#flower ice shiny awe surprise

[inkkill]

[enkelimagnus]

Mezuzah

Bucky Barnes Gen, 1886 words, rated T for Hydra shit

Jewish Bucky Barnes, pre TFATWS, post Endgame

A month after his trial, Bucky Barnes gets a house and starts a slow process of reclaiming his identity and home from Hydra, more or less literally.

Read on AO3

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The house is quiet and empty when he opens the door. It’s eerie. He isn’t used to this kind of quiet. No one lives here. No one has lived here in a really long time. Perhaps since… he was a teenager.

It’s clean, it’s relatively well-equipped. It’s made for people who come in and out, almost like a hotel room. Everything is perfectly nondescript. Everything is calculated to be unremarkable.

The corridor ahead is painted off-white, the floor is hardwood. It’s simple. There is a stock photo of a bee and a flower hung on the wall. Bucky immediately hates it.

He can see some doors further forward, a staircase. All off-white paint, hardwood floor, ridiculously innocuous and impersonal frames on the walls.

He stands there for a long moment, with the keys in his right hand, staring inside at the empty corridor and the empty rooms and the emptiness. He doesn’t move. If anyone’s watching him, they probably think he’s crazy. They’re not wrong.

He exhales deeply.

This is his house now.

Up until and including three hours ago, it was a Hydra safehouse. It fell into the hands of the American government the day before, thanks to his activity as… Hydra-sniffing dog for the Secretary of Defense?

And now it’s… officially his house. He signed a paper he barely read to gain ownership of this place, because the Shiny in charge of him whom he can’t remember the fucking name of got orders to find him accomodation that wasn’t an army housing unit. His head is swimming.

The house was empty when they got there, earlier. Still filled with basic amenities, sheets on the beds in the three bedrooms, cans of food in the pantry, bodywash and shampoo and a first aid kit looking more like an ER’s supply cupboard than something used for everyday household nicks and cuts.

Oh, and two corpses in the basement, still chained to the chairs they’d been tortured on.

They’re gone now. Or at least Bucky hopes they are, because if someone decided to play this kind of joke on him… Who is he kidding? He’s not gonna hurt anyone, that would be… all shades of bad.

He thought they would try and put the house on the market. It’s nice, after all, a row house with red bricks and white paint, tall windows and a small staircase. He takes a step back and lets himself trace the edge of the door, the parts of the façade he can see. It doesn’t wear the marks of Hydra.

It wears… other marks.

His eyes catch on two marks on the right side of the doorpost, at about the height of his shoulder. Two holes, the kind of holes left by nails. One above the other, but not parallel. In diagonal. Tilting towards the inside of the house.

There was a mezuzah there.

Bucky walks into the house, towards the closest doorpost he can find. In the wall, on the right side, at about the height of his shoulder, there are two holes that confirm it. There were mezuzot.

There were Jews.

He feels everything go cold as ice inside of his chest. A pit opens in his stomach. This was a Jewish home. This was a Hydra safehouse.

He runs the fingers of his right hand over the holes. How long… Too long.

The last time he touched a mezuzah was on June 14th, 1943, when he walked out of his parents’ house for the very, very last time. It’s a few miles away now, or at least what’s left of it. He hasn’t visited. He doesn’t know the state of it. He doesn’t want to know.

Bucky takes a hard, hurt breath. This house was a Jewish home, and then a Hydra safehouse, and briefly, for a few minutes, it was a US government property. And now… now it’s his.

What the fuck is he supposed to do with this?

He has a house now. An empty house, with no one in it, and phantoms of inexcusable horrors and pains, echoes of the ones he saw in his community back in the day. Echoes of the ones he was around for the past… seventy fucking years.

What is he supposed to do with that?

Perhaps not leave the door open and your shit outside, Barnes.

Yeah. That would be a good start.

He walks back to the doorway and grabs his bag, pulling in his belongings. Some clothes, some toiletries, some meds, shit to take care of his arm. And one stupid postcard from that awful Smithsonian exhibit about Steve.

He shuts the door behind him, the noise echoes down the empty corridor and he sighs heavily. This… is going to be annoying.

The house seems to have been cleared of everything: the caches of money and weapons hidden behind walls, files and paperwork… Bodies. He’s never going into that fucking basement.

All he has to do now is… get settled, and wait for his next call. Perhaps the files will lead them to more safehouses, more Hydra cells waiting in the corners of the world.

It’s been ten years since Hydra revealed itself, a little less since its last leaders fell. But they’re still somehow… there. Acting on no one’s orders, following their own ideologies, usually nothing more than small white supremacist groups. Neo nazis.

Because the nazis, like Hydra, don’t seem to ever want to fucking die.

It’s 2023, and Bucky was really hoping he wouldn’t be still fighting the same fucking assholes.

Perhaps he’s stuck forever fighting the same enemy. Perhaps that’s his punishment for what he did. It feels almost mythological. Like Sisyphus pushing up that boulder, except it’s him punching Nazis into the ground with a metal arm.

Except he lives in a Hydra safehouse that used to be a Jewish home, and isn’t that fucking poetic? It’s not like he’s trying to reclaim his own identity from Hydra’s claws or anything.

Putting his things into cabinets doesn’t take long, and he ends up standing in the middle of the living room after a moment. There’s only one armchair and one chair, no table, a tv… And the open kitchen.

The outside of the house is nice, but the inside isn’t supposed to be the most pleasant, he guesses.

So… what next? Putting on tv and trying to get some shut-eye before his next call? It’s not late, only just past noon. There’s so much time ahead before he’s supposed to try to rest.

He sits down in the armchair, surveilling his surroundings. He needs weapons. He assumes the army took every single one they found. He has a couple of knives, but perhaps he should try and hide some guns around. Just in case.

He’d only just gotten used to the motel rooms they had him stay in. His trial was a month ago. And it’s been a month of back to back Hydra shit, interspersed with therapy sessions, and those motel rooms…

How is he supposed to know what a home is supposed to feel like? His place in Romania, when he was trying to piece his mind back together, had also been a safehouse, and he’d been a fugitive. That didn’t leave much space for interior design. The last home he had was his parents’ house. With the radio always on -- because Deborah would never turn it off -- with the smell of food, and his mother’s voice… With the bookcase filled with everyone’s siddurim and the chumashim, and the haggadot and all these beautiful, beautiful books. With the mezuzot on the doorposts.

Perhaps… perhaps it’s time this house gets to be a home again.

He’s not a good enough Jew for it. He’s barely a Jew at all. His dog tags are carved with P and not H, his magen david is long lost in the Italian mud, he’s spent the last seventy years scrubbed off anything Jewish about himself and acting as a Nazi gun.

But perhaps… this house has been desecrated too. It’s been robbed and sundered. And perhaps, he’s just the right Jew for this? Probably not. What he’s done can never be forgiven. What he’s done… who he is…

He closes his eyes for a moment. It can’t hurt, right?

He pulls himself up from the armchair, grabs his wallet and walks out. His left hand is hidden under his glove. No one will know.

He walks out of that house with the quiet promise that he’s coming back.

Bucky’s steps take him towards 13th Avenue, towards where the old shops used to be, back when he was a smart-mouthed kid.

Borough Park is even more Orthodox now, it seems. Hasidim, perhaps. He doesn’t know. His Hebrew school days are so fucking far from him, and trying to think about those kinds of details make headaches bloom under his skull.

He makes it to a store that looks small and mostly empty and takes a deep, deep shuddering breath.

It goes… fine. The cashier seems a little surprised, but he gets what he’s coming for. Six mezuzot cases and the scrolls to go with them. He has to buy the nails and the hammer to affix them, but… they rest heavy in the plastic bag he carries in his hand. They feel… heavier than they actually are.

The cashier slid him an extra piece of paper on the way out, with words in Hebrew on it. Except it’s been… seventy years and he can’t read Hebrew anymore.

He remembers there should be a specific blessing for affixing mezuzot, but again, his memories of the words are blurry and aching and he ends up googling it on his phone on the way home, once he has the nails and the hammer.

Once he’s standing at the doorpost with his hammer, nails and mezuzah, he stops.

One of his hands is metal and he… he doesn’t know how to feel about holding those precious objects with that hand. That hand of destruction and pain. So it’s either… he holds the case with the metal hand and hammers with the flesh one, or the other way around and he doesn’t know which one is right.

Probably neither.

This is never going to be perfect. His tongue will butcher the words of the blessing no matter how many times he repeats them. But he’s promised he would make this house a home again and this.. This is the way to do it.

So he does it. Metal hand holding the case and flesh one hammering.

Baruch atah Adonai, Eloheinu Melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tzivanu likboa m’zuzah.

He butchers that language and those words, but it feels.. It feels better than a lot of the things he’s done lately.

He’s precise with his strikes, and it doesn’t take long for all the doorposts of the house, except the bathrooms ones and the basement one, have a mezuzah affixed to them.

The cases themselves are a far cry from the ones he remembers, but it’s… it’s fine. It’s good. It’s enough .

