a clue to appease the beasts for a while. 

Walking back to his desk, he had to shake his head, laughing as J.J. rushed to Garcia’s office to tell her the ‘mystery woman’s’ name. 

The day passed just as J.J. had said. Without a case, it was all catching up on paperwork and studying different cases. Of course, Garcia would be looking up every Y/N in Virginia and Morgan couldn’t help but revel in her vain efforts. 

He was pouring himself another cup of coffee when Prentiss tapped his shoulder. 

“Hey, your phone’s been ringing. I was half tempted to answer just to get it to stop. Can’t you hear it?” 

“I guess my mind was somewhere else.” He shrugged. He finished pouring his coffee and went back to his desk. “SSA Morgan.” 

“Derek…” You tried to calm down enough so you could speak clearly. 

“Y/N? Baby, what is it? Are you okay?” The entire office shifted with him. They saw his body tense and his voice change with concern. 

“It’s Angelica. S-she disappeared from school. They said she was there before recess and when they came back in, she was gone. Derek, he took her. I know he did. If we don’t find her he’s going to-”

“Woah, slow down, baby. I’m coming to you, okay. Where are you, the school?”

“Yeah, but Derek I-”

“I’ll be right there. Don’t go anywhere until I get there.” He hung up and grabbed his jacket. Prentiss looked at him with a worried expression. 

“Morgan, is everything okay?”

“Tell Hotch I had to leave.” 

“Why? What happened?” Reid asked. Derek looked around at all of their concerned faces and sighed. 

“I don’t have time to explain right now and it might be nothing, but if it isn’t…” He hated to admit it, but this wasn’t about his ego. This was about you and Angel. “I might need your help.” 

With that, he was gone, running to the elevator to get to you as fast as he could.

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto; @yellowbadgergirl; @itmejado; @suckmyapplejacks

[greeneyesandtea]

Elf on the Shelf

The Elf on the Shelf was a huge deal in the Styles home this year with Baby boy Styles declaring he is now Big boy Styles due to his promotion three weeks ago when Scorpio baby Sebastian or Bashy as Alex had taken to calling him arrived. Now that Alex came to the age of realizing the purpose of the Elf on the Shelf Harry saw on pinterest like any other mom it relatively soon became Lia’s job to organize and create a cheerful but messy Elf on the Shelf idea every night from November because  quarantine already has made things gloomy babe and tonight was no different in the Styles home.

“So I saw this one it looks pretty cool. We throw flour on the table and have Lala walk across the house tracking flour all the way to the kids rooms.” Harry said, pointing his screen to her back as she was facing the stove,Lia quickly turned around to see the mess Harry wanted to cause and her eyes rolled so hard that she could practically see her skull.“Your face is screaming shut the fuck up Harry.”

Lia was putting the water to boil for the bottles that Bashy uses during the night feedings since Harry found it was the best time with his little mate.He now had a little lad and best mate,all he wanted for years and now that he’s got it his world has been completed.Lia’s world as well has been complete but that doesn’t mean their perfect world hasn't come without their challenges.

“Because you just suggested I track flour though the home I clean everyday with a baby strapped to my nipple.” Lia turns her body around completely this time to make full eye contact. “You make the mess.You clean it up.You and Alex can both learn the lesson together now.”

“We know the lesson.I know the lesson. I just like seeing you bent over in those green panties you call shorts during breakfast.” Harry stands from the island padding on his hanukkah sock covered feet, a gift from Ben and Mer and wraps his arms around his now grumpy wife, his chest to her back and  “I’ll help clean.” Lia cranes her neck to look at her husband and raises a brow at him. “This time I promise.Jeez a man doesn’t do it once and he never lives it down”

Placing the last bottle in the pot and placing the lid on it,the couple takes a minute after to soak the warmth and smell of each other in the oddly quiet home.The home was usually filled with baby gurgles and whines of  mommy please! One more snacky! and the music Harry plays as background noise.

“Something else babe please I really don’t want to have a hectic morning tomorrow. Bash hasn’t been still for days now I don’t want to deal with a crying baby and a mess.Let’s just keep looking,let’s see what mess Lala can get into tonight yeah?” Lia turns herself around placing a soft kiss on the tip of his chin and grabs a hand that fell on her ass and walks him over to the table where they eat breakfast because of the bench Harry just needed to have there because one day that bench would be filled with Styles babies.

After a few scrolls through google and pinterest before Lia saw it! Mischievous Lala was going to cut a few pieces off the boys pajamas and on the white board she was going to tell the Styles boys that Santa needed proof Lala was watching to see if the boys were being good or bad.

“Look baby.Lala can cut some holes into their pajamas,they’re growing out of them anyway.” Lia took the side of her thumbnail and started biting at the cuticle and showed Harry her Pinterest board of Elf on the Shelf ideas.

“Stop that!” Harry batted Lia’s hand away from her mouth and ghosting his lips on hers quickly Lia almost missed it because of how fast it was. “Well let’s get the scissor and start cutting.I’ll write Lala’s message.” With a pat on the bum the couple springs into action.

Slowly making her way into Sebastian’s nursery taking in the sound of her baby’s gentle breathing.Lia took the swaddle off on one side and cut three small holes.One on each shoulder blade and one right on his breast milk filled bloated tummy. Lia quickly swaddles Sebastian back up before he feels the breeze come from the hallway that will surely wake him up and one thing she knows about her new addition is that no one absolutely no one wakes him up from his peaceful sleep.

As Lia was walking out of the nursery Harry had just finished taking the final piece off of Alex’s pajamas which had more pieces cut off. Alex being a stomach sleeper like made Harry let out a giggle as he cut two big pieces right where Alex’s bum cheeks where kept warm by the pants but due to Harry’s humor now missing one patch in fabric on the center of each bum cheek and two holes on each sleeve but worst of all was Harry took it upon himself to give Alex a trim.I piece of curl that kept getting in his eye it didn’t drastically change his hair but with lockdown both parents decided a haircut was not worth the risk of getting anyone sick.

Waiting for Harry to leave the big boy bedroom only to meet his missus in the hall.Everything was fine until Lia trailed her eyes from her husband's face to his hands.

“Harry Styles!” The parents have mastered the whisper yell very well and this is what Harry knows is a true I fucked up moment  “I said cut a few pieces of his pajamas not cut his hair! Harry Oh my God your nan is going to have a fit she loves Alex’s hair.” Taking the hair from Harry’s hand and seeing the stand that now in Lia’s hand looks much longer than it did in the Sunflower shaped night light dim.

“It did not look that long in the room.I swear!” Their eyes zone in on the little bundle of hair and little giggles escape from both their lips.

“It’s okay.” Lia turns to walk down the hallway and turns around before she takes a step down the stairs. “I like being the only woman in this house and Lala fucking up Alex’s hair only secures that.”

With a white board and dry erase marker and a small tiff on whose handwriting is better You’ve spelled your own name wrong dummy the pair went to sleep peacefully holding each other.Harry’s arm around Lia’s waist and a leg between her knees and Sebastian only waking up once during the night. It was going to be a good day tomorrow was Harry’s last thought before he drifted into sleep holding his wife.

Harry’s high point ended at 9:30 am because a sob rang through the home,the sob came from Alexander Nash Styles.Alex was standing at furthest five inches from Lia’s face.

“Mummy.” The choked out sob rang through and Lia opened her eyes confused and then had wide eyes after she registered her baby was in tears and had a bright red face damn near hyperventilating.

Both parents springing up from their position wrapped in each other to pull their four year old into bed with them.

“What’s wrong baby? Did you throw up, it's okay.” Lia asks with her sweet Alex perched in her lap.

“No.” it barely came out but when it did the force of the cry almost made him throw up.This was not a normal cry for Alex this sweet boy who barely cried as a baby let alone a toddler was having a full on terror cry.Shoving his face in his mom or Mum as Harry insisted chest,Lia could only rub his back and shh his until he calmed down after a few more sobs.

“Now that you’ve calmed down,want to tell momma what’s wrong?” Lia took a hand and placed it on the side of his face and placed a kiss on Alex’s puckered lips as he already knew that was his mummy’s motives. “Thank you for the kiss.Now let’s wipe these tears and tell mummy what happened.Did you have a bad dream?”

Alex shook his head so hard it collided with Lia’s collarbone making her wince a bit.

“Lala cut-” little whine slipped from his throat. “Cut my pants on my bum and then...cut my curlies.” The cry started again Lia and Harry shared a look and then a giggle which caused Alex to look at his parents. “Oh no Bashy.What is Lala cut Bashy too.”

The thought of his baby brother getting a tailor job from Lala scared him so much and took him to protective brother mode.Alex made a mad dash to the nursery making both parents move  out of bed because Bashy could not be woken up on due to someone else.

“Careful it’s only been three weeks!” Harry warmed his wife who was quick to jump out of bed but Lia waved him off speeding down the hall in her green sleeping shorts to see what Alex was going to do after one noticed that Bashy had fallen victim to Lala as well.

Lia was met with a plea from Alex to get his baby brother out of his crib and check him.

“No,Alex come on let’s wait for him to wake up on his own unless you want a cranky brother.” Lia keeps her voice down as Harry goes to pick Alex up and starts to walk him out.

“Let’s let baby brother sleep,I'll check him later.You and I can make breakfast,let mummy and Bash sleep for a little longer.” Harry said as he walked down the stairs but before he could respond Sebastian’s cry rang through the house and caught the attention of Alexander to which Harry threw his head back and hoped Lia could get the message telepathically and change Sebastian fast before Alexander threw another fit.

“Put me down daddy! I need to check Bashy now!” The four year old thrashed himself in his daddy’s arms and had more strength than Harry had thought.Alex was a little man on a mission running up the stairs and down the hall to his baby brothers room.Harry chased after him but was not fast enough because he heard the cry that came from Alex.

“Oh no!Lala got Bashy too!”

And the sob continued leaving Alex’s mouth which caused Bash to let out a cry and the parents at a loss for words.For the first time in three weeks both their babies were crying at the same time and neither knew how to begin consoling them.

“I should have just let Lala track flour through my house.”

[amintyworld]

Falling In Love With You - Dream SMP Drabble

Prompt: DSMP Valentines Fanweek: 8th: Food/Music

A/N: Hey so if you haven’t been aware there’s a fanweek going on for Dream SMP that involves Valentines Day prompts, and I’ve always wanted to participate in one of these, so I’m gonna try to post drabbles when I can this week. ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ by Elvis Presley. Today we’ve got some Mermaid!Sally, so I hope you enjoy! - Minty

Tagging: @dsmp-fanweeks

TW: mention of vomiting, mention of miscarriage, memory loss, mention of death.

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

Wise men say 

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help falling in love with you

Sally lugged the passed out man onto the beach, checking to see thankfully he was still breathing. She would admit it was a shock to her when a human sank deep into her part of the ocean and for some reason or other did not seem to want to swim up. At first, the mermaid considered maybe just letting the human drown - after all, humans were always after her scales for their strange potions and often wanted to kidnap her anyway. Sweet revenge.

But her heart didn’t want revenge, instead, it urged her to show him mercy and be kind, and maybe in return, he’d be the same. Now, changing into her human form as her necklace flashed around her neck, she looked down at the human, watching him slowly breathe in and out, his dark brown locks messed and halfway covering his right eye. When suddenly his eyes snapped open as he looked around, they made eye contact as they both let out a loud scream, scrambling for weapons. “What.. what are you?!”

“Gee, a thanks would be nice for saving your life.”

“Saving my… where’s Tommy and Tubbo?!” The human said, looking around desperately for the two people he was asking for.

“Who?”

“My brothers, they were with me when we got cornered and had to jump. Where are they?” He asked, panicked.

“If they weren’t with you they must be upstream. They’re probably looking for you, come on.” She huffed, throwing down the rock she used as a makeshift weapon and walking over to hold her hand out and help the man to his feet. He hesitated before taking hers, both just staring into each other’s eyes for a moment before she began to walk past with a huff.

“Thank you.”

Sally turned around, surprised to hear the human say that as she absentmindedly tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. “Uh… thanks.” She said, a smile spreading across her lips.

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

Shall I stay?

Would it be a sin

If I can’t help falling in love with you?

“Alright Wilby, you’re going down,” Sally smirked as she adjusted her grip on the wooden sparring sword, her long hair up in a ponytail. Wilbur, on the other hand, smirked confidently. 

“Oh really? You underestimate my power, young padawan.” They both chuckled a bit at the joke before rushing forward, swords clashing together. Wilbur pushed against Sally’s sword as she lost balance and stumbled backward, Wilbur rushed to pin her to the floor before she jumped, just missing his strike and holding her wooden sword above her head to bring it down in a downward strike. Wilbur moved back just in time to dodge as he dashed forward, pinning her against a tree. “It’s no use - you’re a trapped sardine, or salmon more like.” He chuckled as she struggled against his grip, her sword on the ground.

Just a few feet away in some bushes, two teenage boys watched intently. “What are they doing?”

“Sparring, duh.”

“Why is she blushing then?”

“Huh…?”

Sally bit her lip as she weighed her options, a smirk appearing on her lips. “I know there’s only one way out of this one, Wilby. One way you’ll never resist.”

“Oh yeah, what’s-?” Sally pushed her lips against Wilbur’s, making him weak in the knees as sally effortlessly tossed his sword to the ground as well, focusing on the kiss before Wilbur grabbed her wrists and pinned them up against the tree trunk. “That’s cheating!”

“Yeah, I’d like to see the rulebook!”

Back in the bushes, Tubbo’s eyes lit up. “I know what this is: They’re flirting.”

“What’s flirting?”

“I think it’s when you try to make someone blush. They’re blushing because they’re sick. Philza told me.”

“Sick?”

“Yeah, lovesick. I think it’s like the flu.”

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

“Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Some things are meant to be.”

Wilbur’s voice echoed through the dusk as Sally walked through the candlelit path, hearing Wilbur’s singing. Tubbo had passed her a note that said to meet Wilbur at the mountain before the messenger promptly jumped into the bushes humming the Mission Impossible theme. Walking up the mountain, the wind whipped her long hair around as Sally pulled her sweater closer to herself to get warmer. What in the world did Wilbur want with her all the way up here?

As she turned the corner she felt like she couldn’t breathe, as her world stopped and slowed. There Wilbur sat in what looked to be a worn grey suit, playing his guitar with a white lily, her favorite, wedged tightly in between the strings. Seeing her, he smiled, moving closer and leaning his guitar against the tree as he freed the lily, brushing her hair back behind her ear and safely tucking the lily in her hair. Her breaths caught in her throat as his hand moved to cup her cheek. “You look beautiful.”

“I-” Sally felt her cheeks heat up at the comment as she stammered, trying to change the topic. “You sent for me?”

“I had something to ask you, yes,” Wilbur said, lightly taking her hand in his as he leads her toward the edge where he was to see the stars begin to blink into existence. Wilbur took a deep breath. “We’ve been dating for a while now, and I was wondering… do you want to be my girlfriend?”

“Yes… I… nothing would make me happier than being with you, Wilby.”

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

Take my hand

Take my whole life too

For I can’t help falling in love with you

“Wilbur, I’m pregnant,” Sally admitted, her hand still not letting his move from her belly. “It’s yours, Wilby.”

Wilbur brushed his hands through Sally’s hair, moving to cup her cheek, eyes darting back and forth. “Pregnant…?” He said, hopeful. It was their third day in Dream SMP - they’d been together for so long and had always wanted a family, but it never seemed to work no matter what they did. It seemed almost impossible to hear those words out of Sally’s mouth because for a long time Wilbur thought he’d never hear them. But here they were.

“We’re having a baby, Wilbur.” Sally smiled, leaning in against Wilbur’s chest and snugly putting her head between his neck and shoulder, wanting to be as close to him as possible. “You’re gonna be a Dad…”

Wilbur felt tears of joy go down his cheeks as he laughed softly, pulling Sally closer to rest her body against his fully, cuddling her close. His hands rubbed gently on her stomach, and he leaned up to kiss her softly on the neck. Their other hands interlocked tightly. “How… how long?”

“Three months. I wanted to make sure it wasn’t a fluke before I told you.”

“I’m gonna be a Dad…” Wilbur sighed, kissing Sally’s cheek softly. “You’re gonna be a Momma.”

“I know. I didn’t believe it when I found out either. I was worried they’d… but they didn’t. They’re still here.”

“My little champion, my little warrior…” Wilbur smiled, tears going down his cheeks as he looked down at Sally’s stomach. “Don’t stop fighting now, okay? You’ve got so many people who’ve been waiting so long to finally meet you. I can’t wait to meet you.”

“I love you, Wilby.” Sally smiled, content. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Sally.” Wilbur breathed, holding his girlfriend close and not prepared to let her go anytime soon.

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

Like a river flows

Surely to the sea

Darling, so it goes

Some things are meant to be.

“Fine, I’ll go with you. Just leave the baby, please.”

“A wise decision. The Queen will be pleased to hear of your arrival back into the Pod.”

“You’ll leave the baby alone, and the humans?”

“Humans?” The guard with a necklace like hers smirked, holding back a laugh. “Why would we possibly care about humans?”

Sally held her baby close one last time as she ran her fingers through the small child’s fur. She still hadn’t even opened her eyes yet. She’ll have no idea what her own mother even looks like. She moved to kiss her daughter on the forehead as her black nose sniffed intently at her scent, not knowing it would be the last time she’d smell it. Her daughter, her little miracle. “I love you, don’t forget your mother loves you.” Carefully, she set the basket in the pond and with a little magic from her necklace, moved the water to drift the baby down a small river toward L’manburg. They’d all be safe, that’s all that matters now.

“Come on, Salaria. The Queen is awaiting your presence.”

“Of… of course.” Sally turned with a sigh as she sorrowfully followed her captor through the trees and away from her home. Her real home.

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

“Take my hand

Take my whole life too

For I can’t help falling in love with you.”

Sally sat near the water with Ghostbur, her heart shattered seeing him but was happy that she was able to, at least one last time. She sat with her arms crossed on the beach, her tail submerged in the water, her necklace gone. As punishment for ‘abandoning’ the Pod, she was no longer able to shift like the others and able to travel to the surface again. Her necklace was smashed, along with her hopes of ever seeing her real family ever again. At least now she could properly say goodbye to him, maybe even apologize. She slowly finished the song as Ghostbur continued to strum, listening intently.

“For I can’t help falling in love with you.”

“I… sang this for you?”

“All the time back in the day. You were very romantic.” Sally reassured Ghostbur. “We’d sing it together sometimes, other times you just strummed it on your guitar. It’s our song. Don’t you remember?”

“No, I…” A dark blue tear slid down the ghost’s cheek. “I don’t. I really want to, though. I want to remember you. I want to remember how it felt to love you, I’m really trying, but… but I can’t.”

Slowly, as Ghostbur sobbed Sally’s hand found its way into the ghost’s. “It’s okay. One day you’ll remember, I know you will. Whenever you do, I’ll be waiting right here for you. I love you, Ghostbur.” Sally said, her eyes beginning to fill with tears. “I love you no matter what.”

[dylanhawth]

[ LORENZO ZURZOLO, CISMAN, HE/HIM ] shh ! DYLAN HAWTHORNE, the TWENTY year old SECOND year ANTHROPOLOGY major from HARTFORD, CT is known as a TOURMALINE  around here. HE was invited to join because HE PUBLISHED A COLLECTION OF SHORT STORIES ANONYMOUSLY THAT GARNERED A BIT OF FOLLOWING AND RECENTLY STEPPED FORWARD AS THE AUTHOR, and now, they’re here to stay. HE reminds me of THE NERVOUSNESS OF A FIRST KISS, LEAVING SECRET MESSAGES IN LIBRARY BOOKS, DRIVING AIMLESSLY WITH THE WINDOWS ROLLED DOWN ON A WARM SUMMER NIGHT WHILE THE RADIO HUMS A PLAYLIST CURATED FOR YOU BY YOUR BEST FRIEND.

[ big ass bio ] | [ connections ] | [ pinterest ] | [ playlist ] 

ooc. 

omfg hello. i can’t tell you how excited and happy i am to be here. i was too nervous to apply for the last three months but i decided to stop being a Coward and just try. im SO happy to be here, it’s the highlight of my week tbh lmao. anyway i am mar, she/her, 24, est. i live in nyc and all i do is visit the planetarium and cry. i’m so fucking bad at these so im just gonna LIST things and hope you get the vibe. i am a pisces sun, scorpio moon. i prob have a napoleon complex a little bit lmao. my favorite social media site is goodreads and i get rlly sad when my friends rate books i love poorly dfljskdfs. i can touch my tongue to my nose. i eat a lot of persimmons. i have a favorite rock at my local park that i visit a lot. idk dfskjls. i’m v friendly tho so pls hmu. i send a lot of memes, and love making meme edits for the chars so im rlly sorry in advance if you guys hate that. 

