#also thank you again for this prompt! i love antique stores so this was very fun to write. cured me of some of the writers block heh

[snowangeldotmp3]

'to the market'

(hello again, this is from another prompt requested by @fishwear ! i challenged myself to do all three prompts, so here's another! sorry it took so long heh, but i hope you enjoy, and thanks again for the prompt!)

32. markets x ronance - they go antiquing. nancy is obsessed with trying to hunt down valuables. she’s got her little antique pocket guide in her hands furiously checking stamps on china sets. meanwhile robin is having the time of her life to track down the ugliest, kitsch trinket in the whole store so she can annoy (amuse) nancy by displaying it proudly in their living room.

Robin was not a stranger to the many multitudes of Nancy Wheeler. After everything, nothing really surprised her about Nancy. Priss and a massive nerd. Badass and made Robin get rid of the spiders. Gorgeous and a gunslinger.

Serious Antiquing Nancy Wheeler, though, was something Robin can safely say she never expected.

Though it was quickly becoming her favorite.

It was adorable, the way Nancy was so passionate about it. And Robin had to admit, it was kind of fun.

(Mostly because Robin enjoys finding the most radioactive item in the antique store, keeping her own record of whatever she finds—Nancy refuses to let her bring it home—but that’s not the important part.)

What is important, is that Robin can say without a doubt, that antique malls were Nancy Wheeler’s favorite place in the world.

And specifically, the antique mall that was closest to their apartment. They’d been all over Boston, but nothing came close to this one. It was enormous, and Robin often found it hard to keep up with Nancy, who always had an open edition of Picker’s Pocket Guide and meticulously searched through every antique tea cup she could find. Robin’s job was usually to either hold Nancy’s guidebook, or use the black-light flashlight to search for radioactivity.

Which is the case for today. Nancy’s got her eye on another antique tea set, one that she’s been hunting for months now, bound and determined to find the damn things if it’s the last thing she does.

The stalls have changed since the last time they’d been there, new antiques (which is Robin’s favorite oxymoron now) from countless vendors all trying to get rid of all their old junk. Everything from dolls (creepy with a capital C) to paintings, old comics, and small clocks that Robin knows without a doubt have radium painted on the dial.

She is thankful, too, that it’s at least warm inside. The cold in Boston decided to have an extra bite to it today, and Robin maintains that they should’ve stopped for hot cocoa.

Nancy’s got her guidebook opened to the page she needs, hair tied up in a messy bun, bag thrown over her shoulder, and, most surprisingly, her glasses perched on her nose. It’s adorable. Nancy’s face scrunches up in thought, tongue darting out as she frantically writes something down in her book. She looks like a librarian, turtleneck under her lavender Emerson sweater and long skirt with pockets (Nancy’s favorite). She’s even tied her hair up with a matching lavender scrunchie.

Believe it or not, this is Nancy’s most casual look. She rarely wears her glasses out, but desperate times and all.

(It’s Robin’s favorite look. She only ever sees her this relaxed at home, and Robin’s mentally kicking herself for not bringing her Polaroid to get a picture of Nancy like this, in her element. Maybe some other time.)

“So,” Robin says, walking a half step behind Nancy to the first stall, “what teacup are we looking for? Is it even a teacup? Or is it another saucer?”

Nancy rolls her eyes as they find the wall of fine china. She searches for something in her tote, pushing her glasses up as they slide down her nose. “It’s a teacup this time, Robbie, I promise.” Nancy fishes a pen out of her bag, and then hands the book and pen to Robin with a small smile. “Hold this while I check the stamps on these? Please?”

And well, Robin can’t tell her ‘no’ when she’s got that spark in her eyes and that small, almost shy, smile.

Robin hums, tapping Nancy’s pen against her chin. “Well, I guess… since you asked so nicely.”

Nancy’s grin widens, stepping closer to give Robin a quick peck on her cheek. “Thank you,” she singsongs.

Robins rolls her eyes fondly as her face reddens. “Yeah, yeah. Anything for you, Nance.”

***

She should’ve expected that they’d be here all day. After all, Nancy was on a mission, and if it’s one thing Robin’s learned about being with Nancy, once she’s on a mission, she’s practically unstoppable.

Nancy had, after about an hour, released Robin to look at whatever she wanted, while Nancy continued to look at near-identical teacups. Though, Robin would’ve gladly stood there for another hour or two while Nancy searched for this mysterious cup.

Robin strolls down the stretch of stalls that are behind glass. Glassware, all with a faint greenish tint. Bingo.

Robin grabs the black-light from her jacket pocket, flicking it on and pointing it to the various bowls and vases, beaming the moment the stall lights up like a Christmas tree.

She steps closer, face close to the glass, but not too close. All this uranium glass in one spot is enough to create a hotspot.

One item in particular glows brighter than the others; a small bedside clock, shining a specific shade of radium green and for a moment, she really wishes Dustin were here with his Geiger counter, just to see how radioactive it is.

If Robin had to guess, the answer would be: extremely, given how bright the green is compared to the others.

She takes a cautious step back, away from the radioactive hotspot, taking out her own small notebook and jotting down the antique clock in her version of Nancy’s pocket guide and writes: Clock, Westclox, Big Ben. Radium. January 1989. Extremely radioactive.

Putting her notebook, pencil, and flashlight back into her pocket, Robin continues her stroll around the giant antique mall.

And then she spots it.

Like a cartoon, the clouds disappear just enough; the sun shining down on it, revealing itself in a holy light.

A stuffed opossum, wearing tiny sunglasses, holding a guitar in his tiny opossum paws.

Robin strides over to it and snatches it up, racing back to Nancy.

Nancy bumps into her halfway, eyebrows raised at Robin’s excited demeanor.

“Oh, hey Nance,” Robin says, a little out of breath, “didn’t see you there.” She shifts from foot to foot unconsciously, holding the stuffed opossum behind her back.

Nancy folds her arms over her chest, eyes narrowing. “What do you have?”

Robin smiles. Nancy does not. Robin shows her the taxidermied opossum. “Nance, we have to take him home.”

“Absolutely not,” Nancy says, making a face. “Where would we even put him? The living room? The bedroom? I’m not sleeping in the same room as that.” She points at it, face twisted in disgust.

Robin pouts, if only a little, to make a point. “Please, Nance?” She begs, watching Nancy’s resolve crack, if only for a second. “I’ve already named him. Plus, I know the perfect spot for him! You won’t have to worry about him in our room, pinkie swear.”

Nancy’s face softens, another crack in her resolve, and Robin knows she’s won. Nancy huffs, pinching her the bridge of her nose. “Fine. But only if you help me look for this stupid cup again.”

“Deal,” Robin beams, “thank you, Nance,” she mimics Nancy’s singsong voice from earlier. She leans down, planting a kiss to Nancy’s cheek, reveling in the way pink dusts across her cheekbones.

“Yeah, yeah,” Nancy mutters, taking Robin’s free hand and intertwining it with her own. “Anything for you, Rob.”

***

“It’s perfect!”

“It’s hideous.”

Robin gasps, “He is not! He’s charming. He brings the room together!”

“I still can’t believe I let you bring that thing into our apartment.” Nancy wrinkles her nose, leaning further into Robin as they sit on the couch, sipping hot cocoa and taking in the marvel that is the guitar playing opossum in their living room.

“Believe it, babe. Besides, if not for me and Franklin here, you wouldn’t have found your precious cup.” Robin nods to the teacup, now preciously displayed on one of Nancy’s shelves, and crosses her arms, grinning smugly at Nancy,

Nancy rolls her eyes, lightly swatting Robin’s chest. “Shut up, Buckley.”

“Make me, Wheeler,” she teases, poking at Nancy’s shoulder. “I’d do it again, though. Help you get your special cups, it’s just so cute. I’ve seen you run a gaggle of newspaper nerds before, but I don’t know Nance, I think you could make it as a professional antique collector.” Robin pauses, considering, “Is that even a real thing? It could be. You could be the first.”

Nancy giggles into her cocoa. “I’m glad you say that, actually, Robbie, because there’s this one teacup that would match this one really well and I think—”

Robin groans, unable to think about fine china any more than she already has, but she meant what she said. She’d do it again. Just to see that brilliant look on Nancy’s face.

[bubblegumbeech]

My first Phic Phight fic!

For @ecto-american’s prompt

His name was Danny.

That was the first thing he knew for sure was true, when he had first woken up it was what everyone called him, and it fit just fine, wasn’t something off or uncomfortable so he let it settle over him before he tried to speak.

His voice didn’t come at first, and it hurt to try so the nurses made him promise to take it easy for now, to sit back and listen. So he did.

He listened as the people around him spoke at length about how much they missed him, about how they couldn’t wait to get him home again, about how glad they were he’d survived.

The loudest and most talkative of the people that visited him and called him Danny, was a large man in an orange jumpsuit that went on long enthusiastic tangents that Danny had long stopped paying attention to. He was almost always with a smaller, authoritative woman named Maddie, who insisted He call her Mom. They told him they were his parents.

They told him they loved him.

And then they told him everything else.

The first time Danny remembered something it was with excitement, he was still in the hospital room and between the visits from the men in the starched white suits, his parents, and the doctor, he had been wrestling with the feeling that something was missing.

It had only been when Maddie had finally taken off the hood and goggles of her jumpsuit had Danny gotten a flash of familiar red hair and asked, “where’s Jazz?”

His heart buzzed at the question, sure, so sure that it would get answered, that he had remembered something.

But both Jack and Maddie had just looked at him, disappointed, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask again.

Eventually, once the doctor declared him competent and unlikely to slip back into his coma, his parents had taken him home.

There were streamers all over the house and a giant party banner that read “Welcome Back” in thick black lettering and Danny forced out a small smile as he looked around at the unfamiliar surroundings. Maddie walked up behind him and he flinched, his body acting before his brain could catch up.

She had frowned at his reaction, and when Danny, stuttering, tried to apologize she said it was okay, and with a tightlipped smile, she pulled him into a hug.

He forced himself to relax, frustrated with himself. This was his mother, there was no reason for his instincts to be so afraid. Jack had joined the hug and eventually Danny found himself relaxing for real, sure maybe getting his memories back was a slow uphill climb, but at least he wouldn’t do it alone.

Eventually his parents let him go and told him he was free to walk around the house and reacquaint himself with it. His room was the first door on the left upstairs, the bathroom was down the hall and the basement, apparently, was off limits.

So Danny went upstairs into his room. It looked something like a teenager’s room he supposed. There were the posters hung haphazardly on the walls and they were torn at the corners as if someone had ripped them all off the walls before hastily taping them back up. The bed was made too, and there was a lot less dust than he was expecting after being gone for a whole month.

In fact, it looked like he’d cleaned and organized the whole room before he’d fallen into his coma and Danny didn’t know why, but that thought set him on edge. Maybe he was just an organized person?

It was just… he didn’t feel very organized.

He kept looking around. There was that feeling that something was missing, something important to him, and he walked over to the nightstand by his bed. Placing a hand on the polished wood Danny fought the flash of a model spaceship that appeared in his memories. It wasn’t here though and Danny frowned. Was that something else he’d thrown away and simply forgotten?

Shaking his head Danny headed back downstairs, maybe he should just ask Jack, er, his dad? He should really get used to calling them mom and dad. But before he headed down he went to the room across from his and knocked.

Maybe he was being foolish, but he had expected someone to answer, had a name even come to mind. When no answer came he opened the door himself only to find a storage room, nothing but shelves and boxes and Danny scolded himself for the painful ache he felt in his heart.

It was another week before Danny had another memory, and just like the last two, it didn’t fit quite right. Like a piece from another puzzle jammed where it shouldn’t fit. So he’d asked Maddie.

“Sam?” she’d said, a carefully blank look on her face, “Oh! I remember Sam, she was an old friend of yours you used to talk about her all the time. Shame she moved away.”

And just like that, he’d had his answer as ill fitting as it was. Sam was a girl he knew that moved away, the memory he’d had, of her crying face screaming at him to stay awake just stay awake damnit, was probably from a long time ago. The pain he felt in his chest -just to the right of his heart- at the thought of her not being near and that he’d probably never see her again? That was nothing important.

It was another couple of weeks of sleeping in that house, waking up and going downstairs to eat with his parents, to chat about memories he didn’t have and tell stories he never resonated with, before he woke up screaming for the first time.

Maddie had instantly run into his room, Jack not far behind and Danny scrambled away from them both. His mind filled with images of painful green light and the ominous glint of red goggles twisting his reflection in their lenses as they looked down on him.

His parents had pushed past the barrier of pillows and blankets he’d made and pulled him into their arms, rocking him and shushing him until eventually he’d tired himself out from crying and fallen asleep again. The nightmares returned.

Eventually Danny stopped asking questions about his memories.

Either they were incomplete, fragments of something real that had been twisted in time, or they were wrong entirely, figments of his own active imagination. He’d never had a sister, they insisted. It was his mother, Maddie that had stayed up late some nights to help him with his homework and bake him safe, edible cookies as a reward. Tucker was a kid he knew at school, yes, but he’d moved away years ago and they hadn’t spoken in person since.

He had blue eyes, when he looked in the mirror, not green.

It was frustrating, being unable to trust himself- his own memories. If it was anything more than broken, incomplete fragments he’d have argued, insisted they were real.

But then again, he also had memories of Maddie leaning over him, scalpel in hand to cut away at his flesh. And he knew that couldn’t be true; the woman that smiled every time he came downstairs, called him sweetie and kissed him on his forehead every night, wasn’t the monster in his dreams. She couldn’t be.

So he ignored them.

He ignored the moments of instinct when Maddie or Jack went for a hug or a kiss and he flinched, ready for an attack. He ignored how he never seemed able to give a straight answer when they asked about his day, even if he hadn’t done anything interesting at all. And he ignored his nightmares, stuffing towels under his doorframe to muffle the sounds of his screams. There was no reason to keep waking up his parents like that.

But no matter how much he ignored, he compartmentalized, or he forced himself to smile, to hug back, and to spend time bonding with his parents, he never felt safe. Maddie insisted that he was, of course she did, this was his home. But even as he smiled and agreed and let her hug him again, he wanted to leave.

This time his dream wasn’t a nightmare. No scary, well lit labs with beakers and glowing buttons, or disgusting, painful flowers shoved into his mouth. Instead there was the ticking of clocks, rhythmic and constant. A gloved hand gently soothed his hair back, and Danny’s fear seemed so far away.

It was the first full night of sleep he’d had since he’d gotten “home”.

That morning he’d asked for an analogue clock. His parents had been confused, but they acquiesced easily and took him to the store to pick one out. The one he’d ended up choosing was a large ornate antique with little clockwork gears and a loud tick. He was excited to put it up in his room, right above his bed.

He slept better after that, and some of the tension that had been building in the house eased.

His dreams were still mostly nightmares, attacks by inhuman ghostly figures were the most prominent. But they didn’t leave the same bitter aftertaste, fear and uncertainty as the ones with the table, the scalpel, and the round, red goggles.

But now they were interspersed with better ones, fuzzy hugs and fields of blinding white, sitting in a garden pruning flowers as a soft, familiar voice gave him instructions, playing video games as the player character, confident and excited with a familiar presence at his back. And his favorite ones, the ones in the clock tower with the hooded figure and his soft smiles. The ones where he felt safest.

The ones that couldn’t be real, not if what his parents told him was true.

The next time they went out as a family after that Danny had wanted to go to a garden, and while at first Maddie was hesitant, Jack had insisted the great outdoors were perfect for helping him recover properly. Danny had been thrilled and hugged both of them in thanks, their answering smiles were soft and Danny had the thought that it had been some time since he’d seen those smiles reach their eyes.

Danny had a video game he apparently liked to play called Doom, and he was pretty good at it, judging by the level of his character. When he tried to message either of the two friends he had on his contact list though, the game glitched and his info got deleted. Frustrated he tried to reboot the system but the game itself had somehow gotten corrupted and there was no hope in recovery.

Just another thing that was apparently important to him that he’d destroyed or couldn’t find.

The worst was the time he woke with Maddie sitting next to him in his bed, she had a troubled look on her face and he didn’t know what it was he’d done wrong. Had he screamed in his sleep without knowing it?

“Danny honey,” she had said, looking over to him but not meeting his eyes, “do you remember what you dreamed about?”

He’d answered no, he hadn’t, which was mostly true. The only thing he really remembered about his dream was the feeling of safety and the ticking of a clock.

It took a month for Danny’s parents to feel comfortable leaving him alone in the house in order to go to work. He watched them walk out the door, fending off forehead kisses and muttered reassurances that they’d be home soon to check on him and that he should call if he needed anything, anything at all.

Once the door clicked shut however, the smile dropped off of Danny’s face and he set his eyes on the one thing he’d wanted… no, needed to do since he had that first nightmare.

He went to the basement.

The feeling of going down the stairs stumbled over a vague, blurry memory and Danny felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand. This was just to be sure, just to prove to himself that all those dreams, all those nightmares he’d been having since his parents brought him home, were just that, nightmares.

He opened the door at the bottom of the stairs, confused when there was no lock, no resistance at all. Hadn’t they said he was banned from being down here? Why wouldn’t they lock it? Even Bluebeard locked the door his wife wasn’t supposed to enter.

The basement was…

A basement.

There were no spooky ominous beakers of strange and unrecognizable fluids, no haphazard lab equipment lying around without safety devices, nothing sterile or blinking and there was certainly no large metal table to strap someone down on.

It was just a normal basement with boxes and a desk, some chairs, a couple of old pieces of random furniture and Danny let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. This meant that Maddie was right, they really were just nightmares, probably some subconscious latent fear of going home with strangers that he couldn’t remember. That was all.

So why did he feel disappointed?

The next week was full of Danny waiting for his parents to leave before exploring the house more thoroughly. More than once he’d gotten caught in a half remembered routine that didn’t actually fit with his surroundings. Like bracing for a fight every time he opened the fridge, or expecting another flight of stairs after the second floor. Once he’d even risked going outside for a walk, trying to find his school based on half remembered directions that only served to get him lost.

It was a new routine that Danny found himself thankful for.

Not that he didn’t love his parents, he did! But for some reason, when they were gone, and it was just him with his space posters and his ornate ticking clock, and the piles of modified schoolwork that was supposed to help him when it was time to reintegrate into school, he felt a lot more relaxed. More carefree.

That was why, when he’d found the picture, it had felt like his world had crashed around him.

His parents had come home to find him sitting in the middle of the basement, tears long dried, and with the picture clutched tight in his hands, crumpled now with how long it had been.

“You lied to me.” he accused once they were within earshot. He didn’t have the energy to speak much louder than a whisper, but it seemed to echo in the silence nonetheless.

“Danny-boy we can explain-”

“No!” Danny shouted, getting to his feet, “You lied to me .”

Jack flinched back and Maddie stepped in front of him, protective, as if somehow, out of the three of them Danny might be the threat. He growled.

“I trusted you to tell me the truth, I trusted you with my memories, memories that were lost to me . I had a sister! You had a daughter . She existed, she was real, she’s in this photo! Smiling! ” Danny couldn’t hold back the tears anymore, it was all too much. To know that the girl in his shattered memories, the one with the soft hugs and the floral scents, that baked him cookies and held him when he cried at night, was real. And that she was gone, erased by the people he was supposed to be able to trust.

He moved to storm past them, to go upstairs or maybe even outside and look up at the sky and try to make something of the twisting, knotted mess that was his emotions, his mind, his everything right now. But Maddie grabbed his arm before he could, tears spilling from her eyes.

“We didn’t want to hurt you Danny.” she said, voice soft and broken, “we didn’t want to give and then take away.”

She pulled him into a hug and Danny didn’t bother to struggle or try and break out of it, just let her cry into his shoulder as he stood there, waiting for his own tears to dry.

The next day Jack and Maddie left for work with more reluctance, neither one willing to leave Danny on his own again. But worry didn’t pay the bills and whatever it was they were doing at their job, it was clearly important. That was something Danny was starting to remember, all the things that were more important than him.

Danny went to the library this time, determined to start figuring things out on his own. His parents had said that his sister, Jazz, had died in the accident that had put him in a coma. They said they didn’t want to hurt him, or risk him not wanting to recover his memories if they were painful and that grief was difficult to deal with even without the head trauma and emotional conflict.

His parents said a lot of things, Danny was starting to realize. And almost none of it could be trusted to be true.

The first thing he did was look for a death certificate for his sister, Jazz Fenton. After hours of searching, reading every single name that existed in every obituary for this town in the entire month when his parents claimed the accident had happened.

But there was nothing. Nothing at all.

So next he looked up phone records. Any Tuckers or Samanthas he could find, but he couldn’t remember their last names at all, just what they looked like.

How they had been crying over him.

He didn’t know if he believed that they’d just moved away. Then again, it was becoming increasingly clear that he didn’t know what to believe, if he believed anything at all. By the time he’d gotten home it was late, and his parents were already there.

At first they didn’t believe he was just at the library “trying to catch up on stuff” but they calmed back down once he’d shown them his library card and snapped that if he couldn’t even do that much why did they bother bringing him back from the hospital at all.

Dinner had been a quiet affair.

It took another week of library visits and recurring nightmares of dissection tables and glowing ghostly figures that attacked him before Danny gave up on finding out anything about Sam or Tucker. But he still didn’t stop searching for Jazz.

There was something almost obsessive about his search for her, he just couldn’t let it go. He had to know where she was, and if his parents, against all odds, hadn’t lied to him about that ... Well that was something he’d have to come to terms with when he came to it, not before.

He started scouring the Internet for her name desperate to find something, anything on her. And eventually he did.

There was an old article, from at least half a decade ago, that had her picture under the title “Four Teens go Missing in wake of Fenton Investigation”.

Next to her were two equally familiar pictures. Sam and Tucker… and then Danny himself.

Scrolling, desperate to find something, anything to add up the memories he was getting into a clear picture, he began to read the article.

In wake of the Investigation into the Fenton‘s possible abuse, Danny Fenton (15), his sister Jazz Fenton (17), and two friends Sam Manson and Tucker Foley (15), have seemingly disappeared.

The discovery came shortly after Jack and Madeline Fenton were released on parol and allowed to return home to spend time with their children since no physical proof could be found of any alleged wrongdoings.

What could have caused their disappearances remains a mystery. The prevailing theory is that they were involved in a cult that may have demonized the Fenton parents due to their controversial occupation as “ghost hunters”. Another popular theory is that the children fled the results of the case, afraid of the alleged illegal experimentation. Other theories include kidnapping, witness protection, the possibility of murder, and tying up loose ends.

Will we ever discover the truth? It remains to be seen.

Ghost hunters …

Danny felt his stomach drop, a wave of nausea rolled through him and he had to fight off the urge to relive his lunch.

Experimentation?

Nightmares and half remembered memories started clicking into place, finally , and Danny couldn’t stand it. Why were the only answers that made sense the ones that hurt the worst?

Would it have been better if he’d just let it go? If his memories never returned at all? If he just kept living, eating homemade cookies and flinching from hugs until eventually the itch underneath his skin dulled and he could just be happy as he was.

He closed the tab.

There was no one home when he got there, and it gave him the chance to pack what little belongings he had that held any meaning to him at all. The motions were familiar and he had the faintest feeling he had done exactly this before.

Maybe he had.

He’d made it out the front door by the time his parents pulled into the drive.

There was the urge to run, to go back inside and hide and pretend he hadn’t been doing exactly what they caught him doing. But he was tired. He was so tired of feeling wrong and scared and uncertain and never knowing why.

So he held his head up as they got into the car and approached them with their hands raised, cautiously, like he was a wild animal they were afraid of spooking.

Was that what they thought he was?

“Danny, we can talk about this,” Maddie said, beseeching.

He met her eyes with his own. “Will you promise not to lie anymore? I don’t even know how old I am-”

“You’re fifteen son-” Jack interrupted, lying again.

“I was fifteen five years ago!” Danny yelled, his hand tightening into a fist, “I found the article! I read about the case! Five years ago.”

“Danno…”

Oh, he was crying. It was novel almost, Danny had thought he was too tired to cry, that there wasn’t anything more that could hurt him enough to create such a response and he didn’t quite know how to react to it.

He raised his hands awkwardly to scrub the tears away and stepped back, frightened, when Maddie tried to move closer to comfort him.

“Stay back! Stay back…” he looked at his hands, they were young hands, his reflection too, hadn’t changed from the picture in the article at all. Experiments. “What did you do to me?”

“It was an accident.” Jack said, before Maddie stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

“We didn’t know Danny. How could we have?” She said, keeping her distance, cautious. “We tried to fix it-”

“Fix what? ” He hissed, “you haven’t told me what happened! You haven’t told me anything!”

“You!” Maddie finally snapped, tears falling heavy down her cheeks. “We were trying to fix you… but it wasn’t working and you just kept getting sicker… weaker… we had to stop.”

It was too much for her, and she turned away, leaning into Jack’s large frame as he comforted her. “We didn’t want to lose you, Danny.” He said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You already did.”

Danny left his parents there, crying on the driveway of a house that could never have been a home. He had a clock tower to find.

[maybedefinitely404]

Day 17: Royality

@tsshipmonth2020 (does this still count so late?)

What’s that? Ly creating content? Unbelievable. (I have writer’s block, leave me alooone /j)

Thanks to @marshymoop for suggestions and encouragment when making this bad boy! Love ya <3

Day 17 - Everyone has heterochromia, one eye is your natural color the other is your soulmate’s natural color. Once you meet all eyes return to natural color. 

Content warnings: food/drink mention, alcohol, mentions of hangover, vampires, referring to drinking blood as “eating”, non-explicit blood drinking, being chased. 

Word count: 6.9k

THE CITY OF DEWMORE WELCOMES YOU

Patton tapped his fingers on the steering wheel excitedly, nearly vibrating as he passed the weathered sign. Beyond it, beckoning him forward, stood a forest more densely packed and darker than he’d ever had the pleasure of exploring, the achingly tall pine trees swaying minutely in the breeze, their tips barely visible through the blanket of fog. Just imagining what could be held within those depths made his leg bounce; forgotten, moss-drenched stone paths, broken stumps of fallen trees that hadn’t made a sound upon impact, patches of mushrooms scattered in the shadows, and whispering creeks. It was the perfect way to spend his spring break, and one his photography teacher had wholeheartedly encouraged him to take. If he hadn’t had so many midterms to mark, Patton was almost sure the man would have tried to join him. 

Almost an anxious tic at this point, he ran his free hand over the photography bag in his passenger seat, as if to make sure it hadn’t disappeared in the three minutes since he’d last checked. The thing was his prized possession, given to him by the very same photography professor at his university. It had been the elder’s own, before he got his newest camera, and gifted the whole set to his favorite (but don’t tell the others) students. It was full of perfectly kept lenses and two miniature tripods, extra batteries and memory cards, speedlights, and most importantly, the camera tucked safely into the biggest pouch. It was more expensive than Patton would ever have dreamt to buy, so it was truly a gift he’d never forget. Now it was up to him to finally take some shots worthy of the thing. 

The forests continued to grow denser and thicker until, in almost a shocking snap, they disappeared to reveal a quaint city that he hadn’t quite expected. The first few buildings he passed looked like they may have stood there for hundreds of years, weather worn and faded. Their signs were either scratched to nothingness or blaringly new, shining metal names standing out against an ancient backdrop. He was looking for a motel, figuring there had to be one, even in a town of less than two thousand people. His backup plan was to just sleep in his car. He’d brought his sleeping back and extra blankets, so it wasn’t a huge concern, but he’d still prefer a bed. But whenever he’d tried finding anything online, he’d come up blank. 

A fog still covered the town, and though it created an air of calm and mystery that Patton was itching to capture, he also knew the area was surrounded by towering mountains that he also desired so badly. To his right, the buildings stopped abruptly, revealing a grey beach, all rocks and no sand, criss crossed with logs, opening to a dark lake. The other side wasn’t visible through the mist. 

The further he drove, he realized the buildings weren’t improving in their modernity, just giving way to more and more old infrastructure. One stood out, a grocery store, it’s lights piercing through the evening dim. Patton didn’t get a look inside before he passed, once again surrounded antique houses and shops, a post office to his left, and a tavern just across from that. A sign above the door read “Vacancy” in peeling white letters, and that was all the enticing Patton needed to pull his car into the gravel parking lot in front of the building. There was only one other vehicle there, a matte red pickup truck that he parked next to, and what appeared to only be three more parking spots. From the high placed windows, a soft orange light bled, and a round of raucous laughter filtered through the cracked open door. Patton smiled. The photographer inside him was going to have a field day here. 