Something settles inside of him. He’s going to have so many nightmares while sleeping under this roof, he’s going to struggle and hate everything, but he’s going to be safe. And the house is going to be a home again.

[fluffy-lee]

A Trip to Asgard

Part 6 of the series Vacation.

This is a TICKLE series

PLATONIC Avengers x reader

Warnings: Long read, emotional, some language.

Summary: Thor brings Y/n to Asgard in hopes to teach her a lesson on love and emotions. Y/n continues to struggle with her feelings for Peter. Meanwhile, the Avengers cope with Y/n running away to another realm.

  Vision’s POV: 

Wanda had just gone back into the cabin to get water for our walk. I stood on the side yard, waiting, admiring the lovely pink flowers and greenery growing along the side of the cabin. Then, I realized I was picking up on something, or should I say, hearing something- voices. It was Thor and sweet Y/n. I made my way around the yard to go visit with them, but I stopped in my steps when I noticed the tone of her voice. Something was wrong. I stayed back a little to listen.

  “-Asgard. I want to go right now.” 

Asgard? I was very surprised to hear that. Why on Earth would she want to leave this place so soon?

 “But what about the others? Wouldn’t you want to tell them?” Thor asked her. 

 “All I need is you, Thor. Please, you promised.” Y/n said, her voice beginning to break

 Y/n not telling the others where she was going wasn’t exactly a new thing for her. She did that just last night, and it got her in some trouble. I wondered why she had started acting like this. She’s never given us a reason not to trust her… I care about her. I thought maybe I will let her go. Maybe, this will be something I keep to myself, just for a while. I heard the sound of them leave, and hoped no one else heard. 

 End of Vision’s POV

  You clenched tightly onto Thor’s chest as your stomach dropped, squeezing your eyes shut. You knew you were moving extremely fast, but you were too terrified to look. It was loud, like a strong gust of wind that wouldn’t stop. Thor’s grip around you was unbreakable. You knew you weren’t going anywhere. 

  “We are in the Bifrost, Y/n! Look around! You don’t have much longer!” He yelled. Thor was happy to bring you to Asgard. He always wanted you to have this experience. He was no longer worried about what the rest of the team thought. He believed you deserved to have this experience. 

  You opened your eyes and saw flashes of shiny, metallic rainbows. You were amazed to say the least. Next thing you knew, Thor was walking, holding you. You were in a golden dome-like building. A man dressed in gold stood in the middle. 

  “Y/n this is Heimdall, who I have told you about.” Thor introduced you, holding you up to him. You were still so shocked from the Bifrost, that you couldn’t let go of Thor, so he just held you. 

 “N-Nice to meet you, Heimdall.” You said, shaking his hand. 

Heimdall chuckled. “How was your journey?” 

  “Um.. amazing.” You giggled. 

  “I hope you enjoy your stay. You are in a different realm, very far away from your home. You can be home in seconds, anytime you want. I will be here.” He reassured. 

  “I think I’ll stay a while.” You smiled. 

Thor chuckled fondly and squeezed you in a hug as he held you. “Can you walk now, Princess?” 

  You nodded and he set you down. You held Thor’s hand and walked alongside him. You limped from your injury still, but it was okay. 

  “Prepare to be stunned.” Thor smirked as you exited the building. 

You clutched your chest in awe. In front of you stood the golden kingdom, and you stepped down onto the rainbow bridge. Tears filled your eyes. 

  “Thor… it’s more beautiful than I ever could’ve imagined. I don’t even deserve to be here.” You awed. 

  “Of course you do! I have always wanted to bring you here. I knew you’d love it.” He beamed. 

  “Love is an understatement.” You whispered in amazement, walking on the bridge towards the kingdom. 

Thor stopped and turned to you. “Love is a strong word, Y/n.” He furrowed his brows. 

You sighed and nodded.  “Thor, the water is so... beautiful.” 

   “It’s called the Sea of Space.” 

   “The sky looks so different here. Are those planets? Look how big they are!” You shouted in excitement. 

  “Yes. You aren’t currently on a planet like Earth right now.” Thor chuckled. 

You couldn’t stop admiring everything and asking question after question, but patient and lovely Thor didn’t mind. He enjoyed your fascination. 

  You and Thor were now sitting out on a balcony off the side of the castle. You both were lounging on a soft, dark purple couch with matching gold pillows, sharing a warm drink out of a fancy golden cup decorated with rubies. 

  “I think we should stay here forever, Thor.” You half-joked. You did not want to face the music when you got home. 

  Thor chuckled. “I think you should visit more regularly, but stay forever? You would miss our family.”

  “I would…not! LOOK AT THIS PLACE.” 

Thor smirked, taking the cup from you and setting it aside. “You play too much, Princess.” He growled, tackling you into the pillows, tickling your tummy. 

You shrieked in surprise before being consumed in uncontrollable laughter. Thor laughed his low, handsome laugh as he tickled you. You blushed as his large hands wrapped almost all the way around your torso, digging his thumbs into the middle of your tummy. 

  “Ticklish Princess! That’s what you are!” He stated casually, looking down at you adoringly. 

  “I AM NOHAHAHAT!”

  “Now, now, why are you lying? Tell me!” He teased, slipping his hands under your arms. 

Your laughter went up an octave. You tried to thrash around but Thor effortlessly held you in place. You tried to speak, but you couldn’t due to your laughter. Your cheeks and ears burned bright red. Thor couldn’t help but smile at you. He always adored you. You had grown up over the years, but this was something he knew you’d never grow out of. 

   “THOHOHOR! Nohohoho! Not there!” You shrieked as he wiggled his fingertips roughly (but always gently) into your ribs. You tried to turn on your side, but still, you were stuck. 

  “Why are you trying to protest? I know you love tickles!” Thor laughed. 

You swore you turned like 100 shades redder. 

  “No! Thahahahat’s not true!!” You shouted through your laughter, flustered. 

  “Oh, it’s not? Okay, I’ll stop.” Thor said, letting you go and crossing his arms against his chest. 

How dare he stop!

You stared at him with a shocked expression, a smile gracing your lips. He sat back, arms still folded, and a sly smirk on his face. 

  “Hey!” You giggled, scribbling your fingers against his chest.  

  “Haha! I knew you wouldn’t want me to stop.” He laughed, prying your hands away and latching his hands around your sides, squeezing. 

Your bubbly laughter came back and eventually increased when Thor began fluttering his fingers around your neck. You scrunched your shoulders only to trap his fingers. 

  “Okahahhahay! Okahahay! I cahahan’t take ihihit!” You exclaimed, meaning it this time. 

  “But I thought you liked it!” Thor teased, tormenting your sensitive neck and collarbones. 

  “Nohoho!” Your laughter went silent and Thor knew to let up. 

You caught your breath while you and Thor leaned back into the pillows facing each other. 

  Thor’s laughter after his “attack” on you subsided, and his expression gradually turned more serious. You knew what was coming and you couldn’t help but feel a little nervous, but you’ve always been able to trust Thor. The two of you have had a special relationship since you first met. Who else would you drop everything and travel across the galaxy with? One other person’s name popped into your mind. 

  “Why did you have me bring you here, Y/n?” Thor asked.

….

 Bucky had just woken from a nap. He walked down the stairs of the cabin, looking for everyone. He found almost everyone sitting around on the front porch having cold drinks and laughing, enjoying each other’s company. Peter had just jokingly sat in Tony’s lap, but soon regretted it when Tony trapped him there, tickling his sides. Peter squeaked and squirmed until Tony finally had mercy. Natasha laughed at Peter when he got up and playfully kicked his butt. 

  “Hey! Whahahat wahahas that for?” Peter laughed. 

Nat just cackled. 

  “I’m going inside. Anybody need a refill?” Peter offered. 

Nat handed him her almost empty lemonade and Peter rolled his eyes with a smile, taking it to the kitchen.  

  “Anybody know where my kid is?” Bucky asked. 

  “Yeah uh Vision said she went on a hike with Thor.” Tony answered. 

Vision nodded, his expression blank. Wanda picked up on Vision’s odd behavior, but put it in the back of her mind for now. 

Bucky felt a little jealous that Y/n went on a hike with Thor, but he was taking a nap anyway. Plus, they just got ice cream. 

  Peter opened the fridge, pulling out the lemonade. The mention of Y/n had him thinking. He hadn’t talked to her all day. That was very weird. Maybe they were both just busy? No, that’s not it. More happened last night than just the accident. Before the accident they were dancing really close. A few butterflies swarmed in his stomach at the thought, but went away quickly when his crush, MJ, came to his mind for the thousandth time today. Peter leaned on the counter and sighed. 

 “I have to find her and talk to her.” He whispered to himself. 

He took Nat her drink and walked down the steps out to the yard. He turned the corner and started heading for the trail. Next thing he knew, Thor’s signature stamp was spread out of the grass in front of him. 