01.      basics.

NAME.   dylan h. hawthorne. ALIASES. dyl, hawth.   AGE.  twenty. HOMETOWN. hartford, ct. GENDER.  cismale. PRONOUNS.   he/him.

 02.      appearance.

EYES.   green. HAIR.   brown. HEIGHT.   6”0 BUILD.   lean. BIRTHMARKS   /   BURNS   /   SCARS.   a birthmark the shape of australia on his left thigh. TATTOOS.   n/a. PIERCINGS.   n/a.

03.      habits.

ALCOHOL   ?  socially. SMOKING   ?  socially. HABITS.  fidgets in chairs. cracks knuckles and back often. nervous laughter. chewing on pencils. talking to his plants. dogearing books. staring off into space and applying chapstick for a prolonged period of time. getting overly competitive about boardgames. stress cleaning. carries a book in his bag always. night owl. incredibly impatient when the internet is slow. creature of habit when it comes to menus, orders the same shit over and over again. LIKES.   feeding the ducks at the local pond. the smell of the earth after a rainstorm. the way music sounds coming from another room. kissing. watering his plants. inside jokes. making wishes in fountains. discussing a recently finished book with someone. making handmade cards for friends on their birthday. fireworks. coming of age films. packages wrapped in twine. jogs. the way friday nights feels when you’re with someone you love. the feeling you get leaving the movie theatre. DISLIKES.   being late. having too many coins on him. coffee with no sugar. when people speak loudly in the library. doing laundry. handshakes with too much squeeze. receiving voicemails. untidiness. golf. charles dickens. lectures with no student input. hot weather. confrontation. being caught in a lie. losing his umbrella. people who cheat during games. rainboots. bad table manners. humidity.

04.      personality.

MYERS-BRIGGS.   infp. ENNEAGRAM. the helper. ZODIAC.   pisces. TEMPERAMENT.   melancholic. ALIGNMENT.   neutral good. ARCHETYPE.   the lover. POSITIVE.   empathetic. sensitive. intelligent. charismatic. easygoing. gentle. loyal. passionate. romantic. humble. supportive. gregarious. playful. diligent. NEGATIVE.   deceitful. gullible. finicky. naive. obsessive. perfectionistic. secretive. timid. possessive. weak-willed. indecisive. cynical. indulgent. summary: basically, dylan is a love starved, people pleasing nervous wreck. big ass nerd who wants to be everyones friend, wants to be liked SO BAD. very charming and charismatic, comes off as fairly confident and comfortable at first. is able to make everyone feel loved and like they’re the most important person in the world, however lacks a backbone. is both romeo and juliet, and just as dumb as both of them too. 

05.      hc’s.

dylan was a football player in high school, believe it or not. he was rather good at it too, which is sort of jarring considering his pacifistic nature. however, he DID land on someone incorrectly at some point during his senior year, and broke their wrist. he quickly abandoned the sport altogether because of how guilty he felt. 

touched on this briefly but dylan really… loves indiana jones lmao. like, it’s quite ironic given his absolutely inability to be a badass, and lack of suaveness. however, he admires indy’s lust for adventure. he also was obsessed with the mummy as a kid. both of these were incredible sources in his very irrational decision to sudden anthropology. however, he does really love and admire anthropology. his favorite ethnography is the spirit catches you and you fall down, which makes him cry like a little bitch every time he even thinks about it. 

he’s the second oldest, but he is also baby. he is SUCH a big momma’s boy. he misses his mom so much. he writes to her often, and of course calls her even more. despite being six-foot tall, he still goes home and rests his head on his mother's lap, falls asleep as she runs her fingers through his hair. he often tries to find native english plants and flowers to press, and mail back to his mother in the form of bookmarks. has nEVER STEPPED ON A CRACK IN HIS LIFE, BABY.

just leaves a shit ton of notes in books in the library. some are riddles, some are poetry, some are commentary on the book, some are doodles. just depends on how he’s feeling for that book. he doesn’t tell anyone he does it, but he’s waiting for someone to connect the dots with his handwriting and writing style. 

speaking of plants, his room is basically a big greenhouse. he has so many plants, and takes serious care of them all. he has a little humidifier in his space for them, marks down when he waters what plants, and has a label maker to label them all with a name. they are all named after shakespeare characters. 

dyl is a doodler, so much so that he contributes to the school paper as a cartoonist. his cartoons are usually just random thoughts he has, but sometimes they get political and he works marxism into them. (this man loves marx.) 

[ suicide implied tw, death mention tw ] he dresses like a victorian boy in love with his roommate who has recently died of scarlet fever and in his mourning, plans to disappear in the bog by the school by mysterious circumstances and become a ghost that haunts the college with his lover. like lots of gray and slacks and ties ands ties and sweaters, lol. also he has glasses that he never wears because he can never find them! catch him squinting in your classroom because he can’t see SHIT. too shy to ask you for your notes though, doesn’t wanna inconvenience you! but when he’s Out on the Town®, he fucking wears like, tacky patterned shirts that are expensive but ugly. someone please help him. 

all about fun socks! he loves owning socks that have dumb little images on them. if you get him a pair of fun socks, he’d absolutely go nuts. his entire week: made. 

he leaves his roommate limericks when he senses they are sad. tapes em to the bathroom mirror or leaves them in the fridge. also loves buying people presents. tiny ones. like haunted looking things from second hand stores, or your favorite chocolate. also is the sort of friend that has EVERYTHING in his bag, in case someone cuts themselves or has a headache. can be a bit of a mom himself. it’s the little things, y’know? 

prob still in his emo phase. listens to way too mcr to not be lmao.

eco-friendly king, will not stand for you not recycling. 

if you will allow him, he will attempt to have a secret handshake with you. he’s a child. is dying for someone to memorize the parent trap handshake and indulge him. 

cannot sit still in a chair. fidgets an excessive amount, the bobbing of his knee and the squirming around. it just never ends. 

bi. that’s the hc.

he’s a little bit in love with everyone he meets if you couldn’t tell, and it’s fucking disastrous. 

he is based loosely off: patroclus ( the song of achilles ), ponyboy curtis ( the outsiders ), laurie laurence ( little women ), eduardo saverin ( the social network ), remus lupin ( hp ), oliver marks ( if we were villains. ) 

( @opalsmedia​ )

[tangledstarlight]

hi im back again with another jatp 5+1 thing because i have no self control and work has been real slow lately. this time it started because i was thinking about the plants in the studio garage and who watered them yknow?? and well. now we have this. i’m very sorry.

sidenote: this is apparently turning into a lil series so if anyones got any ideas of reggie or alex hmu cos im drawing a blank

ANYWAY it’s a 5+1 julie centric with a happy ending because Julie Molina can and will save those boys with the power of love. 

also on ao3 

trigger warnings! death mentions (because they’re ghosts (also her mother is yknow. dead)), mild swearing.

one. 

When she was six Julie had made a very detailed presentation - including glitter and coloured print outs, courtesy of Carrie’s printer - on why she should be allowed to get a pet fish. There had been charts and graphs - because she’d seen someone on tv using charts and graphs and getting what they wanted so obviously it was the way to go - and little hands outs in the form of flyers and posters she’d found in the school library. 

She’d stood in front of her parents in the living room, Carrie holding up the bar graph, Flynn supporting the pie chart, and she had made her case. She had promised to feed them, to help clean out the tank and filter. She’d pointed out how having a fish didn’t need walking and that they were quiet and there was never really any mess to clean up. A fish would be the perfect pet. 

A week later on a sunny Saturday morning, the three Molina’s walked into a pet store. Julie had done a lot of thinking in the last week about what kind of fish she wanted. Carrie, Flynn and herself had spent a painstaking afternoon looking through photos on google until they found the perfect fish. 

So she almost didn’t notice the tank in the back corner of the store that looked a little dark and dingy, with two fish swimming aimlessly around the decoration-less tank. There wasn’t anything particularly special or different about these fish, they looked like every other goldfish she’d ever seen. Yellow-gold scales, large eyes, fins that always reminded her of wings, one of them seemed to be turning almost white while the other had little spots of black mixing with the gold. 

Julie tilted her head as she peered into the tank, blowing a stray curl out of her face as she furrowed her brow. She couldn’t say why, but these fish just seemed so very sad to her. 

“They’re sad,” she said out loud, looking over at her parents where they were standing talking to a shop assistant about different types of tanks. “Why are they by themselves?”

“Those two are returns. Kid didn’t want them anymore so they bought them back,” the man said, already sounding bored of the conversation. But the frown on Julie's face deepened as she looked back at the fish. No wonder they were sad. Pulling her lower lip between her teeth, Julie looked around at all the other fish tanks around her, at all the bright happy fish swimming around and made up her mind. 

“Can we get these two please?” She pointed at the tank in front of her, careful not to touch the glass because she didn’t want to scare them. That would be a terrible first introduction. 

“I thought you wanted one of the ones with orange and black splotches?” Her mom said coming to stand next to her, because that’s all she’d been talking about on the drive over. About the fish that she’d wanted. Julie nodded her head quickly and then shook it once, hair flying in front of her face again that her mom gently moved away. 

“I did! But these two are sad and no one wants them which isn’t fair. They didn’t do anything wrong. But I want them. And I’ll look after them and love them and they can be happy! Please momma, these ones?” Julie watched as her parents exchanged a look, eyebrows raising and lips twitching. She didn’t know what any of it meant, but her dad said something about needing a tank big enough for two and forty-five minutes later they were leaving the shop with a tank and two sad looking fish. 

Julie had been so engrossed in looking at her new fish, naming them and telling them all about their new home and how they were going to be able to see the TV so clearly from their spot in the living room that she didn’t hear the shop assistants comment about how they probably only had a few months left to live. 

Two years later as Juile went about her usual Saturday morning routine of breakfast and cartoons and pretending to help her mom with the crossword she paused to say hello to her fish. Empty bowl in her hand and halfway to the kitchen when she looked into the tank and felt her heart drop. 

“Mom! Dad!”

Her parents both came rushing in from the kitchen at her distressed call, finding her staring into the glass tank she had taken hours to decorate with silent tears dripping down her face as the two fish floated listless at the top. 

“Oh sweetie,” her mom said, a hand resting on her chest and as she wrapped her other arm around her daughter's shoulders, pulling her close to her side. 

“They’re dead,” Julie said quietly, because she had done all her research two years ago about fish and how to look after them and what they liked. And how to tell if they were dead. 

“Yeah they are,” her mom gave her a gentle squeeze, turning her away from the tank and leading her to the sofa so they could sit down. “But you gave them the best two years with the way you looked after them. Decorating their home and making sure they got only the best food and keeping them company. They weren’t so sad anymore.” 

And Julie just nods her head, wiping tears away on her sleeves and swallowing when she feels more tears welling in her eyes. 

“Can we bury them?” 

“Of course we can mija. There's that old shoe box in the closet upstairs, why don’t you go get it and we can decorate it for them, huh? Put their names on it, make it look nice,” her dad, perched on the arm of the sofa said, running one hand over her hair as he smiled down at her. 

“Okay.”

They bury the two fish in a cardboard shoe box decorated with glitter and stickers in the back garden, next to a little flower bed near the studio garage and Julie cries again but it’s not so sad. Because she had given her fish the two best years she could and her mom is holding her hand while her dad has her hugged to his side. And maybe death isn’t so sad if they’ve lived a happy long life.

 two. 

The plant sat on her desk staring at her. 

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t staring at her, because it was a plant and, as far as Julie knew, plants couldn’t stare. But if they could this one would be. 

Actually it would probably be glaring at her. Using it’s last dregs of life to make sure it’s murderer knew what they had done and felt guilty about it. 

Julie hadn’t meant to kill the little plant. She’d just… forgotten it was sitting on her windowsill in her bedroom, in direct sight of the sun everyday for the last three months. Without getting watered once. 

She was eleven years old and a plant killer. 

Julie dropped her head into her hands and let out a groan, throwing herself backwards onto her bed so only her feet were dangling off the end. That’s how her mom finds her twenty minutes later. 

“Everything okay in here?” She asked, a laugh in her tone that just makes Julie groan again. 

“No!” She whines, not sitting up but at least moving her hands from in front of her face as her mom comes further into her room and sits on the edge of her bed. 

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” 

“I killed the plant,” Julie mutters, a pout on her lips as her eyebrows are drawn together and she glares at the ceiling. Just how she’d imagined the plant glaring at her. 

“Ah,” is all she gets in response which just makes Julie glare harder at her ceiling, even as she feels tears pooling in her eyes. 

“I’m a plant killer mom. Does that make me a bad person?” 

She can almost feel the shock coming from her mom as she looks down at her, eyes a little wide as the older woman shakes her head. And then her eyes soften and she’s pulling Julie up so they’re sitting side by side on the bed, looking at the plant she has murdered by default. 

“Oh Julie. Did you mean to kill the plant?” She asks and Julie immediately shakes her head, hair flying everywhere and eyes widening in horror at the thought. 

“No! Of course I didn’t! I swear!” 

“Well there you go then. You just made a mistake my love, everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes they can lead things like a plant dying,” her mom gestures in front of them with one hand while the other brushes tears off her cheeks. “Sometimes they can lead to bad things happening to someone else. But it’s what you do in response to your mistake that really matters. You’re not a bad person Julie, I don’t even think you’d know how to be a bad person.” 

Julie sniffed, eyes locked on the plant as she thought over her mom's words and what they meant and what she could do with them. 

“Can we get a new plant? And maybe– maybe keep it in the studio so I’ll remember to water it when I go practice?” She turned her eyes up to her mom and was greeted with a wide smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. 

“That sounds like a great plan!” 

three.

Sometimes you make friends when you’re a little kid and just assume they’re always going to be in your life. Because when you’re a little kid and when you say someone is your best friend, you mean it, whole heartedly and without a single doubt in your mind. 

For as long as Julie can remember it had always been the two of them. 

Julie and Carrie. 

Carrie and Julie. 

Best friends forever.

She knew they had met because their parents knew each other, that they’d always gone to the same schools, the same parks. She knew that when Carrie’s mom had left her dad spent three weeks drinking and shouting and playing music too loud, that Carrie had spent the majority of those three weeks at her house. She knew that whenever she learnt a new song that Carrie would have a dance routine worked out within hours. 

Julie knew that no matter what went right or wrong in her life, Carrie would be there to have her back.

Because they were best friends. 

Nothing had ever really changed in their friendship, not even when they’d met Flynn on the first day of first grade and immediately decided their duo was now a trio. Because they were kids, and when kids declared they were best friends, they meant it. 

At least Julie had meant it. 

Now, curled up under the covers on her bed, tear tracks on her face and a headache forming behind her eyes, she starts to wonder if Carrie had ever meant it. She starts to reevaluate their entire friendship, her entire childhood. There’s very few memories of the last fourteen years of her life that don’t involve Carrie in some way. 

That thought just makes a fresh wave of tears fill her eyes and dampen her pillow. 

The words are still echoing in her head. The tone she had used, the hand on her hip, the tossing of her hair, the look of disgust on her face. Julie had seen it all before, she’d just never seen if directed at her or Flynn. 

“Don’t you get it? We are not friends anymore. I don’t hang out with pathetic losers like you.” 

Around and around in her head the words bounced. Julie doesn’t know what changed from Friday afternoon to Monday morning, doesn’t know what she did or didn’t do, doesn’t know how she’s meant to react other than crying. 

Which is apparently one of the many, many,  things that make her a pathetic loser. 

Along with being childish and unfashionable and boring and not the right type of person for Dirty Candi – a group that Julie had helped her form, encouraged her to start, helped brainstorm a name for and decide on who would wear which colour. A band, that no Julie thought about it, she had never been asked to join. Not once during the whole process did it ever come up. 

Julie had never even seen the distance growing between them. Hadn’t noticed when Carrie decided on who she wanted to be, and who that person was didn’t need someone like Julie around. 

Twenty minutes later, with Julie still hiding under her duvet and some playlist of sad songs playing on youtube, Flynn comes through the door. Dropping her bag next to the bed and joining her under the covers. Julie turns to face her, closing out of the app so they’re left in silence. Flynn’s been crying too, she notes, because Carrie had ended her friendship with both of them. Said mean and hurtful things about both of them. 

“Carrie’s a bitch,” Flynn mutters her eyes on the ceiling but there’s no real heat in her words. They’re both too in shock and sadness right now, Julie realises. Do you have to go through the five stages of grief even if the person you lost hasn’t died? She’s never thought about that before.

“Yeah, she is,” Julie agrees. Because it’s true. Carrie has always been a little bit of a bitch, she’s just never directed it at them. In fact she’d never actually been so outright mean to anyone and in the back of her mind, Julie wonders what happened in the forty eight hours that they didn’t see her. 

They’ll probably never find out the answer to that question. It’s just a fact of life that Julie is going to have to come to terms with, she supposes. Her and Carrie had been best friends once. They weren’t anymore.

Her mom finds them twenty minutes later still tucked under the duvet and concocting plans on how they can possibly egg Carries house without being caught. She leans against the doorframe, her cheek pressing to the wood as she crosses her arms over her chest and smiles at them both. 

“How about I make us some hot chocolate and we come up with a plan that doesn’t involve you two doing anything illegal, huh?” And who are they to say no to hot chocolate when they’re sad?

 four. 

Music had never been about being the best or winning or even competitions to Julie. It had always been about the emotions, the lyrics, the actual music. That’s not to say she didn’t like it when she won though. Because she did. She very much liked it when a group of strangers gathered together and decided she was the best of the bunch. 

So it also hurt when she didn’t win. Even if the loss was deserved. She’d messed up the intro to the song, had forgotten some of the lyrics half way through, had even been a little out of tune at the beginning she knew.

So she knew she wasn’t going to win. But it still sucked. It especially sucked when Carrie strolled past, tossing her hair over her shoulder and glancing in her direction before saying something that made her friends laugh long and loud. Julie felt her face flushing, tucked a stray curl behind her ear before pulling it back free and trying to hide her face behind it. 

It wasn’t that losing in a silly school music competition was really a big deal. It was just one really bad performance that just happened to be a little more important than any of her previous ones. It didn’t count for a grade, it wouldn’t go on her report card or in her file. It was something she’d signed up for for fun. For a laugh. 

She just happened to be the one people were laughing at. Which just, it really sucked. There was no other way to describe it. 

She said as much later when she sat on the sofa and Carlos wandered into the room, a box of cereal tucked under one arm with a handful of the stuff in the other, and asked what was wrong. He stands in silence for a few seconds, stuff the cereal into his mouth before coming to some kind of conclusion and sitting next to her on the sofa, offering her some of his cereal. It’s enough to jerk a surprised laugh out of Julie as she accepts the offer.

“You’re way better than all those people at your school. I should know, I have to listen to you sing all the time,” he says it so matter of factly. And even though he’s nine year old and hasn’t heard anyone else from her school perform (other than Carrie and Flynn, but he dislikes Carrie on principle and knows that Flynn didn’t perform) Julie finds herself believing him for a moment. 

She leans back on the sofa, pulling Carlos down with her with one arm around his shoulders until they’re sprawled together, box of cereal between them. 

“You’re a good brother,” she mutters, tries to make it sound like a rare admittance to the fact, even if Julie often thinks it. 

“In that case will you watch Ben10 with me? There’s new episodes out.” He grins at her, big and toothy because he knows that she doesn’t like the animation of the new Ben10 but that she’s never quite been able to say no to him when he asks. 

So Julie huffs out a sigh, disentangles her arms from around his shoulders to reach for the remote and flips through the channels until she finds the right one then settles back down next to him. 

They share the box of cereal, sheepish smiles on their faces when their mom comes through half an hour later and finds them covered in crumbs and giggling at the screen. She just shakes her head at them, but there’s a fond sort of smile on her lips that Julie knows means she’s more amused then annoyed. 

As they all sit around the dinner table later that evening, Julie arguing with Carlos about how much better the original Ben10 was and her dad nodding along as if he knows what they’re talking about and her mom humming some new song she’s been working on under her breath, she forgets all about losing some silly little music competition.

 five. 

Julie had never really thought about it before – mostly because she’d never had to spend much time in one – but hospitals were strange places. 

They were a bit like airports she decided. Places where time lost all sense of reality. It must have something to do with the lights, she thinks, how they’re never turned off. You could walk into one at two in the afternoon (lights bright) and leave at three in the morning (the lights still bright) without even realising it had been more than an hour. 

The difference was, she supposed, that if you were in an airport you were probably going somewhere nice and fun. You might even get a fun meal and a new book. There’d be people crowded at the windows to wave at planes as they left. An airport was a strange place but it had an underlying feeling of fun and excitement about it. 

Hospitals just screamed dread and worry. And, if she could go her whole life without ever stepping foot in another hospital Julie would. 