He stepped up the concrete steps and ruffled his hair with one hand so it covered his eye, heaving a sigh in hopes to calm his nervous butterflies, and pulled the door open. 

All at once, the chatter inside died, and Patton internally shrank as every face in the tavern turned to look at the newcomer. There was a moment of tense silence as he tried his best for a smile and met the gaze of the men scrutinizing him, drinks forgotten on high wooden tables, jubilance halted. Patton waited with baited breath, for someone to do something, why were they all just staring, when a voice spoke from behind the bar.

“Don’t worry about them, sweetheart. We don’t get a lot of new people around here.”

And the lull was broken as suddenly as it started, the men now ignoring him in favor of joking over mugs of fizzing ale. Patton swallowed thickly and turned to the voice, shoving his quivering hands into his pockets and shaking his head again to assure the curls were safely covering his eye. As usual. 

The man standing before him, leaning on the bar with an easy smile, was almost enough to take Patton’s breath away. If he were a religious man, he’d go so far as to call him heavenly. Eyes as dark as the depths of the surrounding forests, auburn hair pushed back from his face in what he could only think to describe as an intentional bedhead. His skin was too flawless, teeth just a couple shades too white, everything perfect in a way that was almost…

Patton couldn’t put his finger on it. 

“What can I get you, newbie?”

“Uhm-” Patton took a cleansing breath and sat at one of the barstools, all of them empty seeing as the crowd seemed more drawn to the tables in the center of the room, “I don’t come to bars that often. I don’t know.”

The bartender hummed, pushing up his already rolled up white sleeves and giving Patton a once over, almost investigating him. “You drink?”

“I… I guess.”

“Been on the road for a while, tired?”

“Do I look that exhausted?” Patton breathed a laugh, suddenly aching to pop his spine. He’d been driving since before dawn for the past three days, barely hunkering down for a decent sleep before he was off again. He’d been really excited to get here, plus he didn’t want to waste more of his meager break driving. 

“I got just what you need, darling.” With a wink, the bartender straightened up and pulled down a series of bottles, cracking his knuckles with flourish before measuring them into a silver canister. “So what brings you to Dewmore?”

“I’m a photographer,” Patton said, “Or, a photography student. Down in Florida.”

The man whistled as he shoveled ice cubes into the mix, “Long drive for some pictures.”

“I’m… dedicated,” Patton laughed, scratching at his neck nervously. “My prof recommended it, said it might be a nice place to spend my break.”

“I assume you’re looking for a place to stay then, as well?” He plopped a cap on the canister and began to shake it above his shoulder, grinning widely, “These guys are always just like, ‘Gimme a beer’ this, ‘Gimme a beer’ that. It’s great to actually make fun drinks again.” With hands flying too fast for Patton to process, he grabbed a glass, popped the lid of the shaker, and poured the deep orange drink, tossing on a green sprig and sliding the drink over. “Enjoy.”

Patton took a cautious sip of the drink and had to fight not to sigh, the refreshing taste a welcome relief after three days of gas station Gatorade and hotel sink water. He could barely taste any alcohol, more focused on the ice cold sweet tartness at the back of his tongue. The bartender looked pleased, huffing a satisfied laugh and beginning to put away his bottles. He was taking another sip, satisfied with the backdrop of joyous chatter and clinking glasses, when he remembered why he’d come in. 

“Yes, I am. Uhm, looking for a place to stay, that is.”

The bartender looked at him over his shoulder, “We haven’t had visitors in… a while, at least. You’ve pretty much got your pick of the rooms.”

“Do you have anything facing the water?” He took another sip, the photo possibilities already flowing through his mind. One through the window, just far back enough to catch the flow of the curtains and the chipped wood of the window ledge, a monochromatic lakeshore in the bottom third, a barely visible mountain looming ahead… 

“Sure thing, sweetheart. Let me just finish this up, and I’ll get you on the ledger.”

“Patton.” He downed the rest of the drink and rested his elbow on the counter, chin in his palm, an easy smile playing on his lips. 

“Hm?”

“My name’s Patton.” 

“I’m Roman.” Tossing the towel over his shoulder, Roman gave him another wink before disappearing into the back room, coming back moments later with a thick black book. He was already thumbing through the pages, finally landing on the one he wanted, and spun a pen between his fingers.

“What’s your last name, sweetheart?” 

Patton spelled it out for him, and was surprised when the man clapped the book shut after the final letter. “That’s all you need?”

“Yup.”

“No… ID, or anything?” It was at that moment when it occurred to Patton that, although he was legal, his baby face often prompted bouncers and servers back home to ask for identification. Roman hadn’t even blinked before serving him.

“Got anything to hide?” 

“Uhm… no, I-”

“Good enough for me. It’s not like we’re a high traffic tourist spot. I don’t think we’ve had anyone take a room in, like, two years, and who knows how many before that. Frankly, I wouldn’t care if you were on the run for murder. Don’t kill me, and we’re solid.”

Patton blanched, unable to tell if the man was being sarcastic. Finally his expression cracked into a smirk and he brandished a key towards Patton, dangling it by the ring. “I’m messing with you. I mean, don’t kill me, that’s legit. Here you go, cutie. Let me know if you need anything.”

With that, he sashayed away with a tray of beers (when on Earth had he filled those?), and the men whooped loudly, startling Patton. 

“Easy, boys,” Roman purred, beginning to round the tables, and Patton hopped off the bar stool to get his things from his car. He couldn’t wait to pass out in bed with the knowledge that he could sleep in however late he wanted. 

-0-0-0-

But apparently sleep didn’t have the same ideas as him, because even after he was in comfortable clothes and tucked into the covers, he continued to toss and turn. Maybe it was the concept of being alone in a strange town, or the full moon shining through the thin curtains, or just plain excitement, but he suddenly felt wider awake then he had since he started this trip. 

There was a soft rattling somewhere across the room and, with begrudging acceptance that he wasn’t going to sleep any time soon, fumbled his glasses on to search for the offending sound. With a grumble, he threw off the blankets and padded across the room to the window and tossed back the curtains, giving the moon a scalding glare for shining so darn brightly. It was the window, fitted loosely in its frame, being shook by the gentle wind that was causing the noise. Patton gave it an experimental tug, followed by a more forceful yank, and found it didn’t budge down at all. Instead, it continued to rattle mockingly, in what sounded almost like whispered giggles as he crossed his arms across his chest. 

Fine. He turned his attention to the scenic view before him, letting out a minute shudder as a small gust of wind blew through his thin pajama shirt. Moonlit waves crashed against the rocky shore, tossing up silver spray against the dark backdrop of the forest. Patton took a breath, feeling an overwhelming sense of peace just staring at the silent town, the stone spires rising above the forest-

Wait, what?

Patton blinked sharply a couple times, leaning forward until his nose bumped the window and squinting through the glass. Those… things... definitely looked like manmade objects- the shape made it impossible for them to be natural- but you’d think he’d remember something that looked like a castle directly outside his window. In fact, he’d spent a significant amount of time upon first entering the room just admiring the view, and a castle one hundred percent would have been on his radar. Oh, if the thing was abandoned, imagine the photo opportunities, and even if it wasn’t he could totally just get some of the outside-

Yeah, there was no way he was sleeping now.

Before he’d even processed what he was doing, he’d slipped out of his pajamas and hurriedly pulled on the outfit he’d laid out on the desk chair, because there was no way he was digging through his suitcase to scrounge out more clothes. He threw a beige sweater over his white shirt, however, remembering the chill the night had brought and, after he’d adequate tucked them into his slacks, he threw his camera bag over his shoulder and trotted down the stairs.

Unsurprisingly, the first floor tavern was empty of all customers, overhead lights traded for softer electric lamps on the walls and the illuminated sign above the bar, where Roman was wiping down the counter, seemingly unbothered by the late hour. 

“Can’t sleep, sweetheart?” The bartender called out without turning around, tossing his rag across the counter and into a full soapy bucket behind the bar. 

“Uh, yeah, something like that,” Patton responded, shaking his bangs so they covered his eye. “I think I’m just too excited to start getting shots.”

“Mmm, you and me both.” He waggled his eyebrows and pulled a bottle of what looked like whiskey off the shelf. “What’s your poison?”

Patton snorted but shook his head, patting his camera bag, “I want to go out, and it’s probably not smart to drink before going out in a strange town at night.”

Roman shrugged before pouring himself a shot and downing it in one smooth motion.

“You’re allowed to drink on the job?”

The bartender hummed, replacing the bottle and locking the cabinet presumably for the night, “Once my tavern is empty, I consider myself off the clock. And I’m my own boss, so I hereby give myself the night off. I have a coffee machine in the back room, one of those Keurigs, if you want something fancy. Hasn’t been used in ages, but I’m sure if you wanted something, I-”

“No, it’s okay. Really.” Patton ducked his head and messed with his shirt, making sure the white collar stood above the neck of his sweater. He made his way over to the bar and took the same stool as before, leaning on the counter as Roman dumped out the dirty cleaning water into the sink. The clock above the bar, barely illuminated enough to see, revealed it was just after midnight. “Are there any old structures, like churches or anything, in the forest?”

Roman tilted his head, giving Patton a look over his shoulder he couldn’t quite understand. 

“There’s nothing there besides wolves and ticks, sweetheart,” he said slowly with an almost condescending smile, “Why? Hoping the little town in the middle of nowhere has a mystery?” He rinsed out the bucket and placed it in the cabinet under the sink.

Patton shrugged, scratching at his temple, “I saw something outside of my window.”

“Like a tree?” The rag was rinsed as well and draped over the faucet.

“No, definitely not.” He tried not to feel too offended that Roman was clearly teasing him, but he was certain what he’d seen hadn’t been a tree. They were too tall, too angular, and too symmetrically placed for that.

“Pattycake, I grew up hunting with my dad and partying in those woods, and I would know if something were there.” 

“Are you sure?” Patton implored, “There’s definitely something man made, could it be, like, an old castle, or something?”

There was a moment of silence between the two as Roman continued to look at Patton like he was crazy, the barest hints of an impish grin tugging at his lips, before he sucked in a sharp breath; as if he realized something. 

On a dime, Roman’s expression contorted into one of anger, eyes alight with fury as he leaned into Patton’s space. As he spoke, his voice almost reverberated, like a choir speaking in unison.

“There is nothing in those woods, Patton. Understand? Don’t go wandering into places you don’t belong, or you won’t like what you find.”

Patton reared back from the forceful words, hand coming up subconsciously to readjust the hair on his face. Roman leaned just a tad closer, growling out a warning, “Got it, sweetheart?” The electric lamps on the walls, once creating such a homey, soft environment, suddenly flickered and Patton flinched, whipping around to face the large room as it seemed to strobe under the malfunctioning lights. Goosebumps spread across his arms as the flashing grew faster and his hand clamped over the back of his neck when a shiver raced up his spine.

“What’s going on? Why are-”

And then the lights went out completely, an eerie quiet settling over the tavern. Roman was silent. Was he even still in the room? Could he have left so quickly? The only sound in the empty room were Patton’s shaky breaths, in through the nose and out through the mouth, as he fought down a scream. He wasn’t a fan of the dark.

A single street light barely shone through the window, too dim to even light up the tables near the glass, and Patton turned to focus on it. In through the nose, out through the mouth. In… out… in… out-

A silhouette appeared in the window. 

The lights were back to their original gleam before he could even open his mouth to scream, filling the room with a dull hum as if nothing had even happened. Blinking rapidly, Patton took a calming breath (it’s just old lights, it’s just old lights, relax) and swiveled back in his chair to find that Roman was smiling at him innocently, cleaning out a glass with a rag.

“Everything alright, sweetheart?”

“Didn’t you see that?” Patton asked incredulously.

“See what?”  The bartender placed the glass into the last space in a row of them, giving Patton that same condescending grin as before. 

Patton sighed and lifted his glasses to rub his eyes tiredly, shaking his head. “I think travelling for so long has me seeing things.” Careful as ever, in the same fashion he’d so masterfully perfected in elementary school, he shook his head to cover his eye- his stupid, left, ‘soulmate’ eye- before removing his hands and letting his glasses fall back into place. 

Other kids won’t like it, sweetie. I don’t think the teachers will either.

I know you can’t help it, my love. If I could take this burden from you, I would. But this is yours to handle until… well, you know.

I don’t know why, Patton. You’ll find them someday. And then you’ll understand. 

“Why do you do your hair like that?”

“Hmm?” Patton blinked.

Roman smirked, leaning casually on the counter in front of Patton, “Covering half of your face like that. You shouldn’t, you know. You’re a stunner.” With that, he reached forward, intent on moving that hair out of his face.

No.

“NO!” Patton yelled, stumbling off the barstool just as Roman’s hand made contact with his face. He ducked his head, roughly scraping his hair back in place with shaking hands, but the damage was done. A single cute guy compliments him and he forgets the habit he’s built up for years? How could he be so stupid-

“Everything alright? I’m sorry for scaring you, sweetheart.”

Was it possible he hadn’t seen it? Maybe Patton had moved fast enough, maybe the bartender had been too surprised to get a good look, maybe everything was fine. Roman didn’t seem horrified, or at all perturbed. Instead, he just looked… worried. 

Either way, after that reaction, Patton was aching to be left alone to stew in his embarrassment. His rented room held nothing for him that he wanted, and sleep felt farther than ever, so his only choice was outside. The promises of a maybe-crumbling ancient building, illuminated by a full moon, were far more tempting than anything inside had to offer. 

“Actually,” Patton said nervously, “A coffee would be great.”

Roman squinted at him, biting on the inside of his cheek before huffing a breathy laugh through his nose. “Alright, darling. Give me just a second to dust off the Keurig.”

The moment he disappeared behind the door to the backroom, Patton tightened his hold on the camera bag and sprinted from the tavern, into the grips of the cool night.

-0-0-0-

What would he say when he got back to the tavern? Would Roman make him leave the inn? Had he crossed a line he hadn’t known existed; would he have to cut his trip early because he couldn’t help his curiosity? Was bothering the only innkeeper in town really the smartest decision to make?

All wonderful questions that Patton wished he’d considered before running.

But if he did have to leave, and if this was his last night in this delightful and equally terrifying little town, he was going to make the most of it. At least, that’s what he’d thought he would do as he’d left the few city lights behind and treading deeper into the forest. He had a flashlight with him, thank goodness, so he wasn’t completely screwed, and he’d already gotten a few great shots. He stayed in the areas that the full moon could still shine through the trees, and some of the clouds had rolled away, so he was having the time of his life working with silhouettes against the star filled sky (thanks to the little to no light pollution Dewmore offered). 

The more prominent thought in his mind, however, were the spires steadily growing closer above the treeline. He couldn’t understand what Roman had been talking about. How could anyone living in this town not see whatever he was walking towards? 

(Admittedly, curiosity was also a huge reason he was chasing something he’d been warned to avoid. He’d never been that great at impulse control.)

It had to be nearly two in the morning when he came to an incline; a steep path constructed entirely of rocks fist-sized and larger. At the top, Patton could just barely see what looked to be the back of the castle, and he bounced slightly on his toes in excitement. He couldn’t tell from this distance the state it was in, or if it was possible anyone still lived there, but dang it if he wasn’t going to give it a go before he left. He’d walked all this way, after all.

The first few steps up the hill were the loudest thing he’d heard since he’d started his midnight adventure, and he cringed as they dropped away under his feet, knocking against each other as they fell to the ground.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Patton spun around, his flashlight slipping out of his hands. It rolled down between the rocks, casting split second light beams in every direction as it bounced towards the source of the voice, and stopped dead in the middle between the two of them. It settled on an indent created by Patton’s steps, aimed at the newcomer. Patton breathed a sigh of relief.

“Roman, goodness gracious! You scared the bejesus out of me,” Patton laid a hand on his chest and let out a huge gust of air. Roman didn’t move, and for the first time he noticed the absolute glare the bartender was giving him. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Uhm… sorry about the… leaving. Thing. Are you mad?”

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Well, apparently they weren’t going to talk about it. “Oh- I’m sorry, is this private property? I didn’t see any signs, I’m- Wait, but look, Roman! See, that’s what I was talking-”

“You. Shouldn’t. Be. Here.”

Patton blinked at the harshness in his words, taken aback. How was this the same easy going bartender that he’d met earlier tonight? Whatever was beyond this hill, though, Roman obviously wasn’t going to allow Patton to see. Maybe it was dangerous, or something? Either way, he couldn’t deny his disappointment.  “Yeah. I’m sorry, I’ll leave-”          

“How did you get here?”

“I… um, walked?”

“No!” Roman hissed, finally stepping forward and plucking up the flashlight from the ground, “You shouldn’t be able to see the castle, or go near it, how the hell did you get here?!”

Before he could answer, the other man froze, whipping around as if he’d heard a noise from his left. And then Patton blinked, and Roman was in front of him, pulling him back down to solid ground. He dragged him by the arm to a fallen tree that was propped up against its own splintered stump, leaving it angled just a few feet off the ground.

“How did you- You were just over there, how-”

“Get down!”

“What?”

“Get. Down!” Roman shoved his shoulders and Patton had no choice but to collapse, blending into a pile of ferns beneath the bend of the tree. “Take off the backpack, put it in front of you. It blends in better than you do.” He yanked off the dark green camera bag as he spoke, situating it in front of Patton. “Don’t move, don’t make a sound, don’t fucking breathe, Patton, I swear.” The flashlight flicked off and thumped to the ground as Roman walked away, leaving him standing in the pale moonlight. Patton debated reaching for the flashlight, but that would mean exposing himself from the foliage he was tucked in and under, and Roman had seemed really scared. 

There was a rustle in the underbrush in front of Roman, and the photographer shoved his fist into his mouth before he could gasp. 

“Roman, it’s so nice to see you back home. It’s been far too long.”

“It’s been hardly a month, mother.”

The woman that emerged from the tree’s shadows wore a black cloak, nearly blending into the forest around her as the fabric swirled hypnotically by her ankles with each step. Silver embroidery made up the tight bodice and strung together the corset front, meeting at the bottom in an intricate knot and trailing almost down to the earth in two strands. How her intricate updo had stayed intact through a walk in the forest, Patton couldn’t understand. 

However, if this was Roman’s mother, he did understand where he got his looks. The only word that came to his mind was ethereal; all smooth pale skin, those same impossibly dark eyes, red lips curved in a constant, easy smile. She was beautiful, but she was terrifying, and Patton backed up more into his fern hiding spot. 

She lifted her flared sleeves towards Roman as she stepped into the moonlit opening and he pulled her hands towards himself, kissing both of her cheeks before releasing her. 

“A month is too long, darling,” She purred, letting the back of her hand trail down his cheek. “I don’t understand why you find it necessary to stay amongst those humans when you could be with your family.”

“Because I want more than just… lounging, and talking with my brothers. Do you have to bring this up every time I visit?” Despite his slightly aggravated tone, he leaned into her touch. 

“When you’re older, you’ll look back at these choices with embarrassment and resentment.”

“Maybe.” 

“I just don’t want you to blame me when you do.”

“I could never, I promise.”

She sighed heavily, “They miss you, Roman. We all do.”

“Which is why I’m here, mom. You act as if I’ve been gone a millenia.” 

“Worrying is what a mother does best,” She smiled fondly, tapping his cheek with her finger, “You’re home, darling. Drop the glamor? It must be tiring keeping it up constantly.”

There was a moment of hesitation, where Patton couldn’t help but tense up along with the man in front of him. Then the air shifted, like it had been holding a breath it could finally let out, and though there was nothing different that Patton could see from Roman’s back, a certain jolt of fear hit him out of nowhere. 

“There’s my boy.” The woman drew him in for a proper hug, one hand reaching around his back to rest on his head. She pressed a kiss to his hair when he wrapped his arms around her in turn. Suddenly her nose wrinkled and she pulled away, holding his shoulders at arm’s length. “Dearest, you smell like humans again.”

Roman chuckled, but there was a new quiver in his voice. “The only flaw in being surrounded by them so often. Let me change, and I’ll come meet you for dinner.”

She didn’t move, eyes narrowing as she watched his face. “No… it’s not you.”

“What? What else could it possibly-”

“There’s a human here.” Her voice was utterly calm, but she pushed Roman behind her resolutely. “There must be.”

“What?!” 

A low growl filled the air, and it took Patton a few moments to realize the sound was originating from her. She stepped past Roman, her dress flowing soundlessly along with her as she glared into the woods around them. 

Her eyes flashed red.

Once again, Patton shoved his fist into his mouth to hide a scream. That same alien jolt of fear returned as she moved closer to him, seemingly zeroing in on his location. 

“Mother, come now. You’re being silly. Humans can't even come near here, remember? You made sure of that yourself!”

Patton tore his eyes away from the advancing woman and his breath caught in his throat. Roman had followed his mother, trying to placate her gently with a hand on her arm, and in doing so, had turned towards Patton’s hiding spot.

When Patton opened his eyes shortly after being born, he was taken away from his mother, despite his parent’s strong objections and his wails. He was returned hours later, much to their relief. On his birth certificate, his right eye was labeled blue. His left eye, the side usually taken by the natural color of his soulmate’s, was labeled ‘Defective’.

When he was set to start school at six years old, his mother sat him down on his bed and taught him how to properly cover his left eye with his hair. They’d grown it out enough to do so. Patton had asked why it was necessary, and subsequently learned the truth that not all people were as accepting and loving as his parents. 

When he was ten, he returned home from school crying. He dropped into his mother’s arms and she held him until his sobs turned to sniffles, until he could explain between sharp breaths that a bully at school had revealed Patton’s eye while trying to force him into a fight, and… well, his classmates hadn’t taken it well. Those who weren’t downright afraid of him, refused to eat or sit with him anymore. But it wasn’t fair. He couldn’t help it!

His eye was labeled ‘Defective’, because never before had the doctor’s seen a child born with a red eye. Not the pale color that came with pinkeye, or an allergic reaction, but the iris itself was such a bold, blood red color that it had left the team scrambling for any record of such an incident. They were left with more questions than answers. But the world had yet to understand how soulmates worked in the first place, so they chalked it up to another universal mystery.

Every day for as long as he could remember, Patton had stared into a mirror first thing in the morning, greeted with calm, airy blue on one side, and fiery, almost electric red on the other. 

So it was jarring to see such a sight, yet reversed, on another person. But as Roman tugged again on his mother’s arm, there was no denying it; the man’s own color was a gleaming ruby, and the other was Patton’s very own blue. 

“Mother, look,” Roman blurted out, scooping up the discarded flashlight from the forest floor, “This is a human tool. I’m sure this is what you’re smelling.”

She ripped the device from his hand, shaking it in his face, “That is still far too close to home, Roman! Humans have been here, and I guarantee they are still nearby.”

“And you don’t know how many there are, Mom!” Roman insisted, taking her hands. “It doesn’t matter how they got here, or why they did,” A slow grin spread across his face, highlighting a pair of glinting fangs, “Why don’t you gather the family, and we can find them together? I can’t even remember the last time I really ate.”

The woman was satiated by this answer, though she still cast the forest cautious looks. “Stay put, Roman. We’ll be back shortly.” Her nose wrinkled again. “Along with a change of clothes for you.”

And then she was gone, the only remaining trace being the tiny cloud of dust she’d left behind. Roman was calm for a moment, making sure she was really gone, before his demeanor dropped. The cocky smirk was gone, and he no longer held the confidence he’d had, either as a bartender or in the presence of his mother. 

“We don’t have a lot of time, c’mon! Let’s go!” He crouched before the log, extending his hand to Patton.

“What the hell are you?!” Patton shrieked. Interesting, that those were the first words from his jumble of thoughts that came out.

“Oh, come on, do you really need to ask? I’m pretty sure you already know!” 

And yeah, Patton was pretty sure he knew. He wasn’t an idiot. He’d had a teen Twilight phase, so of course the obvious answer was there. It just… it wasn’t possible. His brain was scrambling for any kind of other solution, anything that made sense, but it all kept circling to the same answer. 

The cute bartender at the inn was a vampire. 

… 

Okay then.

Next problem.

“I… yeah. I think I got it.”

“Good! Now let’s go!” Roman grabbed Patton’s hand and yanked, effectively pulling him from his hiding place and nearly tearing the arm from it’s socket. Patton stumbled from the sudden movement and tripped on his camera bag, yelping as he crashed into Roman’s chest. 

The vampire’s hands instantly wrapped around his waist, steadying him as he found his footing. 

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m all good, I just-”

Roman was much taller than he’d thought; that was the initial thought that came to mind as he looked up at the man holding him. The second was, well, the fact that his jaw had dropped open upon seeing Patton’s eyes, and for the first time since they’d met, the guy was completely speechless. 

Patton felt his left eye began to tingle as they shifted into its own natural color. He ignored it.

“You really didn’t see it? At the bar?” Patton whispered.

“No, you moved too fast,” Roman murmured, bringing a hand up to Patton’s cheek. “You… you’re my-”

He must have sensed something, or heard something that was too quiet for Patton’s ears, because his head whipped towards the castle. 

“We need to go. Now.” Roman intertwined their fingers and pulled him into a run towards the town.

“Wait, no! My bag!” He tugged hard to try and get his hand free, but he was truly no match for Roman.

“Not important right now, sweetheart!”

 Without the aid of his flashlight, and enveloped by the darkness of the forest, Patton was totally blind, relying only on Roman’s grip to keep him from falling. Branches hit his face and roots reached up to trip him, but every time he stumbled, the hand tightened and pulled him back upright. 

A howl cut through the air. 

“What now, werewolves?!” Patton shrieked.

“Don’t be ridiculous, werewolves aren’t real!” Roman scoffed, “They’re normal wolves! What, you think just because we’re vampires, we’re unable to have pets?”

“Is this really a conversation we should be having at this exact moment?!” Patton shot back.

“You’re right, you’re right, okay.”

The howls were growing closer, and it was clear by Roman’s increased pace that this wasn’t about to be a friendly reunion.

“Can we outrun them?!”

“I take it you’ve never met a wolf!” 

Patton looked up at him desperately, already struggling to keep up the conversation and keep up with Roman. 

“I thought vampires had… like, super speed!”

“I wouldn’t be able to go for long, especially carrying you. Jump!”

Patton leapt blindly, feeling the side of a fallen log scrape the toes of his shoes. The landing was rough, sparks of pain shooting up his legs, but he was quickly pulled back upright. 

“I don’t have the energy! I haven’t eaten in months!”

There were more yowls, definitely closer this time, followed by the sound of multiple animals fighting, barely louder than a voice shouting (presumably) at the racket. Whether it was the wolves having a spat, or a prey animal that had gotten in the way of the hunt, Patton didn’t know. It drew out a small whimper from him either way.

He didn’t want to be next. 

“Do you trust me?” Roman suddenly gasped, holding his hand firmer. 

“What?!”

“Do. You. Trust. Me?!”

Patton didn’t exactly think he had a choice right now. His feet were aching, his lungs were burning, and he wasn’t sure he could run another minute without his legs giving out. “I- Yeah! Sure!”

“Good enough,” Roman grunted bitterly, screeching to a halt, and using his grip on the other’s arm to stop him too. Before Patton could even bring himself to complain, or scream at him, or just incoherently yell, the vampire was drawing him to his chest, puppeting his arms so they were around his shoulders.

“Hold on.”

Obediently, Patton tightened the grip. “Why-”

And then there was a sharp pain in his neck, and his eyes widened. The sting almost immediately morphed into a pleasant warmth, the distant howling being replaced by a faint humming, the buzzing of his own mind calming, becoming numb until the only thought in his head was Roman, Roman, Roman- 

He could feel Roman’s hand on his head, not restricting it, but cupping the back of it so he could lean against him as he stared up at the night sky, the full moon, and the slow blurring of the tops of the pine trees. His other arm was wrapped around his waist tightly, holding him up, and Patton was beyond grateful for the support as his legs began to turn to jelly. The last thing Patton felt was the vampire scooping up his legs and his head being cradled against the soft material of Roman’s shirt. 

Then everything went dark. 