  “Oh shit.” Peter said to himself. “Uh- guys? GUYS! TONY! STEVE! SAM! BUCKY!” Peter yelled. He was so shocked he just began calling out their names. 

In seconds, everyone came running. 

  "Oh no." Tony sighed. 

  "Oh HELL no. She didn't!" Bucky stressed. 

  "Vision, you said they went on a hike!" Steve yelled.

  "I lied." Vision admitted. 

  "Why?" Bucky asked calmly. 

  "She needed it."

Tears filled Peter's eyes and he swung off into the woods. 

 "I'm gonna kill her." Natasha shook her head. 

  "I can't protect her here. None of us can!" Steve panicked. 

 "That's why she went. She needs your trust." Vision explained. 

 "This isn't how you earn trust?!" Steve spat. 

Bucky looked at the ground, calmly and shrugged. "She doesn't know that."

  "What do you mean?" Sam asked Bucky. 

Steve ran his hands through his hair. 

  "Barnes is right." Tony added. 

  "She hasn't been taught. It's my fault." Bucky said.

  "No. It's all of our fault. Sometimes we're too busy for her. You know how many times she's been left by herself? We put her right back in the position HYDRA put her in." Natasha explained. 

 "I thought I taught her well." Steve fumed. 

  "You have. But you can't do everything by yourself." Wanda said, comforting Steve.

 "Is she going to be in trouble?" Sam asked.

 "Depends on when she comes back." Bucky said, a small smile gracing his lips.

 "She'll be back." Pepper nodded. "She'll be back today."

 "I trust Thor." Steve said, relaxing.

 "This is like last night all over again! Why don't you trust her? That's all she wants!" Tony argued.

 "You think this is how you gain trust?" Steve argued back.

 "She doesn't know that!" Bucky defended. "I'm going to trust her. As hard as it is."

  "She's in another realm, Bucky!" Steve yelled. "She just took off with a god to another realm!" 

 "SHE'S BRAVE. I don't like this either. But I'm going to hear her out." Bucky explained.

 "Oh so she can just take off to another galaxy whenever she wants?!"

 "Trust me, she won't do it again." Bucky stated, going back inside the cabin.

  "Take a walk with me, Steve." Tony said calmly, patting his back. 

 The Avengers knew this was a serious situation, but they also knew Y/n. Her intention wasn't to hurt anybody, or worry anybody. She just grew up alone, and sometimes she struggled with her emotions. She'd act on her emotions in the heat of the moment instead of logic. 

  Peter knew he caused this. He didn't know exactly why or how. But he knew it was something with him.

….

"I came here because I got upset, and I wasn't thinking. And now I am scared to go back because they might be mad at me. What if they hate me?" 

  "Y/n they could NEVER hate you. They love you so much. They might not be too happy with you coming here without telling them though." 

  "Why did you let me?"

  "Well, I wanted to bring you here, help you with what you need, but also, I thought… you could learn a lesson from it. You need to." Thor said with a small smile.

You nodded. "I guess I do."

  "Well, we better make the most of your trip here." Thor smirked. 

  "So we can have fun? I'm already having fun! I love it here!"

  "Yes we can, AFTER you tell me what made you so upset." Thor said. 

Your face dropped. "I can't figure out why I have such strong feelings towards Peter. I think I might be… in love with him." You admitted.

  "Ohhhh." Thor raised his eyebrows.

 "And then, I heard him talking about a girl he really liked. And I thought he was talking about me."

  "MJ." Thor cut you off.

 "Yeah, her. So I just kinda freaked out. I sometimes don't know how to handle my emotions. It's HYDRA. I have gone to therapy after I was rescued and it helped, but it still happens sometimes."

 "It's a process, sweetheart."

You gave him a sad smile. "But what if I love Peter, and he loves someone else? What will I do?"

 "Y/n, love, you don't force love. You wait. You trust. Love won't fail if it is meant to be. You're getting older, so is Peter. Your lives will begin to fall into place.” Thor assured, tucking hair behind your ear. 

You looked down at your hands. “I don’t know how I love him, Thor. Is he my Jane? Will… he leave me?” Tears began to pool into your eyes. “How do I know how I feel about him?” 

  “You’re not supposed to know now, Princess. But I have a theory.” 

  “Tell me.”

  “Well,” Thor began, furrowing his brows as he thought. “Y/n, you love Peter greatly, but you don’t love him that way. No, not now. When the day comes that you don’t have to question that love you feel for someone, that’s when you will know.” 

Then, something happened. Something so odd, and peaceful. 

  Y/n’s Memories

“Hi, I’m Peter… Parker. You must be who Tony has been telling me about.” The curly brown-haired brown-eyed boy introduced himself, squatting down to your height. 

He took your small hand in his red gloved hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. 

 “H-Hello. How old are you?” You asked. You had always felt shy around others, but with this boy, you felt at home. 

 “I’m 14 about to be 15.” He answered, giving you a warm smile, almost as warm as his eyes. 

 “Me too!” You gasped.

 “Haha! That’s awesome. We’re gonna be good friends. I know it.” He assured you. 

....

  “It was nice to meet you today Y/n. May I have a hug before I go? If you're comfortable of course.” Peter asked. 

 You nodded with a smile, and soon found yourself wrapped in the warmest, squishiest hug you’d ever had. 

 “Peter? Will you come back?” You asked, you face squished against his sweater. 

He pulled away to look at you, his hands on your shoulders. “I promise.”

….

  “Can I go back to that park tomorrow? Not to spy, but to be with the kids? To be friends?” You asked your Maestru.

 “You will never have friends! You will always work! Never ask me something so stupid again!” He yelled, shoving you back into your room, locking the door. 

You quieted your sobs into your pillow, hoping he wouldn’t hear you. You wished for freedom as you stared at the stone wall, before drifting off to sleep.

….

 “FRIDAY! We need everyone ready on the medbay! Now! Peter has been in an accident!” Tony shouted, rushing through the doors.

 “TONY! Is-Is he okay?” You asked, frozen in absolute fear.

 “I don’t know, Y/n.” He answered rushing to the elevator. 

….

 “I promised you I’d come back.” Peter smiled as he laid awake in his hospital bed. 

You couldn’t say anything. You just hugged him. 

….

You heard the elevator ding, signaling that Peter and Tony were here. They then walked in and you launched into your best friend Peter’s arms.

“Oh! Hi! I m-missed you, y/n! And also, thank you. I need your warm hug, b-because I’m freezing!” Peter was shivering and there were snowflakes in his curls. 

“I missed you too, Peter. Come here, by the fire!” You pulled Peter over to the couch and wrapped a blanket around him.

 ….

“You can come stay with May and I!”

You didn’t say anything. You just ran and hugged Peter so tight. 

….

You pulled the mask up to your forehead to see Peter towering above you where you sat on the rug. He had a threatening look on his face. You smiled slightly. 

  “I’m sorry.” 

Peter chuckled and went to take the mask off your head but you pulled it down.

  “Y/n, give me my mask!”

  “It’s my mask now!” 

You were pushing Peter’s buttons in hopes of some playful retaliation, but what he did next, you were not expecting to happen so quickly. You thought you were going to have to try much harder to get Peter to do this.

He gave your tummy a poke and you squeaked in surprise. 

  “Oh? What’s this?” Peter grinned as he gave you a few more pokes.

You turned cherry red as you scooted back and threw the mask at Peter. 

  “Here you go.” You mumbled

Peter hadn’t discovered that you were ticklish up until this point. You always wanted him to, but now that it was actually happening you were a flustered mess and didn’t know how to act. Peter sensed your embarrassment and was definitely ready to have some fun. He tossed his mask to the side and leaned over you. 

 “Are you ticklish, y/n/n?” He teased, crossing his arms.

….

  “Thank you for letting me stay with you, Peter. I know I may not be your best friend, but you are mine.” You said. 

Peter’s heart sank. “What? You’re my best friend too! I have Ned, but I also have you.” He snuggled you to his side and saw you smile to yourself, before you drifted off to sleep. 

   He meant what he said. 

….

Happy made Peter drive back, so you sat snuggled up in the backseat behind Peter in your warm coat and pink blanket. You hadn’t learned to drive yet, but seeing Peter drive made you really want to learn. You wanted to be just like Peter, but not in the way you were jealous of him. You just really looked up to him, so now that he had found out your little secret, you were getting butterflies every time you played the events back in your head.

….

Peter was just silent. You smiled to yourself, waiting to hear his response. Instead of speaking, Peter just leaned his seat all the way back onto you, and flipped over to where he was basically laying on you, with the seat between you both. You giggled at him, confused as to why he was doing that. 

  “You really are just asking for trouble, huh?” Peter said, before launching his fingers under your arms, much to your surprise. He dug in, making you squeal with laughter. You were barely able to move anywhere. He vibrated his fingertips in the hollows under your arms and all down your ribs and all you could do was laugh and squirm. 

 “What was that tickle spot of yours again? You know, the one that really makes you giggle?”

….