She finds herself thinking the same thing about the studio garage as she stands outside it. One door is open and she can see half the piano, papers sitting on the top and the plants she had helped pick out waiting to be watered. 

That’s why she’s stood there, she needs to go in and water the plants. But she just can’t make herself take the next step, the one that will have her crossing the door and being inside. Julie doesn’t think she’s ever been inside the studio without her mom. Or without knowing that her mom would be  joining her inside in a few minutes. 

Julie doesn’t know how long she stands there for, one hand gripping the door handle tightly while the other shakes at her hand, fingers trying to find purchase in the soft material of her black skirt. 

She needs to water the plants, it’s the only thing in her mind.

She needs to water the plants because she had promised her mom she’d water them when they’d gone to the store to pick them out even though they’d split it between them.

She needs to water the plants because it’s been a week and they’ll start to die soon and Julie doesn’t want to be a plant murder again. 

She needs to water the plants because her mom is dead and it's her job now.

Flynn finds her still standing there, staring at the piano and the plants and the quite empty room. Dimly, Julie notices the black dress her friend is wearing, the muted accessories and the concern in her eyes. 

“Hey,” she says. And it’s quiet, careful in a way that Flynn is rarely quiet and careful when she speaks. 

“I need to water the plants.” Is all Julie can say, unable to draw her eyes away from where they are in the garage. 

Because she needs to water the plants but she can’t make herself step foot in the garage because her mom is dead and it’s the funeral in an hour but she needs to water the plants because there’s no one else who knows where the watering can is or which ones need spraying instead but she can’t move because her mom is dead and the studio is quite and the plants are dying and her mom is dead.

“Okay. Okay, how about you tell me what to do and I’ll water them, yeah?” Flynn is holding her hand, the one she’d had gripped painfully tight to the door handle. Julie doesn’t even know when she took it. She’s not sure if she nods or makes some kind of sound, all she knows is that Flynn is squeezing her hand quickly and then she’s in the studio garage and following the instructions Julie forces past her lips. 

When she’s done Flynn helps her close the door, lock it up and leads her back into the house. There’s family and friends already milling about. Offering condolences and deepest regrets and offering empty help. Julie can see her dad and Tia Victoria talking to a large group of people. Can see them keeping it together.

She can see Carlos sitting at the dining room table with an untouched mug of something in front of him and watches as Carrie sits down next to him. Watches as she says something that makes him smile just a little, because Carrie had always been able to make Carlos smile, even when he was mad or upset at them all. They used to joke it was her super power. 

Julie didn’t even know Carrie was coming today. Doesn’t know how she’s meant to feel about it either.

As if sensing them looking Carrie looks up, makes eye contact and gives her a small smile, a tilt of her head. There’s something in her eyes that Julie can’t decipher. Doesn’t have the energy to try to. Flynn squeezes her hand once even as Julie nods back at Carrie. They haven’t been friends in a long time, but they used to be best friends and Carrie had once been like family. 

She supposes it makes sense that Carrie is here. That she is sitting next to Carlos and talking to him quietly. That she can see Mr Wilson talking to her dad. It’s been a long time since either of them were in this house and Julie wishes that they weren’t here because of this. 

Julie supposes she should be good at losing things and people by now. She’s learnt to deal with it via a fish and plants and friends. She’d just never thought the thing she’d be losing would be her mom. That she would have to find a way through all this hurt without her mom by her side. Because she had always been by her side through every other loss. 

She cries quietly, stood in the kitchen with Flynn holding her hand tightly and people passing by them with sad looks on their faces and concern in their eyes. 

She cries quietly as she thinks about how cruel and awful the world is for taking away one of the people she loves most. 

She cries quietly as she wonders how the hell she is supposed to get through it all.

 +one.

They’re not sure when it happens or what's changed or what they did. One day they just wake up and things are different.

Or, not different per say, but more how they used to be BHD – before the hot dogs. Which is what the boys insist on calling their stint as ghosts no matter how many times Julie vetoes it. And she’s vetoed it a lot.

Really, the first sign that something had happened should have been the fact Julie walked in on them piled on top of each other on the sofa in the living room, passed out asleep. They were ghosts. Ghosts weren’t meant to sleep. But she brushes it aside, thinks maybe it's more of a reflex thing. 

It isn’t until three hours later as she hugs Reggie in celebration of a particularly good shot with the basketball outside that Julie notices the thing that’s different. 

She can feel his heart beating in his chest. A steady thumping where there hadn’t been before. 

“Reggie…” she starts, eye wide as she looks from his chest to his face, trying to see if he’s noticed. If he knows that his heart is beating blood around his body. But he just looks at her confused, his eyebrows drawing together and his lips quirking to the side like they do when he thinks he’s in trouble. 

“I swear I didn’t cheat. I’m just that good!” He holds his hands up in defense, but Julie reaches out to grab his left wrist and cradles it in one hand while she presses two fingers along the inside, trying to find his pulse point like she’s seen doctors do (she blinks back the memories of the last time she saw a doctor press their fingers to someones wrist, searching for something that wasn’t there and the small shake of their head) and letting out a small gasp when she finds it. 

“Er what’s going on over here?” Luke asks curiously as he eyes the way Julie is holding Reggies wrist and the growing realisation on Reggie’s face. 

Julie doesn’t answer him, just reaches out to grab hold of Luke’s wrist and proceeds to do the same thing. Fingertips pressing into the soft skin on his wrist, and for the first time Julie sees the light blue tell-tale sign of blood flowing through veins under his skin. 

And then she feels it, the faint pulsating. 

She lets out a choked sob, letting her hand that was holding his wrist steady fly up cover her mouth even as the other stays in place, almost scared that if she moves her fingers the pulse will vanish and with it this strange miracle she thinks they’ve been given. 

“Holy shit,” she hears Luke whispers above her and she looks up to see him with his free hand resting over his heart, eyes widening with each beat they can both feel. 

She doesn’t have any words to say in response. Holy shit seems to be a pretty accurate reaction. Still holding on to Lukes wrist, Julie turns around to see Alex and Reggie each holding the other's wrist like some strange handshake. Unconsciously they all seem to move towards each other, in awkward small steps as no one is prepared to let go of the other until they stand in a loose circle and Julie can press her fingers into Alex’s free wrist and feel his pulse too. 

Three pulses where there hadn't been one before. She lets out a half laugh, half sob.

“Is this real?” Alex asks, his eyes wide with unshed tears, as if he’s holding himself back. And Julie remembers when they all first met and how he’d said he never dealt well with change and how death was a big change and how now. Now they might be going through a bigger one. She lets her fingers slip down from his wrist so she’s holding his hand and squeezes it tightly. 

“I think so.” 

There has never been any answers for their situation. For being ghosts. For being seen by Julie or seen when they play. Definitely no answers for why they could suddenly be touched or seen by others. (Though secretly, in the dark of her room in the dead of night Julie had wondered if it was love that had done it all. Her love for them, her mom's love for her.) 

The last two years had just been them guessing at every turn and getting lucky each time. They had written their own ghostly rule book, and getting a heartbeat again would just have to be the newest chapter. 

“We’ll just have to figure it out, like we’ve figured everything else out,” Julie says, squeezing Alex’s hand and Luke’s wrist and smiling wide at Reggie. A few moments of silence pass between them, the boys still feeling their hearts beating, counting each one before it’s broken by a startled gasp and they all look to Luke.

“Hey! Do you think this means we can eat now?” Luke asks, his eyebrows shooting up at the thought. No doubt already planning what he wants from the kitchen. 

“Only one way to find out man,” Reggie shrugs but his smile is wide and Julie knows not being able to eat has been one of the biggest disappointments of their afterlife for all three of them. 

That’s how her dad and Carlos find them half an hour later, gathered around the island in the kitchen with sandwich ingredients scattered around all available surfaces. And three not-so-ghosts eating their creations as Julie looks on with a wide smile. 

“Um–” is all dad gets out, a hand half up in the air as he points at them with confusion. Her dad has been pretty understanding about the whole ‘my band is made up of three teenage ghosts, oh, and by the way they kinda live in our garage’ thing, but she can’t blame him for being confused by this scene. Ghosts aren’t supposed to be able to eat after all. 

“Woah what did we miss!?” Carlos, ever the enthusiast for all things ghost related, is already running across the kitchen, pulling out the chair next to Julie’s and kneeling next to her, eyes darting between the three older boys as he leans on the contertop to be even closer. “Are they eating? How are they eating?” 

Julie shrugs one shoulder, turning her eyes to Carlos and her dad, who’s moved from the doorway to stand at the end of the island, watching all of them. 

“We’re not sure but–” Julie starts only to be cut off by Reggie who drops his sandwich back to his plate and stretches out his arms, one to her dad and one to Carlos with possibly the widest smile Julie has ever seen on him. 

“Check this out. Go on, feel y’know, with your middle and forefinger. Right there, yeah.” The four of them watch as her dad and Carlos do as instructed, fingers resting over the pulse points on Reggie’s wrists. Her dad finds it first, and Julie can pinpoint the exact moment he must feel the thrumming of a heartbeat because his eyes widen a fraction even as they fill with tears she hadn’t been expecting. 

Which is silly, if she really thinks about it, because the boys have found a way into all their lives and hearts so seamlessly. 

Because Reggie spends time with her dad helping out around the kitchen or while he fiddles with his camera and jokes around with Carlos and talks with him late at night when he’s supposed to be sleeping. 

Because Alex watches all the terrible telenovela’s with him that her and Carlos hate and asks questions about all the movies they’ve missed, and he spends time helping Carlos with his history homework and practices his ball throwing when their dad is busy.

Because Luke listens to him talk about composition and lighting and perspective with real interest and takes his music suggestions seriously and has been teaching Carlos to play guitar when they think no one is around. 

They’ve filled a gap in their family that they hadn’t even realised was there.

It wasn’t like their home was lacking in love and laughter and light, it had just been dimmed down. It was like they’d shut all their curtains after her mom had died, and were making do with a cheap light bulb and rare rays of sunlight that peaked through and lit up their life in tiny bursts.

 But then along came three dead teenagers and without them noticing, without Julie even realising, they’d opened up the curtains again. Let all the light stream back in and never asked for anything in return other than being allowed to stick around.

So maybe this was their reward. 

As her dad and Carlos worked their way through feeling the pulse on each of the boys, pulling them into hugs and sharing in their excitement, Julie let herself smile, tears trailing down her cheeks as she felt her own heartbeat with one hand over her chest.

She didn’t know if this was her mom’s doing or her own or if they’d just accidentally done it themselves with sheer will power. 

All Julie knew was that her boys were here, were breathing and eating, had hearts beating in their chests, and were being given their second chance at life. 

All Julie really knew was that she loved them, had hoped for a way to keep them, had proud every bit of love and hope into each hug they’d ever shared.  

All Julie knew was that she wished she could thank whoever or whatever it was that was answering her pleaded request and allowing her to keep them. 

She doesn’t notice them moving, too busy thinking and sending thanks into the world, but all of a sudden there are three pairs of arms wrapping themselves around her in an uncomfortable and awkward hug. But she doesn’t care. She just grabs onto whoevers arm she can, lets out a small laugh of joy and holds them tight. Never intending on letting them go.

[sockablock]

(start) - (previous) - (next)

Chapter 4: Just a Parlor Trick

“—and this is your room! Or it will be, soon, once we get your stuff moved in.”

A blur of curls flew past Nott and dove headfirst onto the bare mattress. Two-feet-two of little halfling boy sprung up, danced around in a circle, and surveyed his new kingdom by bouncing on the bed.

It was—as Nott would be the first to admit—pretty bare at the moment. Caleb had already taken all of his belongings, but there hadn’t been that much to begin with. Aside from the bed-now-turned-trampoline, there was just an oak wardrobe, and a rug. The only other fixture of note was the window, framed by thin blue drapes, currently open and letting in the sea breeze.

“What do you think, Luc?” Yeza grinned from the doorframe. “How do you like it?”

“The ocean is so cool!” Luc’s hair flew around in a storm as he jumped. “And the people—there’s so many people, Dad! That big turtle at the restaurant—his back had a pipe in it!”

Nott felt the ghost of a touch on her arm. When she caught Yeza’s tentative expression, she forced herself to relax into it.

The illusion had held so far, hadn’t it? And besides, her husband already knew the truth.

“It’s okay,” she said quietly. “It’s okay. I’m okay.” Then she gave her son a smile. “And what do you think about the house, sweetie? Do you like your room?”

Luc, mid-air, gave this some thought.

“It’s smaller than my old room,” he said. “The window is bigger. Can I put my pictures up?”

There was a box of posters somewhere in the moving van. Apparently, some time in the last three years, Luc had gotten incredibly invested in a semi-popular cartoon series featuring a team of adventurers who solved mysteries in the Marrow Valley. Yeza had told her during one of their rare reunions that the clerk at the store was all but giving them away; something about increasing promotional awareness.

“Of course you can put your pictures up, Luc.”

He beamed a freckled, toothy smile.

“I like it, Mom! Can I put them up now?”

— — —

Jester hummed cheerfully to herself as she made her way through the streets of Nicodranas.

The novelty of such an act was not lost on her, and not just because she’d spent most of her life indoors—the last time she’d hurried down a road like this, it’d been under much less enjoyable circumstances.

But Jester had more tricks up her sleeves these days, and skipping between street merchants and bustling crowds, weaving through the Opal Archways in the middle of rush hour, she was certain she could hide from any watching eyes.

She squeezed the picnic basket in her arms, packed tight with the best pastries money could buy. She’d keep an eye out, too, for that little sidewalk café that did the strawberry-mango drinks Momma liked, though Jester suspected that her mother was just feigning enthusiasm to get her to eat more fruit.

The stoplight above flickered twice, then turned green. She looked both ways, then skipped across the street.

Maybe she should make a stop for sandwiches. And flowers, while she was at it—and over there, a book sale! Now that Jester was finally back home, with the Chateau such an easy walk from her apartment, every weekend she did her best to bring the whole city to her mother’s boudoir.  

Not that—and here she giggled at the thought—Momma needed any help there.

The Ruby of the Sea was busy, after all. Just not too busy for her little sapphire.

— — —

The thing was, Essek’s mother was busy.

She was always busy, and with good reason at that; for longer than Essek had even been alive—and how much longer before that, gods knew—Deirta Thelyss had been the Umavi of Den Thelyss, and therefore a permanent and immovable fixture in the intricate political dance of the Kryn Dynasty.

In another life, perhaps, Essek might have followed in her footsteps and joined her in running the country—though, if she got her way, there was a good chance that he ultimately would. But, as the Dynasty and Empire so far had managed to maintain a tenuous hold on peace, currently there was little need for a person of Essek’s particular talents.

The irony of that statement occasionally made him want to laugh, though he didn’t much feel like laughing now. It had taken a considerable amount of willpower to even drag him over to his desk, and there he sat with his forehead to the surface, lamenting that going back to bed hadn’t solved his problems.

Why was Mother bothering to attend the upcoming Clovis Concord Gala? Not a single one of these coastal cities was closely allied with the Dynasty, and the sheer geographical distance between them made the two nations vaguely aware of each other at best. In fact, Essek had chosen Nicodranas specifically because of how little the Bright Queen cared about it.

Which meant the unavoidable fact of the matter was that Mother was coming just for him.

The wood of his desk was cold on his head. If she were here now, she’d tell him to sit up.  

Actually, she’d probably say much more than that. If Verin was telling the truth—and his brother had always been on his side when it came to Mother— fending off another round of her attempts to force him home would only be half the struggle.

He kicked his chair back and listened to the way his wheels slid across the floor. Distantly, he could just make out some muted shuffling coming from the kitchen, and he had to remind himself that it was probably not a burglar, but Caleb.

Today was his second day in the apartment, and the man would probably need a few days to settle in. Though, Essek noted with a hint of satisfaction, Caleb seemed like a very efficient person. He’d actually…quite enjoyed their negotiation last night, despite how long it ended up being. For just a few hours his fear of an impending maternal maelstrom had been staved off by the way Widogast sometimes quirked his eyebrow while he was reading, or by the way he’d gently tap the clip of his borrowed pen with his thumb…

Essek had let him keep it, afterwards. He hadn’t even considered doing otherwise.

And as that thought crossed his mind, his restful silence was shattered by a crash.

— — —

“Knock-knock, Momma!”

“Ah, Jester! Come in! Close the door behind—oh, bother.”

This was immediately followed with the sound of air snapping to fill a void, then another minor explosion accented by four scrabbling paws.

“Nugget! Oh, Nuggy, I’ve missed you so much—”

Marion Lavore hiked up her skirts and gently side-stepped the slobber on the floor. She made her way back to her chaise lounge just a moment after Jester peeled herself from the dog.

“He’s getting quite big,” her mother said, artfully removing the exhaustion from her tone. But two decades of living under Momma’s roof gave Jester all the hint that she needed.

“Oh, I want to take him back, I really do, but the apartment doesn’t let us have dogs.” Jester sank into a plush sofa with Nugget wagging his tail at her heels. He put his head in her lap and drooled.

“And…your luck with finding a…a new apartment?”

“We’ve all been busy, Momma,” Jester sighed. “Beau is working all day long to set up a new library by the Quay, and Yasha disappears all the time even though she’s…feeling better now. I think it’ll be a while until everything’s calmed down and we can look.”

Marion pointedly did not think about the many curtains that Nugget had already eaten in three months.

“Ah, well. I understand. And how are you doing, my sweet?”

Jester giggled. “I’m doing good! I’ve been drawing and painting a lot by the sea, and keeping busy with other arts and crafts. Did you know people on the Internet will buy dozens of tiny clay dick statues? The Traveler thought it was very funny.”

Her mother’s expression was an ocean of calm. “Oh, is that…is that so? Well, I’m glad to hear you’re finding ways to…spend your day.”

“I brought some to show you!”

“Oh, how...lovely…”

“Some paintings, Momma.” Jester set aside the picnic basket and fished around in her knapsack. The bag was a horrifically pink mess of burlap and loud, jangly pins. Jester had to shove aside quite a few rolls of brushes and capped paints as she searched.

Marion watched her work with interest. “Well, even if you had brought a…the statue, I would—oh, Jester. It’s beautiful!”

Jester beamed as her mother took the canvas, gingerly like it was—and it was—fine art.

In her hands, a stunning landscape of the sea beside Nicodranas at dawn, pale pink light glancing off the tide and a thin breath of sun just above the water.

“It’s for you, Momma!”

“Oh, Jester, I couldn’t possibly—”

“Take it.” She laughed. “I have lots more at home, but this one’s my favorite so you should have it.”

Decades of living with a burgeoning artist had taught Marion not to hug the piece to her chest, though she quite wanted to.

“I’ll hang it up, then. In a place of honor,” she said seriously. “Maybe heading up the stairs? The light there is lovely, and that way I know the most important people will get to see it.”

Jester’s smile could have swallowed up the world. “Thanks, Momma.”

“No, thank you, my sweet. Now, come. What else have you been doing? What’s new and exciting with your…what did you call yourselves? The Mighty Nein?”

Jester helped her mother lay out a feast’s worth of pastries across the coffee table. Nugget eyed the bounty like a lit fuse until Jester also produced a chewing bone, which he gleefully snapped up and began to gnaw.

“I wanted to make sure we didn’t have a repeat of last time, so I stopped by a pet store,” she explained, munching on a strawberry tart. “And we’re all doing good! Caleb’s move went well, and Nott’s family just landed.”

“Oh, that’s wonderful,” her mother said. “You know, it would not have been a problem for them to stay with me. At least while they got settled.”

“I know, I know, but I think since she already had a place, she wanted them there, you know? And anyway, she said she didn’t want to impose.”

“Of course,” Marion nodded. “And perhaps the Chateau is…it would be a bit unconventional for a family to stay here, hm?”

“We did it!”

“We did, but we are an unconventional family.”

Jester laughed, then brushed a few crumbs off her skirt. “What have you been doing lately, Momma? Any news? Any interesting clients?” She waggled her eyebrows for emphasis.

“Well,” her mother smiled faintly, “actually, I…might have something interesting to tell you. I was, ah…well, I was invited to a party. To sing, but also as a guest.”

“What?!” Jester threw her hands in the air. “Oh, Momma, that’s amazing!”

“I, ah…might decline.”

Jester’s elation vanished instantly. “Oh, Momma. Is it…the outside…?”

Marion shrugged. It was a decidedly unrefined gesture, and left a little crinkle in her robe. “I’m just…well, you know I’ve made a little progress since you got back, but…I don’t know. I’m not sure I’d feel so comfortable being in a place like that alone.”

Jester reached across the table to pat her mother on the hand. “I understand. It’s probably just a dumb party anyway, I’m sure you won’t be missing much!”

“It’s…well, it’s the 400th Anniversary Gala of the Clovis Concord.”