-0-0-0-

Patton woke up slowly, squinting against the harsh sunlight streaming through his window. He dropped an arm across his eyes lazily, letting out a low groan at his pounding headache. There were voices downstairs in the tavern, and what sounded like dishes clanging, and he wondered if somehow this place was also a restaurant. How on earth could anybody run an establishment like that? It’s like the place never slept-

A wave of nausea pooled in his gut due to the speed of which he sat up but that wasn’t important, not right now. He flung his blankets back and… oh. He was dressed in his pajamas. Last he could remember, in the woods, running with Roman, he’d been in day clothes, in the sweater and shirt that was now draped on a chair across the room. His camera bag was... on the desk. His shoes were by the door, dirt free.

He raised his finger tips to his neck, expecting to feel a raised scab, or scar, any sign that he’d been bitten. There was nothing. 

He swung his legs over the sides of the beds and immediately shut his eyes, fighting off an explosion of dizziness induced sparks that shot across his vision. It sure felt as if he’d lost some blood. As much as he didn’t want to believe he had a hangover from one drink, that could also be an explanation. He’d always been a bit of a lightweight.

A dream. Was it all just… a dream?

A feeling of disappointment washed over him and he sighed, running his hands up through his hair. Something soft snagged on his fingers and he carefully detangled it from the curls, pulling it out curiously. He blinked at the fern leaf between his finger tips. That definitely hadn’t happened between his car, the tavern, or the room... So- 

He sucked in a breath sharply as his eyes locked with the mirror’s reflection in front of him, every thought coming to a halt.

Because staring back, for the first time ever, were two perfectly blue eyes.

I have a bunch of world building ideas that weren’t included in this fic, shoot me an ask if you have any lore questions!

General taglist:

@max-is-tired

@private-snippers

@joylessnightsky

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

“Panorama Helsinki / Finland - Dom und Parlamentsplatz“ by  tap5a  

“We only do this for Fergus!” is a short Outlander Fan Fiction story and my contribution to the Outlander Prompt Exchange (Prompt 3: Fake Relationship AU: Jamie Fraser wants to formally adopt his foster son Fergus, but his application will probably not be approved… unless he is married and/or in a committed relationship. Enter one Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp (Randall?) to this story) @outlanderpromptexchange

Chapter 6: Absence. The state of not being physically present (2)

           When Claire turned around, she looked into the face of Mrs. Curtius.

           "Claire, I understand that you are queasy about this task. I know how much Mr. Fraser loves his son and ... now you have the responsibility for Fergus. It's not easy. But I assure you, we will support you in everything."

           The housekeeper gently put her arms around Claire and huged her.

           When they had disengaged from each other again, Claire replied:

           "You're right. It's like he put a 100-carat-diamond in my arm and said, 'Take good care of it!" However, this little diamond is very much alive and not always controllable ..."

           Mrs. Curtius smiled.

           "That's very much to the point. Believe me, the last time I had to watch him, I didn't breathe a sigh of relief either until Mr. Fraser came back."

           The two women looked at each other for a moment, smiling. Then Mrs. Curtius continued:

           "Will you come with me to the kitchen? I have to prepare breakfast for the security people, and if you'd like, you can join me for a cup of coffee?"

“Kitchen” by shadowfirearts

           Claire nodded and followed the housekeeper. She had been living in the house for a few months, but until now she had never had a chance to talk to the housekeeper in a quiet and detailed way. Shortly thereafter, she sat on one of the raised counter stools at the kitchen counter in front of a steaming cup of coffee, watching Mrs. Curtius prepare huge portions of scrambled eggs and fried ham in large cast-iron pans. It looked as if the housekeeper had never done anything else, so easy seemed her work. She was a joy to watch and Claire suddenly wished she had similar skills. She followed the individual steps with interest, noting also how easy it seemed for the housekeeper to carry on a conversation on the side.

           Claire had already emptied her second cup of coffee when, at 6:40 am, the alarm on her smartphone reminded her that she had to wake Fergus in twenty minutes. She thanked Mrs. Curtius, then set the dining room table for Fergus and herself.

           The day went almost exactly as she had expected. After breakfast, she took Fergus to school, accompanied by two bodyguards. Afterwards, she lay down again to catch up on some lost sleep. Around noon, she picked up the boy from school, again accompanied by two bodyguards.

           At lunch with Fergus, she watched him closely. But the little curly-haired boy was bright and chipper as ever. After a short break, they set about doing his homework together. An hour later, Claire noticed his concentration waning. She suggested they take a nap now. When they got to Fraser's apartment, she showed the boy that she had set up in the guest room for herself and that if he woke up during the night, he would find her there.

           "Where's Papa today?" asked Fergus, to Claire's surprise.

           "Today and tomorrow your Papa is in Iceland. He should have arrived by now, he may even be in his first meeting. But we'll find out when he calls us tonight."

“Island - Green Rush” by KarinKarin

           "Are you taking a nap too, Claire?"

           "No, or I won't be able to sleep tonight. I'm going to sit here in the living room and read some more. And when I wake you up, we can play a game together."

           "What kind of game?"

           "It's a surprise."

           Fergus gave her a slightly annoyed look and rolled his eyes.

           "Ooch Claire!"

           "No way! There are two surprises today. But not until there's time."

           A little reluctantly, Fergus crawled into his bed. Claire handed him the little beige bear that Jamie had purchased at a Swedish furniture store and brought back for the boy from his last business trip. Clearly, "Stuffy" had become Fergus's favorite stuffed animal. Claire closed the window blinds. Then she stroked Fergus's hair once more.

          "Sleep now. You still have a lot of growing to do. That's sometimes exhausting and you need time to rest every now and then. I'll wake you up later and after tea we'll play. I promise."

          Quietly she closed the door of Fergus' room. When she reached the hallway, she stood indecisive for a moment. Then she checked the door to the stairs again. It was locked. Good, she wouldn't have to worry about that anymore. Claire decided to take a little tour of the rooms on Fraser's floor. To the right of Fergus' room was the library, which also served as Fraser's study. From Fergu's room and from the library, one could access a narrow balcony on the south side of the house. But this balcony was very rarely used. A window also led out to the garden from the side of the room used as a library.

“Library” by moritz320

          Claire closed the door behind her. On the left side of the hallway now followed the door to the stairs and then an open space  - open to the hallway with a window facing the west side of the house. She stopped for a moment and looked at it. I wonder what it was for? What reason had there been for not providing another room here? She took a few steps to the window. From there she could look down to the street in front of the house. Once again she looked around. What sense this free space should have, she did not understand, but she took it upon herself to ask Jamie about it. On the right side now followed Fraser's private living room, which was also called the 'fireplace room'. She passed it and reached the door to the guest room on the left, where she had made herself comfortable for the time of Fraser's absence.           Then she stood in front of Fraser's bedroom. She looked for the matching key on the key ring he had given her, opened the door and turned on the light. What Claire saw next amazed her. While most of the rest of the house was modern and decorated in bright colors, she now had the impression of having entered a museum. The focal point of the room was a four-poster bed made of dark wood. The bed was the size of a marriage bed and clearly came from another century. She estimated that it dated from the beginning or middle of the 18th century. Two antique chairs stood in front of a large window whose view led out into the garden. To the right, Claire spotted a table with a mirror that was clearly the forerunner of what was called a 'dressing table' in the present time. On the opposite wall was a narrow, tall chest of drawers, richly carved. At the foot of the bed had been placed a chest whose iron fittings indicated that it was much older than any of the other pieces of furniture. Claire ran her hands over the wood and over the hardware. From its shape and texture, the chest appeared to be at least one hundred years older than everything elese in this room. All of the furnishings were crafted of dark wood. The only other color in the room was blue. This was the color of the wallpaper, as well as the bedding. As Claire looked more closely at the wallpaper, she realized that it only gave the impression of being as old as the furniture. A layman would certainly not have noticed the difference, but Claire had spent too much time at her Uncle Lambert's side, and as the niece of the noted Oxford historian, she noticed the difference immediately. This wallpaper was a very accurate reproduction of a wall painting that was at least two to three centuries old. But why did a man of Fraser's age have wallpaper made that showed such a wall painting? Was he desperate for wallpaper that matched the antique furniture in his bedroom? And why had he furnished his bedroom with furniture of this type in the first place? Slowly, she walked around the large bed until she came to a stop in front of the nightstand on the side where Fraser was obviously sleeping. Next to a bedside lamp, which was of more recent date but also in antique style, was a book. On the dark blue cover was written in white letters "The Complete Poems of John Donne." Without thinking further, she reached for the book and was about to open it. Then she saw that there was a bookmark sticking out of the top of the book. She opened the book at that point and read:

That Time and Absence proves Rather helps than hurts to loves

ABSENCE, hear thou my protestation            

   Against thy strength,            

   Distance and length:            

Do what thou canst for alteration,        

   For hearts of truest mettle          

   Absence doth join and Time doth settle.    

Who loves a mistress of such quality,            

   His mind hath found            

   Affection's ground    

Beyond time, place, and all mortality.  

   To hearts that cannot vary  

   Absence is present, Time doth tarry.          

My senses want their outward motion            

   Which now within    

   Reason doth win,      

Redoubled by her secret notion:        

   Like rich men that take pleasure    

   In hiding more than handling treasure.        

By Absence this good means I gain,  

   That I can catch her              

   Where none can watch her,            

In some close corner of my brain:      

   There I embrace and kiss her,        

   And so enjoy her and none miss her.

 That Time and Absence proves

Rather helps than hurts to loves

ABSENCE, hear thou my protestation            

   Against thy strength,            

   Distance and length:            

Do what thou canst for alteration,        

   For hearts of truest mettle          

   Absence doth join and Time doth settle.    

Who loves a mistress of such quality,            

   His mind hath found            

   Affection's ground    

Beyond time, place, and all mortality.  

   To hearts that cannot vary  

   Absence is present, Time doth tarry.          

My senses want their outward motion            

   Which now within    

   Reason doth win,      

Redoubled by her secret notion:        

   Like rich men that take pleasure    

   In hiding more than handling treasure.        

By Absence this good means I gain,  

   That I can catch her              

   Where none can watch her,            

In some close corner of my brain:      

   There I embrace and kiss her,        

   And so enjoy her and none miss her.

           In the second paragraph, all the lines had been underlined with a pencil. Once again, she quietly read the entire poem. It was not unfamiliar to her. Her uncle had owned a complete edition of John Donne's works. But it did surprise her a little to find such a book on James Fraser's bedside table. And why had he underlined that verse? Was there a woman in Fraser's life after all? Claire took a deep breath, then closed the book and put it back the way she had found it. Once again she looked over the bed. Then she carefully stroked the covers and looked around. A door contrary to the bed led from Fraser's bedroom into his bathroom. Claire looked through the open door, but did not enter. This room too, was held in blue and withe. She left the room, locking the door behind her.

           When it was time for tea and she went to wake Fergus, she found the boy playing in his bed.

           "Do I get my surprise now?" asked Fergus firmly.

           "Now first there's cocoa for you, tea me, and fresh sandwiches for both of us."

           "Oh yes!"

           A moment later, when hunger and thirst were satisfied, Claire removed a box from a burlap bag.

“A game of Settlers of Catan” by Yonghokim - Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=77327301

           "What's this?"

           "It's a game, it's called 'The Settlers of Catan' and there are many versions of it. This is the edition that fits your age and look what this is on the box."

           "It's a parrot. He's wearing a pirate tricorn and he's got a map in his claws."

           "You did a good job of recognizing that," Claire praised the bright boy.

           "Yes, I know parrots from the zoo. In Dresden. I've been there with Papa. The zoo is huuuuuuge!"

           Fergus stretched his little arms as far apart as he could - to make it clear to Claire that the zoo was really ‘huuuuge’.

           Claire nodded with a smile. Then she unpacked the game and explained the rules to Fergus.

           After 40 minutes, they had finished the first round of the game.

           "Well, shall we play another round?"

           "Do we have that much time? When is Papa going to call?"

           "Yes, we still have quite a bit of time. Your Papa can't call until after dinner, and before that there's another surprise for you."

           "Another surprise?"

           "Yes, but not until after dinner."

           Fergus rolled his eyes while Claire rearranged the game pieces.

           When they finished the second round as well, Claire let the boy play with his train set some more while she went into the kitchen to help Mrs. Curtius set the dinner table.

           After dinner and a shower afterwards, Claire took Fergus to his room.

           "Do I get my second surprise now?"

           "Yes, you little rascal, but you'll have to move aside to get it."

           Fergus made room and Claire sat down next to him on the bed. Together they sat leaning against the wall of the room when Claire pulled out her tablet and asked:

           "Do you know 'The Show with the Mouse,' Fergus?"

           "No, what is it?"

           "The mouse is a cartoon character and there are shows with the mouse for kids on TV."

           "No, I haven't seen that yet. Papa doesn't like me to watch too much TV. Are we going to watch a show like that now?"

“Children and The Mouse at the WDR broadcasting studio” at the launch of the first podcast episode -  Von Superbass - Eigenes Werk, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=84390983 Source: Von Superbass - Eigenes Werk, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=84390983

           "No, but the mouse also has a podcast for some time, a kind of radio show, and that's where the mouse tells goodnight stories."

           "Oh really?"

           "Yes, and tonight and every night as long as your Papa is on his business trip, we'll listen to one of those good night stories."

           "Aren't you going to read to me from our book?"

           "No, we'll do that when your Papa gets back. Otherwise he'll miss so much, won't he?"

           Fergus nodded in agreement, then asked:

           "What story are we going to hear tonight?"

           Claire tapped on her tablet and the page 'Goodnight with the Mouse' came up. She pointed to it and read aloud:

           "Today we're going to listen to a program about trees - with forest workers at work, a tree in the rainforest, and, of course, the mouse. Are you ready?"

           Fergus nodded and Claire pressed the button.

             The last chords of the podcast's closing music had just faded away when that familiar sound announcing an incoming video call was heard.

           "Papa! It's Papa for sure!" exclaimed Fergus excitedly.

           Claire opened the app and moments later Jamie appeared on the screen. He too smiled when he saw Fergus and Claire. Fergus waved enthusiastically and Jamie waved back.

           "How are you, Papa," Fergus asked.

           "I'm fine and how are you?"

           A stream of information immediately poured out of Fergus' mouth, starting with today's experiences at school, to the new game he had tried with Claire, to of course listening to 'The Show with the Mouse' together, from which he had learned many new things about trees.

           Jamie followed his son's report with great interest. He wanted to ask something, but before he could, he was bombarded with questions by the boy. Witty, but at the same time careful and descriptive, Fraser tried to answer his son's questions.

           Twenty minutes later they said goodbye to each other and Fraser promised, if he had the chance, to call again the next evening.

           Claire wrapped Fergus in his bedclothes, stroked his hair, and gave him a light kiss on the forehead.

           "Sleep well, Fergus. If anything is, you know I'll either be in your father's living room or the guest room. There's a bottle of water next to your bed and I'll leave that little string of lights on."

           "Hmmm."

           "Good; I'll see you in the morning then."

           Claire turned to go.

           "See you in the morning. ... Claire?"

           "Yes, Fergus?"

           "Thank you for the nice day."

           Once again, Claire walked back. Smiling, she looked at the child and stroked his head once more.

           "I was happy to do that for you."

           Then she left, closing the door behind her. She stood listening for a moment longer, but all remained quiet in Fergus' room. Claire looked down the hall, considering for a moment how to spend the rest of the evening. Then she made the decision to sit and read in Fraser's living room for a while longer. When she entered the room, it was still warm, although there were only embers glowing in the fireplace. Claire glanced at the small round side table that stood near the small seating area in front of the fireplace and held a selection of Fraser's whiskeys. It was tempting to help herself to it, and Fraser wouldn't have minded, she knew. But the responsibility she bore for Fraser's son held her back. Claire had just sat down in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace when the tablet she was still holding reported the arrival of another skype call. She opened the app, and to her surprise, Jamie appeared on the screen.

[shyvioletcat]

ITT Drabble?

HERE IT IS! Last one on my 1200 follower Fluffy Prompt-a-thon. (Masterlist for that here)

This takes place just before Chapter 27 of It Takes Two. Masterlist for that if you needed a refresher.

~~~~~

Rowan stepped out onto the street after finishing his shift at the gym. Even though it was close to 7 o’clock the street was still busy. It was late night shopping and people were stepping in and out of shops along the street. Which was good, there were a few things Rowan needed to buy for Aelin’s baby shower and this was his last chance to get them before it on Saturday. He already had something for Aelin in the back seat of his truck, but he wanted to get a few things for the baby.

Yesterday on his way to work he had stopped at the shopping centre he had gone to with Aelin and went to one store in particular she had taken him to. He bought her the blue floral wrap dress she had tried on to demonstrate to him exactly what a wrap dress was. She had looked lovely in it and he could tell that she wanted to buy it, but hadn’t because of the price. So, wanting to get something for her and only her, Rowan had bought it. He desperately hoped it was the right size, because he had got it on sale with a no return or exchange policy on sale items the shop assistant had told him. He’d cross that bridge if it came to it but he had a feeling Aelin would be at least a little impressed that he had managed to get it at such a good price.

With Aelin’s gift done Rowan now needed something for the baby. A bit clueless, he had done a little bit of research on useful baby gifts. It didn’t take long for him to get overwhelmed, but he had a few ideas. He had fully intended to give what he bought to the twins so they would take to the shower. But Aelin had asked him to come, insisted that he come now that they had come to their new understanding. She had said she wanted him there. Something about that had made his heart beat a little faster. They were moving forward and Rowan was excited to see where it led.

He didn’t go to his car, instead he started walking up the street. There was a baby store a little way up that he had driven past and had been looking in the window as he went by. Rowan had seen something the other day, well he thought he had seen something at least. It only took him a few minutes to get there and he looked in the window. He had been right.

There in the window was a mobile, a single halo of flowers with animals and a few more flowers hanging from it on decorative strings. But they weren’t just any kind of flowers. The door opened and Rowan moved to hold it open for a pregnant woman and who he assumed was her mother. They thanked him as they passed and Rowan nodded and smiled in return before he went inside. This store was more of a boutique than anything else. It didn't stock a large range of things, but what they did looked like they were good quality. 

Rowan started to browse, looking at some of the toys and the tiny clothes. Towards the back of the store was some furniture – he could see cots and bassinets and rocking chairs – but he was making his way towards the window. The mobile was hanging there, the flowers small blooms of kingsflame, like the one that he had seen on Aelin’s dresser. They of course weren’t real but they looked as if they were the next best thing. The only thing that was putting him off were the elephants that hung from it. He didn’t think Aelin would particularly like the elephants, not that she would have anything against them but… Rowan had noticed what she decorated her room with and the little knickknacks she had around the house. He knew she liked deer, it had something to do with her family lineage. An old sigil of the Galathynius was a white stag and Aelin seemed to follow along with that imagery. But hopefully he could at least go along with something more woodland-ly.

“Can I help you?” 

Rowan turned to see the shop assistant behind him, smiling politely. 

“Yeah, actually,” he said and then pointed to the mobile. “By any chance does this come with other animals?”

“It does actually, it’s one of our customisable mobiles. I’ve got a book of the options at the front counter.” The shop assistant started walking towards the counter and Rowan followed. It didn’t take her long to find what she needed and soon Rowan held a large magazine in his hand. “When did you need it by?”

“Saturday actually,” Rowan said as he started to flick through the pages. 

The assistant sucked in a breath. “I don’t want to get your hopes up, but let me know which one you like and I’ll see what I can do. We don’t have all the options in stock at the moment but they can be ordered in.”

Rowan nodded and continued looking. There were horses and foxes, some weird looking dogs. He was hoping there would be deer but he didn’t see any. Maybe the foxes would have to do… But it turned out there was another option. He’d almost missed it because he was flipping the pages so fast in his frustration, but there on that almost missed page was the answer he was looking for. Rowan had always liked hawks, and birds of prey in general, so when he saw the little felt hawks in the book he had already decided.

“Do you have these?” Rowan pointed to the picture of the felt birds.

“Hmm,” the shop assistant said, her lip pursing thought. “We might. I’ll have a look out back for you.”

“I’ll just keep looking around,” Rowan said and the shop assistant nodded and left him to browse.

Rowan wandered around the store, curious about the products on offer. He stopped by a rack of clothes, flicking through the onesies. He pulled one off the rack and held it up. Dear gods, it was basically the length of his hand. Were babies really that small? Gripped by a mild sense of panic Rowan put the onesie back and kept looking. The next section he reached was the stuffed toys, an antique looking bookshelf crammed full of them. Peeking out between a rabbit and a teddy bear was the head of a little deer. Rowan couldn’t help but pick it up to look at it. Its brown coat was speckled with white, the hooves made of a velvety material and it had large fluffy ears. Rowan didn’t put it back down, deciding that Aelin would very much like it. 

“Good news!” Rowan heard the shop assistant call out and she was approaching where he stood. “We’ve got the hawks.”

“I’ll take them,” Rowan said without hesitation.

“I can put them on the mobile if you like?” She offered kindly.

“That would be great,” Rowan said with a polite smile.

“I’m assuming you’re shopping for a girl?” She asked Rowan nodded. “We’ve got some new dresses over there,” she nodded to her left. “Just if you were interested.”

The shop assistant headed for the front window where she pulled down the kingsflame mobile and took it over to the counter. Rowan went over to the clothes again with renewed interest and looked at the teeny tiny dresses. A blue one caught his eye, almost the exact same shade as the dress he’d bought Aelin as far as he could remember, just without the flower pattern on it. It came in a few sizes, and reading the tags he was a bit lost as to what they meant. He soon worked out the more zeros there were the smaller the item was. Still not really comprehending the exact size of babies he thought going with a 00 might be safest and hung the hanger over one of his fingers. 

By now he had pretty much looked in all the sections of the store except the furniture. Just before the furniture Rowan stopped at the display of bedding. Ignoring the sheets he looked at the muslin wraps, which there were piles of. From his very cursory searches he deducted that these were an essential item, with many uses apparently. He glanced through the stacks, seeing if any caught his eye. He paused on one that looked to have a floral pattern on it with some little critters too. Easing it from one of the stacks he saw that the critters were in fact little fawns. He added this to the growing pile in his arm. 

At the very back of the back of the store was the alcove with furniture set up. Rowan wandered through it, looking at them casually. The other day Aelin had been browsing baby things on her laptop and he’d caught a glimpse of the screen as she’d put it down on the couch as she got up. She had been looking up bassinets, and she had also sadly muttered something about baby things so expensive as she walked away. Aelin was adamant that she would wait until after the baby shower to start buying things just in case anything she needed was given as a gift. She was an efficient shopper and knew how to cut costs, it was probably why her bookstore did so well. 

Rowan started looking around intently, trying to remember what kind of bassinet she had been looking at on her computer. Maybe he could buy this for her so she didn’t have to fork out the money for it herself. It was an essential item so he could give it to Aelin as a gift for the baby shower, and besides that he wanted to. Gods, he’d been exercising so much self control to not buy everything that caught his eye. He was excited and he wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

Looking at the bassinets Rowan was getting a little overwhelmed. There were different styles and some looked like they had different features, but what they did exactly Rowan had no idea. He passed one that was suspended from the roof by a large hook. The longer he looked the sicker he felt. All that was holding it up a fair few feet from the ground was some rope and a hook. There was no way in Hellas’ realm was his baby being put in one of those.  Rowan turned away from the whole sight before he had a stress induced stroke just imaging the thing falling down with a baby inside it and went to look at the others. He saw one that looked similar to what Aelin had been looking at. It was a simpler design, a white bed and a timber base. This one looked much more secure with the base on the ground, and Rowan liked this one because it looked a bit taller than the others. Some of the others he had passed had barely brushed past the middle of his thigh. It would be a long way down if he was putting a baby in one of those.

He turned around and saw the shop assistant was at the counter. “Excuse me?”

She looked up and smiled and came over to him. “What can I help you with?”

“This bassinet here,” Rowan said, tapping the rim of the bed basket. “What can you tell me about it.”

“Well, this is one of the most popular designs on the market,” she explained. “First of all there’s no tools required for set up, you just attach the pieces together. Then looking at its features, it has six height positions, anti-reflex base positioning to help baby sleep if they’ve got reflux. This here,” the shop assistant pointed to the zipper, “folds down for easy and safe co-sleeping and it fits on just about any bed. Mesh ventilation is on all sides for added breathability. Just about everything is removable and machine washable, and the mattress is included.”

Rowan did not understand half of what this woman had just told him, but it all sounded good. Important, even. 

“Can I attach a mobile to it?” He asked.

The assistant nodded, “You’ll need to buy a mobile arm for it but yes, you can put a mobile on it.”

“Great,” Rowan said. He was decided. “I’ll take that too. Can I pay for it now and pick it up on Saturday? It’s… it’s a surprise.”

The shop assistant nodded enthusiastically then led the way to the register. “Absolutely. Did you want to leave anything else with it?” 

“I’ll take these things with me,” he nodded to what was in his arm. “But I’ll leave the mobile with the bassinet.”

“Perfect,” she said and entered some things into the computer at the register. Rowan put the items he was carrying on the counter and it only took her a few moments to scan those in too. “Would you like these gift-wrapped?”

“That would be great, thanks,” Rowan said. His wrapping techniques were atrocious. If he ever bought a gift for anyone he usually just took the receipt out of the bag and handed it over. 

The shop assistant got to work wrapping the dress, deer and muslin wrap, quick and efficient. Rowan was about to pay when he saw a book on the counter. 

What to expect when you're expecting

Rowan grabbed that too. “You don’t need to wrap that,” he added.

The book was for him. If he was going to be part of this and help Aelin through the rest of her pregnancy he would like to know what was going on. The more he knew the better prepared he would be for whatever was ahead of them. Because they were in this together. 

“Ready to go,” the shop assistant said and Rowan paid. She put the book and wrapped items in a bag and handed them to him. “Thank you so much.”

Rowan gave her a small smile and nod in return and left. He was almost to his truck when it dawned on him what he had just done. He had just bought Aelin  a bassinet for their baby. What if Aelin didn’t like it? What if there was another one she had been looking at that she wanted? What if he had just completely over stepped and this would upset her? This was a big thing to buy and maybe she wanted to be part of it...

Rowan rubbed at his face as he opened the driver’s door and got in his truck. If Aelin didn’t like it it would be easy to return. If he’d overstepped Rowan would apologise and hoped it went smoothly. But he hoped she liked it just as much as he did. He carefully put the bag on the passenger seat then pulled out his phone. There was a text from Aelin from about half an hour earlier letting him know she was going to bed and not to worry about dinner for her because she’d eaten some leftovers. Rowan didn’t reply in case he woke her up and was secretly glad she’d gone to bed. It meant he could get his purchases into the apartment without any prying questions. It took Rowan a few minutes but his thoughts settled and he was finally quietly confident with his purchases. He didn’t waste anymore time and put the keys in the ignition and drove home.

~~~~~

He’s so cute, right?

Tags:

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[dobsmoneylake]

Oxventurers touch an orb and **poof** they're in Elinore's Largely Legal Antiques staring at a surprised crew. What do?

AN: Thank you so much for the prompt! I am so sorry that this took so long, and I hope that it is worth the wait! Thanks to the Historian for beta-ing this. I own nothing.

The atmosphere at Eleanor’s Largely Legal Antiques was the same as it always was these days. It had lost some of its homey nature (as well as the smell of fish) since they had moved into the townhouse, but it retained the level of comfort that the crew had come to associate with their favorite HQ. It had also gained some level of repute, considering that it now functioned as a store-- helped, no doubt, by the removal of the fish smell.

In fact, Edvard, Lilith, and Zillah were currently in said shop, attempting to sell antiques. (Well, Zillah and Lilith were, Edvard was attempting to subtly determine if there was anything that could be of use in his innoventing before it was sold.) It was while they were there, standing behind the counter, that a sudden flash of light went off, starting our adventure.

When the light dimmed, they found that they were joined by a group of rather unusual people. For one thing, they were all dressed in clothes not seen in centuries. For another, they were arguing amongst themselves. Finally, one of them was red and the other was green. And one was Egbert.

The three crew members exchanged glances, debating with their eyes who would take the lead in the conversation. Finally, rolling her eyes, Zillah stepped forward. “Excuse me,” she said politely, “But who are you and how did you get here?”

The figure with the eyepatch scoffed. “What do you mean how did we get here? It’s not like ‘here’ is a particularly daring place to be. And how dare you not recognize the greatest pirate ever!” He struck a pose. “It is I, Corazón De Balleña, at your service,” he ended on a bow.

“Never heard of you, mate.” Lilith told him, “And I hate to break it to you, but we don’t have pirates anymore.”

Corazón scoffed. “That’s obviously because I’ve scared them all off. Honestly, use your head.” He looked around the shop. “So, where is ‘here’?”