You smiled at Peter. You loved his curly hair. It was so endearing. Peter noticed you staring at him and gave you a questioning look.

  “Why are you staring, Y/n?” Peter asked, raising an eyebrow. 

  “Y-Your curls! I had no idea your hair could do that! It's so cute!” You gushed. You jumped out of the chair and began trying to reach up to ruffle his hair. 

Peter laughed sweetly and bent down to let you play with his hair.

….

“I’m gonna tickle you WAY more than you tickled me!” He playfully growled, tapping his nose to yours. You blushed profusely. Then, he began squeezing your thighs as you belly-laughed. 

….

You both ran down the stairs, and when you turned the corner, you nearly knocked into Peter. Thankfully, his spidey-sense warned him and he scooped you up. 

  “Woooah there! Haha someone’s excited!” Peter giggled. 

  “Sorry Pete! I didn’t mean to!” You said smiling up at him. 

….

“How are your ears ticklish?” You asked with a giggle. 

  “Oh? I bet yours are too!” Peter said, as he began reaching for you, but was held back by Tony. 

  “Stay still! I’m not done!” Tony ordered. 

You backed away with a smile, waiting your turn for the sunscreen. 

  “Finished!” Tony announced. 

Peter rushed toward you, grabbing your wrists with one hand, and began fluttering his fingers on your left ear with the other. You immediately began giggling and your knees buckled. 

  “It tickles, doesn’t it?” Peter teased, now tickling your other ear, occasionally spidering around your neck. 

  “YEHEEHES! I’m sohohorry!” You laughed. 

Peter let up, smiling at you.

….

 “It’s okay. I know that it’s true and I can be annoying.” You said, quietly looking at the ground. “But I can work on it and I can be better.” 

 Peter furrowed his eyebrows. “What? What are you talking about? You’re not annoying!” 

  “No, it’s okay. It’s just, you know, with HYDRA, I never… had anyone to cling to, so I do it too much now.” You explained. 

  “Y/n, you don’t annoy anyone! Affection from you is not annoying. It’s precious.” Peter said with a small blush. 

You looked up at him and smiled. 

 “Everyone loves it… Everyone loves you.” Peter reassured. 

  “Thank you, Peter. I’m sorry I got upset. It’s just one of my insecuri-” 

Peter cut you off, shaking his head. He looked you in the eyes, and from the look he gave you, you knew to stop apologizing. 

….

“Yeeeah it was!” Peter joined, wiggling his fingers into your tummy, before slipping past you to the back table to make his s’more. He really tickled you and you nearly dropped your plate as you cackled. 

….

You both finally got out of the pool after a minute or so and were drying off, wrapped in your towels, when something caught Peter’s eye. 

  “Y/n, look on the trail, in the woods.” He said, pointing toward little blinking lights. They were lightning bugs, and you got really excited. 

  “Let’s follow them!” You said. You both slipped on your flip flops and went to the trail. It was twilight and very beautiful out. The lightning bugs were everywhere and it was probably one of the most stunning moments of your life. You and Peter had made it pretty far up the trail, following the lightning bugs. One even landed in Peter’s hand and he held it out for you both to observe up close. The little bug blinked it’s yellowish green light and you both gasped. It flew away into the woods and you and Peter watched it join the others.

….

You’d never been checked out before. Peter stepped in front of you a bit to block Max’s view. You saw Peter’s jaw clench. He became a bit protective over you and butterflies began to swarm in your stomach.  “Do you wanna go back to the cabin, or stay? Peter asked, leaning down to you a bit, after pulling you aside. 

….

“PLEHEHEHEASE! Y/N! I’m soohohorry!” Peter screamed through his laughter as you tickled all over his tummy and sides for sticking an ice cube down the back of your swimsuit top. “IHIHIHI CAHAHAN’T BREHEHEHATHE!” He cried as you cackled at him.  “Serves you right, doesn’t it? Huh?” You teased as you tickled his upper ribs, and he rolled all over the grass in ticklish agony. 

….

Peter turned around and the expression on his face was pure worry. He pulled you out of the water onto the grass and observed your leg. It was red, swollen, and bleeding quite a bit in a few spots.   “I landed on a rock.” You said.  “Do you think it’s broken?” He asked. “I can’t tell.” Peter scooped you up in his arms, and took off towards the cabin as fast and carefully as he could.   Peter stumbled in the back door with you in his arms. He had a guilty expression gracing his face.

….

All you knew is that you loved Peter specifically and unconditionally, but romantically? That’s one thing you don’t know. What a trip. 

….

You straddled Peter and began tickling his tummy, causing him to scream and thrash, and he turned into a puddle of laughter under your fingertips. He nearly bucked you off, but he tried his best not to. You were laughing along with him at his adorable reactions, but made a mistake. You tried to tickle his armpits- his worst spot.  

 “AHAHAHAAA NOOOHOHO! Nooo way!” Peter shouted, using his strength to fight past the tickles and tackle you to the carpet.  

 “NO PETER! NO FAIR! You can’t do that!” You cried.   

“Oh yeah? Watch me.” Peter sassed, before scritching under your arms, making you squeak with laughter. 

…. “I’m sorry I made you cry...” Peter said softly, looking into your eyes. 

You both sat a moment.  “I love you, Peter.” You whispered, tackling him in a hug.

 He laughed and hugged you back.  

 “Are you still my best friend?” He asked.   

“Always.”

End of Memories 

You gasped and looked at Thor. He gave you a knowing smile.    

“Are you still confused, Y/n?” Thor asked, still grinning.   

“No… What was that?” You stared in shock.    

“That cup may have a bit of magic.” Thor whispered.  

  “We have to go back. I need to get back to Peter. I need to tell him the truth. That… he is the best friend that I never could have ever dreamed of. He’s more.” You cried tears of joy.   

“Okay, okay, but how about something to take home with you first.” Thor said with a smirk.  

 “Having a heart-to-heart are we?” Loki teased, leaning in the doorway. 

Your eyes went wide and you looked at Thor. 

  “It’s alright Y/n. Don't mention this to anyone on earth, okay?” Thor chuckled, taking your hand. 

You nodded and walked with Loki and Thor. Loki made you nervous, but you tried to hide it. You soon warmed up to him though as he was kind to you.   

“I think I know just the color for you.” Loki said, as the three of you stood in front of a large mirror in a bedroom. 

You did feel super underdressed for Asgard. Loki swung open a beautiful wardrobe and began shuffling through dresses. Thor began playing with your hair. 

“We always wanted a little sister.” Thor admitted. 

You smiled at yourself as you watched Thor braid your hair.   

“This is the one.” Loki announced, holding up a dress that you couldn’t help but gasp at.   

“For me?!” You asked.

Thor and Loki nodded. They left so you could put it on. 

  You twirled in front of the mirror in your floor length, long sleeved, lavender Asgardian dress. You felt like a princess.  

 “You look lovely!” Loki said with a clap.  

 “Thank you, Loki.” You smiled.  

 “I’m glad you like it, because it’s yours, Princess.” Thor said.  

 “Oh… It’s- oh my goodness! Thank you!” You exclaimed, hugging both of them.   

“Wear it home. Maybe they will go easy on you.” Loki winked. 

A twinge of fear rushed to your stomach at the thought of being in trouble when you got home, but it went away when you thought of Peter. You had to get home.

 …  

“I didn’t know what was going on.” Bucky said to Tony. 

Tony had just explained to Steve, and now Bucky what you talked to him about this morning. 

  “We need to make sure she knows she can come to us.” Steve said. 

Bucky agreed.  “I know I haven’t been around long, but I know my daughter. She’s not in love with him.” Bucky smiled.

The three of them sat in silence for a few seconds.  

“THAHAHANK GAHAHAD!” Steve burst out laughing, soon to be joined by Bucky and Tony.

When their laughter subsided, Tony spoke. “I just want her to come home already.”  

“I have a feeling she’s on her way.” Bucky mused. 

“Yeah… She can’t stand to be away from me for more than-” Steve looked at his watch. “More than two hours.” Steve giggled, referencing your “soft spot” for him.

…. 

“Heimdall, can we land close to Peter Par-” You were cut off by him nodding. 

You shook his hand. “Thank you, sir.” You held onto Thor and you were sent home.

 You kept your eyes open this time. 

….  

You and Thor landed in the middle of the woods.   

 “What’s Peter doing here?” You asked.   

 “I’m not sure, but we aren’t far from the cabin. I’m going to walk back. You talk to him.” Thor said, pointing down a trail.  

You looked down the trail and you could see the edge of the lake. You followed it, and found Peter sitting in the grass next to the shimmering water. It was sunset. A nice breeze blew through your hair. You were happy to be back here. You were happy to see Peter.  

 “Peter?” You asked, standing behind him. 

  “Y/N!” Peter exclaimed, jumping to his feet and wrapping you in a hug.

 “Where have you been?” He asked, gripping your upper arms, looking into your eyes. 

They were red, as if he’d been crying.  

“Have you been crying?” You asked sadly. 