“Oh, man.”

“Tell me about it, dear,” Marion sighed.

There was a moment’s pause, filled with the sound of thoughtful chewing.

And then:

“What if we went with you?”

Marion blinked twice.

“I beg your pardon?”

— — —

They left Luc in his new bedroom happily slapping tape to the wall. Yeza had been worried that this would damage the paint when they’d eventually have to take down his posters, but Nott reassured him that getting back the safety deposit for this apartment was already a lost cause.

“There was a…small incident,” she said, as he poured her tea, “involving electricity. And…a mild fire.”

“Oh, man. Did you guys blow the fuse box or something?”

Nott debated whether or not exploding a microwave with voltaic bolts fell under that category.

“Mm, yeah, it was something like that.” She watched him sink into the chair across the table, paying special attention to the way his glasses bounced on his nose.

He hadn’t needed glasses three years ago. He hadn’t been quite so pale, either.

“So, how is your friend Caleb?” Yeza asked, tilting his head slightly at her silence. “Is he alright? Settled in and everything?”

Nott quickly scrounged up her smile. “He is! Actually, his place is really nice. Cheap, too, from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Yeza sipped his tea, leaving a little half-crescent above his lip. “I was worried about him. You told him for me, right? How much I appreciate this?”

“Of course I did. And I told him plenty that he didn’t have to, but he really insisted, and…well. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t happy that he did.”

Yeza put a biscuit in her hands. “We’ll send him a fruit basket, then. With pineapples! Heck, I should send one to all of your friends, for pitching in for the plane tickets. They’re really kind.”

“They are pretty great, aren’t they?” Nott took a bite, coating her tongue with chalky crumbs. “They’ll probably be around at some point—they want to see you and the boy again.”

“Is the tall one still around? With the pink hair? I liked him.”

Nott gave a laugh. “I’ll tell him you said that. It’s been quiet these last few days, you know, so it’ll really be great to have the company back. Not that—oh, gods, not that you and Luc aren’t—”

“I get it, I get it,” Yeza shook his head. “Don’t worry. Like we said over the phone, right? It’ll take…there’ll be an adjustment period.”

Nott set her mug down on the table. Her smile was a little less firm now.

“You and Luc are here,” she said again, quietly. “You’re here, but I…I’m talking about my friends, I shouldn’t be saying those things, should I? I…should focus on you two—”

“Hey, no, Veth. Not at all.”

“But it is unfair,” she sighed. “I…sweetie, I’m so happy to see you, and the boy, but now that…Caleb’s gone, and the two of you have moved in, a…a part of me, an awful part of me, already misses—”

“Veth, it’s okay—"

“It’s not, I mean we’re married—gods, wait, I’d never betray—”

“Veth.”

A hand touched her shoulder. Yeza’s voice was low and soft. “Honey, it’s okay. It really is okay, and I…I know. It’s complicated. I know. We haven’t been a family for a while—and none of that is your fault, it just isn’t. It’s just…been a tough few years, for us, but also especially for you. I doubt I could’ve survived what you’ve been through, after all. And things have changed—I’ve changed, I mean—I snore again, and I’ve gotten used to Edith helping around our house, and…I guess what I’m trying to say, is that it’s only natural…it’s only fair, that you’re allowed to change too. It’s okay. We talked about this, right?”

“Right,” Nott murmured.

“So it’ll be okay. We’ll make it work. And it’s still you, right? You still love me, right?”

She felt herself nod. Then, gently, “I didn’t stop loving you.”

“Well, that’s good. Neither did I.”

This time, she risked a glance up, and saw his smile. Yeza’s smiles were always a little lop-sided, smushing his freckles, and crinkling one eye. She’d made fun of that when they were younger, and let go of a breath when she saw that hadn’t changed.

As she exhaled, she gave a nod. Then a chuckle.

“Right. Right. Of course we will. We’re…probably going to have to enroll Luc in school. It—it’s summer now, but when autumn swings around…what is he? In first grade? In second?”

Yeza laughed. “This fall will be his first year of school.” Then his eyes widened. “Oh, gods, it’s his first year of school. He…I don’t even know if he’s ready, if he’s…wait, is it different in Nicodranas? Are there tests? Is this a good school district, I—I didn’t even check—”

This time, it was Veth who stopped him. “Relax,” she said, and poked Yeza’s nose. “His dad is the most brilliant chemist in the world. We can look up all that other stuff.”

She brushed his cheek with her other thumb. “Like you said. We’ve got this. We’ll make it work.”

— — —

It had started with a recipe for blueberry muffins.

It had ended, more or less, somewhere around the time that Caleb realized neither he nor Essek owned measuring cups—and anyway, the blueberries were looking a little mushy so maybe he should wait until next week to surprise the Brenattos, that way he’d have a chance to get better ones, even though their move-in day was technically today—

And at that point, Frumpkin had jumped into the cabinet, dislodging what sounded like years’ worth of unused pots, knocking down an avalanche of dusty pans.

The last skillet clanged like thunder as it spun to a stop on the floor.

“Mist. Frumpkin—”

Ever the cat, Frumpkin deftly wove out of Caleb’s grasp and darted for the counter. He perched himself unblinking at the edge of the sink and licked his paw, as if for emphasis.

Caleb sighed. He crouched down to reach for the nearest displaced kitchen implement, a stock pot.

“You know,” he began, exasperated, “you could at least help me out with this mess.”

“Is that so?”

He whipped around so quickly that his head hit the handle of a drawer. One hand flew up, he startled, “Miste—Essek?”

His landlord raised a curved eyebrow. With the mid-afternoon light streaming in through the windows, the purplish tint to Essek’s complexion was something akin to a dusting of twilight. His hair was half-tousled, like it’d been mussed by something, and his hand lingered on the doorknob.

“I…my cat,” Caleb managed. “That is, er. I apologize. Deeply. For the commotion.”

Essek looked him over. “I thought we had agreed on silence last night, no?”

Caleb hung his head, and he could feel disappointment coming, undoubtedly with despair on its coattails.

“I have broken the terms,” he said mutely. “I…I am sorry. I understand what that means.”

His gaze clung to the polished floor. Which was why he missed it when the heavy stock pot took on a faint, shimmering, blueish glow. And then the saucepan began to shine. And then a wok, a spatula, a bowl—

All of the fallen cookware slowly began to rise through the air. As they moved, a parade past Caleb’s amazed expression, slipping by Frumpkin’s outstretched paw, each individual pot righted itself, formed into lines, then were quickly and neatly whisked away into the cabinet above.

The doors clicked as they shut.

“I…but that—what spell was that?”

Mentally, Caleb kicked himself. He should’ve apologized.

But Essek only chuckled. “Oh, that was just a parlor trick. An idle curiosity about the…shall we say, limits of gravity. Particularly regarding how easy they are to break.”

Caleb scrambled up to his feet. “But I have never seen control like that on such a grand scale before. Your spell, it—Telekinesis only controls one object at once.”

“Well,” Essek allowed himself a smirk. “Telekinesis is a watered-down version of what true dunamancy can accomplish. I will say, even getting that far was impressive. I have seen your documentation.”

“Gods,” though, Caleb noticed, there was not a trace of resentment in his tone. “Here I thought our transmutative literature was the most advanced there was.”

Essek shrugged. “Please, do not misunderstand me. It is good, for Empire wizards, especially. Until then, I had been under the impression that your lot only excelled at evocation.”

“We are a dab hand at necromancy too,” Caleb said dryly, “if the stories from twenty years ago are believed.”

This actually won a laugh. “Maybe I am the one being too cruel. It was your people who pioneered the earliest manipulations of air elemental magic, no? It is truly an interesting method for conquering gravity.”

“Yours is better,” Caleb said, before he could stop himself. “If you think that a parlor trick, my friend, I hesitate to ask else you could accomplish.”

“Why hesitate?”

And then, Caleb blinked. Somewhere in the distance, Frumpkin nudged his shoulder, but in that moment, all he could focus on was Essek.

“I…excuse me?”

And with that, the spell was broken. Essek slid into a kitchen chair.

“Nevermind, nevermind,” he waved his hand. “And please. Do not worry about that mess. I am not so unreasonable to think that accidents can never happen. Just, ah…you have been a wonderful roommate so far. In the future…?”

“You have my word,” Caleb said. He slipped the carton of slightly-mushy blueberries behind him.

“Excellent,” Essek nodded. “Well. If that is settled, I might sit here and, ah…get some work done?”

Caleb, dense as he was, got the message. “I just—of course, I will be gone in a moment, I’ll just put these things away—”

“No rush at all. I am not in any hurry.”

And indeed, whether or not Essek was just being polite, it did seem like the man was…a bit distracted. Caleb had no right to poke into his business, which was a violation of Section II, Subsection IV anyway, but he couldn’t help but ask Frumpkin to take the tiniest peek at Essek’s face.

Something was bothering his landlord. And for once, still basking in the afterglow of powerful magic, Caleb was almost sure it wasn’t him.

He found out just as he was heading to his room.

“Might I, ah, ask you a question?”

Caleb had enough composure to turn around at a normal person’s pace.

“Yes?”

Essek ran a hand through his hair. “Actually, it…it is more of a favor.”

“Oh,” said Caleb. And when more was required, “Yes?”

“Yes already?” He blinked. “But I did not say what it was.”

“I meant,” Caleb amended, leaning against his doorframe, “please describe this favor to me.”

“Ah,” said Essek. “Right. I, er…”

How in the gods’ names was he supposed to phrase something ridiculous as this?

“I wonder…” he tried, “that is…if you might…would it be…are you perhaps…are you busy this weekend?”

Whatever he was expecting, this absolutely was not it.

“I—no?” Caleb said, out of pure shock. Then he shook his head and added, “I do not think so, no.”

“Ah,” said Essek. Somehow he seemed even more uncomfortable now. “That is…excellent.” It did not sound excellent. “If…well, if that is the case, then…do you think you could…help me with something?”

Caleb waited patiently. “With something?”

“A date.”

“A what?”

“No—not—oh, gods, I am doing this wrong.” Essek actually put his head in his hands, and Caleb once again had to throttle his own surprise.

Then, in a move made by a part of him so bold he didn’t even know he still had it, Caleb re-entered the kitchen and down in the seat across from Essek.

“I think, perhaps you should start from the beginning.”

Essek nodded miserably. He breathed in.

“You are right, Caleb.”

He breathed out.

“So. It’s like this…”

— — —

✨ Ko-Fi Link in Bio! ✨ | Requests are OPEN

[engagemachine]

💄(For a appearance Headcanon)

Thanks for the ask! How about a fic instead? 

Words: 1085.  

Warnings: Violence. Gruesome imagery. 

Jack Napier is born on a Tuesday morning at 3 AM, weighing 7 pounds and 2 ounces. 

“What a beautiful baby boy,” the nurse says as she swaddles him, lovingly hands him to his mother. 

His mother takes him, her arms shaking from exhaustion, from the stress of a ten-hour labor. Jack came early—like he couldn’t wait to get out into the world—but the labor was long, like maybe he had changed his mind at the last minute. There was concern that he had breeched, but the doctor was able to manipulate him into the right position. Thank God she didn’t need a C-section. She’s seen girls with those ugly scars along their lower abdomen. She shudders at the thought of it. 

Her chest is heaving as she takes him in her arms. She still has to deliver the placenta, and she’s so worn out she doesn’t know if she can. 

Sweat beads along her brow as she looks down into the face of her new baby—his little tuft of dark blond hair, his pink lips—and when he blinks his eyes open to look at her, she’s startled at how dark they are. How black. That can’t be normal. Something tightens in her chest as she looks at him, and she can’t explain it, this feeling of dread that settles low in her belly—maybe it’s just the contractions starting back up, readying for the afterbirth—but it doesn’t feel right. There’s something wrong with him. She knows it even then. 

At three years old, he’s a beautiful boy. Everyone says so. Thick head of blond curls, cute little cheeks. He’s like a cherub, like one of those chubby babies with the angel wings in those paintings on that one ceiling in Italy. Michelangelo, or something, how’s she supposed to know? 

But Jack doesn’t smile. He never smiles. 

She tries. She really, really does. She doesn’t have money for pediatric check-ups, the vaccines and follow-up appointments and stuff, but she takes him to the library and bounces him on her knee while she thumbs through pregnancy books. Sometimes when she’s there, she sees girls from school, looking so perfect in their cheerleader uniforms and bouncy skirts and Farrah Fawcett-hair, and she flushes and lifts her book a little higher, so they can’t see. Everyone knows she had to drop out. And everyone knows Jack’s daddy is a loser. 

She reads about different foods and textures to introduce during tactile play, and all the things she was supposed to do during pregnancy and didn’t, the prenatal vitamins and shit, and she thinks, maybe it’s my fault. Maybe he wasn’t born right. 

Jack doesn’t talk until he’s four. His first word is no, and then mine. His daddy thinks he got switched at the hospital or something, that that sorry excuse for a boy can’t be his son, but Jack’s daddy doesn’t care much anyway. He’s passed out in a drunken stupor half the time anyway, when he isn’t beating on her. 

Sometimes she wishes he would hit Jack instead. It’s terrible--she knows it is--but he’s the reason why everything sucks. Why she couldn’t finish school. Why her momma and daddy kicked her out at sixteen. Why she had to move in with her gramma while Jack’s daddy tried to find work. Buy them a house. 

Jack is a quiet boy, though his teachers like to use the term “reserved”, as if that’s any better. He reads a lot. She hates that he reads a lot. She never wanted a little boy that just wanted to read. He never plays outside with the other kids. Never gets invited to birthday parties—not after that last one. Never says ‘I love you’, never touches her. Always shrugs out of hugs. Skulks around the house like some kind of wraith. A ghost. Stares at her in a way that makes her spine curdle, that makes her heart skip. She thinks he hates her. 

When Jack’s seven, she finds a dead cat in the backyard with its stomach tore open—clean in half. She retches into the bushes and goes inside, trembling. A day later, when the neighbors come by to say that their cat is missing, she goes into the backyard and frantically digs a hole to bury it. She feels disgusting. Vile. She knows Jack killed it. She knows he did. How could she give birth to a little boy like that? What is wrong with him?

When Jack is thirteen, she offers to cut his curly mop of blond hair, which has grown well past his ears, and he nearly bites her hand off when she skirts it through his curls.

“Don’t,” he snaps. She withdraws her hand as if burned, and she realizes in that moment that she hates her son. She hates him.

He grows to be tall and lanky like his daddy, even surpasses him in height, which his daddy doesn’t particularly like. He’s got long arms and long, thin fingers, and there’s something about his gait that unnerves her, something abnormal about the way his big, bony shoulders are always hunched close to his ears. The way his brows are always drawn together, like he’s angry, or deep in thought. Maybe both. 

He could’ve been a beautiful boy. He should’ve been a beautiful boy. She remembers the freckles from his adolescence, the little cow-lick near his forehead when his hair was too short for his natural curls. His wide mouth and the handsome cut of his jaw. The dimples that are only visible when he smiles. 

She can count on one hand the number of times she’s seen him smile. 

At sixteen, he comes home one day drenched in blood, stumbling through the front door, his breathing ragged. Strained. He finds her in the kitchen, and she screams when she sees him, the terrifying split of his cheeks, the raw, mutilated flesh. He looks like something out of a nightmare.

He picks a kitchen knife up off the table, twirls it in his hand. 

“Look ma,” he says, approaching, even as she backs herself into the counter, hands held near her chest in terror. He grins at her, and fresh blood oozes down whatever flesh is leftover of his cheeks, sliding down his neck. She already knows he’s going to kill her. Maybe she knew it from the moment he was born.

 He’s grinning as his looming shadow falls over her, and he cocks his head.

 “Now I’m always smiling.” 

[jayankles]

Not your Bacon

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Summary: Y/N makes a split second decision to save Dean on a hunt. When she wakes up in the hospital Dean professes his love for her but she fears that it’s coming from the wrong place.

Squares filled: Little box of memories / the bunker 

Written for: @goodthingshappenbingo / @spndeanbingo

Word Count:1507

@kittycat-cas​ said: Oooh, what I want to see is hurt and comfort, super comforting Dean who is in awe of why this woman would have risked her life so selflessly - just lots of fluff - maybe some angst too if she is really hurt.

Warnings: A little angst, hospitals

It was a split second decision. You couldn’t stand there and do nothing. The werewolf growled from the other side of the warehouse, your body moved on its own accord. Jumping in front of Dean was the only thing you could think of doing. Nothing else mattered if you were going to die instead of a Winchester then you were happy to take their place.

Screaming at the top of your lungs, you felt the excruciating pain tearing through your chest. Their claws shredding through your clothes before ripping through your skin. When you thought you would hit the floor your mind went blank, a fuzzy feeling grew in your chest but you welcomed the darkness that followed.

The wind was knocked out of your body, blood spilling from your mouth as well as your chest. This is it, this is how you die. And you would either die a hero, saving the great Dean Winchester or die out of pure recklessness and it was all for nothing. Either way pretty cool death, especially because you got to save a Winchester.

*

Dean paced the waiting room of the hospital. Everything was much too white. The walls, the ceiling, the floor, the uniform. Nothing smelt right either. 

Deciding against his better judgment, Dean went back to the reception and asked if there were any updates on your condition.

“Sorry hun, no changes since the last time you asked. But I can assure you that we have the best doctors and they are going to do their best to help her, okay? I can’t offer you any more assurance than that.”

Dean apologised for his continuous question. He was just the little kid that wanted to know if he had reached his destination. He just wanted to know whether you were safe or not and he wanted to know now. It was eating him alive not knowing what condition you were in.

Returning back to an unoccupied seat, his leg bounced in place, unable to keep his anxiety at bay. There was no hiding it. Hours had passed and there was still no news. It wasn’t until he was shaken awake that he realised he had fallen asleep in one of the chairs. Even if they were uncomfortable, he was exhausted and he couldn’t help but succumb to the dreaded sleep. Dean was told that you were in critical condition but they had managed to stop the bleeding and somehow keep you steady.

He was able to see you but the doctor had told him that you wouldn’t be awake. All he could do was sit and wait, wait and see if you would wake soon, but again sleep overtook him.

*

You grunted awake. Urgh, you would know that smell from anywhere - hospital - but suddenly it was drowned out by one of the smells that you loved the most. Pure and unadulterated Dean.

In a dizzy haze, you patted the bed beside him before you accidentally smacked Dean’s head a little too hard and woke him up. You grunted again, more on the sorrowful side this time as opposed to the hurting one.

“M’sorry.” You groaned, almost whined but it soon disappeared when the nurse came in and did her rounds. She noticed that you were awake, checked your folder and asked how much pain you were in on a scale of 1 to 10. “9, I’m saving my 10 for when I’m dead.”

“Y/N, come on, you know that’s not funny.” Dean argued, his voice stern, you couldn’t help it. You were in pain but you hadn’t lost your sense of humour. “Oh, wow that is some good shit. Wow.”

“Morphine tends to do that to people.” The nurse winked and added the dosage to the chart. “We’ll keep monitoring her but with time and care, those wounds should heal up. It’ll be a pretty cool story to tell in the future.”

“Yeah, I got attacked by a werewolf!” You giggled as your eyelids became heavy, you missed the way Dean’s widened in panic. 

Dean cleared his throat, before he feigned a laugh, trying to shrug it off in front of the nurse. “Damn, morphine makes people talk shit out of their ass, huh?

“Oh yeah. Werewolf isn’t the weirdest thing I’ve heard. We’ve had ghosts, vampires, and my favourite, a man made out of cotton candy but I watched the second Scooby Doo movie. I’ll leave you be.”

“Thank you nurse.”

“No problem. Just call out if you need me.”

Dean nodded, as soon as she left he almost smacked you on your leg but he fell back into the chair with a huff. He sighed when he saw your eyes closed. “You stupid woman. Why would you do that? Why would you jump in front of me? It’s my job to take care of the ones I love most and I couldn’t stand it if you were to die because of me. You know why? Because I am crazy in love with you. You can’t die, not for me, I won’t let you.”

With a bowed head, Dean missed the tear that fell from your eye. You softly sniffled and turned away. “I don’t want to be your bacon.”

“What?”

“It’s from ‘iCarly’ Freddie saves Carly then Carly kisses Freddie and Sam tells Freddie about the time that Sam thought she was in love with a guy because he bought her Canadian bacon. Anyway, the point is, I don’t want to be your bacon or your Freddie. They thought they were in love with someone because they did something nice or saved their live.How do I know this just is out of pity?”

Dean didn’t know what to say at first. He had no idea what you were talking about until you explained it. Dean grabbed your left hand in his and rubbed his other one over your head before leaning forward, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

*

“I’m so glad to be home.” Of course, you weren’t exactly at your home, you were at the bunker but it was close enough and the boys wanted you in close proximity just as you were healing, just until you got better.