“You’re in Volisport,” Zillah told him.

“Never heard of it,” he said dismissively. “Right, well we’ll just teleport ourselves out of your hair.”

The three crew members exchanged concerned looks. “What do you mean, you’ll teleport?” Edvard demanded. “Magic doesn’t exist.”

Corazón snorted, flicking his hand. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, mumbling the incantation for dancing lights.

Nothing happened.

Corazón narrowed his eyes and tried it again with the same result.

“I’m sorry,” Zillah said, “But is something supposed to be happening?”

At the same time, Prudence started laughing. “You’re right,” she said, “It is funny when it isn’t happening to you.”

“I told you,” Edvard said, “There’s no such thing as magic.”

Corazón took a deep breath before turning to the half-orc who was trying to hide behind an elf. “Dob,” he said calmly, “I’m going to kill you.”

*********

When Kas walked in a few minutes later, utter pandemonium had enveloped the shop. Corazón was chasing Dob around Merilwen, yelling about ‘not touching strange orbs, we’ve had this conversation before!’ Meanwhile, Lilith had struck up a conversation with Prudence about demon heritage, and Egbert was not-so-subtly leaving pamphlets for the crew to read.

Kas sighed and rubbed his eyes. At least his majesty wasn’t here. “What seems to be going on?” He asked, causing everyone in the room to freeze (this was especially impressive because he hadn’t even needed to raise his voice).

“Um, sorry,” Merilwen said from where she was sandwiched between Corazón (who was in the process of attempting to strangle Dob) and Dob (who had decided to cling to her back to avoid being strangled). “Oxventurers, can we have a huddle?”

The two groups exchanged glances before in one movement, the Oxventurers moved into a group circle. Speaking at normal volumes but still somehow going unheard, they conversed.

“What is going on? Who are these people?” Merilwen asked.

“Whoever they are, they are clearly not as cool and awesome as us,” Corazón replied, “I think we can take them.”

“We don’t even know if we need to take them,” Merilwen replied.

“Yeah! That one with the snake hair seemed nice,” Prudence said. At their blank stares, she rolled her eyes. “Besides, Corazón, can you even take them without your magic?”

“I don’t need magic to overthrow every enemy I face,” He declared, “Plus, you don’t have yours either!”

Prudence smiled, a sight that sent chills down the backs of more than one member of each group. “Yes, but I do have my rage.”

“Why do we have to fight them?” Egbert asked. “Can’t we just see if they can help us?”

“Do they look like they know how to help us? This is a job only we can solve!” Corazón declared.

“It can’t hurt to ask them,” Dob said.

“Shut up, Dob, this is all your fault!”

“Hey! That seems uncalled for.”

“No, Corazón is right,” Merilwen said, “You’re the one who touched the orb.”

“I told you, the orb wanted me to touch it,” Dob replied.

“Yeah, but now we’re here, Dob,” Egbert said, “And here isn’t the place I want to be.”

“I think we should ask them for help,” Prudence broke up the rekindling argument. “And since I have my rage and you don’t have your magic, I think you should listen to me.”

The rest of the group made eye contact and had a quick nonverbal conversation that resulted in Merilwen stepping forward. “Look, we’re sorry about this,” She said, “But my friend here touched a glowing orb that just screamed ‘do not touch’ and then we were teleported here. And now we just want to go home.”

The crew was silent as they looked at each other.

The awkward silent standoff ended as the door opened and Barnaby walked in. Upon seeing their guests, he did a double take before looking down at the open bottle of bourbon in his hand. “I say chaps,” he said, “I can usually hold my drink, but this stuff might be stronger than I thought.”

Brightening up, Egbert stepped forward. “I know someone who can help with that-- here, take a pamphlet.”

Luckily, they were interrupted by the sound of someone knocking on the door.

A few moments later, everyone turned to look at Barnaby, who was standing right next to the door. “Aren’t you going to get that?” Edvard asked.

Barnaby scoffed. “I may have drank enough to hallucinate people in the shop, but I know enough to remember that I don’t open doors.”

“Absolutely ridiculous,” Edvard muttered not-quite-under his breath, opening the door.

Unlike the hammer and vase set up that usually introduced a job for them, there was only a plain box. Upon opening the box, they found that it contained only a black orb-- a black orb that seemed very familiar to the Oxventurers. Along with the box came a note. “Instead of making you work for this one, I figured it would be best if we just got your friends out of here before any unsavory people noticed.”

“Does this seem too easy to anyone else?” Lilith piped up, “A complication has to come from this.”

“Nah, this seems about normal,” Dob said, “Something happens, we argue, a solution comes, everyone goes home nice and safe.” He paused for a second. “Why, does it not happen that way for you?”

“No, usually we try something, then something else goes wrong, then we solve that, then something else happens, then Zillah chokes someone out,” Lilith responded.

“Sometimes with her thighs,” Edvard added admiringly.

“Hey! I told you I’m working on finding a different panic response!” Zillah argued.

“Choking people out with your thighs? Can you teach me how to do that?” Prudence asked.

The other Oxventurers exchanged a concerned glance. “Ok, well it was lovely to meet you guys, goodbye,” Corazón said, quickly touching the orb.

The group disappeared with a flash of light and appeared in their own world where they had left it, with Dob just about to touch the orb.

“Dob, do not touch that,” Merilwen said.

“Oh I see how it is. I touch an orb and it’s all ‘Dob you idiot’, Corazón touches an orb and it’s all ‘well that’s fine!’” Dob threw his hands up in the air and walked off before he could realize that the orb was still glowing.

The rest of them looked at each other. “Motion that we never speak of this again?” Egbert asked.

The others agreed and walked off to join their chaotic bard.

*********

Back in the shop, the others looked at each other suspiciously. “That seemed too easy, didn’t it?” Kas asked, looking at the orb.

Miles away in the Dimmer Mansion, Kelly watched as the long dormant magical artifacts started emitting light hums. “It appears our plan has worked,” she said to Allie and Hallie. “Tell the members around the world to come home-- the Orbpacalypse has begun.”

[dianapana]

SasuHina Month 2020- Day 1.2

I couldn’t choose between the prompts so i wrote two for the first day, i was overly enthusiastic after we go the list and i was carried away xDD please don’t mind me :) I hope you enjoy, love and kisses ~Dia

Prompt: Antique Shop 

Mirror, Mirror- Part 1

“Welcome to the city of Lights” was written big on the sign just outside Las Vegas. Hinata took her first step in to the city and it felt…different. She was one of those people that pulled over by the sign so she could cross the border to the city by foot. She took a deep breath in and smiled to herself. After a few moments she returned to the car and continued driving to the center of the city. It was her first time in Las Vegas, it was her first time in the USA really. Hinata came to visit her cousin that had moved here for work a while back. She had heard so many things about Las Vegas, the nicknames alone intrigued her, the city of lights, the city that never sleeps, the city of sin. So, on her final 2 days of her USA escapade she decided to rent a car and drive to the city and see it for herself. It also helped that Neji was quite close to Las Vegas so the drive didn’t take her all that much. There were things she wanted to see and she made a list, she would start in downtown and tick them all off her list one at a time.

The energy of the city itself was addicting, Las Vegas was everything you wanted it to be, a city that fits them all, it had everything one could look for and even more. After a few hours of walking around Hinata decided to take a lunch break before hitting the main thing on her list, Las Vegas Antique Center. Antique shops were the first thing she had googled upon making her plan to visit Las Vegas and she saw there were malls filled with antiques and almost wept with joy.

Hinata was a lover of the old-times; vintage was her aesthetic from clothes to accessories and movies. Today too she was wearing one of her favorite pieces she had bought over the years, a knee length burgundy dress with long sleeves and ivory lace around the cuffs and the neckline with pearl like buttons on the front. It was a bit dressy but the material was so soft and light she adored wearing the dress. She hadn’t put on any jewelry mostly because that’s what she was looking for today, some jewelry, a bag, maybe a cute hat. Sadly, she wouldn’t be able to buy any big clothing items or furniture because she couldn’t take it back to Japan and shipping it overseas was not only extremely expensive but also quite dangerous because it could damage the item.

Hinata made her way into the first antique mall and her senses were overloaded, from the images to the smells and even the soft old music playing in the background; they were all overwhelming her. It was a good kind of overwhelming, she didn’t know where to look because she wanted to see everything. The mall had 3 floors and it was packed with beautiful things everywhere. On the first floor were the furniture and despite knowing she wouldn’t buy anything she still looked around. Everything was so beautiful and in great shape. The second floor was clothing there she spent more time looking thought the beautiful garments. They had flappers’ dresses from the 1920s to the long gowns from the Victorian age to well-worn leather jackets. The Victorian gowns were absolutely stunning, the details on the fabric were in amazing shape, the corset and soft lace were a bit yellow due to the age but they were beautiful. Hinata wanted to own such a garment but again it would not fit in her baggage. The last floor was filled with small accessories and decoration pieces and everything else that couldn’t be displayed on the first two floors. Hinata wanted to look around at everything before deciding to buy something but a beautiful hand mirror caught her eye and once she picked it up she couldn’t put it down. The handle was made out of white gold it appeared and it continued to beautiful roses around the mirror. Each rose had in the middle ruby red precious stones. Hinata turned the mirror around and written small on the back was “うちは サスケ” (Uchiha Sasuke) and next to it was a ruby and underneath it with white was drawn the handle making the symbol look like a fan. The item was so beautiful and it intrigued her that there was hiragana and katakana written on the back. With the mirror still in hand she proceeded to look at everything else but nothing was quite as beautiful or interesting as the mirror. Deciding that would be her purchase from this shop she walked back down to the register. Behind it was an old man with soft kind eyes. Seeing her approach, he closed his book and offered her a smile.

“You found something you liked?” he asked

“I did, everything here is so beautiful I wanted to buy more, but sadly I can’t transport them all back to japan” she said and placed the mirror carefully on the register.

The man looked at the mirror and the light from his eyes darkened a little, he didn’t touch the object just introduced a code in the register. The price surprised Hinata, she hadn’t checked it before but she expected for it to be quite high seeing how beautiful it was, how old it appeared to be and it also had all of those precious stones and was made out of white gold, all of these meaning its worth not only due to age but due to the materials should be quite a number. Looking again at the price shown on the register screen she frowned.

“Are the rubies not real? Is it not made out of white gold?” She asked still looking at the price displayed. It felt wrong to pay so little for something that beautiful.

“They are.” The man said, his voice was harsher and he looked impatient at her.

“If you don’t mind me asking than, why is it so cheap…?” she was aware it was a weird question. Usually when it came to antiques some of them were overpriced, she had never thought something to be underpriced before.

The older man sighed in defeat. “We just want it gone. The stories it comes with…” he didn’t continue.

“I noticed it has writing in Japanese on the back, what can you tell me about that?” She always loved knowing the back story of every item she bought. The dress she was wearing had been owned but a young lady of high social rank when she met her true love, the dress was preserved and displayed during her life in their bedroom and then after they both passed the dress found itself in a small antique corner store in Holland. Much like the mirror when Hinata saw it she couldn’t let it go.

“It is said it belonged to a Japanese family that have been erased from the face of the earth in a hell like fire. Nothing survived but the mirror. The name on the back is the name of the youngest son of the family and the fan was their family symbol.”

The tale was extremely sad but it still didn’t make sense to her why it would be so cheap. Being the only legacy of a family, it should be far more expensive. But the man appeared to be done talking, he was more on the edge by the second so, Hinata took out her wallet and paid the 5-dollar price.

“Be careful with it miss. It is known to bring bad luck.” The old man told her in an ominous way. “There is no way to get rid of it, Lord knows people have tried to destroy it.”

Hinata never much cared about curses attached to objects, they were usually stories that were exaggerated in order to up the price, after all when buying antiques part of the money you pay for the story behind it. Hinata smiled and thanked the man, took the mirror and put it in her purse carefully. Despite the man’s story about the mirror being indestructible in her hands it felt fragile. She was just about to exit the mall when the man spoke up again.

“The Uchiha curse shall not die miss, make sure you don’t either”

The man’s last words were ringing in Hinata’s ears thought the rest of the day, the following day and the plane ride back home. She was not one to be scared from such things; half of the items she owned were ‘cursed’ but the man seemed scared and his performance was very truthful. He believed what he had said, or he was a very good actor.

Upon getting home Hinata did her process of cleaning the objects she had bought with her home-made solution that does not damage the items and still disinfects them. Besides the mirror she had bought a hat, two pairs of earrings and a small pocket watch, from other various antique shops she had visited.

The earrings were places in her beautiful hardwood jewelry box that was on top of her vanity. The pocket watch was put in one of her display cases next to a teacup and a large broach. The hat found its place in her closet neatly put next to the other ones she owns and finally the mirror she placed on her nightstand.

The man’s words were still fresh in her mind, she wanted to dismiss them like she did with every other threat but it was more difficult. Even so looking at the mirror she couldn’t help but feel defensive over it, what could a mirror do? It was beautiful and fragile and it felt right having it in her hand. The handle felt as if she had held it before, as if the mirror was made for her only.

After putting everything she bought in place she started unpacking her other things, the clothes went in the basket of dirty clothes and such. Finally, with everything unpacked Hinata decided to take a shower, eat and sleep. The plane ride had been long and exhausting and she had arrived home at 7 pm, so quite late in the evening.

Hinata went to sleep around 10 after eating and watching a black and white movie. The trip to USA had been amazing and she loved seeing Neji, but it was very tiring so it took her no time at all to fall asleep.

She was peacefully swaying in an olden wood swing, wearing a white summer dress and no shoes; the grass was wet from the light shower that morning, the wind was blowing her hair away from her face, the sun was shining and warming up her face. Besides her was a man, not any man, her lover. He was running his hands up and down her arms in a loving motion. The world felt to finally be in place. Her lover leaned towards her and kissed her ear which made Hinata laugh lightly. He didn’t move after the kiss but rather started whispering her name in her ear “Hinata”.

They’d sway once and he’d say her name, each time a bit louder. The weather started to turn for the worse, the sun was covered by clouds, it was pouring rain, I started to thunder and lightning too. Hinata wanted to leave and go inside but another was holding her in place still saying her name but it now had turned into screams. “Hinata HINATA HINATA!”

Then it was quiet. The rain stopped, she was free and could walk. The first step she took forward hurt, she was still barefoot and there was broken glass on the floor, not only that but the ground itself felt as if it was burning, there was fire all around, the smoke was dark and heavy and making it hard to breath. From the quiet her name was screamed again. “Hinata HINATA HINATA!” She tried to go towards the voice but she glass was making it difficult for her to move, each step made her feet bleed more until finally she fell down and the glass cut her all around.

The next second she was alone in a dark room with voices all around her, calling her name. The voice of her lover, children voices. She wanted to go to them and took a step forward not realizing she had been standing on a stool, heavy rope around her neck. That is when Hinata woke up, still in her bed. She was sweating and breathing hard. A nightmare. It had only been a nightmare.

Hinata decided not to go back to bed right away. She turned around towards her nightstand to turn on the lamp. Her eyes fell to the mirror. The rubies had turned black and the mirror itself was cracked. Through the broken pieces she could make out the image of the man from her dream, her lover. A gasp escaped Hinata’s lips. She blinked a couple of times and rubbed the sleep away from her eyes. Upon opening them again the mirror was intact, not even a small scratch could be seen.

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

[fanfictionaries]

A Fine Line Between Lust and Hate - jbbuckybarnes Birthday Challenge

Thank you to @jbbuckybarnes for this fun writing challenge! Congratulations on over 900 followers and also happy 21st birthday! It’s a fun age, enjoy it! 

Prompt 1: Bookstore AU

Prompt 2: “Just gimme the book and fuck off!” 

Pairing: AU Bookstore!Bucky Barnes X female reader

Summary:  If there was one person you hated more than anyone else in the world it was James Buchanan “Call Me Bucky” Barnes. Or at least, you thought you did. As Bucky continues to press your patience, it becomes unclear as to whether it’s hate you feel, or lust. 

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: Swearing, smut, doggy style, oral (male receiving), NSFW/18+ only

Author’s Note: Man, I do love a good rousing debate over literature. 

***

You stood in one of the long aisles as you worked on putting the store’s most recent influx of donations on the shelves. The endless rows of historical memories stretched high above your head and all around you. However, the large stack in front of you currently sat untouched, a copy of Ernst Jünger’s Storm of Steel held tightly in your grasp, as you watched the events occurring at the front desk. Your coworker, James, was leant casually against the counter, once again ignoring his work duties as he openly and obnoxiously flirted with the woman in front of him.

God, you hated him. You hated his stupid long hair that he pulled up into a stupid bun. You hated his stupid tight jeans that hugged his thick thighs and his stupid red Henley that accentuated his muscular shoulders and arms. You hated his stupid handsome face that only fueled his overall cocky attitude. God, you absolutely hated James Buchanan ‘Call Me Bucky’ Barnes.

You hadn’t set out to hate him of course. Quite the opposite in fact. When your boss informed you of a new employee who wasn’t a billion-year-old woman, you had been ecstatic. Not to say you didn’t love Lucille, but to finally meet a person close to your age that loved books so much they were willing to work at the musty, expansive bookstore was a dream come true. For years now, you’d found yourself spending more time alone, tucked into the rows of books than you did with anyone your own age. You’d think that the kitschy bookstore would be a draw to the younger individuals in town, with the rise of intellectualism or at least the guise of intellectualism within today’s youth. Not to mention, the fact that it was nestled in between the cutest antique store and 50’s style diner. But, alas, it didn’t seem to be on trend for your town. Instead, you got the odd stragglers of older individuals who still enjoyed reading physical books, and local community college students looking to either sell or buy books for classes. That’s why the idea of coming into work every day to a coworker you could relate to was beyond wonderful. However, it hadn’t taken long for James to get so far under your skin, you practically wore him like a pair of itchy long johns.

It had started with his complete disregard for the books and their safety. As a self-proclaimed bibliophile, you took great pride in the care and safety of the books in the store. They were a mix of new and used, the older ones coming into your protective arms the moment you clocked the torn corners and dog-eared pages. You spent hours restoring them before putting them out to be appreciated by the next reader. That’s why, on his third day there when you’d spotted him using his copy of Catcher in the Rye as a coaster for his iced coffee, you’d nearly had an aneurysm. You wished that the situation was a one-time thing, but every time you turned a corner, he was bending spines, creasing pages, WRITING in the margins. He was a book sadist.

Then of course, there was the lackadaisical way in which he approached his job. Not once, not twice, but ten times in the last three months you had stayed late finishing work that had been assigned to him. Why did you do it, instead of letting him take the fall for shoddy work? Well, because it was always things that needed to be done either before the shop could close or before the shop could open. Closing out the till, turning off all the lights, locking the back door, fixing the displays, picking up the giant stack of books that had fallen near the back, changing a burnt-out light using the very old and very rickety ladder.

And lastly, the one thing you absolutely hated the most about him was just how incredibly flirty he was! From the very beginning, he took every opportunity to hit on you. At first it had been flattering, but incredibly jarring and confusing. What could he possibly want with you? He looked like that and you looked like, well people didn’t really want to date the weird bookstore girl that always smelled faintly of old books. Then, it had all come into focus. James flirted with everyone. Not just you. Everyone. The moment a woman under the age of forty walked through those front doors, James was there with his stupid charming ways; “Can I help you with anything today?” “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing in here today?” “I knew a woman of your caliber would have good taste in books.” All the while, he’d chance little glances your way, smirking at you and raising his eyebrows slightly. It was all a game to him. Prick.

“Now, see, that is a fantastic choice. I knew the moment you walked in you had good taste,” stated James pointing down at the copy of The God of Small Things that was currently clutched to the woman’s chest in her perfectly manicured hands. You rolled your eyes. Ridiculous. You glanced over again to see James smirking in your direction before he walked the woman to the front door and waved her goodbye, shutting and locking the door behind her. Last customer of the day. You sighed, turning back to the stacks in front of you and swiftly putting the books back into place. The quicker you got this done, the quicker you would be out of there and away from James’ mocking face and overall itchy personality. You continued to put the books away, probably harsher than you should have, as you listened to the faint sounds of James closing out the till. Well, at least he was doing that today. I knew the moment you walked in you had good taste, you mocked him in your head, huffing and puffing at just how infuriating he was. You winced at a particularly harsh shove of a book into the shelve. Quickly, you pulled it out and inspect the corners and sides of the hard cover.

“Careful there—” a pair of large hands came into your line of site, snatching the book from your hands “—What did Michael Herr ever do to you?”

“Nothing,” you huffed, turning to grab the book back, but coming up unsuccessful. “Although, I really would prefer it if you didn’t allow customers to stay so late past closing.”

“Why? Got somewhere to be? Hot date?” James asked, circling around you to lean against the bookshelves to your right.

You snorted, “As if that’s any of your business.”

“Come on. Lighten up a little bit (Y/N). She needed help finding a good book for her English class,” said James, pulling the book out of reach as you attempted to grab it back from him once again.

“Okay,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes and reaching back down to the stack of books remaining on the cart to your left.

“What? You got something against Indian authors writing about caste relations and cultural tensions?”

“No, but I think if Roy tried to squeeze one more literary device into the text, the book would literally explode. Nobody genuinely enjoys a work where the author is intentionally trying to be clever. It’s obnoxious,” you said as you continued to put the books into their correct spaces as quickly as possible.

“Oh, so I guess you don’t care for Shakespeare then? What about Vonnegut, Anne Rice, Tolkien? Every author thinks they’re clever (Y/N). If they didn’t, they wouldn’t be writers,” said James, crossing his arms and leaning towards you condescendingly.

“That’s-that’s just ridiculous,” you responded lamely, placing the last book in your pile away.

“Oh really? Then please, oh smart one, name a single author who didn’t take themselves so seriously that it didn’t bleed through their work in some way,” James challenged, once again pulling the book in his hands away from your reaching hands.

You stood there, glowering at the man in front of you as you tried to come up with some king of answer. “C. S. Lewis,” you blurted out, wanting to kick yourself at the obviously stupid answer.

A barking laugh left James, “Oh come on. The man spent most of his career preaching Christian values and what it means to be moral. He even went so far as to write a short story on what the afterlife looks like and how to get into heaven. Or are we just going to pretend like The Great Divorce didn’t happen? Just because he wrote a bunch of entertaining children’s stories bathed in Christian symbolism with little effort does not mean that he didn’t take himself seriously.”

His astute criticism caught you off guard and peaked your anger, mainly because to a certain extent he was right. That didn’t mean you were going to let him know that though, “Excuse you! I’ll have you know he wrote The Great Divorce after the death of his wife. What else was he supposed to write about? You know what James—”

“How many times do I have to tell you to call me Bucky?”

“Just gimme the book and fuck off!”

Your eyes widened at your outburst. You’d never spoken to anyone like that before in your life. Opening your mouth to apologize, you quickly closed it when James sighed heavily and pushed himself off of the bookshelf. He stared at you, his eyes calculating as he closed the space between you, slamming the good on the shelf behind your head. You jumped, turning so that you faced him head on, your back to the endless rows of books. James placed an intimidatingly large arm on either side of you, bracing himself against oak shelves. You swallowed thickly at the sheer size of him. Your pulse quickened. He had never been this close to you.

“You know what (Y/N)? I think you’re just jealous,” James murmured, tilting his head dangerously low to yours.

“Jealous? Of what?” you asked, your voice embarrassingly breathy, as your head began to swim. He was so close. So close you could smell his cologne, a musky warm scent mixed with the fresh scent of soap and…old books? Subtly, you tried to inhale more of the tantalizing smell without James noticing. But one glance up and you could see that familiar smirk and cocky gleam in his eye.

“Me, and every woman that walks in here ready to fuck me in the encyclopedia section.”

You gasped at his words, “That’s ridiculous. Why would I be jealous of that?”

“Because you want to fuck me in the encyclopedia section.”

“I—I do not—I do not want to—I hate you!”

James leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours, “Doesn’t mean you don’t want to fuck me—” His head titled, his lips brushing across your cheek, your jawline, and then to the shell of your ear. “—Just say the word and I’ll take you right there. Right then. Any time. Any day.”

You shivered at the offer. Never had his flirting gone this far. Sure, James had given you a flirtatious smile and charming little comment here and there, but never had he come close to propositioning you. You should say no. You hate him. He’s everything you despise and yet…

“Fuck it.” Rising up on the tips of your toes, you wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his in a searing kiss. James’ lips claim yours, never hesitating for a second, as if expecting it. The soft skin of his plush lips a stark contrast to the harsh way in which you both battled for dominance. Every ounce of anger, frustration, and tension that you held towards him fought its way through your body as you nipped, bit, and tugged. James’ hands moved from the bookshelf to your body, gripping your hips and tugging you harshly against him, revealing the same level of pent up aggression. His hands traveled upwards, cupping your breasts through your sweater, roughly massaging them as he slipped his tongue into your mouth. Threading your fingers into his hair, you tugged harshly earning you a growl from James. Breaking away from the kiss just long enough to pull your sweater up and over your head, your bodies reconnected, the feel of your bare torso against him feeling oh so right. You continued to hang onto him for dear life, as his kisses left you breathless and needy. Bringing a leg up around his hip, your pelvis rocked against him, searching for any kind of friction as you climbed him like a tree.

“Eager, aren’t we?” James teased, hands moving down to harshly grasp your ass and lift you up. Wrapping your legs around his hips, you allowed him to carry you the brief distance away from the bookshelves and lower you onto the rough carpet floor. Trailing kisses down your neck and towards your breasts, he roughly yanked the cups of your bra down before taking a nipple between his teeth. You arched into his mouth, loving the sting as he bit down.

“God, I knew you’d be a fucking little minx,” panted James, sitting up on his knees. “Look at you all sexy and needy. Just had to get you to let go.”

Pushing up onto your elbows, you stared up at him, “Shut the fuck up and take your shirt off James.”

Swinging his hand down, he swatted the inside of your thigh, “The name’s Bucky, babe.”

Your head fell backwards at the contact and your pussy clenched as you moaned low. Sitting up, you ripped his shirt from his torso and threw it behind you before pushing him down onto the ground. You made quick work of removing your bra, shoes, and pants before reaching for his belt buckle. This time it was his turn to push up onto his elbows as he watched your near naked form, undo his belt and then his pants. You tugged at his pants and then his boxers in a desperate manner, James kicking off his shoes and socks to held aid in their removal. Finally, when he was naked before you, you took a moment to admire the lean curves of his muscular form and the thick cock that sat just below his belly button, nestled in a patch of short brown curls.

Running your nails lightly up and down his thighs, you smirked as he writhed below you, sucking in a harsh breath through his teeth. Lowering yourself slowly, you positioned yourself between his thick thighs and grasped the base of his cock in your hand, wasting no time in wrapping your lips around the head and swirling your tongue around him. Bucky cursed, low and sexy as you took him in your mouth. You worked him with your lips and tongue as your moved lower and lower. Spit gathered in your mouth as you breathed through your nose, giving your all into pleasuring the man below you. You wanted to once and for all wipe the smirk off of James “Bucky” Barnes’ face. When you made it almost all the way to the base, you hollowed your cheeks, sucking as you massaged the vein on the underside of his cock with your tongue. His hands flew to the back of your head, fingers lacing in your hair and gripping tight. He held onto you for dear life as you attempted to suck the soul out of him through his dick alone.

“Jesus Christ! Fuck! (Y/N),” he yelled, his body shuddering. When you slipped down the last few inches, allowing his cock to slip easily down your throat, he stilled, body rigid before he pulled you off of him with a curse.

You fell backwards onto your hands, spit coating your lips and drool falling down your chin as you breathed in deeply. A low growl escaped James’ throat as he launched himself at you, flipping you onto your stomach, and ripping your panties down your legs. His hands found your center in no time, his fingers delving deep into your core easily, aided by the embarrassing amount of arousal there. James fingered you, curving and finding that special spot inside of you that made your see stars. You yelped, bucking your hips back against him. His teeth sunk into the supple flesh of your ass.

“You’re god damn dripping down my arm (Y/N). Did sucking my cock turn you on that much?”

“Yes!” you admitted, continuing to rock your hips against him. Pulling his fingers from you, you whimpered at the loss of contact. The loss was only temporary though, as soon James was pulling your hips up, placing you back on your knees, face still pressed against the carpet as he lined his cock up with your entrance. There was no slow and delicate start. No, in one swift thrust, he was seated fully inside of you, hands firmly grasping your ass as he began to fuck you at a punishing pace.