  “A little. I was worried about you! Wow, you look beautiful.” Peter said.   

“Thank you… I went to Asgard for a few hours.” You said, casually. 

  “Before I ask you a billion questions about the other realm you just traveled to, I have a more important one- Why?”

You took a deep breath, and sat down in the grass, he did the same.  

“I thought I was in love with you.” You said, then slowly looked into his sorrowful eyes. 

“When you mentioned MJ, I got lost in my emotions, and made Thor take me away from here. It was stupid, but- I was scared.”   

“Have you returned with an answer?” Peter asked hesitantly.  

 “Yes… wait here.” You ordered, and stood up to limp off into the woods. 

Peter looked at you confused when you returned with the golden cup.  

 “Woah! This is so cool! Is this from Asgar-” 

 “Drink from it.” You smiled.  

“Uhh.. it’s not a love potion, is it?” Peter asked, his eyes wide.  

“No! This isn’t Harry Potter!” You laughed, smacking his arm. 

“Drink. It’s my memories.”  

 “Okay.” Peter sighed, trusting you, and sipped from the cup. 

...

Peter looked at you with tears in his eyes. 

 “Now you know how I feel about you… You can see why I might have been confused- the strength of my love for you. You're the best friend I waited my entire life for. You’re so special to me and I’m going to love you forever.” You smiled, tears in your eyes as well. 

 Peter took your hands in his.  

 “Y/n I can’t even live without you now. I don’t know what I would do if something happened to you. That’s why I was so worried today. When you got hurt last night, I was so scared… You mean so much to me too. You changed my life by showing how you overcame your past and grew so much. How strong it made you. It helped me be better.” Peter cried. 

You tackled him to the grass in a hug and you both cried.  

Peter sat up, bringing you with him, and wiped your tears. His face was tear stained, his nose red along with yours.  

 “I can’t stop crying!” You laughed.  

 “Well, good thing I always know how to make you.” He said, snuggling you to his chest. 

 “Oh this does help.” You smiled.  

 “You know what else helps?” Peter asked, playfulness very evident in his voice. 

  “Oh no- let me guess.” You said sarcastically.   

“Yo! What’s with the attitude huh?” Peter teased, pinning you down in the grass, and digging into your hips. 

You went straight into belly laughter and started trying to thrash around. “NOHOHO NOT THERE! ANYWHERE BUT THERE!” 

 “Wow! I don’t tickle you here nearly enough! I’ll make sure to remember.” He smirked, raising an eyebrow at you. 

You blushed and tried to give him an evil look, but it didn’t work. He just laughed and kept tickling your hips for minutes. 

“Haha okahahay.” He said after a while. He tapped his chin as if he was thinking very hard about something. “Oh I know! Tummy tickles time!” He announced. 

“Ohohoho no! NOHAHAHAT THERE!” You shouted repeating yourself. 

“Not there! Not there! Not there!” Peter mocked, darting his fingers around your torso with each “not there.”  

You laughed so hard that you couldn’t breathe and had to force yourself to gasp for air even though the only thing you wanted to do was laugh. �� 

“I love my Y/n so much I just gotta tickle her!” Peter growled through gritted teeth, digging harshly into your ribs. 

Laughter wasn’t enough for that one. Nope. That made you scream.  

“HAHAHA! THAT’S BAD ISN’T IT!” Peter laughed evilly, continuing to tickle that way. 

You nodded your head as you silent-laughed.  

“I know you love the tickle monster!” Peter said in such a ruthlessly teasing way, as he wiggled his fingers in your super ticklish armpits. “Everyone knows it!”  

 “NO!” You managed to lie through your laughter. You thought you would’ve learned that this was never a good idea by now, but you just couldn’t help it.   

“Oh yeah? Well I’m gonna make you tell the truth!” Peter giggled, before pinning your arms above your head. 

You expected him to blow a raspberry, but he just nuzzled the left crook of your neck. You were a giggling mess. The next thing he did was new. You’d never had this happen before. It was new and unexpected. And it tickled. BAD. Peter blew a raspberry, not on either side of your neck, but the front of your neck.  Both you and Peter were shocked. 

 “Oh I can’t imagine how bad that tickles.” Peter said, shaking his head. 

 “I swear I’m gonna show you one day.” You said trying to sound angry, but of course, you loved it. 

 “Bet.” Peter blew another one in the same spot and you belly laughed so hard. “Now, say you love the tickle monster!” Peter warned, leaning back down towards your neck.  

 “Awww come on, Peter!” You whined. 

He didn’t hesitate to blow another one. You laughed so hard your abs ached.  

 “Peheheheterrrr!”He went back to scratching under your arms. “You better say it! Or I’m gonna do it again!” 

Butterflies swarmed in your belly. Peter pinned your arms above your head again and you tensed. He nuzzled into your neck and snuck his way to the front blowing the biggest, sloppy, ticklish raspberry. The buzz sent chills up your spine and laughter poured out of your lips. 

 “I LOVE THE TICKLE MONSTER! STOP!” You yelled and Peter let you go. You rolled over catching your breath. 

 “I love you, Y/n.” Peter said, some seriousness returning to his tone.

You sat up. “I know… I love you, Peter.” 

 “I know… Ready to go back to the cabin?” 

 “I am. I’m scared I’m going to be in trouble, but I don’t care. I’ve been away from Steve for like… hours.” You joked. You were kind of serious though.  

  Something changed in you and Peter’s relationship that day. It was made stronger. You were happy you had your answer, and so was Peter. After this, he knew he would always be there for you, no matter how old you two got, no matter where life took you. In the meantime, he made sure to snuggle you more, hug you more, and, of course, tickle you more. 

[ad1thi]

If your still doing fic recs, could u rec any soft stevetony ones?

absolutely!! this got pretty long so ive hidden most of it under a read-more so i don’t annoy people. a couple of authors feature more than once. ive tried to avoid that as much as possible, but if an author features more than once - take that as a sign that they have rly good stuff for soft stevetony

disclaimer: don’t forget to leave kudos and comments for every author!! (a disclaimer i regrettably forgot to add to previous fic rec lists but will be adding from now on)

soda pops: @starklysteve

If anybody asks, Steve would smile and say it was very romantic. Very Tony. Because if he went into any further detail, nobody would quite believe him.

Tony, on the other hand, would laugh and say that Steve’s in love with a man in a can. So, really, it wasn’t outside the natural progression of things.

me voy pa’l pueblo: @firebrands

two times steve walks away, and one time that tony walks with him.

/ or, my very fluffy take on my bingo card prompt "farewells." steve is on vacation when he meets tony.

fill for my stony bingo prompt: farewells; also for bookworminaslump on tumblr who asked for a tourist/knowledgeable local au!

Tumblr Ficlets:  @omg-just-peachy (this is 115 chapters of stevetony being soft!!)

A collection of enough tooth-rotting fluff to last a year, all in one place.

tender offerings: @omg-just-peachy

Five times Steve carried Tony to bed.

the best thing (is that it’s happening to you and me):  @captainstarkreportingforduty

Or, five times the team saw Steve Rogers and Tony Stark in love.

Sweet On You: @miniblackraven

It’s the 1940’s and Tony is working as a Donut Doll for the Red Cross. His job is to go around to various military bases and offer comfort food and conversation to homesick soldiers. He’s come to expect a lot of things in this job, but he doesn’t expect to fall in love with Captain America, the hottest most awkward soldier Tony has ever met.

Bespectacled Avengers Society (Membership of One):  @baffledkingcomposinghallelujah

Tony gets glasses. Glasses get a Tony. Steve loses his mind and walks into walls.

a flower crown for your love: @anthonyed

"There, there," Pepper cooed. "Tony likes flowers?" she said with a shred of doubt in her tone. But when Steve peered up, she's smiling her bright toothy smile. He squinted and she sighed, dropping her hand from his shoulder. "He does." she insisted. "Even more so than me."

if this was a movie: @omg-just-peachy

“One of our seniors is being generous with his time this year—by force of his own actions, but generous none the less—and he’d be happy to help you, I’m sure. Tony Stark? I’ll set something up for later this week. I think between the two of you you’ll be able to pull your average up enough to make it through to playoffs,” Coulson said, with that ever-hopeful lilt in his voice.

Or, Steve needs a calculus tutor, Tony is available, but how is Steve ever supposed to focus when he's been in love with Tony for ... his entire school life?

you take me higher than the rest (everybody else is second best): @firebrands

tumblr fill for adi & anthonydarling, who asked for "'Prank' war, but the kind to see who can make the other blush the most in public" from this prompt list

amore mio:  @brucewaynery

Tony has had it with Steve being dumb and reckless out in the field, he has a family to think about now, Steve promises him that he'll be with him, kingdom come.

(initially based on that one headcanon about Italian Tony yelling and gesticulating at Steve but Peter thinks he's doing some weird dance and tries to copy him, but it got very fluffy very quickly)

Lost My Mind in a Coffee Shop: @betheflame

“Boyo,” Bucky muttered to his best friend. “I swear to God that if you don’t ask that man for his number soon, I will create a Grindr profile for you and you will not like it.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I am here to finish grading, not hit on men.”