You took short steps. Any big ones you took hurt like hell, maybe you needed to be a little less reckless as Dean as said. (Multiple times in the hospital and many times on the way home.) Sam and Cas had made their own rounds in the hospital, continuously checking up on you to see what progress you had made when it came to stitches and wounds.

Sam had immediately offered you a hot beverage, one that you gratefully accepted. One that you missed so much. You had to admit you were a tea snob, and the hospital’s tea didn’t really come up to par with your standards. Castiel followed suit, tugging on a string that exploded confetti. He was still dumbfounded by this contraption and the confused look on his face made you smile even more. The party popper was definitely an idea to behold. He then went on to offer you your favourite dessert and every other dessert under the sun. It seemed he had a good time with baking whilst his angel juice was down.

Much to your surprise, Dean left your side as soon as you were seated. Maybe you were his bacon or his Freddie after all. Just someone who saved his life and when you were starting to heal, that was it. You were disappointed to say the least but really you couldn’t have expected anything from Dean anyway. Maybe some shut eye would help you. Surely, that was all you needed, more sleep. Sleep was the answer to everything these days.

Dean came into your room a few moments later, except he wasn’t empty handed, he was carrying a shoe box and a sandwich on a plate. “I thought you could use some actual food and not and not just dessert as soon as you come back. You must be hungry.”

He set the plate down on your nightstand and sat next to you on your bed. You had your eyes on the box, you noticed that it had your name on it, after a while he opened the lid and set it aside. “Here are my most valued possessions, ones that include the two of us. There’s photos-”

“Movie tickets? Theatre tickets?” You interrupted when you took a peek in the box. “That’s so cool. What are those pieces of paper?”

Dean was reluctant, he never planned to show you this box let alone the things inside. “I never wanted to show you this way, there could have been better circumstances but you just think you’re my bacon or my Freddie but you’re my Y/N.”

Dean left the box with you, kissing the top of your head and leaving you to read or look through all the things that he collected throughout the years.

I guess you weren’t his bacon after all.

Forevers: @super100012 @lupine-princess @plaid-lover-bay25 @atc74 @growningupgeek @sophiebobzz @docharleythegeekqueen @poukothenerd @grace-for-sale @mrswhozeewhatsis @jesspfly @supernaturallymarvellous @sammysgirl1997 @roxyspearing @mogaruke @be-amaziing @deanandsamsbitch @frankiea1998 @hennessy0274-blog @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @iwantthedean @capsheadquaters @emoryhemsworth @notmoose45 @essie1876 @cassieraider @brewsthespirit-blog @its-my-perky-nipples @riversong-sam @jotink78 @captainradicalpassion @jadalecki-jackles @spnbaby-67 @holyfuckloueh @gh0stgurl @alyssa6marie @esoltis280 @bumber-car-s @alexwinchester23 @x-waywardaf-x @thisismysecrethappyplace @randomparanoid @kellianz

Dean: @kenmen02 @ain-t-bovvered @deans-baby-momma  @ericaprice2008 @shamelesslydean @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @wingedcatninja @mayasmedberg @kurosaki224-new-blog @valerieshubin @milo-winchester-4ever @sandlee44 @ruprecht0420 @akshi8278 @smoothdogsgirl @dslocum89 @plaidstiel-wormstache @ria132love @welldonebeca @iamabeautifulperson18 @starry-chaos @deans-treasure @larajadeschmidt13 @nyxveracity​ @dean-winchesters-bacon​ @adoptdontshoppets​

[emospritelet]

Homecoming - chapter 22

In which Belle asks some questions, and gets some answers...

x

At eleven-thirty in the morning, Lady Tremaine’s bedroom was light and pleasant despite the heavy velvet curtains framing the bed and the dark oak panelling. Belle watched Alice walk around the room, lips pursed and a thoughtful look on her face.

“Anything?” asked Ogilvy, his tone suggesting that he was already anticipating her answer, and Alice wrinkled her nose.

“Not really,” she said. “No more than I’ve felt the whole time we’ve been here. It’s an old house, so you’d expect it to have some sort of atmosphere, but there’s nothing more than that. Can’t see or feel anything, anyway. Just - a sort of sadness. Bit like I felt up at the castle, but more so.”

Belle watched Ogilvy and the Professor exchange a look.

“Can you tell us anything more about that?” asked the Professor, and Alice pulled a face.

“It feels - kind of like loneliness,” she said finally. “Like the sort of grief that comes from losing someone you love, I imagine. Like it’s seeped into the walls.”

Belle flicked her eyes towards Ogilvy. He had hung his head, his fingers turning the moonstone ring on his finger.

“It’s different here at the house,” Alice added. “Sort of stronger. Newer. Does that make sense?”

“Yes,” said both men in unison, and Belle was surprised to see that they both had the same grim look on their faces.

“But no spirits,” said Alice. “Nothing at all. Whatever’s causing Lady Tremaine’s sleepless nights, it isn’t a ghost.”

“As we thought,” said Ogilvy, glancing at Belle. “Miss Marchland, you mentioned something earlier this morning. An idea you’d had.”

“Yes.” Belle stepped towards the fireplace. “It was just a thought, really. Much of the house has panelling, and I’ve read more than one story in which an old house has a secret compartment in the walls. I thought perhaps someone might be hiding behind the panelling and waiting to scare Her Ladyship.”

She rapped on the oak panels with a knuckle, producing a hollow sound, and Ogilvy frowned thoughtfully.

“Sometimes the most likely explanation is the most mundane,” he agreed. “Do you have a culprit in mind?”

Belle hesitated.

“There’s something else that occurred to me,” she admitted. “The timing of Lady Tremaine’s visitations matches up with the return of the Mills family. And there was an incident a few days ago, when Alice and I were in the nursery…”

“We couldn’t find the children!” exclaimed Alice. “I remember, we couldn’t work out how they had slipped past us! We could hear them giggling and couldn’t find them.”

“The panelling in the nursery is hollow, too,” said Belle. “I checked this morning before the sun was up. I thought we might go back there now there’s enough light to see by. It might give us a clue to what happened in this room.” 

“You think it’s Lucy Mills?” asked Ogilvy, his eyes twinkling. “Little minx!”

“I think she might be a little tired of being seen and not heard by her step-grandmother,” agreed Belle. “Whether that makes her the culprit is yet to be seen.”

“To the nursery, then,” announced the Professor, clapping his hands together.

x 

The nursery was bright and cheerful, winter sun shining through the tall windows, and the twins were playing on the rug with Lucy Mills, a game that seemed to involve the stuffed animals waiting in line for something. They looked up as the adults entered, and exchanged anxious looks as they scrambled to their feet.

“Good morning, children,” said Belle. “We wondered if you would like to be part of our investigations.”

Ava and Nicholas looked excited, but Ogilvy noticed that Lucy seemed wary. Doc stepped towards the walls, tapping on the panelling, and Lucy’s eyes widened.

“This sounds hollow,” said Doc cheerfully. “Almost like there might be a secret passage behind it. How exciting!”

“There is!” exclaimed Nicholas. “It’s dusty and there are spiders!”

Lucy frowned at him, and Belle bit her lip, clearly amused.

“May I see the passageway?” she asked.

Lucy sighed resignedly, stomping around the corner and moving one of the toy boxes. Ogilvy watched as she plucked at the edge of one of the panels, hearing a tiny click before it swung outwards to reveal a dark, narrow passageway that looked to be just high enough to walk in, if one crouched down a little.

“Goodness me!” said Doc, rubbing his hands together. “What an excellent addition to a grand old house! I’ve seen many secret passages in my time, but this is a particularly fine example.”

“Where does it lead, Lucy?” asked Belle, and Lucy shrugged uncomfortably. “Does this have anything to do with Lady Tremaine’s ghosts, perhaps?”

Lucy looked alarmed at that, dark eyes widening, but she remained silent.

“We’re not angry with you,” said Ogilvy gently. “But if there is something you know, please tell us.”

Lucy winced, digging the toe of her foot into the rug and twisting awkwardly.

“Did you explore the secret passage?” asked Belle, and she nodded. “Did you use it to frighten Lady Tremaine?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” said Lucy suddenly. “I just - I was exploring, and I started knocking on the walls, seeing if someone would answer. I didn’t know it was Her Ladyship’s room until I heard her scream. And - and then she was mean to my mother, and - and I thought someone should be mean to her, so I - I was…”

Her voice trailed off, and she hung her head, chewing her lip.

“Oh dear,” said Doc kindly. “Well, I’m sure it can all be cleared up. Little bit of mischief, what? No real harm done.”

Ogilvy privately thought that Lady Tremaine might take a different view of things.

“So you made noises behind the walls to scare her?” said Belle. “But I thought she said she was hearing noises during the night.”

Lucy looked puzzled, but shrugged.

“Does anyone else know about the passage?” asked Belle, and Lucy nodded.

“Just Tyson, the hall boy,” she said, and looked alarmed. “Oh, but I don’t want him getting in trouble! It’s my fault, not his! Please don’t tell Her Ladyship!”

Belle glanced at Ogilvy, and he shrugged.

“Perhaps Mrs Mills,” he suggested, in an undertone, and she nodded, turning back to Lucy.

“Lady Tremaine has been very scared these past few months,” she said gently. “So much that she invited the Professor and Mr Ogilvy all the way from London to investigate.”

Lucy looked guilty, hunching her shoulders.

“Well, we don’t mind that!” said Doc hastily. “Fresh air and pleasant company. It’s been an enjoyable few days, I must say.”

“Be that as it may,” said Belle. “I think she deserves to know the truth. What do you think, Lucy?”

“I suppose,” said Lucy dolefully.

“When we do something that upsets someone, the brave thing to do is admit to it, and apologise,” said Belle. “I’m sure you’re extremely brave, aren’t you?”

“Like a warrior princess!” blurted Nicholas.

“That kills nasty old trolls!” put in Ava eagerly, and Lucy giggled before looking serious once more. She took a deep breath, stretching up on her toes and lifting her chin.

“Alright,” she said. “I’ll do the brave thing, Miss Belle.”

Belle smiled.

“Then I’m very proud of you,” she said. “Though perhaps it would be better if your mother was the one to explain things to her first.”

Lucy’s face brightened at that.

“Really?” she said eagerly. “Momma won’t be angry with me, I’m sure!”

“Then will you come with me to tell her?” asked Belle, holding out her hand, and Lucy nodded, taking it and marching from the room with her head held high.

x

Dinner was a jovial affair, the gentlemen returned from a successful hunt, the ladies having rested in their absence. Lady Tremaine was not present, reportedly lying down in her room with a bad headache. Ogilvy thought it was most likely due to the revelation that Lucy Mills had been the one haunting her for months, rather than an evil spirit. Mr Mills mentioned somewhat delicately that his wife had had to intervene on behalf of their daughter before Lucy made her own apologies, and that Lady Tremaine had been less than gracious with her acceptance.

“She wanted Lucy sent away to school,” he said, cutting a piece of beef. “Jacinda managed to soothe her ruffled feathers, but we’re going to take Lucy to Edinburgh for a couple of weeks, let this all blow over.”

“She was sent to bed early, too,” said Mrs Mills. “And she has to stay in her room tomorrow. Her Ladyship says it will give her time to think about what she’s done.”

“Poor thing,” said Belle. “I don’t think she meant to be malicious.”

“I’m just impressed that she was crawling through passageways in the middle of the night,” remarked Mr Mills. “Shows grit and determination, if you ask me.”

“Henry, really!” said Mrs Mills reprovingly. “It’s supposed to be a punishment. She won’t learn if you’re praising her bad behaviour.”

“I don’t think the midnight visitor was her, anyway,” said Belle. “She said it wasn’t. Perhaps one of the servants.”

“Hmm.” Mrs Mills looked amused. “She did say that the hall boy knew about the passageway. I decided not to mention that fact to Her Ladyship.”

“Good thing too,” said Mr Mills. “The poor boy would be thrown out into the snow.” 

“So Victoria’s dream of having her home invaded by restless spirits is over?” Lady Ella smirked, raising a glass. “I can’t say I’m surprised. It won’t stop her consulting mystics and finding new ways to scare herself, you know.”

“Well, I’m more than happy to leave her to it,” said Ogilvy. “It’s been an interesting visit, but I’m looking forward to getting home.”

“Yes, you never did like having society forced on you, did you?” she said, with a sniff. “Do you think you can bear an entire train journey in my company tomorrow, or are you determined to be disagreeable?”

Ogilvy grinned at that.

“I promise to be as entertaining as I can.”

“That’s a low bar, I must say.”

He chuckled, spearing a piece of meat with his fork, and shared a smile with Belle. She had settled back into comfortable conversation with him following the awkwardness of their early morning encounter. He had noticed her gazing at him now and then with a thoughtful look in her eyes, and he found himself willing her to make the connections needed, to ask the right questions. He wondered how long it would take.

“What time will we leave tomorrow, Papa?” asked Alice.

“Around nine, I should think,” said Ogilvy, ignoring Ella’s dramatic shudder. “It’ll take a while to get to the station, given the snow that’s fallen.”

“An early night, then,” said Doc, reaching for his wine. “I have to confess I’m looking forward to getting back home and into our usual routine. Interesting though this visit has been.”

“I’ve enjoyed exploring the house,” said Belle. “So many beautiful things to examine.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” said Alice, gesturing with a fork. “We never went to see your painting, Belle. The one you mentioned at the castle? We meant to look, remember?”

“Oh.” Belle glanced down at her plate, pushing a piece of meat around listlessly. “Well. Actually, I - I did take a look.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” asked Alice eagerly. “What is it like?”

“What painting is this?” asked Ella, craning her neck to look at Belle.

“Oh, just a portrait in the West Wing,” she said, blushing a little. “A former resident of this house. Lady Tremaine thought I resembled her.”

“You must take me to see it after dinner,” said Ella. “Is it a good likeness?”

“As though Miss Marchland had sat for the artist herself,” said Ogilvy.

Belle’s blush deepened, and Ella turned her gaze to him.

“So, you’ve seen it too,” she said. “How intriguing.”

She glanced back at Belle, and Ogilvy could see her mind working. He decided to push her off course a little.

“You know how I have trouble sleeping,” he said, with a shrug. “When it’s too dark outside to walk, I like to wander the halls. One sees all manner of things in the dark of night.”

“Indeed one does.” Ella smirked at him. “Though I hadn’t thought you a connoisseur of portraits. Perhaps it depends on the subject matter.”

“Well, go and see it yourself, and form your own opinion,” he said. “I’m sure Miss Marchland will direct you.”

“May I go, too?” asked Alice eagerly.

“Very well,” said Belle. “I think there are certainly some similarities between the painting and what I see in the mirror each morning, but perhaps you’ll tell me that I’m imagining things.”

“I doubt that,” said Ella, glancing at Ogilvy again. “I’m inclined to believe those who have made the closest study of your person, Miss Marchland.”

x

Alice was eager to see the portrait, and so Belle found herself walking the corridor to the West Wing as soon they had finished dinner, this time with Alice’s arm through hers and Lady Ella behind them with Miss Waters.

“Wretchedly cold up here,” remarked Lady Ella. “I hope it’s not much further.”

“The gallery is just around the corner,” said Belle. “The portrait is at the end.”

She turned into the gallery, walking steadily towards the opposite end. The eyes of the woman in the painting seemed to follow her as she moved, and she heard a gasp from Alice as they drew close.

“Well,” said Lady Ella. “Remarkable. Ogilvy’s right, it’s as though you sat for the artist only yesterday, Miss Marchland.”

“Your Ladyship flatters me,” said Belle, with a smile. “I’m sure this lady was ten years younger than I when this was painted.”

“Well, be that as it may, the likeness is incredible.”

“As though they’re the same person,” agreed Miss Waters.

“It really does make one wonder if all that nonsense about past lives is true, doesn’t it?” mused Lady Ella. “Though if so I’d like to apologise to my future self for being such a hedonist.”

Belle chuckled, sharing a smile with Miss Waters. Alice was frowning up at the painting, one hand raised, as though she would touch it.

“She looks so sad,” said Alice, biting her lip. “I wonder why.”

“I’ve no idea,” said Belle. “I don’t even know who she was.”

“I bet Thwaites would know,” said Alice. “Ivy said he talks about the history of the house a lot down in the servants’ hall. You should ask him.”

“That’s a good idea,” said Belle. “I shall go in search of him when we go back down.”

“And on that note,” said Lady Ella. “I think I’ll head for the drawing room. There’s a draught in here, and it makes me yearn for a decent brandy. I’m sure the men will be finishing up their drinks soon. Shall we, ladies?”

She offered her arm to Miss Waters again, and Belle fell into step behind them, glancing over her shoulder at the portrait as they walked away. The woman in the golden gown stared back at her, blue eyes heavy with an unknown grief, and Belle looked away, her shoulders slumping a little, as though she carried some of the sadness with her.

x

Isabelle let out a contented sigh, settling back in the blankets and stretching her legs, pointing her toes. Rum was lying on top of her, a comforting weight pressing down, their bodies slick with perspiration where they joined. He kissed along her jaw, breathing heavily as he softened inside her, and she murmured happily, twining her arms around his neck as his kisses trailed across to her ear.

“Can you stay a little longer?” he murmured, and she smiled, stroking her fingers through his hair.

“I can stay until sundown,” she said. “Father went to London today, and Mother has one of her headaches. She won’t notice I’ve been gone all day.”

“Then we’ll make the most of it,” he said, and his tongue stroked the soft skin of her throat, making her shiver. 

He shifted his hips, slipping out of her, slick wetness against her thigh as his hands slid up to cup her breasts, and Isabelle sighed happily.

“I’ve missed this,” she whispered. “I wish I could spend each night in your bed, and wake up beside you every morning. We never had to sneak around so much before.”

Rum pushed up on his elbows, hair hanging messily in his face and a slanting grin twisting his mouth.

“You never had a father quite so determined to marry you off against your will before,” he said, and she made a noise of grumbling agreement.

“Remember that time at Bamburgh when my father offered you lands and you insisted on taking me instead?” she asked, with a giggle. “I thought he’d skewer you before he let you within ten feet of me, and never mind the truce he wanted.”

“Came around in the end, though.” He brushed a curl of hair back from her cheek, grinning. “I think the gold I brought helped.”

“Certainly didn’t harm your cause,” she agreed, and he chuckled, his eyes glinting.

“Although you were determined to have me anyway.”

“True. Headstrong girl that I was.” She kissed his nose. “I always get what I want.”

“That you do,” he growled.

He bent to kiss her again, and Isabelle moaned, pushing up into him as her mouth opened. His hand slid down between them, brushing over the tender skin between her legs, and she moaned again as his fingers pushed deep inside her.

x

Belle woke with a gasp, heart thumping in her chest and a heavy, throbbing ache low in her belly. She ran her hands over her face in the darkness, trying to dispel the last shreds of the dream that still clung to her. It was as though she could still taste him in her mouth, still feel his touch on her skin. It had been so vivid, so real. Almost like a memory.

A maid had been in to light the fire, but it was only just starting to burn, and the room was still cold. She rose quickly, before she could dwell on the events in her dream too much. It was distracting enough being in Ogilvy’s presence without imagining a higher level of intimacy. She felt herself blush as she remembered how it had felt to kiss him, her memory of being in his arms in the portrait gallery shifting seamlessly into the dream of being in his bed. Not his bed. His name was Rum. He had a different name, as did I, and it was a different time. All this talk of past lives has me inventing them in my dreams!

She had gone to her own bed not long after returning to the drawing room the previous evening, having had a conversation with Thwaites about the portrait, and she felt well rested. Despite the vivid nature of her dreams. Splashing water on her face was enough of a shock to clear her mind of those images, and she stripped off her nightgown, skin pebbling in the cold morning air as she dressed.

Most of her things were packed, and she had laid out a comfortable outfit for travelling, but there were some hours until they had to leave, and she felt that a walk would wake her fully. She drew on a tweed skirt and jacket over her blouse, laced her boots, and pinned her hair into place. Hat, scarf and gloves went on, and she draped her heavy coat over an arm as she made her way silently from the room. 

She headed for the main staircase, drawing on her coat. The first fingers of dawn were starting to show, and the servants were scurrying here and there. Thwaites opened the front door for her with a bow of his head and a warning about the cold, and Belle thanked him as she hurried out. The air was bitter, and she tucked her scarf around her neck a little more, shivering as she walked along the driveway and turned around the side of the house to head for the gardens. The moon was still up, the sky starting to lighten at the horizon, and she found her way easily, her pace brisk. 

Her conversation with Thwaites the previous evening had left her with more questions than answers. Despite him telling her what he knew of the Willoughby family, she had felt strangely frustrated, almost as if she ought to have known more than he did on the subject. It was as though the knowledge had been sealed in a box inside her mind, and she needed to find the key to release it.