“Fucking hell baby. Your pussy is like a vice-grip. I don’t think I’m going to last long,” he admitted, continuing to pound into you, his balls slapping against your clit with every thrust. He reached down, finding your clit and rubbing light, fast circles around it until you began to feel the familiar pressure building in your lower abdomen.

“Yes! Bucky! Fuck. Just like that, don’t stop!” you cried, desperate to reach your climax. The carpet scraped against your skin, sure to leave burns after. But you didn’t care. The only thing you cared about was the delicious stretch of your cunt around Bucky’s cock and your imminent orgasm.

“That’s it, baby. Say my fucking name again. Say my name as you cum all around me.”

You chanted his name over and over again, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky, until finally you were approaching the edge and falling over. Your body shuddered and hips bucked as you came, loving the feeling of every hard ridge of Bucky’s thick cock inside of you. A few seconds late, he was pulling out of you and then you felt the warm streams of cum splashing across your ass. You collapsed fully onto the carpet below you, Bucky falling after you and rolling to lay beside you. You laid there, in post-orgasmic bliss. The feeling of Bucky’s fingertips trailing up and down your spine soothing you down from your high. After a little while, the two of your stood up and began to redress. Bucky, ever the gentleman, told you to wait as he ran to the front counter and came back with some tissues before wiping up the mess he had made on your ass.

Once you were both dressed, you finished closing up the store. Neither of you spoke, instead choosing to spare the other furtive little glances as you turned out the lights and locked the door behind you both.

“Looks like the diner is still open. Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” Bucky asked, looking down at you giving you a small, shy smile that you’d never seen on him before.

His question caught you off guard. He wanted to buy you coffee. “Oh, Bucky. You don’t have to feel obligated to—”

“—I don’t feel obligated. I, um, I want to.” He swallowed thickly, almost as if he was nervous. Was he nervous? “I know we just, well, I know we skipped a few steps, but I actually do want to take you out. I’ve been trying to hint it to you for the past three months.”

“So, all the flirting with the customers…?”

“Was me stupidly trying to make you jealous,” laughed Bucky, stuffing his hands in his coat pockets.  

“Ah,” you said, a smiling spreading across your face, “How about you buy me a coffee and tell me all your thoughts on Brontë.”

“How much time do you have?” asked Bucky with an exaggerated groan.

Holding your hand out to him, you reveled in the feel of his warm palm connecting with yours, “All the time in the world.”

Marvel Taglist:

@caffiend-queen

@hidden-behind-the-fourth-wall

[noonachronicles]

For the angsty confessions prompts. What about Kyungsoo and 20?

IS THIS MY FIRST KSOO STORY?! I literally didn’t realize until this very moment. Dang. I just got so excited. Thank you for requesting!!

Do Kyungsoo X Reader

Word Count: 1.5k 

You’d only met your match a week ago and the wedding was in three days.

The idea of an arranged marriage had seemed so antiquated, but vintage was in. Everyone had grown convinced that it was the best way for people to be coupled off in this new post world war order. It was as if everyone had become too afraid to come up with any new ideas during the Rebuild so they had all fallen back on the old ones. Because it worked so well in the past, you thought every time another ‘new’ old policy was put into place.

At least you were lucky. The Matchmaker, a computer system that stored information on every eligible bachelor and bachelorette on earth, had at least paired you with someone your own age. Unlike so many of the horror stories you’d read. And at least Kyungsoo was attractive...really attractive actually. Maybe you’d even written in your journal that he was dreamy, had a smile that took your breath away and lips ripe for kissing... but that was neither here nor there.

Your parents loved him. Everyone loved him. It would have annoyed you more if over the week you hadn’t grown pretty fond of him as well. Which was why you’d gone to visit him, because you missed him and wanted to see if he wanted to spend some time together while you avoided wedding planning with your mother and his.

The doorman told you that you’d find him out on the balcony when you arrived at his place. Walking passed the living room you laughed remembering the first night you’d met. Sitting across from each other on the couches in his living room. He’d glared at you all night. A stern look on his face from his first look at you to the stiff hug he offered you at the end of the evening. You thought he hated you. You thought that maybe in this coupling he was the one being inconvenienced by you.

The next day he came over to take you to lunch and you’d been so awkward that he’d practically been forced to ask you what was wrong and when you told him he laughed. He’d glared because that morning he’d lost his glasses, he explained that it wasn’t the first time someone thought he was an asshole thanks to his poor eye sight. So far his only flaw.

Reaching the balcony you realized he wasn’t alone. He was sitting over coffee with his best man. You didn’t want to intrude so you turned to leave, but then you heard it.

“I’m going to go out on a very short limb here and say she's definitely not who you thought she’d be.” Suho laughed lightly.

Kyungsoo let out a long, almost exasperated sigh, “Not even a little bit of what I expected.”

Not wanting to hear anymore you left quickly, and as quietly as you’d come. Your heart sank. You were suddenly very sad. Being sad only made you angry. Angry that you even cared enough about what he thought to make you upset. It’s not like you really knew Kyungsoo. So what, you’d spent the week together, it didn’t have to mean anything, obviously. Even if you’d personally had a really good time. Even if you’d thought he’d been having a good time too. Even if, for the first time since you’d been told you were going to spend your life with him, you were actually looking forward to being with him.

That afternoon he’d called the house to see if you’d like to go to lunch but you told them to tell him you weren’t feeling well. He called again later to see if you were better and would maybe like to have dinner but you told them to tell him you still felt flu-ish. Your mother didn’t like you avoiding him or lying to him but she was also trying to be understanding of what she assumed were wedding nerves.

That night she came into your room with a small basket and a raised eyebrow, “From your groom to be. I have a feeling this illness will pass by morning and you’ll meet him for breakfast?”

“Yes, mother.” you sighed.

Sitting up on the bed you waited until she left to open the small basket. Inside was a hefty bowl of hot homemade soup, lifting the lid left you with a groan it smelled so good. There was also a bit of fresh bread and a tiny bear dressed as a doctor. At the bottom of the basket was a note. He’d drawn a cartoon of himself, with his big heart shaped mouth, offering you a hug.

I hope you didn’t get yourself sick to try and get out of marrying me. It’s in sickness and in health, if you’d forgotten already. xx  

If you didn’t feel bad before, you’d felt horrible now.

-

When you met him at his place the next morning he seemed happy to see you. You felt confused as he walked you to the balcony where he’d put out a beautiful breakfast spread for the two of you.

“Hopefully you’re hungry after being sick all day yesterday.” he said kindly pulling a chair out for you.

“Mmm.” you hummed through tight lips.

If he didn’t like you he didn't have to pretend. You’d have preferred if he didn’t. If he would just make it clear that he was going to marry you because he had to not because he thought he might want to. The idea of being with someone so easily capable of lying to you made you feel queasy.

His forehead creased in confusion as he continued to watch you through breakfast, “You’re mad. At me?”

“No.” you said shortly.

“I can tell that you are.”

“Don’t act like you know anything about me.” You snapped, hating how playful he was being. Your future and your happiness wasn’t a joke to you.

“We may have only known each other for a few days, but you’re an easier read than you think.” He grinned. “Obviously you’re mad. Clearly your anger is towards me. What I can’t figure out is why. What could I have done to make you so upset when we’d been getting along so well?”

“But were we really?” you asked getting up from the table with a scrape of your chair.

You walked over to the railing and looked over the city. The view from here was beautiful. It was annoying. Wound up so tight from stress meant that everything was annoying. Kyungsoo sat in his chair for a moment taken aback by your mood. He was genuinely confused by it.

“I thought we were. Did you not?” he asked standing up slowly and moving towards you.

You turned to glare at him, your chest felt tight, “I had thought so too, but then I came to realize what a brilliant actor you are.”

“Actor?” he asked more confused than ever.

“Yeah, so, I’m sorry I’m not who you expected me to be.” You turned away, wanting to hide the tremble in your lips.

“Y/n…” Kyungsoo said softly, “You heard my conversation with Suho?”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping.” You clarified turning back around to face him. “I had just come to ask you if you wanted to spend time together. I realized pretty quickly I had gotten the wrong impression from this week.”

He laughed. His smile lit up his face beautifully, which only annoyed you further.

“Glad you think this is funny.”

“It is...a little bit.” there was a sparkle of amusement in his eyes as he looked at you, “I don’t think you got the wrong impression at all actually.”

“I heard what you said, don’t lie and say I didn’t.” You huffed.

“You did.” He agreed and you were immediately confused, “Y/n, you’re not at all what I expected. You’re better.”

“I-“ you blushed, “what?”

“When they told me about you, all they said was that you were beautiful.” He confessed, “When they refused to tell me anything else, I figured that meant you didn’t have much of a personality. I expected you to be vapid and vain. I didn’t expect that I would have an amazing time with you. That I would enjoy myself. Or that I would like being around you and miss you when you aren’t around.”

For a moment you were stunned to silence. Then you smirked, “That was pretty presumptuous of you to assume.”

“It was,” he nodded and stepped forward so that he was just in front of you, “so was you assuming that not being what I expected meant something negative.”

“So it would seem we’re both flawed.” You shrugged.

“I hope you know I genuinely look forward to getting to know every single one of your flaws.” Leaning towards you he pressed a kiss against the corner of your mouth. Your lips automatically reached for him as he pulled back, wanting more already.

[drawlfoy]

The Wonders of Ohio P.3

masterlist request guidelines

part 1    part 2 

pairing: draco x muggle!reader

request: no, this was my idea from forever ago

summary: american high school student y/n’s senior year is interrupted when a british exchange student comes to live with her. 

warnings: cursing

a/n: i’m being so unproductive since my ankle is hurting ughggghghghggh. also: if you like this muggle high school au please please check out @silversslytherin and @fallatyourfeet and @jhspuff as they all have fics that contain some element of this fic! i pulled a little inspiration from them so give them some love!! also second a/n because i worked on this about a month ag oand i’m back now: hey everyone! it’s been a while! it’s going to be a longgg time until i’m posting like i did over the summer, unfortunately, but i will do what i can to get some writing out in my free time.

word count: 2,350

tags: @eltanin-malfoy @accio-rogers @geeksareunique @fallatyourfeet @daintyyukhei @lunathepettuna @writerandee 

music recs: cherry hearts rac remix by the shins, everyone but you by young veins

Y/N took a sip of tea, staring down her mother.

“No. There’s no way. He wants nothing to do with me.”

“Y/N, sweetie, you’ve got to,” Mrs. Y/L/N said. She had a plate of semi-buttered toast in front of her, but she was paying no mind to it. Instead, her coral nails were tapping the surface of the coffee table. “He’s just in a bad place. He’ll feel better once you two are more connected.”

“I don’t know if going out for a day on the town is going to fix this,” Y/N argued. “He’s got some major issues that he needs to resolve on his own. We’d probably be doing him more of a favor by taking him to a therap--”

“Good morning, Draco,” her mother cut in cheerily despite the death glare she sent Y/N. “How polite of you to wait by the doorway for us to finish our conversation.”

Y/N refused to turn around to face Draco. She knew her face was burning red, and besides, she wanted to pretend like he didn’t hear what he just said for as long as possible. Draco seemed compliant to this idea as he glowered by the toaster, waiting for his bread to be done. 

“How did you sleep?” Y/N asked, noticing how dark his undereye circles were. 

“I’m sure not very well,” her mother cut in. “Jet lag and--”

“Mom, I was asking him.”

Draco shifted his eyes onto Y/N’s face in an unrelenting stare. “Not very well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. The tea didn’t help?”

He scowled and turned his back to her, suddenly waiting very attentatively for the toast to finish.

“I was just telling Y/N that she should take you with her into the city,” her mother said as she began to butter her toast again. “You’ll love Cincinnati. It’s unlike anywhere else.”

“No thank you,” said Draco simply. Y/N took note of how tensely he was gripping the counter, watching how the veins in his pale hands strain. 

“Draco, I insist! It’ll do you some good to see the city before orientation tomorrow,” Mrs. Y/L/N pushed. “I’ll be out to see Y/D/N and pick him up at the airport for the majority of the day, and I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone here after only one day. It’ll give me some peace of mind to know that my Y/N is with you. She doesn’t bite.”

Y/N snorted ungracefully at this, tearing off a piece of bread to dunk in her tea. He seemed unimpressed and ready to refuse again when the pop of the toaster rang out through the kitchen, making him jump nearly a foot in the air.

“Sorry, it’s a bit of a loud one,” Y/N offered. “You get used to it after a while.” 

His cheeks were just turning a carnation pink when he spun back around to plate the bread and reach for a knife. 

“You two can go whenever you’re ready, Draco,” Mrs. Y/L/N said, setting her bread down and getting up to clear her dishes. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”

With that, she turned and left the two with the kitchen to themselves. Y/N was still working on her toast and fruit and began to curse whatever it was inside that made her a slow eater as Draco settled down across from her, elegantly ripping open a tea bag and plopping it into a mug.

“So, uh...” Y/N scrambled to think of a conversation topic. This conquest was made harder by Draco’s intimidating tilt of the head. “How’s the British school system? I’ve always wanted to know. Britain seems like it has it together.”

“I went to a rather unorthodox school,” Draco answered, “so I don’t think my experience would be a good example of my country’s education.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.”

Y/N busied herself by eating, attempting to do so without getting to many crumbs stuck on her lips. It had never been a problem before, but now that a very tall and broody boy was sitting across from her and looking like he might off her right then and there, it became much harder to eat normally. Draco ate almost robotically, only pausing to sip daintily from his tea. 

Y/N finished before him, and she was up on her feet and clearing away her dishes in record time. “Draco, I’m going to go get my things ready,” she called as she began to make her way out of the door. Come find me when you’re ready to go.”

He sent her a tense, tight-lipped smile that was so forced it looked painful. 

<^>

Y/N was in the middle of her physics homework when a light tapping on the door took her out of focus, prompting her to drop her pencil and shut her notebook. “Yes?”

“I’m ready.”

His voice, apart from the obvious muffle, was noticeably more reserved, like he was defeated or something. Y/N closed her eyes and readied herself before she opened the door to see a very well dressed boy waiting for her, clad in a very expensive looking silk suit. She couldn’t help but laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“You can’t wear that into the city!” she exclaimed. “You...you look like you’re about to walk the red carpet or something! Not the streets of Cincinnati on a Tuesday morning!”

He looked at her blankly, like he didn’t understand a word she had just said. “This is what I wear in England.”

“I mean, it suits you,” she said, leaning into the doorframe to look him up and down. It certainly did--black was a welcome contrast with his ivory features and gold-spun hair, and the expensive fabric seemed to match his elitist aura. His shoes were strangely unique, with a very exotic pointed toe. 

He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable with the intensity in which she was examining him. 

“Uh, yeah, let’s get going then,” Y/N said, making her way down the stairs to the garage and suddenly feeling very self conscious about her fashion choices for the day. 

<^>

The car ride downtown was exceedingly awkward, with only occasional breaks in the silence for light conversation. Y/N managed to pull out certain facts about Draco--he was an only child, he was born in June, and no, he hadn’t been able to contact his friends back home--but he was still frustratingly vague and secretive. 

“So, what do you want to do?” Y/N asked, unlocking his door and getting out of her own side. “I have to get some last minute stationary, but other than that, the options are endless. I have a few special locations that I have in mind, if you want me to take you to them.”

He shrugged. Y/N suspected that he was beginning to regret his clothing choices as he saw that no one else in the city was dressed as formally as him. 

“D’you like history?” she prompted, stepping a bit closer to him. 

“Not particularly.” God, it was crazy how Draco could make anything he said sound regal and beautiful. 

“Perfect. Follow me.” Y/N locked the car and grabbed him by the sleeve, ignoring his protests about the material or the tailoring that she was going to completely ruin. She pulled them through alleys and backstreets until the bustling city was almost completely behind them and all that stood in front of them was a small shop, with a sign that read “My Grandfather’s Attic”. 

“This is the coolest antique store you’re ever going to find here,” Y/N told him, proudly standing tall in front of the entrance. “I know it’s probably not nearly as old as the stuff from England, but half the stuff in here is so obsolete that I can’t even identify them.”

Draco scowled at the ground. 

“If you don’t like it, we can leave,” she said. “All I ask is that you come in and see it with me for a moment. Maybe you’ll be interested in it.” 

Y/N boldly grabbed his arm again, noting just how stiff it was, like an iron rod. Draco scoffed, attempting to tug it out of her grasp, but she held fast. 

“You are coming with me,” she commanded through gritted teeth, resorting to dragging him to the entrance. “Would it hurt you to be enthusiastic? Or manageable? Just once?”

“I don’t want to be here!”

“And you think I’m enjoying having to sacrifice my senior year for some rich kid with daddy issues? As if!” 

Draco’s silver eyes were blazing as he jerked away to glare down at her. Y/N was once again reminded that he was substantially taller than her and began to feel uneasy.

“At least I have a father to speak of” His voice was cool, unfeeling, and deliciously savage. 

“I have a father! What are you talking about?” This prat was really going to try that?

“In theory, sure,” he said. “But he spends more time traveling than he does with you, right?”

“That’s...no!”

He raised an eyebrow. “So the calendar that your mother has set up isn’t accurate?”

Y/N, flustered, curled and uncurled her fists. “It’s been a bad year. He just wants to make sure he can pay for my college tuition.”

Draco made a sound that was infuriatingly disinterested before striding into the store, tossing her a rather sour look. 

“If you really wanted me to come in, all you had to do was ask. Nicely, mind you. No need to manhandle me.”

<^>

Y/N hadn’t been in the old antique shop for over a year, and she was stunned to see just how many items she’d never seen before. None of them looked like familiar household items--instead, they were strange looking contraptions, worn with age and marked with the writing of older generations. 

The most surprising aspect of it all was Draco’s sudden turn of mood as he floated about, picking up strange items with a familiarity that confused Y/N. 

“Draco,” she called. He snapped his head up from something strange that he was looking at...was that a broken piece of a twig? “Come over here, will you?”

He set down the weird looking ragged stick with an especially broken end and strode over to her, a rather annoyed expression on his face. “What is it?”

“Do you actually know what all of this stuff is?” Y/N asked. “I think it must’ve come under new management...I knew they sold it last summer. The new owners totally revamped it; I don’t recognize any of this.”

“I don’t know what any of this is.” He was suspiciously quick to answer.

“Now that I think about it,” she continued, “I’m surprised I even found this place. I’ve tried looking for it with my friends before, and maybe we got lost or something since we couldn’t find it. But I found it this time, with you, so obviously I must’ve... I don’t know.”

Draco suddenly seemed very uncomfortable. 

“I think I’ve had enough. Do I have your permission to leave now?” His tone was snotty and not unusual, but there was an underlying sense of urgency.

“Yeah, let’s go,” Y/N agreed, visibly shuddering. “The energy in here just feels weird.”

He laughed at this, a real, genuine laugh, and Y/N was treated to the sight of shallow dimples in his cheeks. “I can’t imagine why.”

<^>

Y/N was holding that strange looking box she had picked up in the antique shop, only it was black and much heavier. Her head hurt the longer she held it, and the simple engraving of a symbol she couldn’t recognize burnt into the skin of her palm. 

How had she gotten here? And how was a simple box glowing like...that?

She shot awake, nearly banging her head on the headboard. It was only then that she realized she was dripping in sweat, her brow frothy with perspiration. 

Gross. What kind of dream was that?

One glance at the clock made her heart drop: it was 6:05, and time to get ready for orientation. Her senior summer was really, truly, and absolutely over. 

Y/N wasted no time in getting up and ready, taking extra care to wash off the sweaty remains of her dream in the shower. It was quickly fading from her memory, and by the time she was heading down to the kitchen for breakfast, she had nearly forgotten the entire ordeal. 

“Good morning,” she greeted her father, who was sitting at the head of the table and staring down at a crossword. 

“Oh. Good morning,” he said, glancing up from his paper for a moment. “I haven’t seen you in a bit. Is it time for school already?”

“Orientation. I have to take Draco this morning.”

“Draco? Did your mother get a dog or something?”

Y/N laughed stiffly as she prepared her tea. “No, Dad, our exchange student this year from Britain. Don’t make fun of his name so loudly, I’m sure he can hear you.”

Mr. Y/L/N simply nodded and returned to his work, occasionally taking a sip from his half full cup of coffee. Y/N had never been close with him, but they had spent enough time around each other to feel comfortable in silence. 

Y/ N had only just sat down to eat when she saw a flash of blonde hair out of the corner of her eye, prompting her to look up and see Draco, wearing slightly less dressy clothes and a matching scowl.

“Hi,” she said, faltering under his gaze. He simply sniffed and entered the kitchen, floating over to the kettle and looking inside of it. Unsatisfied with the contents, he changed the water and placed it on the stove.

“This is my father,” Y/N attempted again. “He just got back from Australia on business.”

The two made brief eye contact and her father grunted in acknowledgement. Draco seemed wholly unimpressed and sent Y/N a “I told you so” look that made her want to get up and slap him. She stood up and forcefully stacked her dishes in the sink, turning around before she completely left the room.

“I’ll be ready in 10,”

final a/n: i’m still kinda swamped with work tbh and i don’t think it’s very fair of me to expect to get out anymore work than what i had going at the beginning of the month, but i’m hoping that once january begins, i can start writing more often. i know i promised a dramione fic that’s based in the fall but i’m not sure if i’ll have the time to do that...maybe once i’m in university? i apologize for any of the typos i may have made in here, i don’t have the time to proofread and just wanted to get something out to prove to you all that i’m not dead. love youuuuuuuu

[let-it-raines]

I 100% want to see the "Hospital AU + Blind Date" prompt! I need to know what happened with Emma and Killian to make them break up 😭😭😭 and obviously I need you to get them back together! It's been bothering me for weeks!

Interrupting our regularly schedule Catch Me If You Can programming to finally put out another one of those two trope game prompts!! This time it’s “Hospital AU + Blind Date” that @captainsjedi prompted me! The other two remaining that I haven’t done are “Historical + Grief + Star-crossed lovers” and “Accidentally Married + Forgotten First Meeting.” One of them is partially started, but I’m always all ears to hear input from you guys! You all seemed to like “wilderness + awkward first meeting” ❤️

If Emma looks at this blue dress one more time, she’s going to lose her mind.

It’s not that she doesn’t like it. She does. The color works well with her skin tone and the cinched waist accentuates her curves, the scooped neckline showing just enough cleavage to not be too conservative but not enough for her boobs to be falling out, and the sleeves are almost non-existent so that her arms are able to move freely as she goes throughout her nights.

Because it is nights that she’s wearing it. The dress isn’t something she’s going to wear during the middle of the day when she’s grocery shopping or depositing a check at the bank (because Lucas Bail Bonds apparently does not know how to use direct deposit), and it’s definitely not something that she’s going to wear on one of her honey trap dates because it did cost more than thirty dollars.

This dress is her first date dress, which has really become more of her blind date dress, and honestly, if Emma has to go on another blind date before the month of November is over, she’s going to take a lighter and burn this dress and use the warmth from the fire instead of paying a ridiculous heating bill. It’s not even winter yet, and she’s going to go broke just from trying to stay warm. As many perks as there are living in Boston, there are also downfalls.

This date is a downfall.

Walsh Osbourne.

That’s the name of the guy she’s supposed to be meeting tonight. Mary Margaret, her sister-in-law and the woman who has insisted that Emma need to start dating again after….well, Mary Margaret has been setting Emma up on a ridiculous number of blind dates for no particular reason. She swears that she just happens to know these guys from her social circles, but Emma is almost sure that Mary Margaret is using some kind of dating app to find men for Emma because nothing in the world matters more to Mary Margaret Blanchard-Nolan (talk about a mouthful) than everyone she knows being as in love as she is.

That’s pretty much impossible when Mary Margaret and David are impossibly in love. And as much as Emma loves them, there’s only so much a girl can take before it becomes nauseating.

(It’s pretty nauseating.)

There’s nothing more terrifying to Mary Margaret than a single woman, and Emma might be the most terrifying single woman of all.

She’s had love, multiple times now, and it’s gone. It’s not coming back.

And she doesn’t want it back.

Looking at herself in the mirror one more time, Emma adjusts the top of her dress, flips her ponytail over her shoulder, and grabs her coat before walking out the door so that she can drive down to the historic district to go to the Italian restaurant Mary Margaret told her to go to in order to meet Walsh.

At least if she gets murdered Mary Margaret and David will know where she is.

And maybe she’ll have a stomach full of pasta. That’s the only way she wants to go.

Walsh is already waiting for her when she gets to the restaurant. Emma recognizes him from the picture Mary Margaret sent her as well as all of his social media accounts that she stalked. Emma spends her days tracking down seedy guys who lie about things both online and in their real lives, and she wasn’t about to go into this date without knowing everything she could possibly know about him. He is thirty-four years old, owns an antique furniture store that he inherited from his father, hasn’t been in a serious relationship for about two years, and he is, indeed, on several different dating sites. At least his captions aren’t terrible on those or anything.

If she sees one more “I’m a member of the FBI: Female Body Inspector” caption, she’s going to scream.

“Emma?” he questions, a hopeful smile lighting up on his face that makes her almost feel bad that her heart is already set out on there not being a second date.

“Hi, Walsh,” she smiles, trying to be nice as she walks up to him and hugs him in greeting. All of these guys are always huggers, and she likes to take the initiative before they can grope her ass. “It’s so nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you too. Can I take your coat?”

“No,” she says a little too quickly while her cheeks heat. “No,” Emma sighs, batting away memories as she smiles up at Walsh’s brown eyes. “I’ve got it. Thank you, though.”

She sits down before he can pull her chair out and adjusts the cloth napkin over her lap. She’s never been here before, but she knows that it’s expensive. Most of her first dates don’t really happen at expensive restaurants. It’s nice, honestly, but if she had to pick something for herself, it would be a Red Sox game with a hot dog and all of the salty popcorn that she can eat.

“You are beautiful,” Walsh compliments as he settles down across from her. “I don’t know why Mary Margaret thought I was ever in the same league as you.”

Emma reaches up to tuck her loose hair behind her ear and quickly looks down at the menu. “How do you know Mary Margaret again?”

“She’s a customer at my store. You don’t have to order. I’ve already ordered for us.”

Whoomp, there it is.

Emma slowly puts the menu down, her face beginning to ache for how forced her smile is, and it takes everything in her not to go down a bulleted list of reasons why you should never order for a person you don’t know.

Allergies, likes, dislikes, moods, diets, common curtesy.

It’s something she’s found that a lot of guys do. For some, they genuinely think that they’re being sweet by ordering food for their date. For others, it’s a way to assert dominance and to let their date know that they are very much in charge of what’s happening. Honestly, everyone has their different tastes and some may find it sweet, but Emma doesn’t like people ordering for her. The only time that it’s acceptable is when you know someone well and know their order for takeout from their favorite Tai restaurant.

(Drunken noodles. Emma wants all of the spicy drunken noodles.)

But Emma is stuck here tonight, and if she doesn’t want to spend the next hour being miserable, she might as well put that behind her and try to have a little conversation so that she’s not bored to death.

Turns out, she’s going to be bored to death.

Walsh Osbourne’s favorite subject is, well, Walsh Osbourne. And antique furniture. He may very well be the most self-centered person Emma has ever met, and there are likely scars on Emma’s hands from the way she’s digging her nails into her palms to keep from screaming out. It’s probably Emma’s fault for feigning interest in his job as she pretended she hadn’t looked him up online beforehand, but she had no idea that he would only talk about it for the next twenty minutes. And she swears that every other word is some kind of praise for himself and how awesome he is and whatever else Walsh feels like talking about.

He doesn’t even ask her what she does for a living.

That’s blind date question number one, always.

By the time the appetizers come, Emma is ready to bolt. Walsh has ordered some kind of lasagna soup, and while the waitress, who has informed them that this is her first day, easily places Emma’s bowl in front of her, the same can’t be said for Walsh’s soup.

It happens in slow motion really. One minute, Emma is thankful that she’ll at least like the soup in their meal, and the next Walsh is screaming out in pain as scalding soup is poured onto his lap. Everything from there speeds up and happens quickly. There are apologies from the waitress and the restaurant owner, promises of free meals from there for a year if they don’t sue, but all Emma really knows is that she has to take him to the hospital because he probably has some pretty nasty burns in a very sensitive area.