“Can you not do both?” Natasha smirked. “Nearly tenured, historical genius, feels like something you should be able to multitask.”

&&&

In which Steve is a history professor and Tony's an engineering one and Bucky owns the joint where they have their meet cute.

AU-gust Chapter 7: @iam93percentstardust 

stevetony, childhood friends AU

Right Up The Road: @gottalovev

The day at the senate committee in Washington DC wasn't supposed to end with Tony and Steve transformed into animals by a baby witch. That said, the 350 miles trek back to the compound to get help promises to be quite an adventure too!

(or the adventures of Cat!Tony and Wolf!Steve - and how to readjust when you're back to human!)

i’ll take care of you: @elcorhamletlive

“Hi.”

Steve blinks. The sound of loud thunder roars outside, but he doesn’t jolt, too focused on the image in front of him to be startled by the noise.

He has no idea what to say, and he isn’t sure if the shock is because of Tony’s absolutely sodden state – his hair glued to his forehead, his clothes dripping with water, forming a small puddle in front of Steve’s door – or because he wasn’t expecting to see Tony for at least three more days.

“Hi?” he says, a little tentative, before his brain catches up to reality. In his defense, he was getting ready to sleep when Tony knocked. He looks at what Tony is holding – a wet mess that seems to have been a flower bouquet at some point. “What are you doing here?”

The Tally System:  @betheflame

Everyone on the team knew about the tally system.

Whenever Steve would save Tony - whether from a monster or from his own stupidity - he’d say, “tag”. Whenever Tony do the same, he’d say, “your turn”. Thor thought it was adorable, Clint thought it was ridiculous, Bruce refused to register an opinion.

Natasha thought it was something she could work with.

what’s mine is yours: @robertdowneyjjr

5 times Tony stole Steve’s clothes, and 1 time Steve returned the favor.

or

For a billionaire, Tony Stark really doesn't pay for a lot of what he wears.

I like Shiny Things But I’d Marry You With Paper Rings: @betheflame

Rhodey: I just confirmed with Sam that he’s going to make sure he cooks tonight and that his entire team is briefed. I’m heading over now to strategically arrange a fuck ton of ficus trees to block them from gen pop.

Pepper: They’re not getting engaged in a prison, Jimmy.

Rhodey: Tony Stark and Steve Rogers show up to Circe on a Saturday night in May and you watch every person in that restaurant turn into someone I’d rather arrest than eat with.

****

In which Tony and Steve get engaged, but they're kind of extra about it, because they are always themselves

the road to the stars: @shell-heads

Tony is seven years old when he sees the ballet for the first time and meets his future pas de deux partner.

His father is invited to sweet-talk politicians into a new weapons deal and explain his latest idea for their program, and his mom goes to catch up with old friends she hasn't seen in years, but Tony goes because his mom had smiled down at him and told him he would love it.

His mom's never wrong.

-

In which boy genius Tony Stark meets girl wonder Natasha Romanoff at the ballet, and they fit their broken little pieces together to make something beautiful on the dance floor.

Steve? He's just a dumb, awful, chaotic, extremely supportive older brother that really should just shut up and admit he likes Tony a lot more than he pretends, because Natasha only has five people in the world she likes; it only makes sense her two favorites would fall in love with one another.

They always were a little slow, though.

A Second Chance To Take it Slow: @omg-just-peachy

Tony loves his adopted son, Peter, but that doesn't stop him from wishing he had someone to do this whole parenting thing with. After a failed one night stand, Tony's parent-teacher conference with Mr. Rogers comes with quite the surprise.

Wake Up!: @randomstufffromotherblogs

Tony came home from a business trip and is woken up by his husband and their three-year old.

pull me closer to love:  @captainstakreportingforduty (part of a series)

“A Mother’s Day card? For... Tony?” Steve clarifies, and can’t help the smile on his face as six familiar little heads nod in response.

“But... guys, Tony’s not—“ he pauses and takes a breath, any explanation dying in his throat against the excited gleam in everyone’s eyes. “Why do you guys want to do that, hmm?"

compromises:  @robertpattisons (when i looked up OP on tumblr, this is the blog i was directed to - but i sincerely apologise if ive gotten it wrong)

Steve should have expected it, he really should have.

There were regulations that came with dating Tony Stark. Things that were clear and things that they needed to work through.

Things like how Steve always got strawberry ice cream, while Tony got rocky road. Or when Steve needed to get his homework done before he was down to make out - even though Tony always got his way.

Things like that were clear

all that you are is all that i’ll ever need: @natasharxmanov

Tony Stark and Steve Rogers announced their engagement on Good Morning America through Tony Stark’s previous secretary now CEO, Pepper Potts. And over this past weekend, I got the chance to sit down with them both, to visit their home and attend their gala, all to write this article about the most powerful couple in the world.

(Or, the fic in which Tony and Steve get married.)

(i won’t ever) trade my mistakes: @brucewaynery

Toddler Peter, painting a masterpiece with his dad.

aka: a dumb amount of family fluff to help you power through the week

[izayoichan]

For the 100 OC Questions:

Flynn: 91-100

Fannar: 81-90

Chris: 31-40

Hayle: 51-60

Hayden: 61-70

Vy: 71-80

Lucas: 21-30

River: 41-50

Brooke: 1-10

Meadow: 1-20

A few questions for almost everyone XD

This will be LONG, so under a line.. because LONG!!

Flynn:

91. Do other characters respect your OC, if so, is it out of fear? Or do they respect your OC because they like them?

Some respect him, most do and it's mostly from him being who he is. A friendly guy that's generally nice to everyone. Flynn is simply a very likable fellow.

92. If they were given minutes to live, what would they do? Who would they want to see and say?

The one person Flynn would go to see is his dad, and he'd probably tell him that he loves him and to not take blame for anything that has happened, and to care for the rest of his family. Then he would just hug him until his time was up. His dad is the most important person in the world for Flynn

93. How do they deal with stress?

He tends to go for a run, or talk to someone about what stresses him if he can. Most often this person is Brooke, or later Emil.

94. Do they have a more submissive or dominate personality type?

I think he is a bit of a mix, but like his mom, leaning on the submissive.

95. Do they have a pet?

Atm not really, he has Emil as a familiar, and the family has two pets in Lobo and Felix that he kinda considers his as well without either really being his.

96. Do they have a stash of weapons?

Nope, no stash!

97. Where do they live? Who do they live with?

They live in Brindleton bay with their entire family. It's a lot of people, but he likes that in a way. Even though sometimes some alone time is good too.

98. How do they calm themselves down?

Watching movies, working at the shelter, or just talking to their dad. His dad is his biggest source of calm.

99. Are they co-dependent?

In some ways yes, but also not. He is a very independent person, but he is also used to living very close to family and friends. So he would be a bit lost without them all I think. College should be interesting ;)

100. Are they a day, or night person?

Day person, definitely.

Fannar:

81. Do they have any tattoos? If so, are they significant?

Is it bad that I don't really remember? I don't think I gave them any, but I also have a bad memory.. so maybe, but they're not significant, just something they would have done for fun.

82. Are they good at mental math?

Very, they have that after their dad.

83. Do they get along with others?

Yep, he does, he also has a bit of a tendency to get fans along the way somehow. He doesn't exactly like that part as much though.

84. Are they lazy?

Generally no, but they also can be. They do like to not do anything but slack on occasion ;)

85. Are they self-motivated?

They tend to be more motivated by others, but when needed, they can motivate themselves, so I guess a bit of both?

86. How do they cope with anger?

He isn't a very angry type of person, but when he gets angry he copes fairly well with it. He has always been told being angry is okay, and a valid way to feel.

87. Have they ever been in a situation where they were helpless?

When they saw Emil attacking their mom, and then their twin stepping in and eventually making it his familiar. He felt awfully helpless then and it was not a feeling he liked.

88. Are they organized or messy?

Their fairly organized, better than most teens.

89. Can they remember a lot of information at once?

Yeah, they have a dragon's memory, and they are pretty good at remembering a lot of information at once.

90. What is their occupation?

Currently, they are to be College Student.

Yvreon/Vy:

71. Who do they dislike?

Mages.. hunters.. yeah.. that's their main dislikes.. Death to an extent.. Jael mostly for breaking the Heartlight.

72. What is their motto?

I think to help, and just be helpful in general. Or learn, as much as he can.

73. Do they have any markings on their body?

They have quite a lot of scars, from being attacked by hunters. They also have a heart-shaped scar on their chest, from sharing their heart with their husband Hayden.

74. Have they ever been abused?

Sadly, yes, both by the first humans they encountered, hunters who wanted their heart, and also to an extent the mages at RoM who wanted to experiment on him.

75. What is their biggest fear?

To lose Hayden.