New snow had fallen, her boots scattering the powder, and her breath misted the air as she walked along the garden paths, heading between flower beds and past the orangery towards the path that led to the lake. New snow covered the ice on its surface, clumping around the reeds that grew at the edges. There was a faint mist hanging over the lake, which seemed to grow thicker towards the foot of the nearby fells, and she quickened her pace to keep warm. Rounding a bend in the path, she stopped abruptly. Ogilvy was standing near the edge of the lake, staring out across it, a heavy woollen scarf wrapped around his neck. He seemed to be turning a pebble over and over in his hands, and glanced around with a smile as she approached. Belle felt her heart thump hard, and tried to push away the images that leapt into her mind at the glint in his eyes. For a moment, she saw the man in her dreams. Younger, thinner and more sure of himself. There had been an arrogance to him that Ogilvy didn’t have. She wondered where her mind had pulled it from.

“Miss Marchland,” he said. “You’re up early.”

“I - I had a restless night,” she said, hoping fervently that she wouldn’t blush. “Troublesome dreams.”

“I can sympathise,” he said. “I find I never properly rest in the houses of others. Despite my many years of travelling. It’s difficult to fully relax.”

“True enough,” she agreed. “And we have a long journey ahead of us today. At least we get to break it in Derbyshire this evening.”

“It will be pleasant to return to Furton Grange,” he said. “However briefly.”

“Perhaps we might get to walk in the gardens there before we leave,” she suggested.

Ogilvy smiled broadly, and bowed his head a little.

“I should be delighted.” He gestured to the path that led around the lake. “Would you like to take a turn with me now?”

Belle nodded, and took his arm, her mind still working furiously as they set off. She was chewing her lip, a nervous habit that she thought she had conquered years ago, and pressed her lips together to stop herself. Ogilvy glanced at her as they strolled along, but he said nothing, and she was content to walk in silence as she thought. It was as though she could feel pieces slotting together in her brain, but the picture she was creating was too fantastical to be real. It began to swell in her mind, taking shape, its colours growing brighter, and Belle suddenly let go of his arm and whirled on her toes to face him, taking a step back as she did so.

“I consider myself a rational creature, Mr Ogilvy,” she said firmly. “I believe in science and logic, in facts and evidence.”

“A wise choice.”

“I’ve been trying to construct a rational explanation for the experiences I have had since joining your household,” she added, and his eyebrows flicked upwards.

“And what does your logic tell you?” he asked.

“Precious little, truth be known,” she said wryly. “Thus far logic is eluding me.”

Ogilvy was silent, watching her closely, and she took a breath.

“I’ve been piecing together the scraps of evidence, for want of a better word,” she said. “It all makes perfect sense when I step back and look at the picture I’ve created from it, but the explanation my mind has created can’t be real, it just - it can’t be.”

“Why not?” he asked quietly, and she threw up her hands.

“Because it’s ridiculous!”

Ogilvy smiled slightly.

“Why don’t you talk me through how you reached this explanation in the first place?” he suggested. “I’m used to making sense of strange things, after all.”

“This may be too strange even for you,” she remarked, and his smile widened.

“We won’t know until you tell me,” he said. “If it’s ridiculous, as you say, what harm can it do?”

Belle sighed, slumping a little.

“I’m not certain where to begin,” she said slowly.

There was a moment of silence. She expected him to speak, perhaps even to coax some answers from her that she was uncertain she would be able to give. Instead he waited calmly, and she realised he would not push her to speak before she was ready. It made her feel a little easier, and she wanted to fill the silence.

“You were up even earlier than I,” she said. “Before the sun rose, I imagine.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” he said, and glanced away, across the lake. “Perhaps it’s because we’re leaving today. I wanted to get a final glimpse of the place.”

“It’s very beautiful,” she agreed. “I shall miss the mountain air when we return to the city.”

“Yes.” He hesitated, a nervous look in his eyes. “Perhaps we might come back here some time. When the weather is warm.”

“If Her Ladyship extends an invitation.” She felt herself grin. “Something tells me she won’t be asking us to remove any restless spirits for some time.”

Ogilvy chuckled.

“I imagine you’re right about that,” he said. “It’s been an interesting trip, though.”

“Despite the lack of ghosts?” she teased, and the corners of his mouth flicked upwards.

“Oh, there were ghosts enough,” he said quietly.

“I suppose so,” she acknowledged. “Such old houses have their own histories, don’t they? Their own tragedies. That portrait, for example. The one that—” she hesitated, unwilling to mention that she had found him crying in front of it.

“The one that Lady Tremaine directed you to?” he supplied, and she nodded.

“I asked Thwaites about it,” she said. “He said it was the family before His Lordship’s. Their name was Willoughby, and the woman in the painting was Elizabeth, their only daughter.”

He bowed his head a little, and seemed to hesitate, glancing up again. 

“What did you make of the portrait?”

“I suppose I can see why Lady Tremaine mentioned it to me,” she said. “Strange to think that someone from a century ago looked so much like myself. I almost felt a sense of kinship with her.”

He smiled faintly.

“What do you know about her?” he asked.

“She was sent to an institution,” said Belle. “Apparently she was heartbroken. There was a man she loved, and whom she could not marry. Thwaites said that perhaps her parents wouldn’t allow it, and so she chose no one. Poor thing.”

“Yes,” he whispered.

“I wonder what became of her true love,” she mused. “Who was he? Someone of lower birth, perhaps, if her parents disapproved. Or perhaps he had no money.”

Ogilvy pulled a face, and turned back towards the lake, bending to throw the pebble in his hand. It skipped across the surface three times, skittering on the ice before disappearing in a clump of reeds, and he straightened up.

“No, he had plenty of money,” he said dryly. “Though likely not enough to overcome her parents’ disapproval, had they known of him.”

“You know who he was?” 

She should have felt surprise, she knew that. Instead it felt like satisfaction, his words confirming something she had hardly dared admit to herself. Ogilvy heaved a sigh, his shoulders slumping a little, as though he regretted mentioning it.

“His name was Alistair McGregor,” he said, his tone heavy. “And when he wasn’t searching every benighted social gathering in London for her, he was in Boston, burying himself in work in a pointless attempt to take his mind off the pain of being parted from her.”

Belle stared at him, mouth open.

“Thwaites couldn’t tell me anything about the man she loved,” she said. “No one knew his name, she kept it secret.”

Ogilvy was eyeing her steadily, but then shrugged.

“I used to live in the area,” he said.

“Oh.” Belle felt her brow crinkle as she tried to remember their previous conversations. “Why did you not mention it before?”

Another deep sigh, and he glanced away, across the lake.

“It was a very long time ago,” he said. “Another life, another time.”

It wasn’t the first time he had mentioned other lives. A figure of speech. Perhaps he was here in his youth. It must be that. Any other explanation would be ridiculous!

“What else can you tell me about Elizabeth?” he asked, and Belle shook her head.

“Very little,” she said. “You seem to know more about that part of her life than I. Thwaites said that her father lost his fortune not long after she was institutionalised.” 

“And so the whole family suffered,” he said quietly. “So much suffering caused by the loss of true love. So much - waste - from one ancient tragedy.”

His fingers stroked his right hand, toying with the moonstone ring through his glove, his gaze far off. Belle swallowed hard, and was surprised to find that her eyes were stinging a little, as though she wanted to cry. She blinked rapidly, remembering how she had felt when she looked at the painting, as though she shared Elizabeth’s grief.

“I suppose a woman in her position would have little freedom to choose for herself,” she said. “It’s sad to think that so many had to do their duty and choose money and power over finding love.”

“Indeed.” Ogilvy’s voice was barely above a whisper, his gaze still fixed on a point across the lake.

“Sadder still that she could not be with the one she loved, and therefore chose to be alone,” she added. “After all, my own mother grew to love my father. Perhaps Elizabeth might have grown to love the man her parents chose.”

“Wouldn’t work,” said Ogilvy abruptly, and she felt herself frown curiously.

“How can you be so sure?” she asked. “One has to make the best of things, after all.”

His smile was wry as he turned on his heels to face her.

“And how does one make the best of losing one’s true love?” he asked, and she bit her lip, blushing a little.

“I - I don’t know,” she admitted. “Having never been in love, I can’t profess to understand it.”

“There is no greater sorrow,” said Ogilvy, his voice oddly hoarse. “Than knowing who you are meant to be with, and being parted from them.”

His eyes were shadowed, his shoulders a little slumped, as though the sorrow was his own. Belle shook her head.

“You sound as though you speak from experience,” she said. 

“Yes,” he whispered.

“Would you tell me about it?” she asked gently, and his mouth flattened, his jaw working a little.

“It feels as though your soul has been torn in two,” he said, his accent thickening. “Consumed by grief, buried in darkness.” 

He was gazing at her steadily again, and her eyes stung, a pain growing deep in her chest as what felt like an ocean of tears rose up inside her.

“I’m - I’m sorry to reopen old wounds,” she said. “It seems to be something I keep doing with you, and I don’t understand why.”

“Don’t you?”

Belle turned away, blinking to dispel the tears that wanted to form. She inhaled deeply, drawing frigid air into her lungs, gazing off towards the snow-capped fells, the rising sun tinting them rose-pink above the early morning mist.

“I - I suppose I can see why poor Elizabeth Willoughby ended up in an institution,” she said. “Grief is a terrible burden to bear.”

“Yes,” he said softly. 

“I’d like to think that treatment of such things has improved in the past century,” she added, “but all too often women’s suffering is dismissed as trivial. Perhaps if she had received prompt attention and understanding, there might have been a different outcome.”

“Perhaps.”

His voice was a whisper, and Belle turned on her toes to face him.

“But I still don’t understand why you were so upset at the sight of her portrait,” she said, and her voice softened. “You were - you were crying. Why?”

Ordinarily she would not have mentioned someone exhibiting such a display of emotion, but she had been trying to reason out what had upset him, and as the only explanations her mind could imagine were fanciful, she had decided to ask. Ask the right questions, Belle. Even if they seem completely ridiculous. 

Ogilvy, for his part, did not seem discomfited by her observation.

“Being here has reminded me of past pain,” he said. “And past failings. I’m afraid you came across me at a time when these memories were - particularly upsetting.”

“When you happened to be looking at that portrait?” she said flatly.

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

He hesitated.

“I’m not sure how to explain that.”

“Please try.”

He glanced away, his face twisting a little, as though it hurt to think of it.

“The woman in the painting reminds me very much of someone,” he said. “Someone I lost. Someone I failed.”

“Oh.” Belle took an involuntary step towards him, reaching out as though she would touch him before letting her hand drop to her side. “I - I’m so sorry.”

“My life has been filled with sorrow, with regret,” he said. “Until very recently, I wondered if I would ever feel happy again.”

He was staring at her earnestly, the rising sun catching the rim of his glasses, making him squint a little.

“Until - very recently,” she said slowly.

“Yes.”

Belle nodded. Impossible. It has to be impossible. It can’t be real.

“You asked me about Elizabeth Willoughby,” she said. “But what can you tell me of her?”

Her words were rapid, hurried, as though her thoughts would seem less ridiculous if she spoke them quickly. Ogilvy smiled briefly.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing,” she echoed, and almost felt herself deflate.

“I can tell you nothing of the life Elizabeth had,” he said. “I can only tell you of the man she loved. I can tell you that he loved her too, and that he searched for her. All his long, desperate life, he was looking for her.”

“How can you know that?” she whispered.

Another tiny, humourless smile.

“I think you know.”

A tear tracked down one cheek, icy in the chill wind, and Belle dashed it away with her glove. You know. On some level, deep within, you know. Ask him.

“When we first met, you looked as though you’d seen a ghost,” she said. “You - you said I reminded you of someone.”

“Yes.”

“Who was she?”

Ogilvy licked his lips, glancing away briefly before looking back.

“The last time we met, she was called Isabelle.”

Isabelle Beauchamp. No, that’s ridiculous! That was a dream, nothing more!

“Isabelle,” she repeated. Belle. He called you Belle, that first day in his library.

“Yes.”

“And - and you loved her,” she said softly.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I will love no other. Not ever.”

Belle felt as though an icy hand had reached into her chest, squeezing her heart, freezing her from within.

“But…” She swallowed hard. “But you kissed me.”

“Yes.”

His gaze was steady, his eyes pleading, and she shook her head.

“I - I don’t understand,” she said. “You said that you loved this woman, that you will love no other, and - and yet you kissed me. You kissed me as though - as though you loved me.”

Her voice was a whisper at the end, a breath into the freezing air, and he stepped forward, his own breath ragged, white mist in the pinkish dawn. His eyes were fixed on hers, the glint of tears behind his glasses.

“I have loved you from the first moment I saw you,” he said sincerely. “And I will love you until the world ends. Until the end of time itself. I will step into the abyss still loving you.”

Belle sucked in a breath, her pulse pounding high in her throat and the frozen air sitting in her lungs like a ball of ice around her heart. She wanted to reach for him, to kiss him, to fall into his arms. It was as though her feet had been frozen in place, and all she could do was stare at him like a fool.

“You have no idea how hard it’s been to act appropriately around you,” he said, his accent thick with emotion. “I have wanted to take you in my arms and kiss you since the day you came back to me, and having to pretend this - polite indifference is killing me!”

“Please!” She closed her eyes briefly. “We agreed to move past what happened.”

“We did,” he agreed. “And I would not have mentioned it had you not asked, but now that you have…”

He took off his hat, running a hand through his hair with a frustrated sigh before cramming the hat back on his head.

“You said you dreamed of me,” he said urgently. “On New Year’s Eve, you told me you had dreamed of me.”

Belle wanted to groan.

“Please don’t remind me of what I said that night,” she said. “I’d drunk rather too much champagne.”

“Was it true?”

“I—” She cut off, glancing away in agitation before turning back. “In some respects, perhaps. I dreamt of a man who looked like you, but - but he was not Tristan Ogilvy.”

“Ah,” he said. “One of the others, then.”

“What others?” she demanded. “Who are you?”

“It’s not who I am,” he said. “It’s who I was. Who we were.”

“Tell me.” Her voice was urgent, ragged, and he moved closer.

“I’ve had a hundred names,” he said gently. “A hundred lives. I think you’ve dreamed of some of them.”

Belle shook her head, but fragments of her dreams were creeping in, flashes in her mind like memories. 

“I was Cerin, and you were Elena,” he said, “and we lived in caves and tents made of skins, and hunted demons from the frozen north to the shores of the southernmost sea.”

His voice was trembling, and she could see tears spill over and roll down his cheeks, shining in the early morning sun. Cerin. Our bed was made of furs, warm and soft, and he told me his heart and soul were mine in all the lives to come.

“I was Cameron, and you were Lira, and I first kissed you on Midsummer’s Eve when your father was too drunk to notice,” he said. 

He kissed me in the wet grass, our heads full of mead and the taste of honey on his tongue.

“I was Rum, and you were Isabelle, and - and I couldn’t save you.” His face was twisted in anguish. “Please, sweetheart, tell me you remember!” 

“I don’t!” she blurted. “I - I can’t! It’s not possible!”

He reached for her, a desperate look in his eyes, and she pulled back, stepping away from him, her breath coming hard in her chest. Ogilvy raised his hands, palms facing her in a gesture of appeasement.

“I - I know it seems strange,” he said hastily. “Impossible, almost. I know that. But - but a part of you knows it’s true, I can feel it. You feel the connection between us, just as I do. The bond is still there, just - just weaker, that’s all. The Seer was right. It may have been broken enough to keep us apart all these years, all these lives, but - but it’s not gone completely!”

“Seer?” She shook her head. “Our - our bond? What are you talking about? 

“We made a promise to each other,” he said desperately. “We promised forever, and I tried, Belle, I did! I tried to find you! All those empty years! All that - all that pain. Lifetimes of heartbreak and loneliness. All that time, I’ve been looking for you, and - and now that I’ve found you—”

“There was no finding involved,” she said, her tone short. “Merely a word from Lady Ella and a letter of recommendation. There’s nothing supernatural in that.”

“I’m convinced Fate has an uncommon sense of humour,” he admitted, “but—”

“I was at Furton Grange for five years,” she interrupted. “No doubt our paths could have crossed before now, If Fate had wanted to concern herself.”

“Belle...”

“No!” she said sharply. “It’s ridiculous! Past lives don’t exist, and - and even if they did, we wouldn’t know it! We wouldn’t remember each other! It’s madness! No better than Lady Tremaine and her non-existent spirits!”

He opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, and shut it. There was a look in his eyes, a mixture of frustration and desperate longing. His body seemed to be humming with energy, and he was almost bouncing on his toes. Belle shook her head.

“I don’t know how to respond to you,” she said. “One minute you kiss me and the next you talk of impossible things. It’s highly unsettling.”

Ogilvy settled back on his heels with a defeated sigh, hands falling to his sides with a soft thump against the thick wool of his overcoat.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I suppose it is.”

There was silence for a moment. She could see his thumb worrying one of his fingers through the glove, and she knew it was the ring he wore. She remembered the time she had touched it, the strange flash of sensation that had gone through her. Ogilvy glanced up, his gaze steady once more.

“Tell me,” he said. “When we first started this conversation, you said the only explanation for your experiences that you could come up with was ridiculous. What was it?”

Belle opened and closed her mouth, glancing around as though she would find answers in the snow-covered trail, in the frozen trees. You thought about past lives, her mind said snidely. You came up with the idea before he poured his heart out to you. Are you so sure of this world that you can reject your own theories out of hand?

Ogilvy smiled slightly, breath making steam in the air around him, snatched away in the light breeze.

“You feel it,” he said quietly. “You feel it, and you’re fighting it. That’s alright. The mind likes to try to make sense of things, and the gods know there’s little enough sense in what happened to us.”

“I don’t understand you,” she said, frustration making her tone sharp. “In fact - in fact I almost feel as though I don’t know you.”

To her surprise, his smile widened, his eyes softening.

“No,” he said. “But you will.”

[appalachianwiine]

Swim - Chapter 8 - Only Twenty Minutes to Sleep

Only 20 minutes to sleep

But you dream of some epiphany

Just one single glimpse of relief

To make some sense of what you've seen

“Epiphany” by Taylor Swift

“It hurts daddy.” Lydia whimpers, snuggling closer to his chest. It’s four in the morning and he’s been here most of the night. Lydia laid on top of him, crying and sleeping and complaining. She’d thrown up most of her meager dinner and had refused all attempts to get her to eat anything else. Even the offer of waffles had been refused, all she wanted was to be held.

“I know kiddo.” Daryl whispers, kissing her sweaty hair. She’s got a strange smell to her now, one that makes Daryl think of a hot bedroom in the back of a trailer in northern Georgia and a hacking cough that wouldn’t go away. One that means she’s sick. 

“I want to go home now.” Lydia whimpers, she’s clung to him like a monkey, she’s got to be more exhausted then he is, but she hasn’t slept much, every time she drifts off they come in to do vitals and she starts crying again. He reaches up to rub his eyes, god he wants to go home. Have a hot shower, his own bed, some real sleep. But they can’t. 

Instead he presses another kiss to her hair and says; “want something’ t’ drink?” 

“No.” She mutters. “I might throw it up.” 

“Okay.” He whispers. “Want a story?” 

“No.” 

“A song?”

“I guess…” 

“Down in the willow garden,” he beings quietly. “Where me and my love did meet.” He feels her small hand go to his elbow and start rubbing it in circles. “There we lay a’ courtin’ my true love fell asleep. I had a bottle of the burglars wine but that my love did not know…” 

It was a macabre song really, but he hadn’t really thought of that when he started singing it to her years ago. He just remembered it from his own childhood. The heavy smell of red wine on his momma’s breath as she knelt next to his bed singing the same thing. Her stroking a few dark locks from his face as he did to Lydia now. . 

“There I murdered that poor lil’ girl down on the banks below.” He supposed it should’ve been kind of obvious, but it was this or Merle Haggard - who wasn’t known for his lovely lullabies to little girls. 

From on his chest he hears her tiny voice join in “I stabbed her with my dagger, which was a bloody knife. I throwed her into the river which was a terrible sight.” 

It was even creepier coming from her. Though, if he was honest most songs were. She had that quality about her, even on the best of days, when she would sing her eyes would glaze over, and she took on an almost hypnotized look. Even ‘Row row row your boat’ was a little unnerving when she sang it. 

“My daddy always told me.” He continued, rocking gently from side to side “That money would set me free. If I would murder that poor little girl who’s name was Rose Connolly.” 

His mothers face drifts before him, a little blurry from time, but as young and beautiful as he remembered. Dark curls framing blue eyes, the ghost of a bruise across one cheek. He hummed a little and rubbed her back before starting the last verse. 

“Now he sits by his cabin door, wiping his tear stained eyes, a thinkin’ about his own dear son, upon the scaffold high. My race is run beneath the sun an-“ 

Lydia pushes back suddenly, making him start and he has just enough time to push her hair back before she starts heaving. 