Amazingly, even though Emma had decided that she couldn’t stand the dude fifteen minutes ago, now all Emma feels for Walsh is sympathy.

They go to Mass General since it’s the closest hospital and Emma knows that their emergency room is usually pretty efficient. It’s where she’s always gone if one of her skips gets a little too rough. She hasn’t been in a few months, for a lot of different reasons, and she’s not exactly happy to be going back. But this isn’t for her, it’s for Walsh, and there’s no way she can take him to another hospital simply because she doesn’t really want to go to this one.

She’s not really a priority right now.

This most definitely is going near the top of her list of worst first dates.

At least she’s not burned. Physically, at least.

They sit in the waiting room for far too long once a nurse on-call assures them that Walsh’s burn isn’t too serious (he does not agree), but eventually, he’s called back to an examination area. She tells him to go by himself, that she’ll wait in the waiting room, but the man absolutely insists that she follow him back there. Who is she to deny a man whose penis has possibly been burned?

Emma really wishes she had stayed in the waiting room, though, because as she’s sitting in a chair next to Walsh’s bed, the closed curtain opens up to reveal a shock of dark hair and the bluest eyes that she’s ever seen.

Blue eyes that have filled her dreams, and blue eyes that she’s been avoiding for five months, fourteen days, and seventeen hours, give or take. She’s only counted a little bit.

“Alright,” Killian starts looking down at his clipboard. He hasn’t looked up to see her yet, and she wonders if she can duck out underneath the curtain and move the other way without him noticing that she’s here. “So it says here that you’ve had a bit of an accident with some hot soup, Mr. Osbourne. I need to – ” Killian looks up then, obviously meant to have looked at Walsh and examine him, but the way that the smile on his face fades makes her know that he’s seen her. He blinks, several times more than what’s acceptable, and Emma wonders if she needs to be admitted to the hospital for the way her stomach is flipping. Intestines aren’t supposed to move like that. “I need to examine the burned area. I’ll have to undress you to examine you, so if you need your girlfriend to leave so that she doesn’t have to see, now would be the time.”

Emma opens her mouth to say something, probably to frantically explain to Killian that Walsh is most definitely not her boyfriend, but she doesn’t get the chance.

“She can stay,” Walsh says, and Emma’s eyes finally break away from Killian’s to look over at Walsh. “I don’t mind.”

“I – I do,” she stutters out, rising from the chair even though her legs feel like noodles attached to her torso. “I’m going to go back to the waiting room. I’ll come back when the exam is finished.”

And then she’s dashing out of there as quickly as possible, her shoulder brushing against Killian’s, and she swears that electric sparks move down her entire arm and burn her more than the soup did to Walsh’s groin.

Holy fuck.

Emma doesn’t go to the waiting room. There are too many people there. She can’t do that. She’s about to have some kind of breakdown that no one needs to see, and since it’s the temperature of a blizzard outside without any of the actual snow, she can’t exactly go outside. Quickly, she moves down the hallway where she knows a set of vending machines are. There’s one or two people at the nurses’ desk at the very end, but they’re occupied and not paying attention to the woman pacing the hallway in high heels.

Weirder things happen at hospitals every single day.

She’s spent enough time here herself, as well we hearing years worth of stories about what happens after the midnight hour.

It’s only nine fifteen.

Emma fumbles in her coat pocket for her phone. She can’t be caught up in her own mind right now. She has to talk to someone, and the only person who isn’t going to judge her for any of her freak out is Ruby.

“Pick up, pick up, pick up,” Emma mumbles as her heels click across the tile floor. “C’mon, Rubes.”

“Aren’t you on a date?” Ruby asks in lieu of greeting.

“Kind of.”

“How are you kind of on a date?”

“Long story short: the waitress spilled hot soup on his dick, the closest hospital was Mass General, and Killian is his doctor.”

There’s a crash on the other end of the line, and Emma just knows that Ruby dropped whatever glass she was drinking out of. Emma’s probably going to have to buy her another wine glass.

“Holy fuck.”

“Exactly my thoughts.”

“Did you speak to him?”

“Nope,” she sighs, stopping by a vending machine and letting her eyes scan for pop-tarts or anything tooth-achingly sweet that Killian always hated when she ate. She’s hungry since she didn’t get to eat dinner, and she’s also feeling the slightest bit petty even if she has no right to be petty. “He assumed I was Walsh’s girlfriend, neither of us corrected him, and then I said I was going to wait in the waiting room while Killian examines the guy. There was no way I was sitting in there for that.”

Damn, no pop-tarts. Emma doesn’t even think that she has change.

“I mean, I think you’re missing out on some pure gold moments. Killian is currently examining the dick of a man that he thinks you’re sleeping with. I wouldn’t be surprised if Walsh ends up worse in the exam room than he did going in.”

Emma huffs, unable to do anything else, before sinking down onto the floor and hoping that they’ve been cleaned recently enough since her bare legs are touching them. She’s not going to be able to stand up in these shoes.

“Killian is a professional. He wouldn’t do anything like that.”

“He loved you, and you broke up with him for a dude who spills soup on himself.”

“I did not break up with him for Walsh.”

“He doesn’t know that.”

“Of course he knows that.”

“Uh, no,” Ruby stutters, “he doesn’t. He called me, like, a week after it happened and asked if I knew what was going on. I didn’t. Still don’t. All I know is that one day you were hot and heavy all over each other and the next you were packing up the box of his things at your apartment and asking me to drop them off at his place.”

Emma’s stomach rolls, that nausea coming back, and she has to swallow down all of the emotion in her throat. “I didn’t call you to have you give me a lecture on breaking up with Killian.”

“Then why did you call me?”

“Because I just saw him again, and I’m about to have a mental breakdown in the middle of this hospital.”

“That’s probably the best place to have it all things considered.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“No, no, no,” Ruby protests, and Emma keeps her phone against her ear. “Seriously now. I know it’s kind of a batshit crazy situation, but maybe you should talk to him now that you have the opportunity. You obviously still love him, and I know you’re not going to have the courage to come back to talk to him after this.”

“I do not still love him. I never loved him.”

“Emma, sweetie, yes you did, and I suspect that in your warped mind, that’s why you broke up with him. You got spooked, and you ran because you realized someone was finally going to treat you differently than Neal.”

Emma’s heart thumps a staccato beat in her chest, and she pulls her legs a little further into her chest while sweat of all things begins to bead at the base of her neck despite the freezing temperatures. “I don’t want to talk about this. I just wanted you to make me feel better about running into my ex-boyfriend.”

“You’ll feel better if you talk to Killian.”

“I – ”

“Nope,” Ruby interrupts. “I’m going back to drinking my wine. You’re a big girl. Deal with your relationship shit on your own.”“I hate you.”“And I love you.”

At that, the phone call ends, and Emma is left in a hospital hallway all alone while her mind swirls and her stomach churns.

Except, she’s not alone. The nurses down the hall are still there, and standing in front of her are worn down white tennis shoes under navy blue scrubs that she would recognize anywhere.

Killian.

Her eyes glance up, slow and unsure, and he’s staring down at her with his arms crossed over his chest so that the muscles of his biceps bulge the slightest bit. He always hated wearing long sleeves under his scrubs when it’s cold.

“Your boyfriend is getting some treatment from Ariel. He should be finished in a few minutes.”

His voice is dripping with disdain, deep and gravely, and it only causes fire to burn up in her.

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Killian scoffs, kicking his sneakers against the floor so that they squeak. “That’s not what he said. You’ve got a real piece of work in there, Swan. I don’t know what you could possibly see in him. Do whatever the hell you want to do with your life, but he spent the entire time I was examining him asking If it would be okay for the two of you to have sex tonight because you have ‘such a sweet ass.’ His words, not mine. It’s not exactly my place to make comments like that anymore, not that I would have ever been so dull in my compliments.”

Walsh has got to be kidding. There’s no way he said that, but then again, he is kind of an asshole. He could very much do that.

Shit. He probably said all of that.

But Killian has no right to be getting mad about any of this. It’s her life, not his, and he doesn’t get to have any kind of say anymore. They’re not together, and she can date whoever she wants.

So can he, but her heart shatters a little at the thought of that.

No, she won’t go there. She might throw up along with having a mental breakdown, and there’s probably not a floor in this hospital dedicated to things like that.

“You’re right,” Emma says as she carefully stands from the ground, her heels making it difficult at first. She and Killian are almost the same height now, and it helps her not to feel so damn small. He has never made her feel small, not until three minutes ago. “It is none of your business what I do or who I’m sleeping with. Thanks for the update on his condition. Have a nice night.”

She moves to walk away, but then Killian is grabbing onto her forearm and pulling her back so that their faces are only inches apart.

His eyes are unfairly blue, and she hates him for it.

“Emma, can we talk?”

“No.”

His eyes flutter closed as he tilts his head up, his jaw heavily ticking as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down his throat. Emma’s not sure if her lungs are still working. “We were together for five months, love. We were friends for a year before that. Don’t you think I deserve some kind of explanation as to why an hour after I told you that I loved you, you suddenly sprinted out my apartment door?”

The hurt in his voice is obvious, and it burns her like the freaking lasagna soup burned Walsh. She knows that she’s the one who screwed up, and that she doesn’t really have a leg to stand on here.

Emma Swan: screwing good things up since 1990.

“The last time someone told me that they loved me,” she yells out, loud enough that everyone can hear, “he left in the middle of the night, and I ended up going to jail for a year for something I didn’t do. So excuse me if I left before I could be abandoned again.”

Emma doesn’t look at Killian’s face. She can’t. All she can do is tug her arm away from his grip and start walking down the hallway, leaving Killian and her past behind her.

She doesn’t need this. She never has.

Emma is in the parking lot before she remembers that she’s supposed to be here with Walsh and probably has to take him home, but she doesn’t feel like it. Tonight has been too much, too overwhelming, and all she wants is to go home and eat the ice cream that’s in her freezer. This is definitely the worst date that she’s ever had.

The best was one at a Red Sox game with a hot dog and salty popcorn and the summer sun beating down on her skin in her shorts with a man with a charming smile in blue eyes sitting next to her, hand resting on her thigh. And all the ones after that where he’d take her jacket and pull her chair out even if they were at a shitty dive bar and even though she always said that she could get her own chair.

Shit.

Emma stops in front of an SUV that’s decidedly not her yellow bug because suddenly she can’t breathe. It has nothing to do with the nip in the air and the way that it makes her lungs burn with each step that she takes. It’s making her lungs burn right now with her hands pressed against the cool metal of the hood of this car.

“Swan.”

“Fuck,” she mutters, jumping out of her own skin so that she slaps down on the SUV, which, of course, makes the alarm go off. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. What the hell are you doing out here?”

Killian doesn’t say anything, at least not that she can hear over the alarm and the little voice in her head telling her not to cry and let hot tears spill from her eyes, and she’s tired of the waiting. She broke this man’s heart, and he is still standing outside in this awful weather trying to talk to him like she deserves him.

She doesn’t.

“I’m a screw up, Killian,” she whispers, her voice likely not being heard over the sound of the alarm. Cops or someone are probably going to show soon. “I’m not worth the fight that you’re trying to put up for me. I’m just a lost girl who has never mattered and never will. People always leave me.”

“I’m not going to leave, Emma.” His voice is louder now, and suddenly there’s a warm touch of a hand on her shoulder that has her turning around to look at him and the darkness swirling around in his eyes under the harsh florescent lighting of the parking lot. “I was never going to leave unless you asked me to, which you did. And I’d say that’s entirely beside the point, but it isn’t.”

“How am I supposed to know that?”

“You don’t. At some point you have to trust me and trust yourself too.”

“Neal – ”

“I’m not Neal.” Killian smiles down at her, that little half one that he always did when he was trying to reassure her of something. “I’ve never been Neal, and I know that you know that. I also know that you know you have people out there who love you and who think that you matter. David, Mary Margaret, Ruby.”

“You?”

“Aye, me.” He smiles again and reaches up to tuck some her hair behind her ears. “I love you and your stubborn streak that drives me up the wall, and I’m not asking you to love me. All I’m asking is that when you’re ready, when you don’t think I’m going to leave you, come find me. I’m willing to talk about how you and I are both screw-ups. It’s not just you. I promise.”

Emma’s heart stutters, and that damn tear escapes from her eye. “I’m sorry that I hurt you.”

“I’m sorry that you think you don’t deserve love when you do.” He bends down to kiss her cheek over where the tear spilled out. His lips and his scruff are forever inked into the feel of her skin. “I’ve got to get back to work. Call me if you ever feel ready, okay? And maybe keep from setting off car alarms and dating men who get lasagna soup spilled on their crotch.”

And then he’s walking away much like she did in the past, and Emma has no idea how she’s going to fix any of this.

All she knows is that she wants to because he still makes her feel happier than anyone else ever has.

Getting up the courage to let go of her fears, reservations, and, frankly, her own set of issues is another story. It’s one that she’s not sure that she can do tonight, not when her mind is still whirling around in dizzying circles that make Emma feel like her feet aren’t actually touching the ground.

They are. Even if they’re stumbling.

It’s December when Emma finally gets the courage to show up at Killian’s apartment with takeout from their favorite Tai place (two orders of drunken noodles instead of her recent order of one), and he opens the door with a smile that she’s working on feeling like deserving. She talks to him, really talks to him for probably the first time in her years of knowing him, and as terrifying as it is, being able to talk to someone about the scars that mark her skin is almost freeing, red disappearing back into her normal ivory. Killian’s got scars too, ones he was more open about, but she was so caught up in herself that she never really took the time to appreciate what he was telling her.

That’s changing now.

They understand each other, the two of them, and even though Emma is terrified of what opening her heart back up could mean, she’s ready to take the leap. There’s no guarantee of a soft landing, but that’s half of the risk.

That’s half of the fun.

And she never has to wear the damn blue first date dress again.

Or take her injured date to the emergency room because he had hot soup spilled on him.

Killian tends to avoid soup at all costs.

And maybe her worst date of all time wasn’t actually all that bad. It had a pretty good ending after all, and Emma’s finding herself fond of happy endings now.

[iamkatehardy]

Only One (Alfie Solomons x Reader) - Pt 1

Request:  Anon: “Hello would you mind writing an Alfie who really likes this shy girl who works in some shop near him. She already has s boyfriend but Alfie doesn't care and goes to her work a lot just to get to talk & flirt with her but she always gets embarrassed and shyer when he flirts and he loves that. She catches her boyfriend cheating on her and now Alfie can make his move😉 could u use smut prompt list #64 #37 please you can change any of this however you need to whatever works for you.”

Warnings: Cursing ; Cute Alfie

A/N: I’m splitting this in 2 parts, because I don’t want you to wait any longer! There is no smut yet, I need to polish Alfie x Reader relation! 😏 

Leave your feedback, me and your favourite Jew will be very thankful!❤

  Only One (Alfie Solomons x Reader)

The role of the ideal housewife was never enough for you; you always wanted much more, to feel entirely fulfilled, and you thrived.

You had the work bug, plus your dexterity with the needles and creativity put most of the other dressmakers to shame. In no time, you had one of the busiest stores in town, so you expanded the business to serve your growing clientele, moving to a roomier shop in Camden Town and hiring an Italian tailor to be able to work with men’s clothing too.

Although it was a huge success, perhaps not everyone had noticed it yet. As one of the rulers of most part of Camden, Alfie Solomons used to pay local businesses a visit, not only as a reminder of who was in charge , but also most likely to demand a share, “for operating in his town”. Your turn hadn’t come yet; he was busy with his own expansion plans, involving a strategic partnership with some old friends, to make it through the crisis after the Italians’ attacks.

“I’m not sure I trust Elazar, but I have no choice, a’ight? Aside from him having a shitload of money, all the others are eating in his fuckin’ hand, for whatever reason. He’s not an honorable man, that’s one thing I’m sure about! Can you believe that cunt is even living in concubinage with some Shiksa?! (derogatory word for non-Jewish women) – In a sudden fit of anger and frustration, Alfie swept the paper off his desk with his left hand, throwing all the work of the past few days to the floor. His fingers ran through his messy hair in desperation, he couldn’t stand not have control.

“Alfie…” – Ollie bent down to pick the papers up and placed them on the desk again.

“Not now. Not today.” – The burning wrath in his eyes could reach a person’s soul in second, but he soon acknowledged the fact that the situation wasn’t Ollie’s fault. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, his fingertips rubbing his throbbing temples. – “Why don’t you take the rest of the day off, mate? I can’t look at these anymore. We think about it tomorrow, with a clear head.”

Ollie merely nodded in assent, but when he was about to leave he turned to his boss again.

“Will you be ok?” – The hardships in Alfie’s life always made Ollie worry, almost like a son; despite the filthy temper and all the outbursts, Alfie was his mentor and they cared for each other.

“Stop worrying, little boy.”- Alfie chuckled lowly. - “Fuckin’ Solomons always find a way, even when it seems there isn’t any, innit?” – Narrowing his eyes, his hand came to his chin and he stroked his beard thoughtfully. -  “Now go, live a little. You’re at the right age for it.” – With a wave of his hands, Alfie shooed his assistant away.

“You should live a little too. Anyway, have a good evening.”

“You cheeky little…” – Alfie shook his head, watching him disappear in the distance, but deep down he knew maybe Ollie was right.

Maybe he should really live a little too, before it was too late.

After gathering his things, he grabbed his coat and left the office, heading outside. The street was busier than usual, more than he expected, as it was cold and getting later I the day.

“Hey! Come here, little boy.” – Alfie called a little kid over; children were honest most of the time and too young to be afraid of him, unlike most people in Camden.

The boy approached slowly. Eventually, he stood near Alfie’s feet. The gangster looked down at the kid, who was looking up at him with big innocent eyes. After searching in his pockets for a long time, Alfie held a wad of cash in his hand. With the other hand on his lower back to hold the pain, he crouched down until he was at the kid’s height and handed him a note.

“What is all this fuss about, little man?” – He knitted his eyebrows together, almost imperceptibly, pointing at the crowd.

“The store that opened down the street, I think.” – The kid shyly took the money out of Alfie’s hand, bowing thankfully.

“What kind of store?” – Alfie’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m not sure, Sir. But they give you chocolates; maybe that’s why people go there.” – The kid shrugged and Alfie couldn’t help quirking his lips up in response.

“A’ight, thank you for your help.” – Alfie rubbed the kid’s head and stood up slowly, with a groan of pain.

After stuffing the money on his pocket, the kid ran happily down the street.

“These bastards will learn the hard way to think twice before they do anything without my fuckin’ say-so!” – Annoyed, he cussed under his breath and moved faster, scanning the street for the new store.

The sky had turned black and the rain was starting to pour down heavily, but it didn’t stop him. Slightly limping down the street, his expression was menacing, it seemed as if he was determined to start a fight with whoever challenged his power; maybe he just wanted to take his problems out on somebody else, either way, it was the perfect excuse.

Finally he saw an unfamiliar elegant store and just stormed inside, looking really pissed. The furniture looked new and luxuriously comfortable and the collection of antique artwork that adorned the place seemed to be priceless. There was a soothing record playing and a pleasant floral smell on the air, that somehow made him go back to his childhood days.

The store was already closed by then; you were working on the sewing room in the back, to get a head start on next day’s work. When you heard the door open, you popped through the velvet curtains the two parts of the store.

Beholding the man before you, you smiled and approached the counter. It was after hours already, but you weren’t willing to lose a costumer.  His attire made you immediately think he was probably Jew by birth and upbringing.

“Shalom.” – You greeted him softly, and then cast your eyes down shyly, dropping your gaze to the ledge under your hands.

“Shalom.” - Alfie raised a brow as his eyes moved to you. – “I would like to speak to the owner, personally.”

“That’s me.” – When your eyes met, a smile formed on your lips and Alfie’s blood seemed to warm. – “How can I help you, Sir?”

All his courage to scold and fight the owner of the shop immediately disappeared. Rubbing his lids with the back of his hands, he stammered indecipherable words that sounded to you like Yiddish.

As you tilted your head, studying him, your eyes widened a bit and shone brighter than he had ever seen in his life. Noticing his soaked clothes and speechlessness, you wondered if maybe he just wanted shelter from the heavy rain and entered a random store. You picked up a towel and handed it to him, for him to wipe out his wetness.

“Thank you. Thank you, dove.” – He put his hat aside and took the towel, drying his head and face.

“Would you like a cup of tea, while you decide?” – You watched him drying himself and took the towel when he finished. - “Here, have a bonbon! These are kosher.” – Smiling encouragingly, you offered him a plate of assorted bonbons to choose from.

He put the candy in his mouth, letting it melt slowly.

“These are really sweet.” – He furrowed his eyebrows. – “But not as sweet as you seem to be.”

Although you opened your mouth, no word came out; you felt a furious blush flaming on your skin.

Trying to come up with an excuse for the situation he found himself in, he looked around him, letting out a loud breath and straightening his posture. Before saying anything else, he took another moment to watch your embarrassment, how your face was still burning in shame after the compliment; it was pretty adorable and it somehow amused him.

“I was wondering, do you sell hats here?” – He didn’t actually need the thousandth hat, but it was the first thing he came up with, so he’d stick with that excuse until he’d come up with something better.

“Yes, do you have anything in mind?” – Looking down to cover up the blush, you bit your thumb shyly.

“Lots of things, love.” – He came closer with a smile on the corner of his lips. - “As about the hat, something inconspicuous, but with a little style. Black, wide brim, preferably resistant.” –Shrugging, like the hat was actually no big deal, he constantly kept his eyes glued on you.

The first of his answer might have been innocent, but you blushed even more. No matter what words he spoke, his voice was enough to make a woman weak at the knees.

“I… I’ll see what I can get, just give me a minute. In the meanwhile, please, make yourself at home.” – You nodded to the sofas before you disappeared behind the curtains again.

He sat on the sofa and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head and chuckling in a low tone.

“Composure, (Y/N), composure…” - In the backroom, you sat on the edge of a table and cleared your throat, putting your lightly shaky hand on your chest. After taking a sip of water, you searched in the boxes, trying to find those that met his requirements.

A few minutes later you returned with a half dozen boxes pilled in your hands and put them on the sofa, next to him.

“At the moment I have these. If you’d like something else, I can order it for you, it’ll take only a couple days.” – You gracefully sat on the arm of the couch, crossing your legs and arranging your skirt, before you opened the boxes one by one and started handing him the hats for him to try them on.

“How do I look?!” – Giving you a cocky smile, he turned his head to give you a profile view.

“Great!” – Leaning closer, you adjusted the hat into a slightly crooked position. – “Well, that’s more like it. Perfect.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” – Watching you with great interest, he blinked slowly. – “I’m taking them all.” – He took the hat off, putting it back in the box and got up, extending his hand to help you up.

Why the hell would someone buy so many hats that look almost exactly the same?

You looked at him in surprise and took his hand, getting up. Your hand lingered on his for a few seconds and the pad of his thumb rubbed your knuckles soothingly, sending a shiver through you, before you finally pulled it away, with a sheepish smile on your face.

“What name should I put on the receipt?” – You went behind the counter again.

“Alfred Solomons.” – Leaning against the counter, he paid for the hats and watched you write his answer down. He had gotten so close he could feel your warmth and your delicate fragrance with every intake of breath. – “But you may call me just Alfie, a’ight?”

“Deal.” – You gave him the receipt.

“It’s raining cats and dogs. I don’t think it’s a good idea to take all those boxes home in these circumstances, innit darling? Can I swing by tomorrow to get them?”

“Of course, Mr. Solomons.” – You intertwined your hands together and nodded cordially.

“Alfie.”

“I think you’re going to need this.” – You giggled and handed him an umbrella. – “So long, Alfie.”

“See you around…” – He tilted his head lightly to one side and lifted his brows. – “ Sorry, I don’t think I got your name.”

“(Y/N).”

“(Y/N).” – He nodded. – “A beautiful name for a beautiful woman, right?” – With a warm half-smile, he turned on his heel and left.

The next day, you waited for him to show up, constantly checking when a new client made it through the front door. It was half-hour to closing time and he still hadn’t shown up.

Alfie was at the bakery, in a meeting with Elazar, scrambling with last minute details on their settlement.

“Let’s make this quick, Elazar. I have an appointment, mate.” – He looked at his pocket watch to check if he still had time to go to your store; he did, but not much.

“Relax Alfie, I have an appointment too, maybe  two, or three.” – Elazar grinned maliciously.

“With your missus? Doesn’t count as an appointment.”

“Alfie, Alfie, Alfie… I wouldn’t expect you to understand, you’re not a ladies’ man after all, but your missus is your choice of pleasure if, and only if you have no other option available.”

“What… Excuse me?” – Alfie put his glasses down, giving him a nasty look.

“Think of a relationship as if it was just any other business; if you have the chance to have some side action and make a profit, you go for it, without blinking an eye.”

“How can you fuckin’ do that, mate?!” – Slightly irritated, Alfie swung his arms on the air.

“It’s really quite simple; women are very naïve when it comes to love.” – Elazar proudly started explaining. – “Tell her you love her and she’s the only one; make her believe that and she will be at your feet, which will basically make her buy any excuse you come up with. But keep her busy, so she won’t have much time to think about them, some women are smart enough to figure out the truth … Give her a small business, or let her teach little orphans, something like that. Use your imagination! Propose to her, if necessary, it will keep her in your hands until you are done with the little brat and find a better one.”

“I wasn’t asking how do you do it! I was asking how you can be such a cunt, actually. You give a woman goods and she will give you a heart cooked meal… You give her your house and she will make it your fuckin’ home… You give her your fuckin’ cum and she will return you your offspring! If you give her some affection, she will give you her fuckin’ heart! What is wrong with you?!”

“What is wrong with you, Alfie? That’s why you don’t get any action. Have you gone soft or what?”

“No, I simply respect women!” – Alfie’s unblinking eyes were fixed on the man ahead and his jaw was tight. – “You know what? If it’s alright with you, we can finish this another day.”

“As you wish. Call me later and let me know when.” – Elazar promptly picked his things up and left.

“What has this world come to? Thank you for everything  eema. (Mom, but I’m not sure of this) “ – Alfie pressed a hand to the medallion in his chest, before he checked his pocket watch again and hurriedly left the bakery, heading to the flower shop.

 Tag List: @carmen-kray , @titty-teetee , @iv-nyc , @but--dear-this-is-not-wonderland , @eap1935 , @ellar21 , @tiredoffeelinglost , @original-krays , @marvelgirl7 , @captstefanbrandt , @evilispretty-dead , @mollybegger-blog , @bignastyfan-nz , @scarrasco1325-deactivated201905 , @miidailyinspiration , @harleyquinns , @haroldpain , @marvelslut16 , @willowick13 , @outofbluecomesgreen , @elemeph , @my-little-lucky-scissors , @overitall2018 , @innerpaperexpertcloud , @matoki-darkpanda

[lia-jones]

Growing Stronger - Chapter Twenty - The Toothfairy Isn’t Real

I woke up to his soft lips teasing my ear.

“Are you spending the whole day in bed?” His low morning voice was warm and enticing, pleasantly forcing me out of my slumber.

I felt his body move away, letting the cold morning air seep into the comforter. Moaning, I opened my eyes slightly, barely a slither, trying to see what time it was. It was still early, and the sun was just rising.

“It’s Saturday… Too early for a Saturday.” I complained, moving closer to him, seeking the comfort of his warmth. I sighed in contentment when his strong arms enveloped me.

“If you stay in bed all day, how am I going to show you your surprise?” His mouth was very close to my ear, forming into a mischievous smile. The movement gave me shivers.

“What surprise?” I mumbled, not registering what he had said.

“If I tell you, it won’t be much of a surprise, will it?” Oooo, he was good. Too good for his own good.

Victor was perfectly aware of how I would react to the word ‘surprise’. He chuckled as I practically jumped away from his arms to face him, an excited look on my face.

“What surprise?” I insisted, feeling excited. I was surely in for a treat, and Victor seemed to be in a great mood. My heart jumped with joy.

“Go get ready.” He ordered, getting up, not before softly squeezing my butt. “I’m going to start breakfast.”

I nearly inhaled the pancakes he served me, curious to see what was in store for me. Victor kept a satisfied smirk, slowly sipping his coffee while reading the news on his phone.

As we were about to leave, I took my phone from the table to put it away in my purse. Victor softly held my wrist, a stern look on his face.

“No phone.” He scolded. “No work, no emails, and no emergency calls either. Today is about relaxing.”