76. What are their goals?

Healing people, helping people. He would love to get his Heartlight back if it was possible so that Hayden would be well, or better. Learning as much as he can, and of course, acquire many shiny things and books!

77. How do they go about achieving their goals?

He works at a hospital, where he helps as many as he can. And the money he earns often go-to books and shiny trinkets as he knows he is well cared for at home money-wise.

78. Do they have a fight or flight response?

Depend's on son the situation. If Hayden or his family is close, he will fight with all his might. If he is alone, it would be flight, to come home and protect those he loves.

79. Is there someone in their life that they care about more than themselves?

Their kids and Hayden.

80. How would they fare in a zombie apocalypse?

Fairly well I think, they are a dragon after all ;)

Hayden:

61. Are they comfortable being in a crowded room?

Yeah, he doesn't really mind. He prefers quiet, but a crowded room doesn't bother him much.

62. How do they relax?

Lying in bed watching movies, preferably using Vy as a bed, as that is the best and most comfortable thing he knows. Oddly helping the kids with math is also relaxing to him.

63. Have they ever harmed anyone and regretted it? Verbally or physically?

The sharing of the Heartlight with Vy, hurts Vy when he feels bad. Or well it did when it was connected. He was never comfortable with that, and it always made him feel bad. Even if Vy told him it was fine.

64. Do they like to dance?

Yes!

65. How do they get around their environment? Examples - horses, bike, vehicle

They have been carried a lot.. other than that, he mostly gets flown by a dragon or uses a portal.

66. What is their pet peeve(s)?

People who mistreat animals, he hates it, and he will call you out on it.

67. Do they have a disability?

Yes, they were born with one. They were born with two magic types that fight each other. Ice and Fire, where the fire side is slightly stronger and was damaging him. He quickly gets tired, and after the loss of his twin, and the breaking of the Heartlight, he has once again gotten worse.

68. How do they react to getting flowers?

He would be surprised, but thankful. He likes flowers but prefers them alive in the ground.

69. Would they ever wear a flower crown?

Yes, especially if made by the kids or given by Vy.

70. Do they like themselves?

Somedays yes, most days.. not really. He tends, still, to feel he is everyone's burden.

Hayle:

51. Do they like science?

Yep, he finds it fascinating!

52. Are they more emotional or logical?

They used to be more logical.. now they're more emotional, and perhaps a mix of both. The mix makes him a very good dad and grandad.

53. How do they deal with their emotions?

Depends on the emotion. Most he talks with Chris about.. Anger on the other hand still gets handled by hitting things, hard. Preferably a boxing bag.

54. How do they cope with sadness?

Often with anger.. by hitting things because being sad makes him angry. But also with talking to his husband, or his family. Sometimes though, destroying an old house into dust is needed.

55. What is something they care about?

His family.

56. Would they die for anyone/anything?

As above.

57. What do they do when they are happy?

Smile a lot, dance with their husband, laugh, and cook!

58. How would they come across to other characters? Examples- messy, lazy, childish, caring, etc.

Caring, very much like a dad friend, that type of person that feels like a dad when you talk with them.

59. Do they have a phrase they use over and over?

Hmh... not really no.

60. In a crowded room are they in the corners, sides, or in the middle?

All of the above depends on the crowd and why they are there.

River:

41. How was their childhood?

Not the best, their dad only saw them as a mage and pushed for him to be the strongest, while his mom kinda tried to make him into his dad after his dad dies. He had an awful relationship with his mother by the time he was a teenager.

42. Are they close with anyone who is going to screw them over?

Nope.

43. How do they adapt to different situations? Do they adapt at all?

It depends a lot on the situation. As a Sage, he adapts to whatever is needed of him. As a Vet, he adapts to what is needed of him there. And for his son, he tries to adapt to being the parents the kid needs.

44. How do they speak? Examples - Are they soft-spoken, hot heated, vulgar, etc.

They have a fairly soft way of speaking, a caring one. But it can also be brunt, harsh and aggravating to many.

45. Are they opposed to violence?

On a general basis.. yes, for occasions, they're fine with it.

46. When is their birthday?

I don't think it has ever been mentioned, I think Mahv will have to say, if not, I guess it is time I give him a date for it!

47. Are they quick to judge?

In general, yes, but he is trying to be better after he misjudged Rylan so badly when they met.

48. Do they have anything they are trying to hide from others?

Mostly how bad they still feel after the death of their husband. How guilty they still feel and so on.

49. Do they act differently around different people?

Yes. He can be loving and caring to some, while asshole to someone else.

50. Do they enjoy the arts?

Yes, especially music.

Chris:

31. How do they overcome obstacles?

By thinking things true, finding the best way past it most of the time. On occasion, he pulls the reaper card though.

32. When faced with a difficult decision do they get stronger or break?

They get stronger. They have a breaking point, but it takes a lot for him to hit it. 15 years away from his family was close to his breaking point, and both Jael and Kieran knew it.

33. Do they have any special powers?

He is a reaper..he has quite a lot. For instance, he is one of very few reapers that can kill a god.

34. How do they change throughout the story?

Well, Chris was a bit of a loner.. so they changed to become someone's lover, a dad, a family man, and someone who often wishes he could be home a lot more than he can.

35. Do they have any friends? If so, are they close-knit?

He has one, Nat, with whom he is very close. Kieran is more the boss than his friend. There is also Mark, who's after him to finding love, they have slipped a bit apart, both having a life outside of work. His best friend is of course his husband.

36. How is their family life?

Busy, especially with his work being on top of it all. But he would not trade it for the world!

37. Are they likable?

Yes, it's a good trait to have when you ferry souls over to the next step.

38. Are they the hero, or anti-hero?

He wouldn't consider himself either, but to some, I guess he is the hero

39. Do they make questionable choices?

Not all too many most were perhaps made before he died 😎

40. How do they become who they are?

They did something questionable and stupid and died. Luckily for them, they also said yes to becoming a reaper and that's why this story even exists.

Lucas:

21. What are their hobbies?

Singing, which is also his job.. he is also a pretty decent kitty bed by now if that qualifies as a hobby.

22. What are their ticks?

Hmh... not sure he has any, probably just fiddling with his fingers when he is nervous if that counts?

23. Do they like children?

Yes, mostly, unless they cling to him and want a photo.. although that more teenage girls. 😂 But in general, yes he likes children, he grew up with quite a lot of them around.

24. How do they react to being around wild animals?

With fascination and awe.

25. If they were given the task to prank someone, who would it be, what would they do, and would the prank work?

It would likely be a bandmate, and it would probably be putting something they hate in their drink. As she isn't the type to prank someone, he would probably fail miserably.

26. Do they have any survival skills?

Yep, they can make fire with two twigs, and they can play music to make some busking money if needed.

27. Are they more book smart or street smart?

Street smart, he likes books, but he grew up in an orphanage, so he learned street smarts along the way.

28. How do they get out of a difficult situation?

Would depend on the situation, he can pay his way out of it, or he can try and run of course. He isn't a fighter so he would rather try and avoid stuff like that.

29. Do they use their body, mind, personality, or force to get what they want?

They don't really do that much.. but to work at the shelter, he used his personality and what he knew they would have to say yes to.

30. What music do they enjoy?

Absolutely everything! If it's music, he likes it. Although everything for its situation. Its not always that black metal fits what you're doing.

Meadow:

11. Do they have a romantic interest?

Yep, and you will soon see who that is.. soonish anyway.

12. How do they cope with struggles?

Fairly well really. They work their way through it, although often they can be a bit snarky when it happens. It's just their way of dealing with it.

13. Do they have anyone they can lean on?

Her half-brother River, his family, her dad, and her mom. Unlike River, she is quite close to her mom, and their relationship is much better.

14. How do they react to someone dying?

If it's someone she cares about, she would like most people be sad. If it's not, then it's more.. eh, shit happens!

15. Can you name 5 personality traits they have?

Friendly, Hardworking, Ambitious, Romantic, Proper

16. How did they become a character?

It was Mahv's idea to have River have a little sister, then she kinda became the kid's mom friend and person outside the family to talk to.

17. Do they get along with others?

Yes and no. She has a way of being that alienates some, but if you see through it, you find a sweet person who is easy to get along with really.

18. What flaws do they have?

They can be a bit hot-headed, snappy, and abrasive when put in a situation they don't expect. She also expects a lot of herself, like becoming the first sage potion maker!

19. How do they influence the story?

She becomes a bit of an icebreaker between River and his mom when they are re introduced. As well as becoming a very good friend to the current kids in the story, the one they go and talk to when things are meh, and parents aren't an option.

20. What do they look like?

Sneaky I know.

Brooke:

1. How do they present themselves to others?

Very straight forwards really, they are nicely dressed and well behaved in general.

2. Do they like animals?

Yes, they love them, specially horses. Sadly animals don't seem to love her back for unknown reason to her.

3. How do they dress?

Nice clean clothing? Nothing special, and never high fashion.

4. How many languages do they know?

Quite a few actually. She speaks Simlish (English), Japanese, Chinese, French, Italian, German and Spanish.