Shit. 

He doesn’t have time to get her to the bathroom, bile and spit she’s able to throw up lands on his chest and the sheets surrounding them. 

“I-I’m sorry.” Lydia sobs, coughing and sputtering tears pouring from her eyes, a little vomit dribbling down her chin. 

“It’s okay.” He whispers, leaning over to push the nurses call button. “It’s okay, I can change.” 

“You ain’ mad?” She sobs. 

“‘course I ain’t.” He whispers, lifting the edge of his shirt to wipe the vomit from her chin and reaching out to wipe her tears. “Yer sick baby girl it ain’ yer fault.” 

The night nurse comes in and flicks on the light, the bright light makes him blink and squint. Fuckin’ fluorescents. 

“Everything okay?” The nurse asked. 

“Nah, I think - we probably need a sheet change.” He muttered, looking around. Most of it was on him, but the sheets and. Bedding had a few dribbles too. 

“Oh sweetie, you get sick?” The nurse asks. 

“Y-yeah.” Lydia nods. “I need new pajamas.” 

“Okay, how about daddy gets you sorted and I’ll change the sheets.” The nurse says.

“Kay.” Lydia sniffles. 

“C’mere kiddo.” Daryl says, sliding out of the bed and picking her up. She wrapped her arms around her neck and wrinkled her nose. 

“You got sick on you.” She mutters. 

“Yeah, looks like I’ll need t’ change too.” He says, carrying her into the bathroom. “You wait here, I’ll bring ya yer pajamas.” 

“Okay.” She lets him set her down on the toilet lid. Daryl shuffles out of the bathroom and over to their suitcases. He pulls out Lydia’s Aladdin night gown and a clean t-shirt and pants for himself and returns to the bathroom. 

Changing Lydia around the PICC line is a bit of an ordeal even while she’s disconnected. The long tube hangs loose and every time it moves too much she whimpers and pulls away. He’ll have to get it bound up before they got back in bed. He reaches for the hairbrush on the back of the toilet and combs through her sweaty hair, no vomit in it, which is a good (he doubts she’d tolerate a bath right now), but he braids it back just in case it happens again. 

“You wanna go on out and wait?” Daryl asks. 

“No.” She sniffles. “Carry me.” 

“Baby girl.” He sighs. “Yer clean an’ I ain’. I don’ wanna get ya dirty again.” 

“You won’t.” She protests.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “I will.” 

“You’ll come lay with me after?” Lydia pouts. 

“Yeah.” Daryl nods. “I’ll lay with ya after.” 

“Okay…” Lydia sighs, shuffling out of the bathroom. 

He figures he may as well use this opportunity to grab a much needed shower. He hadn’t showered in far too long, and he peels off his sweaty clothes aware that the vomit isn’t the only reason they smell. He doesn’t wait for the water to warm up before stepping under it. Even cold it feels damn good running over him. He reaches for the hospital issue bar of soap. He lathered his hair first, feeling the grease underneath the lather. It could really use a second wash but he doesn’t want to push it with Lydia. After giving his skin a quick scrub and rinse he steps out, drying haphazardly with the towel and pulling his clean pajamas on. He puts the dirty ones in the hamper in the corner, he’ll have to find the hospital laundry later today. 

“I don’t wanna!” Lydia is protesting, clutching the end of her PICC line tightly and scowling at the nurse. 

“What’s up baby girl.” Daryl frowns, glancing at the night nurse. 

“She needs fluids.” The nurse sighs. “She’s not keeping anything down and she’s getting dehydrated.” 

“They make me pee.” Lydia scowls. 

“You need to pee.” Daryl mutters. 

“Do not.” 

“Lydia.” He sighs, he’s bone tired, he doesn’t want to fight with her over this. 

“If they give me those and I pee they give me the medicine again!” She protests. “And that tastes bad and made me feel sick!” 

“Shhh,” Daryl says, aware that she’s shouting. “Baby girl this isn’t for the medicine.” 

“They won’t give it to me again?” Lydia scowls, not bringing her volume down any. 

“They’re gonna give it to you again.” Daryl sighs, telling her otherwise won’t do any good. “But not right now. Right now they just have to get you hydrated.” 

“No medicine ever again!” Lydia snapped

“Lydia.” He can feel a headache starting behind his eyes. “You have to get the medicine again. You’re sick baby girl we - we talked about this. But right now the IV will help you feel better, I promise.” 

“I don’t want medicine.” She whimpers. 

“I know.” He says, sitting down on the edge of her bed. “I wish you didn’t have to have any medicine. But you do, just not right now okay?”

“O-Okay.” Lydia mutters. 

“Can they give you the fluids?” Daryl asks. 

“You have to hold me.” Lydia says. 

“Of course I will.” He promises, sitting back up against her pillows and letting her crawl on his lap and pull the covers over both of them. “They need your arm baby girl.” Lydia grumbles but sticks her arm with the PICC line out of the blanket. 

“Thank you Lydia.” The nurse says, pulling the end of the line up to connect the fluids. “There, all connected. Feel free to press the button if you need anything.” 

“Go away.” Lydia mutters, pulling the blanket up over her head and her arm back into the cocoon.

“Thanks.” Daryl says, rubbing Lydia’s back. He can hear her sniffling underneath the blanket. “‘S okay t’ cry.” 

“You smell funny.” She mutters, poking her head out at him.

“What?” Daryl frowns. 

“You smell funny.” She mutters, sniffing at his shirt. “You don’t smell like daddy. You smell like… soap.” 

“Oh.” Daryl says. “I had t’ take a shower’s all. Forgot my soap.” 

“I don’t like it.” She mutters. “I like daddy smell.” 

“Sorry kiddo. I’ll get my soap as soon as I can.” He promises. He’d never given much thought to how he smelled before, but he supposed he had used the same soap for years. Hell he couldn’t even remember the scent off the top of his head, he usually just grabbed it off the shelf in the grocery store and went on his way. 

“Good.” Lydia mumbles. 

“Try to sleep okay kiddo?” Daryl whispers. 

“Okay.” 

Daryl must’ve fallen asleep at some point too, because the next thing he knows the day shift nurse is in their room and light is flooding in from the windows. Lydia whimpers on his chest and curls herself into a smaller ball, just the PICC line drifting out from under the blankets she’s pulled tightly around her. 

“Wha’ time is it?” He mutters, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand.

“A little after seven.” The nurse smiled apologetically, it’s Sasha again. The shift change has already happened. “Sorry to wake you.” 

“‘S fine.” Daryl mutters, it’s not like it’s her fault anyway. “You uh - you need her vitals?” 

“Yeah.” Sasha nods. “Dr. Rhee is going to come talk to you in a bit, but I’ll get vitals out of the way first.” 

“Biopsy results?” Daryl’s awake now. Those were supposed to come in today.

“I think so.” The nurse nods. “But it could be about the next dose of chemo too. She’s due for that today at around one.” 

“Oh.” Daryl glanced down at the lump which is Lydia, she wouldn’t be thrilled about that. He pulls at the blankets. “Lyd.” 

“No.” She moans. “No pokes.” 

“No pokes.” Sasha says. I just need your temperature and your blood pressure and your oxygen levels okay?” 

“No.” Lydia mutters. 

“What hand do you want me to put the pulse oximeter on? Your left or your right?” Sasha asks, pulling the machine over. 

“Left.” Lydia mutters, offering her right hand. Daryl has to repress a smile, she’d never been good with left and right but he was pretty sure Sasha would tell her rainbows came out of her ass if it got her to cooperate.

“Left it is.” Sasha smiles. Clipping the monitor to her finger. “And how about blood pressure?” 

“Left.” Lydia mutters, exposing a little more of her right arm for Sasha to put the cuff on. 

“Alright.” Sasha says. And do you want forehead or tongue temperature?” 

“Tongue.” Lydia mutters, poking her little pale face out from underneath the blankets and opening her mouth. 

“Thank you.” Sasha smiles, poking the thermometer under her tongue and holding it there for a moment before pulling it out. “Fever free, good job kiddo.” 

“Thanks.” Lydia mutters, letting Sasha remove the pulse oximeter and the blood pressure cuff then retreating into the cocoon of blankets again. 

“You want something to eat?” Daryl asks quietly. 

“Waffle.” Lydia mumbles. “Plain.” 

“No butter or syrup.” He repeats. “Your tummy feeling better?” 

“Kind of.” She mutters. “Still feels like I’m on a tire swing.” 

“You gonna let me out of bed to go get it?” Daryl asks. 

“Fine.” She crawls off of him and curls up in the middle of the bed. “Hurry daddy.” 

“I will.” He promises, sliding into his boots and shuffling out of the room. Across the hall Henry’s door is open, the blinds are up, and the bed empty but unmade. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad, but he tried not to linger on it.

He gets a waffle for Lydia and a cup of black coffee for himself. He knows he should eat something but he doesn’t really have the energy or appetite to get anything down. Especially not with Lydia’s biopsy results hanging over him like this. This would mean a treatment plan, a timeline, a discharge date, a real tangible plan that could get his daughter well again. 

When Daryl returns to the room he finds Dr. Rheesitting on the end of the bed, letting Lydia hold her stethoscope to her swollen belly. 

“Daddy guess what!” Lydia says eagerly. “There’s a baby in there and I can hear him!” 

“Really?” Daryl frowns. 

“Yeah I use the listening thingy and I can hear his heart.” Lydia grins.

“Alright Lydia.” Dr. Rhee smiles. “It looks like it's time for your breakfast. How about I take that and go talk to your daddy while you eat?” 

“Okay.” Lydia frowns, handing the stethoscope back to Dr. Rhee. “He’ll be back soon?” 

“Yeah.” Dr. Rhee says. “Mr. Dixon if you’ll come with me?” 

“Oh uh, yeah sure.” Daryl nods, handing Lydia her waffles and following Dr. Rhee out of the room and down the hall. “Are we uh - going to that - that same room.” 

“Yeah.” Dr. Rhee says. “It’s a little more private.” 

“Is this about her biopsy results?” Daryl swallows, remembering what Carol had told him about that room.

“Yes.” Dr. Rhee nods. “We got them back this morning and I wanted to discuss the new treatment plan with you, we’ll be starting it today.” 

“Today.” Daryl swallows. “Isn’t she still on - on that other chemo?”

  “She is.” Dr. Rhee nods. “But we’ll be adding some new ones.” 

Ones. Plural. Daryl's stomach sinks father. 

Dr. Rhee holds the door open for him and he steps into the room, there’s a stack of papers on the table. She’s prepared this in advance. He takes a seat in the same chair he sat in the other day and takes a drink of his coffee, ignoring the burning sensation it sends down his throat. 

“So,” Dr. Rhee says, pulling some of the papers towards her and shuffling through them. “We got the results back from Lydia’s bone marrow biopsy and we were initially correct. She does have Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia.” 

“Okay.” He says slowly. “Like… that’s it?” 

“No.” Dr. Rhee slides the paper over to him, the text is small, and even though she’s highlighted portions of it it sort of dances around in front of him. “Lydia has a rare mutation we don’t often see in acute leukemia. It’s called the philadelphia chromosome. Essentially what it means is that two of the genes in the Leukemia cells have switched places. It also means that Lydia’s Leukemia is very high risk and will need to be treated aggressively. We’re going to do this with three different kinds of chemotherapy and a geneblocker called Distautinab. Distautinab is a newer drug and when used in conjunction with it’s predecessor Imatinib we’ve seen cure rates go up dramatically.” 

“Dramatically what - what does that mean?” Daryl swallows. 

“Well currently we’re at about 80 percent for this particular subtype of leukemia.” Dr. Rhee says. 

“Eighty percent.” He breathes. “And this - um - this is what subtype?” 

“Ph+ ALL.” Dr. Rhee says. 

The name triggers something in the back of his brain, he’s so exhausted that it takes him a moment to come back around to it. Carol. That’s what her daughter had. Carol’s daughter was dead. 

“Um Carol -“ 

“Yes,” Dr. Rhee says. “This is the same type of leukemia that carol’s daughter Sophia had. However Distautinab was not available for use in children at the time Sophia was treated.” 

“And Lydia.” He mutters. “What am I - what does this entail?” 

“A treatment plan of about two and a half years.” Dr. Rhee says. 

“Two and a half years.” Eh breathes. 

“Yes, though a period of that will be what is called maintenance Chemotherapy. It’s about a year of active treatment all together and a year and a half of maintenance. During active treatment she’ll have periods of chemo infusions both inpatient and outpatient, but during maintenance barring complications she’ll be at home taking daily oral chemo therapies.” 

“I - okay.” He mutters. 

“Do you need a minute?” She asks. 

“Please.” He breathes. 

“Alright, I’ll give you sometime.” Dr. Rhee stands and exits the room, Daryl fumbles for his phone in his sweatpants pocket. It’s not yet eight o’clock, the school day shouldn’t have started. He finds Carol’s number in his phone and hits the call button. 

“Daryl?” She picks up almost immediately. “Is everything okay?” 

“I - Lydia’s biopsy results.” He manages. “They’re  they’re not good.” 

“Okay.” Carol’s voice is blessedly steady. “What happened?” 

“It’s um - that chromosome thing. Lydia’s got it.” He mutters, running a hand over his hair and leaning against the table. He feels like he’s going to throw up. 

“Oh.” Her voice is almost silent on the end of the line. 

God this had been stupid of him. He shouldn’t have called and told her that. Her daughter died from that. He opens his mouth to apologize. 

“School gets out at 330.” She says, unknowingly cutting off his attempt at apology. “I can leave right after and be there by 430 okay?” 

“You don’t have t’ do that.” He says. 

“I’m going to be there by 430.” She says. “You - this is a lot to process. It’s hard. Have you gotten your treatment plan yet?” 

“No.” Daryl admits. “We-we’re about to discuss that she’s got a - a folder.” 

“Okay.” Carol says. “Look, I won’t promise you everything is going to be okay, but things have changed, three years is a long time in the world of cancer. And even if they hadn’t, you’re not alone in this Daryl.” 

“Two and a half years.” He chokes out. “She’s - she’s gonna be going through this for two and a half years.” 

“Yeah.” Carol says. “And so are you. This is your fight to Daryl, and you and Lydia aren’t alone here. I have a half an hour until class starts, are you okay?” 

“I- no.” Daryl says “She had a really rough night and now, now I’m going to go in there and condemn her to more and - and I know it’s going to save her life but she doesn’t know that. She doesn’t understand that.” 

“She understands more than you think Daryl.” Carol whispers. “She’ll be okay, she’ll get through this.” 

“We don’t know that.” Daryl whispers. 

“She has a father who’s fighting like hell for her.” Carol says. “That’s gonna make her okay. Not every kid has that. I’ll be there at 430 okay? I’ll bring dinner.” 

“Yeah.” He nods. “I uh - I should go. I need t’ - i need t’ know what’s gonna happen.” 

“Okay.” Carol says. “You want me to call at lunch?” 

“No.” He says. “I - she’s due for chemo around then, she likes me t’ hold her.”

“See, you’re all she needs.” She says. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

“Yeah.” He hangs up the phone and rests his head in his hands. 

“Ready?” Dr. Rhee steps back into the room. 

“Not really.” He sighs. “But yeah, lets do this I guess.” 

“So we’re going to start with the induction phase. That will consist of daily oral chemotherapy and steroids and weekly chemo through her PICC line.” Dr. Rhee slides a calendar sheet in front of him. “It will look something like this, though the dates will change based on her discharge date. We’re aiming for sometime next week, we just need to give her one round of inpatient chemo, check her counts and keep her fever free for 48 hours.” 

“We could be home next week?” That didn’t feel real to him, the idea that they could be home in a week. Hadn’t she just said that Lydia’s chemo was aggressive? 

“If everything goes well.” Dr. Rhee nods, tucking some of her short hair behind her ear. “We’re going to finish this round today and on saturday and then if all goes well you could be home by Wednesday. Now you’ll come back weekly for labs and chemotherapy, and if she spikes a fever above 100.4 you have to come into the ER right away.” 

“Okay.” He nods. “And that’s - that’s it? For two years?” 

“Well, no.” Dr. Rhee says. “Because of the type of leukemia that Lydia has we need to be aggressive in our treatment. This cancer likes to hide, so we’re going to do the induction phase, then we’re going to pull back on the chemo, to give her body a break and a chance to recover and then she’ll start three rounds of very aggressive chemotherapy. She’ll be inpatient for those, expect up to 30 days.” 

“30 days.” He mutters. 

“Yes. And she’s going to be a very sick little girl. But as I said the chances of a good outcome are high with this new drug.” Dr. Rhee says. “So if you’ll sign the paperwork I can get her chemo together and we can get ahead of this thing.” 

“Yeah.” Daryl nods, reaching for the papers and pen. “Jus’ - I want her t’ be a kid again.” 

“Kids are resilient.” Dr. Rhee says. 

“Yeah.” Daryl mutters. 

Can she still be resilient? 

[applejuizz]

irrational goals x and x mindless illusions

after years of relentless searching, kaito has finally managed to find ging. as the two hunters pass the evening in the mountains, ging tells a story of his past. characters: ging freecss, kaito (kite) pairing(s): ging x gon’s momma (in the past!) no warnings word count: 1.880

pretty much my headcanons on what happened to gon’s mother.

“For all those years that I’ve known you, Ging-san, and I would’ve never guessed you have a kid.” Ging’s laughter, loud and brash bounced off the cave walls and scattered along with the howling winds. “And I thought you knew better than to make assumptions,” the hunter replied wittily, his large, amber stare glinting with amusement.

Kaito huffed out a short-lived smile and took a generous bite out of his freshly-roasted fish. He chose to let the crackling fire fill the silence as he masticated, carefully pondering over his next words.

“You’ve left one hell of a legacy behind, you know. He’s got your willpower and plenty of potential.” In response, Ging grunted through a mouthful of fish. “He’s good with animals as well. He’d make an excellent hunter.”

Kaito raised his gaze slightly to catch a reaction from across the vivid flames of the campfire. Maybe it had been just a product of the lights and shadows constantly dancing on Ging’s features, but he could’ve sworn that for a brief, insignificant moment, his master’s petrified expression had twitched. Now, whether it had been the ghost of a smile or a grimace, he couldn’t tell.

“Looks like my son did quite the impression on you,” remarked Ging, swallowing the last of his bite. “He is definitely something. I’m surprised how you were never curious enough to visit. Poor boy grew up thinking his parents were dead.” “Good.”

The sheer finality in the hunter’s tone made Kaito’s head instantly shoot up to stare incredulously. “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy, Kaito,” said Ging before his disciple could conceal his surprise, “hunters are greedy people. They seek adventure, despise routine and never settle. Bringing a kid into this world is a big and dangerous deal that we couldn’t bear.”

Then why did you do it in the first place? The question was entirely plausible, yet it died on Kaito’s tongue before he could voice it. It wasn’t his place to ask. Perhaps the boy was the result of an ordinary one night stand - that was quite often the case. Besides, he couldn’t imagine Ging lingering in one place long enough to fall in love and willingly father a child. Then again, he hadn’t thought it possible for the carefree adventurer to even be a parent at all, and he’d been proven wrong. In all truth, predicting Ging Freecss’s actions was a game of chance, similar to Kaito’s Crazy Slot, and the white-haired hunter wasn’t sure he liked that resemblance.

“Was his mother a hunter as well?” As he spoke, Kaito watched Ging’s posture stiffen, his usual relaxed attitude forgone. On second thought, it might’ve been more suitable to ask about his reasoning. “Who said anything about her? What did I tell you about assumptions?!” “You said ‘we’.” “What?!” “When you talked about bringing a kid into this world, you said ‘we couldn’t bear it’.” “As in you and me and every other fucking hunter in the world. Now stop nagging me.”

From the years he’d spent as his disciple, Kaito had learnt a lot about Ging as a hunter - extremely gifted, strategic, adventurous -, as well as a person - stubborn, unpredictable, carefree and at times, awkward. However, he had rarely, if ever got the chance to see a truly flustered, caught off-guard Ging. It took a lot to surprise him. Yet it seemed that the question Kaito had deemed innocuous had managed to utterly baffle the rogue hunter. He watched in awe as Ging’s features shifted through various phases of surprise, outrage and awkwardness, his foot nervously tapping the ground and his voice cracking with indignance. “I’m sorry. It’s none of my business.” The only response Ging gave was a graceful, yet expressive burp. He deliberately avoided meeting Kaito’s eyes, busying himself with wiping clean of meat every little fishbone.