“They are called emergency calls for a reason.” I complained, holding my phone tight in my hand. “There may be some issue, and my team will-”

“Will have to figure it out without you.” Despite my protests, Victor took my phone away. “It’s Saturday . Besides, most companies are closed for the weekend. I’m sure the emergency can wait till Monday.”

I reluctantly accepted my fate, not wanting to spoil a day that had started so gloriously. I had to admit Victor was right. The study was taking all of my time, even the time I was supposed to rest, and that was taking its toll on me. It was time to draw the line.

Also, it was so good to see Victor back to his old self. He took some time to recover, and it was sometimes very painful for him, but he had started to work again, surprisingly listening to me and easing into it, instead of jumping right in. He seemed to be pain-free, returning to his morning jog and laps in the pool. He didn’t even limp anymore. It had been a huge surprise to see him take the car keys and drive himself to work one day. I had expected him to hesitate getting inside a car by himself, but no, the mighty CEO would not let a pesky thing like the trauma of being smashed by a truck hold him back in anything.

Victor drove us past the outskirts of the city, towards the lake, leading us to an area I had never been before. It seemed to be a more rural region, devoted mostly to agriculture, judging by the cultivated fields and orchards siding the roads.

“I don’t think I have ever been around these parts before.” I commented, as I watched the view through my window. For some reason, this reminded me of my summers at my grandmother’s house, in the countryside, or our trips to go olive picking in November.

“I did promise to show you Loveland.” Victor replied, taking his trained eyes from the road for a second to give me a loving glance.

“And what is Mr. Lee showing me, exactly?” I softly caressed his neck, trying to pry some information from him. He gulped, trying to keep his cool under my enticing touch.

“I’m driving.” He scolded, blushing slightly. “Don’t be impatient, you’ll know soon enough.”

We left the strawberry fields and the view of the lake far in the distance, and made a turn to the deep forest. After what seemed like a mile of dirt road surrounded by luscious trees, we encountered an iron gate. Victor spoke into the intercom, simply stating it was him, and the gates opened wide, inviting us in. My curiosity grew exponentially.

Victor parked the car in front of this huge countryside mansion, with rustic red rooftops and built with light stones, large windows, as well as a green well-manicured garden that embellished it displayed its opulence. The large wooden front door swung open, and from it emerged, to my surprise,Aunt Terry.

“Andrea! So nice to see you!” She greeted me with a hug as soon as I left the car. “Welcome to my evil lair!” She joked, gaining a chuckle both from me and Victor.

“It’s beautiful! Thanks for having me.” I looked around, dazzled. “Really wonderful.”

“It’s all mine now.” She proudly announced. “Gregory lent me his property to raise my horses, but I finally bought it from him.” She turned to Victor. “Your father didn’t tell you?”

Victor chuckled, shaking his head, like the idea of his father having a decent conversation with him was ridiculous.

“Congratulations. So all of this is yours now?” Victor came close to me, putting his hand on my waist.

“All 500 acres of it. It feels like a dream.” She said, looking around. “Come, Andrea, let me get you something to drink. Also, Victor, Mina is dying to see you.”

“You are going to meet Mina.” Victor gave me a wide smile, seemingly excited with the idea.

“Who is Mina?” I asked, discreetly.

“Only the kindest person I have ever known. Present company excluded, of course.” He leaned his head against mine, and my heart beat hard with anticipation. This was him letting me in, showing me the people he cared about, making me part of his life. This was huge. It was like meeting the parents, minus the heavy confrontation.

“When I was a kid I used to spend the summers with my aunt, especially after my mother died. Mina used to work for my father then, and she would come as well to take care of me. I learned to ride a horse here, and I still come here to ride Onyx from time to time. You’ll meet him as well.”

Victor navigated that large mansion like it was his own home, which made sense in light of the new information he provided me. The house had antique, wooden pillars everywhere, old but elegant furniture. It was extremely bright, though, and had a homey vibe, with lots of light and vases with flowers from the garden in every corner.

We waltzed into the kitchen like it was nothing. We found a petite old lady with short, pure white hair and a friendly face, preparing some ice tea. Her eyes were wide and bright as soon as she heard Victor greet her.

“Hummingbird!” She practically flew to his arms, Victor welcoming her with a loving embrace. “I was so worried when Miss Terry told me you were hurt! I wanted to see you, but I also know you hate having too many people around.” Victor’s eyes watched lovingly as she ranted along. “And you brought… a girlfriend? Who is this lovely lady? Ooo, she’s beautiful!”

Mina smiled widely at me. I couldn’t help but grin like an idiot too. I was yet to say a word to her and I could already tell she was one of those people that just filled the room with love. My heart felt tight in my chest, happy that Victor had people like Mina in his life.

“Mina, this is Andrea.” Victor introduced us, a light in his eyes. “Yes, she’s my girlfriend. Andrea, this is Mina. She is like a mother to me.”

“We did have good moments, didn’t we?” She gave Victor a meaningful look. “Andrea, it’s very nice to meet you. Terry actually already spoke highly of you, told me how loyal and kind you are to our Vicky. I’m delighted to know he has good people in his life.” Her eyes were suddenly sad, and she came closer to Victor, holding his cheek. “He’s been through so much already. He deserves to be happy.”

At that moment, there was this feeling of… companionship between them. Like two soldiers that meet twenty years after the war. There was a silent exchange of sadness, happiness, tenderness, love; moments that solidify a relationship and make the bond unbreakable. It was clear to me that, in some moment of their lives, they were everything for each other. I felt my eyes prickle, just looking at them, communicating silently, an ocean of mute words between them. Victor’s strong young hand held Mina’s wrinkled one in a way that clearly showed that that very same hand was his solace, when his hand was much smaller.

“Anyways!” Mina broke the silence, her voice strained. “Let me finish that ice tea! I will take it to the terrace, go show Andrea around!”

“We have plenty of time, don’t worry. We can wait and take it with us. Did Aunt Terry ask you to prepare the thing?” He was suddenly very cryptic. I was suddenly very curious.

“The thing!” Mina’s eyes opened wide in recognition. “I did, respecting all your careful instructions. I also added some things of my own that you surely would miss.”

“Thanks, Mina. Can I take this now?” Victor pointed to the tray with the jar of iced tea and some glasses.

“Yes, please.” Victor took the tray and we walked outside to the terrace.

Terry was already sitting at the table at the terrace, holding what looked like a photo album. Victor recognized it immediately, a prompt frown on his face.

“Don’t you even think about it.” He warned.

“Oh, come on!” Terry complained. “Who do I have to show these to?”

“What are they?” I asked. Could it be baby pictures? It looked like baby pictures.

“Nothing.” Victor rushed to answer.

“Baby pictures.” Terry answered at the same time.

I practically flew to sit by her side, excited.

“I gotta see that.” I smiled widely, noticing Victor’s blush.

It turns out, Victor was a lovely baby. I saw his pictures since he was just a newborn, laying in his mother’s arms, until his teenage years, a mess of pimples and puberty and braces. Apparently we all go through the same things, tomboy Portuguese girls and proud CEOs in the making alike.

“Your mother was beautiful.” I commented, looking at her, a soft smile on her face, holding a wide smiling toddler, practically covered in melted ice-cream. Victor looked a lot like his father, but the softness he had in his expression sometimes was clearly from his mother.

“And look how chubby Victor was!” Terry cooed, making Victor blush even more. “Look at these dimples! These fatty little legs! Can’t you just eat them?”

I stifled a laugh, looking at my boyfriend lowering his head, agonizing with embarrassment.

“Why are we doing this?” Victor complained, his voice dripping with frustration. “There is no point in this. I was a baby, I’m not a baby anymore. End of story.”

“Of course there is a point! At least Andrea will know what to expect, should you someday have some little Victors running around the house!”

I think she was expecting me to laugh, or respond some other way, because her eyes went wide with mortification when I didn’t. I tried to look as neutral as possible, but I guess the sadness I felt couldn’t be concealed. I could not have little Victors running around the house. That weighed on me like a ton of bricks.

“Oh my, talk about sticking my foot in my mouth!” She exclaimed, holding my hands. “That was totally out of line, you are not even married yet, and here I am, jumping the gun! I am sorry, Andrea, please don’t read into what I said, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

I tried to smile as honestly as I could.

“It’s ok, Terry, you were joking, I got it.” I excused her. It was evident she had no intention of hurting me, she didn’t even know. “I’m not offended.”

“Well, I should leave anyway, I have to meet a client in a few minutes. I’ll leave the album here, keep up the good work and keep making Victor blush, ok?”

I chuckled, trying to look upbeat. Apparently satisfied to see me laugh again, Terry left. Victor didn’t buy it though. He sat closer to me, holding me against him, lowering his head to meet my eyes.

“Are you ok?” He asked in a soft hushed voice.

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” I downplayed it.

“Let me show you something.” He grabbed the photo album and skimmed the pages, stopping when he found his picture by the Christmas tree, smiling widely, missing his two top front teeth.

“Awww, toothless Vicky. Very cute.” I gave him a week smile, trying to lift myself from my funk.

“This picture has a very embarrassing story. Do you want to hear it?” He lifted my chip with his finger, smiling at me.

“Are you willing to share it?” I frowned. That was some unusual show of goodwill.

“I want to see you smile. I will do whatever it takes to have it, even make a fool of myself.” He smiled softly at me.

If Victor wanted me not to cry, he did a terrible job. My eyes teared up immediately, not for sadness, but because my heart felt so much love it had to spill some out.

“Ok, back to the story.” Victor cleared his throat. “It was Christmas Eve, and Mina was making saltwater taffy. My mother and I loved it, but we would only have it on special occasions, like Christmas.” He paused, making sure I was listening carefully. “I was seven at the time, and I was just dying to get my hands on that taffy. I watched Mina as she cooked the taffy and let it cool slightly so she could stretch it. My father called her for some reason, and I saw my opportunity.”

“You stole the taffy?” I smiled. I pictured little Victor, running around the kitchen, excited for candy. Funny how we let preconceptions limit us so much when it comes to knowing people. It was hard to imagine the dictatorial man Victor showed himself to be had been a mischievous child too.

“I bit a big chunk out of it and got out of there as fast as I could, so I wouldn’t be caught.” He smiled at me, seemingly proud of his cunning achievement. “It was only later, playing by myself in my room, that I noticed something different about me. My two upper central incisors were missing. They fell out and I swallowed them with the taffy.”

“I swallowed one of mine while eating an apple.” I offered. “But I don’t see how that is embarrassing.”

“I was really concerned because I had two teeth that fell  out, which meant the tooth fairy would come and give me two gifts. But in this case, I had no teeth to give back. See my predicament?”

“The tooth fairy wouldn’t come.” I concluded, dramatically. To a seven-year-old, this was obviously a reason for distress.

“I spent all afternoon checking my… You know.” Victor blushed slightly. “I felt like the universe was punishing me for eating the taffy without permission. Losing my teeth and my gifts seemed like some sort of sentence for my misbehavior.”

“Poor baby…” I laughed, running my fingers through his bangs.

“It’s not over yet. Before dinner, my mother called me. Asked me if I had been eating taffy before it was done. I was riddled with guilt, so I started crying, and told her everything I had done, and how I was already being punished for being disobedient, since the tooth fairy wouldn’t come. My mother broke in laughter. She was tearing up.”

“She laughed?” I laughed too.

“Turns out I hadn’t swallowed my teeth. I left them in the taffy. That’s how Mina and my mother figured out I was the taffy thief.” As Victor told his story, I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt. “And apparently they didn’t tell me right away because they couldn’t stop laughing. I wanted to be mad at them for letting me feel so bad for so long, but I was actually exhilarated. I would be visited by Santa and the tooth fairy on the same night. That was quite a feat.”

“So the tooth fairy came?” I could barely catch a breath to ask.

“The tooth fairy came." Victor nodded. "Guess what she left me.”

“What?” I stifled a laugh in anticipation. It had to be good.

“A whole batch of taffy. It didn’t take long for me to figure the tooth fairy wasn’t real.”

I burst out laughing again, Victor joining me. That was probably the best childhood story I had ever heard. After a few minutes the laughter subsided, and I watched as Victor smiled, lost in thought.

“My mother was an incredibly insightful woman, well versed in so many aspects. She had this joy for life, this incredible sense of humor. She wouldn’t miss a pun; she would turn anything into a joke. She was like the sun; everywhere she went, it became brighter. She lived like her mission in this world was to love and laugh and make sure everyone around her loved and laughed too.”

Part of me wondered how Victor’s mother ended up with someone like Greg. But they had gone through so much in their lives, maybe he had been a bright and happy person too. Maybe with the sun missing, all Victor’s father had left was the clouds. I suddenly felt a wave of affection and sympathy towards that seemingly hard man. It is hard to lose someone you love, someone you chose to build a life with. Victor turned to me, a loving light in his eyes.

“You know, I thought my mother was one of a kind, but I was wrong. You are so much like her.”

My eyes started to water for the millionth time that day. I hugged him tight.

“Victor…” My voice quivered. I loved that man so much. There were no words to explain what I felt.

“You are my sun.” He softly whispered in my ear. “I love you, Andrea. That’s all that matters to me. Don’t think about what you can’t do. You already do so much. You light up my life.”

[metaphorical-love-for-a-car]

Miracle Weather-- Aziraphale x Reader

Prompt; none!

Warnings; bit of language

Word Count; 1.2k

Notes; y’all need to send me more Aziraphale requests cause the soft bean needs more love (also the gif is unrelated i just love it)

It was nearing rush hour, and the sidewalks were beginning to fill with people on their way home from work. The sky was growing darker by the second. Everyone could tell it was going to rain soon, so they were all scrambling to get somewhere dry until the storm passed over. You peered up at the sky from the window of the coffee shop, glaring at the sky. “If I were you, I’d just wait until it passes over. You don’t want to be walking home and get stuck in the middle of it,” one of your co-workers called out. You shook your head and cast them a glance over your shoulder.

“Nah, I don’t live that far away. I can probably make it home in time.” Your co-worker gave you a wary look before returning to making someone’s coffee. Squaring your shoulders, you pushed open the door and marched out of the small cafe.

You weaved your way through the traffic of people, picking up the pace as thunder rumbled above. You muttered swears under your breath when you felt a couple of raindrops land on your head. The bottom was going to fall out at any moment, you were sure of it. You looked around for somewhere you could hide out. As the rain started to pour down harder, your eyes landed on a safe haven— commonly known as a used book shop. You quickly ducked inside, hoping the staff wouldn’t mind the small trail of water you were leaving.

It was a quiet, cozy little shop. There were books all over the place, shelves practically overflowing with them. You wandered around and occasionally picked up a book to inspect. They were all practically antiques, and you hadn’t heard of a majority of them. It seemed like the storm was going to last for a while, so you grabbed the one that most interested you and sat on the floor to skim through it.

Several minutes went by before a loud thud interrupted your reading. You tucked the book under your arm and went to go investigate. Numerous books were scattered across the floor, and a man was knelt down, gathering as many as he could in his arms. You crept closer and stuck the book you had been reading on a nearby shelf. “Need a hand?” His attention snapped to you, and he seemed almost surprised by your presence.

“Oh, hello! Didn’t hear you come in. Have you been in very long?” You shook your head and knelt beside him.

“No, I dashed in just before it started storming. Left my umbrella at home this morning,” you explained while stacking up some of the books. He nodded and gave you a smile, grateful to have someone to help clean up the mess he accidentally made.

The two of you gathered up all the books off the floor and returned them to their rightful places. As soon as you had finished putting away the last book, the sky cleared up. It was almost like a small miracle. Before you could give it another thought, the man appeared in front of you with a wide smile. “Thank you… er…” he trailed off.

“Y/N,” you introduced yourself, holding out a hand. He politely returned the gesture.

“Aziraphale.” Your eyes widened, remembering the little sign that hung over the shop’s entrance.

“You own the place?” He nodded excitedly, and your smile grew. “It’s always nice to discover a locally owned shop. Might have to make a trip back sometime.”

“I look forward to it.” You waved goodbye and left the bookshop. Aziraphale watched you leave and sighed. While he was looking forward to talking to you again, he hoped that you didn't try to buy any of his books. He always hated trying to convince people to not buy his books. He was just too attached to each and every one of them.

You hadn't been able to stop by the bookshop for a couple of weeks. You noticed that the place had odd operating hours. Whenever you got a chance to walk by, it was closed. You started to wonder about Aziraphale. From what you had seen, the bookshop hadn't been opened for quite some time. You wondered if there was something wrong. You shook your head, trying to clear the dozens of scenarios out of your mind. It wasn't any of your business, you tried to tell yourself. You had only met him once, but that was all it took to spark an interest in him. His adorable demeanor and spiffy outfit won you over. After giving it much debate, you finally decided to go check up on him.

You stood on the doorstep, cradling two coffees and staring at the sign that stated the shop was closed. You took in a breath and knocked on the door. Immediately afterward, you started to second-guess yourself. What if he thought you were weird for just showing up at his store? What if he wasn't there and someone else answered the door? How would you handle that awkward situation? You were about two thoughts away from tucking tail and leaving, but then the door creaked open.

Aziraphale looked confused for a moment, but recognition sparked in his eyes. He gave you a bright smile. "Hello! Lovely to see you again."

"I noticed that you haven't been open for a while, so I just wanted to pop in and check on you," you rambled and held out one of the cups of coffee. He gasped, carefully taking the cup from you.

"Why, thank you! Please, come in." Aziraphale opened the door a little wider, motioning you inside. You smiled and followed him in. You glanced around the shop. It was still pretty much the same as last time you had seen it, there were just more piles of books laying around. "I've just been busy with— er— personal business." Aziraphale nodded to himself. Yes, that was the best way to put it. You can't just go around telling people that you went back in time for crepes, only to get thrown into the Bastille and nearly beheaded.

Concern flooded your features. "Shit, sorry, I'm not bothering you, am I?" He raised his eyebrows, quickly shaking his head.

"No, not at all! I'm glad you stopped by." He took a sip from his coffee and muttered a comment about liking it. Tension melted from your shoulders, and a smile returned to your face. Aziraphale led you through the cluttered shop, telling you all about his favorite books. You didn't even notice how much time had passed until your stomach growled. Aziraphale stopped rambling about a knick-knack he had picked up in Rome and raised a brow at you. You gave him a sheepish grin, slightly embarrassed. A kind smile graced his features. "You know, I'm beginning to feel a bit peckish myself. I know a lovely sushi place not too terribly far from here. Care to join?"

"I'd love to."

[mltrefry-ficwriter]

It Was Always you, Chapter One

It’s International Fanwork day, so I thought I would share the first chapter of my new, multi chapter fic.

Rated T and up

Summery:  A chance encounter during one of the worst times of Ezra Fell’s life reunites him with his once best friend and the one who got away. Though, that would imply he ever had him in the first place. Anthony Crowley and his son, Warlock, relocate to the quieter city of Tadfield from that of London. In the process, manages to find again that one person who always made him feel less alone, the one person he was pretty sure he was never going to speak to again. Together again, the pair repair what they lost, regain the footing time took away, and grow closer than they had been before. But the road to true love never did run smooth (something that’s been true from their very beginning). Their shared and separate histories hang like a cloud, causing them hesitate to cross the final line. But as everything stakes up against them, they’ll realize something everyone else seems to have known from the start: they’re better together than they are apart.

Available to read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22701799/chapters/54257413

or under the cut

“Can we go to the park?”

Ezra Fell was brought back into awareness by the simple question posed to him by his nephew, Adam. He looked down at the curly haired boy who stared back with wide, pleading eyes.

It was Saturday, the last Saturday they both had before returning to what was as close to their normal lives as they would ever get again. In some ways, it felt like the first Saturday after the world had ended, in others like it was like the first day of a new life. But that was mostly because Ezra was maudlin, having not slept much if at all the night before.

And, he supposed, it wasn’t like he was going to get any sleep now, so what was the harm in allowing Adam some semblance of normal.

“Yes,” Ezra agreed, and Adam was already up and scrambling to head for entryway where his shoes and coats were.

Ezra rose from the sofa, taking with him his book which had been sitting untouched in his lap.

“How long can we stay?” Adam asked as he pulled on his lace-less trainers.

“I’m not sure.” Ezra replied, though with the weather being very agreeable, it was very likely that they would be there for a few hours. Adam had been cooped up inside for one reason or another for the last two weeks, and for a four-year-old, he’d been quite cooperative.

And resilient. If there was one thing that Ezra had been the proudest of when it came to his nephew, these days it was his way of bouncing back from heart break and tragedy.

Ezra putting on his well-worn jacket: an antique beige jacket from sometime in the 1800s he’d found in a thrift store for an absolute steal. He slipped on his shoes, brown leather dress shoes he had re-soled once a year. He made sure he had his wallet, his glasses should he discover he need them, and grabbed his keys to stuff in the pocket with the book.

Adam put on his jacket; a bright red thing that would keep him just warm enough in the late May weather without causing him to sweat. Once the jacket was on, Ezra ruffled the boy’s dark blonde, curly hair, then opened the door and waved him out the flat. He locked up, making sure it was secure before he followed Adam down the stairs and around to the street. As they walked past the store front of the second hand bookshop the flat was housed above, Adam took Ezra’s hand without prompting.

It was fairly early, something Ezra hadn’t considered when fulfilling Adam’s request. The city of Tadfield, located between Oxford and London, was still fairly quiet. It hadn’t woken up from its Friday night hoopla, there being very few cars and next to no people on the sidewalk as they made their way to the spot Adam favored.

With only one way in (without climbing a massive, wrought iron fence), the East Tadfield Park was a lovely spot. There was a football field near the very back of it, in behind a small coup of trees that hid it and its stadium benches from the general public. There were jogging trails, something that Ezra had been made well aware of numerous times by a very persistent friend. There was a duck pond in the fair left corner from the entrance, and many gardens throughout for those who just want to be among the greenery. And, near the playground to the right of the entrance, was a well-placed coffee stand.

Ezra had been thinking about that as they ambled along, imagining the simple pleasure he may get from a steaming cup of tea, perhaps a scone or a danish, and reading a book while Adam played. It would be very, very close to the way things used to be, when he would watch him for a weekend and they would do this very thing on a nice day.

“Uncle Ezra, look! Look at the car!” Adam said, tugging on his hand and hopping about, pointing at an antique-looking black car parked on the side of the road beside the park entrance. It was one of only three sitting idle, but the look of it-long and sleek and not of the era-made it would have made it stick out.

“It’s very interesting.” Ezra agreed with the boy. “Looks a little too new to be a true old vehicle, though.”

Adam didn’t seem to be listening at this point, his interest diverted to something in the trees overhead. Which, really, was for the best. Ezra’s knowledge on vehicles was extremely limited, boiled down to the basics of the key going into the ignition, and petrol was needed to keep them going. Anything else was taken care of by an annual servicing, and since he hadn’t ever found a need to own one himself, it was pretty much just what he recalled his mum telling him as a teenager.

They turned into the park, quiet except for the sound of a passing jogger on the path, and the distant shift of the playground equipment. Adam remained at Ezra’s side diligently, keeping pace despite clearly wanting to make a run for it.

“There’s another kid there,” He said, tugging at Ezra’s hand while they slowed on approach to the coffee stand.

“That’s excellent,” he smiled down at his nephew. “Perhaps you can make a friend.”

“Hey Mr Fell,” the young employee greeted him with a smile as he came up to the window.

“Mr Nolan, what a pleasant surprise. How are you, how was your break?” He asked.

“Wasn’t bad,” his student asked, smile shifting after a moment. “I’m sorry for your lost. It went around the school why you were gone the week before break.”

Ezra’s smile faltered. “Thank you, Mr Nolan.” And then before the young man could carry on the topic, he asked, “Would I be able to get a cup of tea, and one of those raspberry scones, please.” He then turned to his nephew. “Would you like anything, Adam?”

“No, thank you.” He replied, eyes focused straight ahead at the playground.

Ezra looked to his student, “Perhaps an apple juice for later.” He asked.

The young man looked to Adam with a slight furrow of his brow, then to Ezra, and smiled in a confused little way before going to fill Ezra’s order.

Well, that would take away from the talk of his family loss, now the entire student body will be wondering if he had a son, and if so, then how.

He paid the young man after getting his good, and once they were in hand, Adam took that as his cue to take off. Ezra followed at a slower pace, his eyes focused on Adam as he watched him run between the concrete tables with their matching benches, ignoring the ginger person sitting at one of them.

Something like a pang whipped through Ezra as he remembered a fellow he once knew with a similar shade, who also happened to like wearing blacks and grays. Who was also slender.

A reminder of another thing lost. It was best he brought his book after all.

Ezra settled at the other table, eyes scanning the equipment for Adam as he disappeared for a moment, resurfacing at the top of one section to catch up with the dark-haired child who was already there.

“Stay where I can see you, Adam.” He called, a reminder to stay where he was more than anything else. There were enough trees about that he could hide easily, and Ezra knew he wouldn’t be able to handle losing sight of him during an impromptu game of hide-and-seek. He grinned at his nephew, seeming to have found a playmate for the morning, then settled on the bench.

He’d just removed his scone from its brown, paper bag when he heard the very quiet, very disbelieving, “Ezra?”

He turned to the man at the other table, the only other adult at the park, the voice a little too familiar.

He was utterly taken aback by the sight before him. “Oh,” he gasped. “Anthony?”

He couldn’t imagine the odds. After so many years of seeing tall, slender ginger men around the city, and occasionally on his pop overs to London, he had long come to expect the disappointment at finding a stranger instead of his long-lost friend. To find him now, in Tadfield East Park, seemed utterly ridiculous.

He’d changed just enough to not be recognizable at first. For one, Anthony had always had shorter hair, styled in such a lazy way that was always considered cool. Now he sported longer locks, his natural wave coming through in the ends. It was half up at the moment, a small knot or bun at the back where it was tied. There were also a pair of very fancy sunglasses covering his very unique eyes.

“Holy shit.” Anthony said softly, nothing but surprise in his tone, and Ezra barked out a laugh with equal feeling. Anthony turned sharply toward the jungle gym, then sharply back. “You? You’re?” he pointed toward the equipment.

“I’m here with the little blonde boy, yes.” He nodded. “And you, you’re?”

“My son, Lock, yeah.” Anthony replied like he still wasn’t sure this was real. He shook his head. “I can’t… how long have you been here?”

“About five minutes,” Ezra replied with a smirk, and Anthony grinned.

“Not-, Tadfield. How long have you been here in Tadfield?”

“Oh, about five, almost six years, now.” He replied. “How about you?”

“We just moved here from London earlier in the week.” Anthony replied, the disbelief returning. “I… my shop. I… I have a shop here. I… I work from it more than I do London.” He explained.

“Oh,” Ezra perked up. “Well, that’s lovely. I think you’ll like it here. It’s not as busy as London, admittedly. It’s just above a town in size, sort of a very small city. Nightlife might leave something to be desired, of course, but-”

“When did you get married?” Anthony interrupted.

Ezra wasn’t sure it was because he was babbling, his hands were flapping about in that way they did when he ramble or was nervous (or was nervously rambling, which he was not, of course), or if it was because some part of Anthony’s brain still hadn’t caught up to their present situation. Ezra didn’t need to see his eyes to know they were wide, still filled with surprise, and half unfocused. They were, at one point, best friends. Had been until about eight years before, no more than ten.

It took a second for Ezra to realize what Anthony had asked him. “Oh.” He frowned. “I’m not. Why would you think I was?”

Anthony stared at him a moment before gesturing broadly in the direction of the boys who were playing quite happily together.

Ezra looked at the boys, then back at Anthony, pursing his lips as his frown deepened.

“He looks like you did, when we were kids.” Anthony explained. “Least from what I saw as he ran by.”

“Oh,” Ezra understood. “Oh, he’s not… he’s not mine. Well, I suppose he is now.” He added sadly. “He is, was, I mean…. Eliza’s his mother. But she passed.”

“What?” Anthony said, before shaking his head. “I mean, sorry. I’m so sorry. Oh, Ezra, you… I can’t imagine, I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” He managed, then remembered he had tea that might help to wash away the sudden lump in his throat.

“How… how did she… when?” Anthony stammered, and he reached up to remove the sunglasses.

Ezra wasn’t sure what brought the tears to his eyes: the still raw grief of losing his sister, or the beautiful sight of Anthony’s eyes. A pale, near-golden brown with a spot at the top and bottom of each eye, perfectly aligned with the pupil. He could understand the need for shades, Anthony’s eyes would draw a double take, almost looking like snake eyes if one looked quick enough. Ezra remembered it had been a common lament of his friend’s when they were younger.

He missed them.

“About two weeks ago,” he replied, just a little watery. “Car accident. She and the man she’d been seeing, they were taking a trip up North,” Ezra gave a weak smile. “Gavin had asked me for permission to marry her, and he was going to propose.” He sniffed, clearing his throat. “The police aren’t sure what caused the accident. It’s possible Gavin lost control of the car, or there was an animal in the road. But either way, the vehicle… it was horrendous, I’m told.”

“I’m so sorry, truly.” He shook his head, looking at the boys again before turning back to Ezra. “Your mum must have taken it hard.”

“Mum’s been gone about four years now, just before Adam turned one.”

“Fuck,” Anthony said, shaking his head. “That is the worst. What about… his dad?” Anthony asked, looking at the boys.

Ezra followed his gaze, and his heart was momentarily lifted by seeing Adam’s smile, hearing his laugh as he and Lock played a game of some sort.

“Not in the picture.” Ezra replied. “He never was.” Anthony nodded in understanding. Which, of course, had made Ezra wonder about his situation. “What about Lock’s mum? Or… other dad?”

Anthony smirked. “She’s, uh… not in the picture, either. Not-not that I wanted her in the picture, or anything. She, umm, we, uh… it doesn’t matter. Point is, she’s not in Lock’s life. Just the two of us.”

There was a lull of silence between the two of them, and Ezra belatedly realized his heart was hammering. Had it been like that since the moment he realized Anthony Crowley was there, one table over? Or had it begun to race as they began speaking, how telling this man who was both a total stranger and the one person left who knew -truly knew- who he was about his recent heartbreak.

And when had they locked eyes? When had they begun to hold each other’s gaze?

Looking down, Ezra had suddenly remembered he had food.

Without hesitation, he broke off a bit of his scone and stuffed it in his mouth, focusing his attention on Adam and Lock for a while, finding it charming that the two of them took to each other so quickly.

In his periphery, he noted Anthony getting up, moving somewhere behind him. Probably to the coffee cart, and a quick glance over his shoulder confirmed it. He bowed his head back over his breakfast, realizing only now that in his early fog of fatigue that he’d fed Adam but not himself.

He ate without savoring, a crime in his own books, and by the time he had finished, Anthony was returning. To his great surprise, he settled in next to Ezra, leaving enough space between them that their elbows shouldn’t bump overmuch. It almost felt like being pressed up together, given how long it had been since they were in each other’s presence.

There was a companionable silence between them, and Ezra couldn’t help but side-eye Anthony. And, he realized, Anthony was doing the same with him from time to time. His sunglasses were perched on top of his head, having probably put them back on to order and removed them to a point when he returned. They would smile shyly (or slyly, as Anthony often looked) at each other when they were caught, but would just take a sip of their drink, turn to the boys, then start the whole thing over.

“So, what have you been up to? Tell me about this shop you mentioned.” Ezra said, shifting himself a bit more toward Anthony.

“Oh, well,” Anthony stammered a little. “Garden. It’s called the Garden, uh…. Dad… he wouldn’t release my trust fund to me. Still hadn’t proved myself… to his liking, I guess. So, I earned money doing gardening work. Seemed better than trying to earn experience interning with one of the companies in London, certainly better paid. I worked for a really well-to-do family until,” He paused, his face turning a deep red. “Well, until I didn’t. Made enough to buy a small little hole in the wall shop in Soho. Turned it around, made it a thing. Still did the arrangements and what not, but sold actual plants, too. Herb plants, a few dwarf fruit trees, basic houseplants, too. Did really well, coulda gone on just being there forever and probably wouldn’t have wanted for anything. Then, well, not long after Warlock he gave me my trust, and I knew I wanted bigger. Something like a nursery. Couldn’t do that in London, not the size I wanted, so I found a spot out here.”

“Eliza was very fond of The Garden, so I’m aware it does well.”

“Liza was a customer, was she?”

“Much as she could be.” Ezra nodded.

“Huh.” Anthony said, looking over at the boys a moment. “So, anyway, yeah. It’s… that’s my shop. I worked out there most days, back in the green house, or doing arrangements. Started to hate living in London, and with Lock, well….”

“You called him Warlock earlier.”

“Yeah, that’s his first name. Call him Lock most of the time.”

Ezra hummed in understanding, though he admittedly had some questions about the name. He let it go, for now. He could feel something building here, something delicate on firm foundations long buried and only just being uncovered.

“Your parents must be pleased to have a grandchild at least.” Ezra added, a smirk curling his lips in spite of himself. “Your father especially, what with the ever so coincidental timing of you getting your trust fund just as your son is born. He was always very set in the belief of what it takes to be a real man. Must have been overjoyed with the fact that you followed the proper urges and reproduced.”

Anthony snorted. “He was bloody over the moon. Thinking I was all straightened out. No pun intended.”

“I do recall you saying in University that he was overly concerned with your ‘behaving in unpredictable ways and hanging around the wrong sorts’.”

“Mmm,” Anthony said as he took a sip of his coffee. “Yeah, that was how he put it, alright. Mind, that started well before I left home.”

“He never did like me.” Ezra said, unfazed.

“Still wouldn’t.”

“Quite right,” Ezra agreed. “As I am still very much the ‘wrong sort’.”

“Not any of the better sort myself.” Anthony mumbled against the lip of his coffee cup.

Ezra looked him over, feeling his heart warm up and sigh as he took in Anthony’s profile. “So, you said Lock’s mother isn’t in the picture, but you never said if you had a partner.”

“Not anymore.” Anthony replied, setting his cup back down, rolling it between his hands. “Was seeing a bloke for a bit, but wasn’t anything terribly serious, and with the move? Just easier to call it off.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” Ezra said, and if there was a small, quiet part of him that was lying, it didn’t matter.

The sad thing was, when it came to Anthony, it never did.

“Don’t be.” Anthony shrugged. “What about you? Not married, but seeing anyone?”

“No,” Ezra laughed. “No, I’ve been single for a while now.”

“How is that possible?” Anthony asked, and Ezra shook his head at the tease.

“You and I both know I was never what anyone might call fit, but it seems I’ve only gotten softer with age.” He said, glancing down at the pudge that accumulated over the years. A sweater vest over his typical button up tended to hide it somewhat, but it was there all the same, made more obvious by sitting. “I’m hardly anyone’s type.”

“You’ve always been too hard on yourself,” Anthony chided gently. “There was that loud American in university, the one that took a shine to you, what was his name?”

“Gabriel,” Ezra said, hoping the heat he felt didn’t reflect in his cheeks.

“Yeah, Gabe. I believe you called him-”

“Please, don’t.” Ezra asked earnestly, and Anthony laughed.

“Alright, but you see my point, yeah? He fancied you. Lots of blokes, and even a few oblivious women fancied you plenty.” He commented.

“Can we change the subject, please.”

“You brought it up.”

“I asked if you had a paramour, not to rehash bygone days.” Ezra pointed out, taking a sip of his cooling tea.

“Suppose.” Anthony agreed.

He sighed with relief; glad they weren’t about to head right for the rocky waters of their past. No need to spoil a perfectly pleasant morning with all that nonsense.

 ~C~

 Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit!

It had been a mantra of Crowley’s almost the entire time since being unexpectedly reunited with one Ezra Fell.

When he wasn’t screaming that single word in the void of his mind, there was also still lovely and bright, fuck me this is actually happening, and I’m an idiot.

He didn’t think anything so world shifting would happen when he got up that morning. Warlock had woken him up, having slept in Crowley’s bed the night before, the house still new and unfamiliar, the boxes mostly packed except for the very bare essentials. The little guy had been hungry, but of course having nothing really ready to go, and no proper food in the new house, Crowley decided breakfast out was in order. A quick search on his phone showed a coffee cart in a park about a mile from the house. The park had a playground.

Well, he was hoping that maybe Warlock would go down for a nap later in the day, and what better way to better the odds than to have him run about in the fresh air. The weather was fine, a first for the last week, and so there really wasn’t any reason not to go ahead with the idea.

He loaded him into the Bentley, a custom-made car that looks like a 1930s model on the outside, but had all the accommodations of a modern vehicle. They drove the mile, a distance that seemed a little pointless now, but would come in handy later when the worn-out Warlock would’ve whined about needing to walk.

They had muffins, and when the pastry was gone, Warlock took off for the alluring jungle gym.

Not long after, no more than five minutes after they’d finished, another little boy tore past Crowley, and he prepared himself to spend a bit longer than anticipated by pulling out his phone to entertain himself.

And then he heard it. The voice that lingered in his dreams and that he never really thought he’d hear again.

He’d been almost scared to say anything, but his name fell from his lips like it had been perched there. In some ways, it was, having never left them, not really.

“Ezra,”

“Oh, Anthony.” Ezra gasped, staring at him as if he wasn’t sure he was real.

“Holy shit.” Anthony had said, and the laugh that came from Ezra was like warm sun after a long, cold winter. It was real, it was pleased, and it had meant those three typed words in an email forever saved in Anthony’s inbox had been real.

I forgive you.

He had never dared follow up on it, even if it seemed he was allowed to. He’d realized what an ass he’d been to the man he considered his best friend, to the one person who had always been in his corner, and seemed to care for him unconditionally. Who may have even loved him in that same way. But he wasn’t brave, not when it came to his heart, not back then.

But now?

He still wasn’t brave, but he was trying to be. Trying to muster the nerve to make sure this very tentative connection could remain. It was too soon for all his buried affections to rise from the earth, but they were coming back regardless of what Crowley wanted. They didn’t care that there were years of history that the other wasn’t part of. Crowley had a child now, one with a parentage that he had to keep very, very quiet. Hell, Ezra had a child now, in a way. And he’d lost all his family, all that remained with the exception of Adam.

Yet despite that, he still seemed very much the Ezra Crowley knew. He still dressed like a man much older than he was, still spoke in that posh way, with fussy manners. He still had that wit, that ability to make a subtle dig that anyone who didn’t see his less angelic side believe was a state of fact or quiet sort of compliment.

Crowley wanted desperately to be back in his orbit, to have more mornings like this.

He’d have to be careful, though. He already came too close to a sore spot, bringing up Gabriel.

“So, does Adam go to nursery?” He asked. A safe topic, bringing things back to the boys. Kids were always a safe topic, Crowley found, when speaking to other parents. And while Ezra wasn’t exactly Adam’s parent, he was filling that role now, and knowing the Fells, he likely had a pretty big part in Adam’s upbringing from the get-go.

“He does.” Ezra confirmed, any wilting of that brilliant, bright mood of his automatically fading as he grinned. “Little Duck, not far from here.”

“Little Duck!” Crowley crowed. “That’s where Warlock’s going, starting Monday.” He grinned, all teeth. “What about his primary? Where’s he going?”

Ezra wilted again, just a little. “He’s been accepted in Tadfield East Elementary.” He replied, still grinning but much less so. “Eliza was quite pleased, what with it being not too far.”

Shit.

“Warlock’s going there, too.” Crowley said, still pleased but much more subdued. “He was a bit sad about starting a new nursery with only a few months to go, then worried about starting school in general. ‘Course now,” Crowley said, turning back to the boys as they ran about, smiling and laughing, whatever game they were playing agreeing with them both.

“Yes, I do recall big changes being easier to take when you made a friend,” Ezra replied with a smirk, peeking at Crowley from the corner of his eye.

“Be something else, wouldn’t it? The boys being best friends, too? Next generation of Crowleys and Fells?” Crowley said with a smile, trying his damnedest to mask the tremor that came up the second he realized what he said.

“Too?” Ezra asked, and Crowley prayed to someone, anyone, that he hadn’t mis-heard the hope in Ezra’s voice.

“Well, I’m new-ish. Got the work friends, of course, but none of them have kids. And you and me, well….”

“Do you still drive like an absolute insane person?” Ezra asked curiously.

“I’ve… toned it down since becoming a father.” He said, and noted the curl of Ezra’s lip.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Ezra replied, taking a sip of his drink. “It would have been dreadful to have to yell at you to slow down if we ever went anywhere together.” He glanced at Crowley. “I mean, if the boys are going to be friends, which if they way they are getting along is any indication, it’s a sure thing. Well, I’m sure we’re going to find ourselves in each other’s company quite often.”

“Still take your tea the same? Could have it ready when we’re meeting up here. Bound to happen, as you say.”

“I do.” Ezra replied. “And you? Still prefer your coffee black?”

“Like my soul.”

“Oh, please.” Ezra scoffed. “You were always one of the nicest-”

“Shut up!”

“-nicest people I’ve ever met. If your soul is black, then I would be loathed to find out the state of mine.”

“Says the-”

“Don’t say it,” Ezra didn’t really protest.

“-the angel.”

Ezra blushed, trying not to look so pleased, but Crowley could tell he was. The nickname, which was more a pet name in Crowley’s mind, had likely not been used since last time he spoke it.

“You never…,” Ezra started after a moment. “You never… kept in touch. I guess, I just assumed that maybe….”

“Maybe, what?”

“That maybe you had a reason to apologize that really had nothing to do with me.” Ezra turned to him then, the nervous worry in his eyes breaking Crowley’s heart. Ezra’s hands fidgeted around the cup in his grasp, and if it hadn’t been there, Crowley was sure they would be flapping about. “I’m not sure, maybe you felt obligated, or perhaps there was something happening in your life that you felt you needed to clear the air with others. Your note came just as I was leaving Oxford, which would mean, of course, that I wouldn’t have access to that electronic mail account anymore. I… I often wondered…. Oh, listen to me, ruining a perfectly good-”

“What did you wonder, Ezra?” Crowley asked softly, the name he would have said lodged in the back of his throat, waiting for permission to be set free again.

“…I had wondered if maybe you were hoping I would never have received it. So, you could have had a perfectly valid response if someone, I don’t know who, were to ask you why we stopped speaking.”

“No, that’s not… that’s not why. I… I just… things were….” Crowley stopped when he felt the warm press of Ezra’s hand on his, and he stared at it dumbfounded.

How often had these casual touches passed between them? How often had they held hands as they walked about the Oxford campus before Crowley changed schools? How many times had they lounged as teenagers, Crowley resting on the ground or floor in front of a bench or sofa Ezra was on, their hands resting in or on one another’s? He’d taken it for granted, not realizing how tactile his friend had been until Ezra was gone and casual touch was far less frequent.

“You don’t need to explain,” Ezra assured gently. “It was ages ago now. And while I may have wondered if you… it doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”

Crowley looked at that hand covering his and tried to will his hand to turn, palm up, so he could grasp it. The most he was able to do was move his thumb so it rested against Ezra’s.

“I didn’t want to stop speaking with you.” He managed to say. “Not ever.”

“Nor I.”

“Good,” Crowley said firmly. “So, we’ll just… forget the last ten years never happened, least as much as we can.”

“Had it really been that long?” Ezra asked softly, sadly.

“Yeah.” Crowley answered in the same tone.

“Well,” Ezra took a breath, straightening up, and unfortunately pulling his hand away. “We shall put it behind us then.”

“Great plan,” Crowley agreed, straightening from the slouch he hadn’t realized he’d gotten into himself. “Gimme your phone, I’ll put my number in it. Had to change it once.”

Ezra reached into his pocket, and Crowley held out his hand while taking a peek at the boys, seeing them sitting on the sand animatedly discussing something. He felt something placed in his palm, and looked down at the small, lightweight device still lit up from Ezra bringing up a new contact page.

Crowley blinked at it, then threw his head back and laughed.

Ezra huffed, “What? It’s a touch screen!”

“It’s bloody ancient.” Crowley laughed.

“It’s only six years old! Hardly ancient.”

“Oh, Ezra, for technology that’s virtually the stone age. It has buttons on the bottom, honest to God buttons. And, the size, it’s so small.” He said, turning it about. “Oh my… it’s a bloody Nokia!”

“It’s a perfectly acceptable and functional device. It has applications, even.”

Crowley was still giggling as he began to put in his contact information. “I suppose, considering how long it took Liza and I to convince you just to get a flip phone.”

“I do text message now.” Ezra said proudly. “Not often, mind you. I still prefer to simply call someone.”

“I am not at all surprised.” Crowley said as he moved on to the messaging app, sending himself a text message. He heard the ding in his pocket, but decided not to bother with it just yet. He’d save it later, after they parted ways and went home, before he began to unpack while Warlock played or slept.

“So, what did you end up doing? Tell me about it.” Crowley asked as he gave Ezra’s phone back to him.

“Well, I teach English….” He started off, and they continued on talking and catching up until the boys came over complaining of being hungry.

They parted ways, though it seemed none of the four wanted to. There was a promise to the young ones that they’d see each other at nursery on Monday, but between the adults there was nothing more than a chance of running into one another.

At least, not yet, because as Crowley drove a tired, slightly cranky Warlock back home, he was starting to think of a dozen different ways he could see Ezra again.

[evakuality]

Oooh what about 15, 23 or/ and 28 for the drabble thing? Hugs from me!

Camilla!  I love that you sent all these in and I had intended to make them their own thing ... and then this one (number 15) decided to storm into my multi prompt fic.  I hope that works for you!  The rest of these chapters can be found on Ao3 or starting here on tumblr.

Rings, Riddles and Revenge.  Chapter Four:“I’d kill for a coffee…literally.”

David

There’s a weird lingering tension in the air between them as David leads Matteo in the direction of the store he knows.  For all his supposed ability to read people, the one Laura sometimes jokingly refers to as his ‘super power,’ David can’t figure out why it’s hanging there.  Is Matteo still out of sorts because of the reminder of his father?  Is he feeling whatever it is that’s been going on ever since they met, too?  Or is he just plain awkward and uncomfortable?  David wishes he could pry that head open and look inside.

Instead he’s just treated to more of the nervous hand-through-the-hair Matteo seems to always do whenever he’s not completely at ease.  David envies the way he can do that and leave it looking as artfully messed up (and unfairly attractive) as it always looks before he starts fiddling with it.  But seeing it, while still making his heart stutter, also makes David’s own anxiety step up.  He wishes he knew what it means, what Matteo is thinking.

David speeds his steps, hoping that once they get this ring business over and done with that Matteo may settle a little more.  That this date-ish thing they’re doing might crystallize into something beautiful, rather than this opaque series of mostly incomprehensible moments.  So it is that it’s not very long before they reach the small store David has chosen.

“Hey, Sonja,” he smiles as they enter.  “I have a good one for you today.”

“David.”  She grins at him, coming around the counter to drag him into a hug.  “I haven’t seen you in months!”

He shrugs, knows he should apologize for the time it’s been, for barging in here as if he expects a warm welcome after months of being gone.  Sonja laughs as if she’s read his mind, and in truth she probably has.  It’s not like he’s not done this to her before.

“Okay, what is it you have for me?”

David turns to point at Matteo, who’s been hovering awkwardly at the entrance to the tiny store.  “My friend here has an old ring he wants to sell.  But it’s not as genuine as he’d been led to believe.”

Sonja’s eyes light up, as they always do when he brings her something like this.  “Antique?”

“Yeah,” David agrees.  “It’s a pretty nice one, actually.”

“Oooh, okay.  Let me at it,” she demands, gesturing at Matteo to come closer.  He flushes, rummages in his pocket and pulls out the worn ring case David had last seen in the glittering surroundings of his own store.  It fits much better here, the rough and faded edges of the leather blending in well with all the well-loved treasures around them as Matteo hands it over into Sonja’s eager hands.

She opens it reverently, eyes gleaming as she takes in the patina of the gold and the beauty of the stones; even fake as they are they’ve been well cut to catch the light and glow as if real.  Sonja pulls it out of the velvet it’s nestled in and raises it to the light, turning it side to side as she examines it from every angle.

“You’re right; this is a beauty,” she says, glancing over at David.  She turns her attention to Matteo.  “It looks like it’s one of the pieces some families would make, copies of their real treasures.  This way, they could show off their wealth without chancing the loss of the real thing.  It’s very good.”  She twists it again, lips pursed.  “I can’t give you a certain number right now, of course.  But, I think you’d get a really good price for this one with the right buyer.”

“And I could find the right buyer?” Matteo asks, his voice strangled in a way David has never heard it, not even in the first flush of disappointment when he’d been told it was fake.

Sonja nods, thoughtfully.  “It’s not always easy,” she says.  “It might take some time to ask around and find someone who’d be interested.”  She pushes the ring back into its velvet casing and hands it back to Matteo.  “Do you want me to do a proper valuation?”

“I’m … I’m not sure,” Matteo says, flushing a little.  “I’m sorry for giving you so much trouble.  But I need to think about it.”

Sonja smiles, the one she saves for people who she believes are in difficult places.  It’s kind and sweet, gentle.  David can’t even begin to count the number of times she’s directed that smile at him.  “It’s no trouble,” she says, sincerity ringing in her voice.  “You just come on back if you do decide to get it done.”

There’s a long pause while Matteo stares around him at all the things Sonja so clearly treasures and cares for in her store.  “Actually,” Matteo says, flinging the box back down on the counter with a sudden movement.  It’s clearly a spur of the moment decision, and one he’s not entirely certain of.  “You know what … just do it.  It’s just a valuation, right?”

“Yeah,” David agrees, hoping to ease some of the tension that’s still hovering around Matteo.  “It’s just a valuation.  You still wouldn’t have to sell if it’s not what you need.”

“That’s right,” Sonja says.  “There’s no obligation.  Just a small cost for the valuation itself.”

Matteo nods, shoves his hands into his pockets while staring at the box, which looks small and overwhelmed on the counter.  He lets his breath out and gives one sharp nod of agreement to the terms before turning away.  His steps are hurried as he makes his way to the store’s door, as if he’s trying to leave fast enough that he doesn’t think twice about leaving it behind.  David’s about to ask him if he’s really sure, when Matteo abruptly stops, looks back at Sonja.  “Thank you,” he says.  “It means a lot to me.”

She nods as if she, like David, hears the meaning under the words.  That the ring and the whole situation means a lot to Matteo not just the valuation itself.  He smiles, a small fragile thing that makes David’s heart ache with a small sympathetic melancholy, then leaves the store, the bell over the door tinkling in a cheerful way that’s entirely at odds with the way Matteo is clearly feeling.

David looks at Sonja and shrugs.  She grins.  “He seems nice,” she says.  There’s a wealth of insinuation in her voice and David rolls his eyes at her.

“He’s a customer,” he says.

“Mmmmhmmm, and you always take personal trips to see me with your customers,” she teases.  He glances back towards the door to where Matteo is standing in the deepening light of dusk, running his fingers through his hair and making it do the thing.  David’s breath catches in his throat again.  Behind him, Sonja laughs.

“Well, good luck,” she says.  “Maybe come back when he comes to collect it, and don’t be such a stranger.”

With a final hug, David pushes at her shoulder then makes his own way to the door.  Matteo catches his eyes through the window and the smile that lights his face when their eyes meet makes David smile in response.  He’s fucked, Sonja’s right about that.  But he’s not complaining.

Matteo

David steps out of the shop, his eyes lit up in a glorious smile and Matteo is hard pressed to keep his own face smooth.  It was hard, when it came down to it, for him to leave the ring behind.  As much as he wants to say fuck you to his father, the connection, the ties to his family have started to feel important.  There’s something pressing in on Matteo with how essential those ties between people can be.  He knows he needs the money, and yet the idea of parting with the ring is difficult.  So he’s feeling awkward and out of sorts.  Knows he really has to sell it, but not wanting to part with it.

Still.  There’s something in the quality of David’s smile that makes Matteo incapable of staying wrapped in that sort of mood.  It is just a valuation, after all.  And that can never hurt.  He can feel the stretch of his lips as he fights against the smile that nonetheless creeps onto his face.  David’s chill presence has that effect on him.  He smiles more when he thinks of David than he has for most of his adult life.  Most of his teenage life, if he’s been entirely honest.

“Should we go?” David asks, tilting his head and with his eyes sweeping over Matteo’s body.  There’s purpose in that look and Matteo can feel the flush flooding through him.  From his head all the way down to his toes, that look makes him warm.

“Sure,” Matteo says, feeling light and carefree for once.  Deciding to allow himself to enjoy this whatever-it-is that’s happening with David, here and now.  “I’d kill for a coffee … literally.”  

The look David gives him, fond and exasperated, makes Matteo’s heart speed up.  He really is just like a teenager with a crush.  Only, this crush is looking back.  Matteo is almost certain now that David is interested too.  And there’s a definite flirty feel to the way he tilts his head and asks, “you’d literally kill someone?  Just for coffee?”

“Maybe not,” Matteo agrees, glancing sideways at David’s profile, unable to keep his eyes away from the sweep of the jaw or the way his lips always seem tilted up into a smile.  “But it’d be a close run thing.”

“Mmmm, okay,” David says.  For one dizzying moment it seems like his hand twitches in the direction of Matteo’s, and his heart stops at the thought that David might want to hold it, but then it jerks back and David clears his throat.  “That sounds like we should go find something caffeinated.  To be sure I’m safe from your murderous impulses.”

They set off, and all the tension that had been sitting in Matteo’s bones on the way to the small store has dissipated.  In its place is a new awareness.  It’s shared glances and lightly brushing fingers as they walk back towards the market.  It’s a smile reflected tenfold in David’s eyes, and voices that go soft no matter what they are saying.  It’s laughter and ‘fuck you’ when Matteo can’t contain himself and attempts to sweep David’s feet from under him.  It’s freedom and energy, and Matteo is so close to being sure that something is happening here.

They wander through the stalls, turning wares over in their hands, bartering with the sellers and occasionally buying something.  The market is lit up, the stalls surrounded by fairy lights, some in multiple colors, others just plain white, but all flashing in various patterns.  Together, they create a magical effect twinkling in the darkening twilight, and Matteo can feel himself relaxing as they walk, looking at all the different things for sale.  Matteo has a warm cup of coffee and is content to sip on it while David haggles with someone over the price of a bracelet.  

David, Matteo notices, is fascinated by jewellery.  Any sort.  From the leather and bead things Matteo had pointed out when they met to the weird and often beautiful hand crafted pieces.  His fingers linger over the rough edges, drift across the soft fabrics in between each one.  He hums with satisfaction when he sees a particularly interesting piece.

“You really like jewellery, don’t you?” Matteo asks quietly once they move from one stall at which David has lingered.

David’s eyes flick towards him and he smiles, a small pensive one very unlike his usual vibrant, wide effusive grin.  He shrugs.  “There’s something fascinating in a well crafted piece,” he says.  “It leaves traces of the person who made it.  It has personality.”

“Like art,” Matteo says, his hand reaching out to hover over the dark, slashed lines of a small canvas at the next stall.  It’s angry and aggressive, with something melancholy chasing under that anger, coming out in the dulled colors.  It calls to something inside Matteo.

“Yeah, like art,” David says, smiling a little sadly as he looks at the paintings here.  “You know, I thought working in a real store with real jewellery would be perfect.”

“But it’s not?”

“No.”  He smiles sideways at Matteo.  “It doesn’t have the same personality.  Not unless it’s something like your ring.  With a story.”  He looks pensive as he adds, “some days I think I should beg Sonja for a job; her shop is far more my style.”

Shaking himself, visibly pushing his melancholy away, he turns towards Matteo.  The simmering tension that’s been building ever since Matteo made himself leave the ring behind at Sonja’s store is flickering wildly now.  All the small glances and the casual touches have lit up every pore in Matteo’s body.  So it’s with a sense of inevitability that he feels David’s fingers slide onto his hand and curl into the gaps between his own.

Sucking in a deep breath, Matteo looks at David.  He’s now intently examining the wares at a nearby stall, small utilitarian wooden objects that don’t warrant such intense scrutiny.  As Matteo settles his fingers carefully, taking a firmer grip on David’s hand, he can see spots of red rising into David’s cheeks even as he keeps his gaze on the wood.

It’s nice, this feeling that finally Matteo is getting what he wants.  It hasn’t even been that long, but since the moment he saw David Matteo has been wanting.  It’s not something he can articulate very well, that want, but here and now with David’s hand warm and vibrant and alive in his own, Matteo feels like it’s becoming clearer.  

“Do you want to get out of here?” he asks.  “Go somewhere quieter?”

David’s eyes, when he looks back at Matteo, are filled with a wary hope.  It’s a look that Matteo is sure is reflected in his own eyes.

“Yeah,” David says.  His fingers twitch in Matteo’s and together it all feels like a promise, like the start of something.