By the time he spoke again, the fire had considerably dimmed. “She is a hunter. Part of the association that helped me create Greed Island.” Kaito was leaning against a smoother portion of the wall, hands behind his head, eyes closed in contemplation. When his master spoke, he immediately turned to look at him. The black-haired man was staring pointedly at the dying fire, scattering the ashes with a stick in a halfhearted attempt of keeping it aflame. “Ging-san, you don’t have to talk about this if-“ “Just shut up and listen, ‘cause I’m not telling this story twice.”

Kaito settled back against the stone wall and listened.

“As I said, she was one of the creators of Greed Island, so we were both pretty young when we met- 18, I think. She was the friend of a friend, she heard of our project and she wanted in. We were fine with it, since she was a strong Nen user and her contribution has made the game what it is today.”

The cave entrance was growing darker by the minute as nightfall crept in. They would have to get some more firewood.

“While we were busting our asses off scouting the island and thinking up cards, we got to talkin’ and you could say we grew... close. She was pretty and as charming as they come, simple-minded, and always up for an adventure. And I was a bit of an impressionable kid.”

“We wanted to travel together. She was passionate about myths and languages, I liked ruins. A match made in heaven,” Ging chuckled bitterly. “Now, don’t get me wrong, ‘twas nothing official. We couldn’t be bothered to label anything. But one thing led to another, and all of a sudden we were a couple of dumb nineteen year-olds with a baby on the way.”

So, Gon was a mistake. Kaito had figured that much.

“Obviously, we had to push back our plans - we wanted to try and explore the Dark Continent eventually - and we had no idea how we were going to raise a kid together when we didn’t even know how to define our relationship, but we never thought about giving up Gon. Not once. Soon after we finished up the game, Daina gave birth. May 5th, 1987. Five months later, I was urging her to come with me on an unofficial, undocumented expedition near lake Mosubi.”

The sheer name of that place gave Kaito the shivers as he listened attentively to the other hunter’s story.

“She didn’t really want to go. Childbirth had changed her. She began to realize the risks we’d have to take, the high stakes, the danger that was awaiting and how inexperienced we really were. But I was having none of it. I thought I was invincible, and I thought I’d always get what I wanted.” There was a pause, and Ging cleared his throat almost awkwardly.

“So, I threatened to leave by myself. Woke up that morning and started packing. She got scared, like I knew she would; there was no way to stop me, so she eventually gave in.”

“You pretty much manipulated her into following you,” Kaito concluded. Ging continued to stare into the fire for a while before answering, and his disciple was almost sure he’d managed to piss him off again.

“Yeah. I guess you could say that,” he answered calmly. “Anyway, we left the baby in-game, summoned a Panda Maid to care for him and left. Long story short, something... beyond my understanding happened on that godforsaken shore and...”

“Did Daina...?”

“No! I mean... she disappeared. I have no idea what happened to her. I couldn’t look for her. It’s a miracle I even got away.”

Kaito let out a breath he hadn’t even known he were holding.

“And before you start to think I’m some delusional dumbass, the moment I got back, I went to Greed Island and summoned Double Postcard to the Dead. I’ve been doing it annually since then. No response so far.”

Ging needn’t explain more. Kaito knew Greed Island fairly well from the time he had attempted to clear the game, and therefore he had plenty of knowledge on the card system. Double Postcard to the Dead is a card which, if summoned, allows you to send a message to a deceased person of your choosing. If the person is truly dead, you’ll get a response within the next day.

“Anyway, after all that, I’d realized a couple of things.” Ging raised his pointer in the air. “First. I was going to need at least a decade of training, experience and qualifications to even pass lake Mosubi’s shoreline, and second,” he raised another finger, “I couldn’t raise Gon on my own. It was too dangerous to pursue my goals with him around, and he would’ve been better off living a normal life.”

“So you sent him off home.”

“And lost custody in court when Mito decided to sue me. The rest is history.”

There was silence as Kaito pondered over what he’d just heard. He supposed he could understand the reasoning behind Ging’s decision to leave Gon in someone else’s care, but he could’ve at least visited. Kaito was no king of morality, yet he couldn’t have lived with himself knowing he had a kid out there that knew nothing of him.

“I’m sorry.”

Ging’s eyes switched back to Kaito. He no longer looked lost in space as he made a dismissive hand gesture, very much characteristic of him.

“Don’t be. It was for the best. I would’ve been a crappy father either way.” There was humor in his tone and the white-haired hunter laughed cordially, but he could tell his companion’s words were more than just a joke.

The more he thought about it, the more obvious it became. Ging had decided to utterly avoid his son not only for his safety, but also out of a selfish, yet understandable reason. He couldn’t have possibly bore the embarrassment of looking Gon in the eye and telling him his mother had gone missing simply because he had dragged her into his irrational goals and mindless illusions.

But you won’t be able to avoid him forever, Kaito thought to himself. If that boy is anything like you, he won’t drop dead until he finds you. I’ve seen the look in his eyes. You’re in for one hell of a ride, Ging.

“Yo.” He was awoken from his reverie by the hunter’s deep voice. “I’m gonna go get some more firewood. You coming or what?”

Kaito had barely noticed that the sky had gone completely dark and the cave was only lit by what little was left of the campfire. He could barely distinguish Ging’s features anymore as he stood at the entrance.

“Sure. I wasn’t expecting you to spend the night here though, Ging-san.”

As they walked along the abrupt forest path, wind howling at their ears, Ging scoffed. “You and your damn assumptions.” He grumbled and pointed at the sky. “No stars. Can’t you smell the thunder? It’s gonna rain tonight.” Kaito doubted a little storm would stop Ging from leaving if he really wished to do so, but he said nothing. “Oh, and drop the honorific.”

Kaito must’ve looked extremely surprised because Ging spoke again, a smirk creeping on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that. You found me, so you passed your test. We’re equals.”

[hcllydanes]

𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐲 ! look at me finally being productive-ish. below you’ll find holly’s intro with no wanted connections because i am l a z y . if you’re not at discord , you can like or reply to this post & i’ll come right to your door. 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐟𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐚𝐝𝐨 . . .

* SYDNEY SWEENEY , CIS FEMALE + SHE / HER  | you know HOLLY DANES, right ? they’re TWENTY-THREE , and they’ve lived in irving for , like , FIFTEEN YEARS ? well , their spotify wrapped says they listened to DON’T START NOW BY DUA LIPA like , a million times this year , which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole BLASTING MUSIC WHILE DRIVING AROUND TOWN AT 3AM , THE PITTER-PATTER OF RAIN FALLING ON THE PAVEMENT , LISTENING TO HEADPHONES ON A BUS STOP thing going on . i just checked and their birthday is NOVEMBER 9TH , so they’re a SCORPIO , which is unsurprising , all things considered .

is actually hurt by being unsurprisingly a scorpio seeing as her pisces rising makes her the sweetest scorpio of all time ? 

anyway . . . 

holly , as seen above , is not an irving original , she was born and raised up until she was 8 in los angeles  ▬  her momma , a washed up 80′s actress , was still tryin’ to keep herself in the limelight , ya know ? but all things considered , it was harder than she thought.

holly’s dad though ? damn , holly’s dad was big and known  ▬  at least that’s what her momma said , cause holly didn’t know the man and couldn’t pick him from adam in a line if she had to. she would eventually grow up with that incurable hole inside of her right in the place where functional parents should be.

her mother was not shy about being an irreparable romantic , or at least that’s what she announced , when they lived in la , her mother might have slept with more hollywood producers than she could actually count and when she got pregnant and once more was silenced with money , frances danes packed up everything she owned and moved as far away as she could.

which was how holly ended up at irving at the age of 8 . just her , her little sister hannah and their mamma , heartbroken frances , she’d never quite get used to her failure.

it was weird her mother’s pursuit of men . holly and hannah would watch them come and go over the next few years as they were settled in irving and calling the place home . holly for once , more times than she could imagine , saw herself the mother shoes , making sure her sister was well fed and secure. 

it’s not to say that her mother’s antics didn’t do a number on her. 

seeing frances be , it almost made it all seem natural , maybe when she grew up she’d have many boyfriends , too ? she didn’t know. 

time did pass by though , sometimes it dragged on , but holly turned into a teenager . a creative one that is . with her body filling up on all the right places , her mother started to worry , not for holly , but for herself . she started spending less and less time home . it was just holly and hannah against the world . well , they did have friends , but it didn’t keep them from feeling alone.

after all , lilac ridge could be scary at night.

little by little holly started scoring down favorites in the town ,  favorite place to be ? the cove , easy answer . favorite thing to do ? surfing , definitely , staying endlessly on the water made her feel like she was in la again , or maybe cruising the streets in the middle of the night . favorite person in the world ? it was harder to reply than it seemed.

aside from surfing and meandering down the streets in the middle of the night , holly also sure did love watching horror movies , and make up ! it took her a while but she put two and two together and thus her social media persona was created.

she never really left home , not really , at the age of twenty-three and her sister being only fifteen , she needs to have her own experiences , as holly had done hers . the make up took her back to la a few times a year , hannah in tow . she worked on many horror movies as a part of the fx crew , she earns a sizeable amount of money for doing what she loves , she can’t complain. 

what of her mamma ? frances would pass away when holly was 19 , big funeral , not many attendees , holly got hannah’s guardianship , and she would a hundred times over. 

holly would go on to have her terrible taste in men , however , which was ok , because once things got a little bit too hard , she had her mother’s tendency to run away too , not call back , end things before they started , before she broke her heart. 

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜 𝐢𝐧𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 about holly  ▬ 

full name,  holly grace danes

nicknames,  usually referred to as holly

birthday and age,  november 9th (23)

zodiac sign, rising, sun and moon,  ♏︎ scorpio , ↑ pisces ☾ scorpo ☉ scorpio

gender & pronouns,  cis female, goes by she or her

sexual orientation,  tragically heterosexual

occupation,  makeup artist specialized in fx makeup , self taught

current location,  dorado road

favorite place in irving,  48 orion avenue or dorado beach

marital status,  single and never ready to mingle 

most likely to be seen,  nowadays ? meandering around in the middle of the night soul searching , or maybe ghost hunting ? definitely urban exploring . maybe sitting on top of a board on dorado beach , just letting the waves wash her by . buying a corn dog for hannah at vela pier . or sometimes , when things get terribly difficult , holly can be seen renting a room at the palm motel , sometimes just her alone with her thoughts and other times , not so much. 

[sarcasmisakindofmagic]

And I, seeking safe harbour, found it between the pages of a book

Pairing: Santiago Garcia x fem!reader

Word count: 2,200

Warnings: Tom prefers the movie to the book. one (1) swear word. This is a yearning sort of fluff.

A/N: This is unbeta’d so please forgive any typos 

It started, as so many things did for Santiago Garcia, in a bookshop.

The bookshop of his childhood had been haphazard and dusty, second hand books piled high above his head; unending towers of adventures waiting for him to read. They had been browning at the edges, marginalia scrawled in a rainbow of colours in thousands of different hands - previous readers accompanying him on his journey and adding wry remarks to the story. 

His abuela had taken him there every Wednesday after school. It had just been the two of them, the cousins relegated to helping abuelo on the farm, but Santi as the baby could help abuela with the town errands. She always got him one book to add to his collection.

Le Morte d’Arthur was a favourite, the binding long since giving up the ghost. Pages held together by string and Santi turning each page with a gentle caress, weighting down each pile with carefully selected rocks - flat, nothing to tear the paper.

Santi had gone back to the bookshop once after Abuela died. The day before he was due to leave town to hit bootcamp. He handed a fresh copy of Le Morte d’Arthur to the volunteer behind the desk, complete with scrawled annotations and inscription.

There hadn’t been many bookshops on the tours he’d taken, occasional lingering moments of perusing the shelves. Frankie knew to leave him alone with the potential stories, a quiet nod and he’d be off to stake out a quiet spot. The whole team would find him later, passively guarding enough space for them to guard each other’s backs. Tom never got the message always hovering, making comments about how he always preferred the movies anyway, Santiago stopped looking for bookshops with him around. Will and Benny usually came as a pair. Benny burning off energy, as Will followed more placidly. Ironically it had been Benny who understood the most, Will losing himself to music more easily than the written word.

“Books, man, I could do that anywhere. It’s active, y’know? Music just happens to you, but i can lose myself in a book.” Benny had told him once, dropping a Du Maurier novel in his lap with a sly grin and only offering a shrug when anybody asked where he’s got an english copy in the middle of bumfuck nowhere redacted.

On the long flights where Benny literally couldn’t sleep, and Santi had too many possibilities running through his head, they’d swap books, making little notes and hiding dicks in the centre folds so they’d get bigger as the book opened.

Half their friendship had been little doodles of dicks, drawn at the most heartfelt and profound moments of classics. Oddly it completely summed Benny up.

The local bookshop was a hidden gem. After Colombia he hadn’t sought out the written word for so long the impulse to go in surprised him enough that he was inside before he’d really thought about it. The shelves inside were crammed full, small hand-painted signs letting him know the genre in which he found himself. There was no military precision to be found here, plenty of space to get lost and find a gem no one had wanted to read in years. The ghost abuela murmured approvingly in his ear, old advice echoing ‘Books need readers, nieto, always find a story that has taken someone on the journey before.’

Occasionally, there would be little stacks of books as new orders came in, the shelves too full to make room for the new arrivals. Regulars moved round them, or paused to run the pad of one finger down the spines, a momentary introduction to a potential new companion.

Hidden around a corner was a tiny café area, only enough to seat maybe ten people, it wasn’t advertised outside - Santiago had never seen every seat taken, though he certainly recognised the regulars by now.

There was the local Rabbi who would tuck himself in the corner with a hot tea and write, occasionally muttering under his breath in Hebrew as he wrestled his sermon into existence. Two students, who were not dating but should be, occupied the table with book wedged under the leg to make it stop wobbling. They were always in contact with one another, limbs seeking the other’s warmth. They didn’t have a schedule but were never in before noon and had only once been spotted on a Thursday. 

A young mum who sat by herself on Saturday mornings and absorbed the quiet, she’d once fallen asleep, resting her head on the shelves. Santiago had woken her at her usual departure time, to flustered thank yous, ‘her twins were at ballet classes and her husband was away-’. She’d been out the store and earshot before she’d finished speaking but a little plate with a huge slab of shortcake had been waiting for him the Saturday after, with ‘Thank you’ iced across the top. There had also been a card with a little boy and girl dancing ballet together impressively drawn in crayon, with capitalised signatures.

Santiago had it in a frame at his house and refused to explain it to anyone that asked beyond a bland, “It’s a thank you card.” 

Only Will had taken more than a beat to move on, absorbing the bright colours and wobbly letters. The clap on Santi’s shoulder and soft look had been enough. Will had never needed words to get a point across, but a gesture like the card? Will understood that well enough.

The boys all knew about you, heard stories about the book shop owner who could make Pope blush with a well timed smile and look in her eye. 

Abuela would have liked her, was the way he explained it to Frankie, blaming the hushed tones on the baby cradled in his arms, rather than the strength of his crush. Little Nina was as placid as her daddy and slept like a rock from day one, Santiago could have yelled his love to heavens and she would only have huffed a little and snuggled closer.

Frankie had only cuffed him on the back of the head and asked if he would pick up some Spanish children’s books for Nina. Santiago didn’t need the excuse to go in there, but he grabbed it with both hands anyway.

You’d been delighted to help, piling his arms high with options before whittling it back down again, selecting tough to rip cardboard and silly rhymes over the school year novellas.

“I’ll pick those up once she’s grown a bit.” He promised, eyeing the reject pile guiltily. “If she takes after her godfather she’ll have her own library soon enough.”

“I was the same,” you laughed, stacking the books neatly by age group and sub-genre, “I used to drive my mother spare reading the book the same day we’d bought it.” “Would you like to go to dinner?” Santiago asked impulsively, talking over the end of your sentence, flushing a little at how abruptly he’d blurted it out. “I’d like to hear about your favourite books.” Your smile made his stomach flip, as you nodded fumbling with the book in your hands.

“I’d like that.” You agreed warmly. “I have quite a few favourites though, it might take more than one.”

Will met you first; in the bookshop without Santi’s supervision. There had been a break in at the shop and Will only lived five minutes away, rushing to calm you down as Santi drove like a madman to get to you.

The shop was in shambles, shelves torn down and books strewn everywhere. Loose leaves littered the floor, glass shards gleaming cruelly in the glaring streetlights. Will had wrapped you up in his jacket, careful of the bruises and nasty gash on your leg, lifting you off the floor and out onto the sidewalk.

He didn’t leave your side until Santiago arrived, waiting until Santi had you in his arms before heading back into the shop to check out what needed fixing.

Frankie met the shop before he met you. His house had the biggest yard, opening out into the woods without anything fencing him in. Will commandeered the space, Frankie happily helping out with the book repairs. His hands had never shaken under pressure, always sure on the controls of the choppers. He learnt the art of bookbinding quickly enough, humming along to Will’s playlists, the two quietest members of the team content to let the music fill the quiet for them.

The first time Frankie met you was when he and Will showed you the shop. The shelves Will had built, now firmly fixed to the wall and floor - they’d prop up the walls before anybody toppled them again. The undamaged books were separated from Frankie’s repairs, in case they weren’t up to your standards. He was pulled into a hug before he could summon up an apology for the amateur job. A stream of thank yous echoing in his ear as you hugged Will just as tightly.

Santiago was smiling, bringing him into hug with a quiet cabron. He always knew when Frankie was overthinking something. You pulled Santi away, demanding Will give a tour of the new, improved shop. Happily calling for Frankie to keep up, you needed to know everything he’d done too.

Benny volunteered to stay at the shop during the day, doing the heavy lifting while your bruises faded. Santiago worked from home but couldn’t help hovering in the shop, too concerned for you and too distracted by all the books he hadn’t got a chance to read.

Somehow this had turned into Benny painting little murals on any spare wall space and the edges of the shelves.

“Have you always painted?” You asked curiously,

Benny shrugged, scratching his chin and leaving tracks of paint over the stubble.

“Pops always had Will out back helping with the farm, he learned the woodworking with him. I helped momma round the house until I was old enough to help paint the stuff they built together.” He broke off to gently shoo Hades away from the paints, the shop cat meowing plaintively at his curiosity being denied.

“Come here puss, you don’t need a paint job.” You coaxed, clicking your fingers to entice him up onto the counter. There was no way your bruises were going to let you bend down to pick him up.

“Anyway, momma was an art teacher she taught me the basics, after that,” he flushed, “a friend helped me practice.”

You had to bite down on your cheek to keep from smiling or asking anymore questions. Benny’s friend sounded interesting but his expression screamed please-don’t-ask-questions.

“My mum could knit anything.” You said instead, finally convincing Hades to have a cuddle and scritching under his chin. “I tried to copy her one summer, ended up having to be cut free from all the wool.”

Benny laughed, all the tension leaving his shoulders at the image of you all snared up like a kitten.

“Me and Will used to track footprints through the house all the time, ‘til we did it with whitewash after painting the barn. Momma had us camped outside for a month before she let us back in.” Benny said sheepishly, a smudged green handprint marking the back of his neck as he confessed. “Pops snuck us in for showers, said he felt bad we’d got punished for chores.”

Hades leapt out of your arms, startled by your laughter. 

“God, I dropped a whole bowl of tomato soup on a cream carpet? Does that count?” You wheezed, leaning back against the shelves to try and stretch out the bruising seeing if the new position would help. Benny winced in sympathy

“Sorry. I’ll try to be less hilarious.” He quipped dryly. “And no, not unless you camped out for a month.”

The decision to marry you was the easiest one Santiago ever made. How on earth to actually ask you to marry him, turned out to be a harder thing to pin down. The ring went on half the trips you made for a year: down to Hawai’i on a group holiday, camping up in the mountains and even the near weekly hikes you took on Mondays, shutting shop up and leaving the town far behind.

It was an old copy of The Princess Bride that eventually spurred him into action. Santi was helping with organising the basement which was full of donations and books to be shipped out across the county.

Golding’s novel hit him square in the chest, the achingly familiar cover making Santiago’s throat tighten. Abuela had loved this book, taking great pleasure in dramatically clearing her throat to read it to him when he was sick. The grandpa in the story was replaced with Abuela as she told him the tale of true love: Inigo Montoya switching between Spanish and English and easily as he switched his sword hand.

He’d long been enamoured with pirates and fighting evil kings, but The Princess Bride had been the book to remind him to find something to fight for. Perhaps he’d been clinging to the doomed romance of Le Morte d’Arthur for too long.

“The Princess Bride? Santiago, this is true love - you think this happens every day?” You quoted easily, pressing a kiss to his cheek as you passed.

Santiago sent up a garbled prayer of thanks to Abuela, she always knew what he needed before he did anyway.

And so, Santiago Garcia asked the love of his life to marry him on a rainy Thursday in a bookshop. And it was perfect.

‘But I also have to say, for the umpty-umpth time, that life isn't fair. It's just fairer than death, that's all.’ -William Golding, The Princess Bride.