5. How big is their family?

Not big at all, its basically only her and her parents.

6. What is their purpose in the story?

Now that is a secret still. But it will be shown eventually, and she does have a purpose yep! Her purpose has even changed several time over already.

7. Do they know how to fight?

Yes in her own way. (Cryptic, I know, but you will see one day)

8. What is their back story?

There isn't that much. She has grown up with her parents, they have always been strict but quite fair. As long as she follows their rules and guidance, she is fairly free to do what she wants. Their not overly happy with Flynn as her boyfriend, and think she could have done better, but they have accepted it.

9. Why is their name, their name?

Because random name generator made it so!

10. Do they have any nick names?

Not really, Brooke is short enough on its own. Closest is Flynn calling her his Brooke I think.

AAaaand that is that.. thank you for asking, I hope you enjoy!

[kat0v01]

Their costumes at the palace spooky ball

**the palace is decorated regardless of the pairing**

Asra:

After some consideration, Asra emerges from the bedroom in a long, flowing (color) cape and matching suit. His hair is slick back and he has dabbed a little black makeup under his eyes for a sunken, tired effect. Little fangs stick out of the corners of his mouth and whenever he smiles, he reveals the shiny little teeth. Impressed with his vampire costume, you jokingly ask if he's going to suck your blood. He shakes his head and brings you taut against his body. With a sly smile, he says he doesn't feed off of blood, but kisses from you. Placing a chaste kiss along your neck, he hums to himself before pouting and saying that that wasn't nearly enough. You place a kiss against his lips and ask if that was any better. He replies that it was better, but he's nowhere close to satisfied. You spend most of the night at the palace with Asra's arms draped around your waist. When you both go to the ballroom to dance, he holds you close, placing kisses on your face and neck which keep you smiling the rest of the night.

Faust:

Even Faust wants to get dressed up for the occasion. You and Asra both decide the outfit cannot be too big or tight because it might constrict her movements. Together, you weave a little yellow flower ring which when placed on her head, made for a very cute sunflower costume. She flicked her tongue and swayed happily, repeating 'sunshine! sunshine!' which Asra affectionately called her.

Julian:

As a thespian, Julian needs little excuse to dress up, so of course, the one day of the year when it is totally normal and acceptable to dress weirdly, he's definitely going to take it. His words, not yours. You catch him in the early afternoon, thinking deeply in the bedroom. When you ask him what's wrong, thinking it's something serious, he turns to you with a woeful look and confesses that he doesn't know what to wear. Rolling your eyes at his dramatics, you ask him what he wants to dress up as, but never has the opportunity. He thinks on it before getting an idea and digging through the closet. He tells you to turn around and keep your eyes closed while he puts something together. You comply and listen to his loud rustling and excited murmuring until he tells you to turn back around. He quirks an eyebrow as you take in his outfit--the usual black pants he dons, a scraggly grey wig, long white coat and spectacles. You say that this is hardly a costume with a laugh and he chuckles. Getting another idea, he tells you to look away and with a few more rustles and clangs he tells you to look again. This time, he is dressed in black tights with a loose-fitting shirt tucked into the top, a fake wooden sword at his side and a skull in his hand. He poses dramatically for you and you clap appreciatively. He says that this time, he is going as a forlorn soldier who has lost the love of his life back home to invaders and he travels stormy seas seeking vengeance against those who wronged him. You nod approvingly at the backstory and curiously ask where he got the skull to which he hurriedly replies that you don't need to worry about that. When you both attend the ball later that evening, he drunkenly recites romantic sonnets to you, typically within earshot of whatever audience that might happen to be nearby and you spend a lot of the night dragging him away from large crowds.

Muriel:

Muriel has no interest in going anywhere much less a palace full of people standing close together. You offered to make him a costume which he refused. Then you suggest a couple of other ideas and he asks if he can go as a ghost to which you refused. Stumped, you tell him he can keep his normal clothes if he lets you paint his face. His face twists up at the thought, but you stand there, arms crossed and resolute. Sighing, he nods defeatedly and you smile, excitedly getting your supplies ready. You still have to kneel in front of him to reach his face even though he is sitting on the floor. You add some black makeup lightly under his eyes for a dramatic, shadowy look and around other parts of his face where you see fit. He sits patiently as you work, watching you fish for more colors from your supplies. Soon, you're done and you pull his hood over his head and marvel at the spooky effect. You ask Inanna, who is laying down nearby, what she thinks. She sits up and walks over to Muriel and sniffs him before cocking her head to the side cutely. Muriel smiles and gives her a scratch behind the ears as you announce it's time to go. Muriel tells Inanna to watch the hut before leaving with you. It's as Muriel imagined: packed. You reach for his hand to reassure him and pull him towards a less crowded area. You spot Asra and wave him over. He comes up to you both with a smile and looks in awe at Muriel. He exclaims that he looks great as Muriel quietly says thank you. You both spend the night chatting with Asra, hand in hand.

Portia:

Portia is even more enthused about the party than you are. In her excitement, she spoils plans for some of the party rooms. Embarrassed, she asks you not to reveal anything she said to anyone and you laugh and agree to keep it a secret. You both decide it would be fun to invite over a few friends for a small day party before going out that evening to the palace. Julian, Mazelinka, Asra and Muriel come by in the afternoon. All of you have a nice lunch that you and Portia made and chat happily about the party later that night. In the early evening, everyone leaves to get dressed and you and Portia rush to get changed yourselves. Portia emerges in a pirate outfit, complete with an eyepatch she borrowed from Julian and an impressively large pirate hat. She claps approvingly at your costume, and you set out together. You arrive at the palace a little early and Portia takes you on a sneak preview of all the extravagant decorations and party rooms. After wandering around, you both stand at the balcony above the ballroom and watch the guests trickle in before deciding to go down there and join the festivities.

Nadia:

The responsibility to plan and organize all of the decorations and party rooms fall on Nadia's shoulders since Lucio can't be bothered to see it through. The courtiers don't offer much help either, you've heard from Portia, as they spend most of the time panicking about all the things that need to get done. You come down to the palace early in the day as servants fix the final touches on all of the decorations. You find Nadia rubbing her temple in her empty meeting room right after a conference with all of the other courtiers. You ask if she is okay and she replies that she just finished organizing everything and it will all be done by the time the party starts. You suggest she relax in her room for a while and she agrees, asking a servant outside to bring tea to her room. A couple hours later, you are summoned to her room where she has several costumes laid out for you to try. She tells you to pick whichever one you like as she goes to try on her own. All of the options look less like costumes and more like the elegant outfits people in the palace wear all the time. You pick one that suits your tastes and wait for Nadia to show you hers. She comes back to you in an elaborate chainmail dress that is reminiscent of a soldier's uniform complete with one of her real swords. You nervously ask her if that's safe and she laughs, replying that if need be, she can protect you. You blush at her affection and she interlocks arms with you and says it's time to enjoy the party. Funnily enough, the few people who come to greet her do so with apprehension, so in the end, she's able to spend more time with you.

Valerius:

Valerius already spends an annoyingly large amount of time around nobles and other dignitaries. He knows he can't get out of attending the palace party, but he refuses to dress up upon your request. He says something about it being ridiculous and a waste of time. You suggest he goes as a grape for obvious reasons and he glares at you, saying your joke isn't funny. Giving up, you ask him what he wants to do. A few minutes later, you're both leaning against the wall in the ballroom, sipping wine. You chat about the nobles who are attending, the different costumes on display, but soon start laughing instead at the ones whose outfits are too ridiculous. Occasionally, your jokes almost make Valerius snort his wine trying to contain giggles. When it becomes too much, you retreat to a balcony for some fresh air and a chance to release more giggles.

Lucio:

Lucio oversees the start of decorations for the party, but then loses interest. You ask him why he's not supervising and he replies that he trusts his people to do a good job and that planning is boring; he just wants to party. You roll your eyes at his dismissiveness, but know that there's no changing that distracted streak of his. The day of the party, the palace is decorated top to bottom and each room is a contest in excessiveness and grandeur: one room is a massive goat head ice sculpture with the featured blood red drink of the evening pouring out of the eyes. Clearly, that one was inspired. Another is a mess of spider webs covering the walls and floor where partygoers can bounce around. When most of the guests have arrived, Lucio comes down the grand ballroom staircase in a long, fur-trimmed golden cape and matching golden suit. Atop his head sits a golden crown with inlaid rubies and emeralds. Of course, Lucio would dress up as the king of his own party, but that's not very surprising to you. He initially wanted to go as the devil, but you quickly talked him out of it. He next suggested to go as a sexy gladiator which you also shot down. Lucio was a little disappointed at first, but then smiled coyly and winked, saying that he understood your meaning and that it'd be for your eyes only. You told him that's not what you meant, but it's too late. This was the story and he's sticking to it. At the party, Lucio walks you around to all the nobles and introduces you, very pleased that he has someone as wonderful as you by his side. Maybe he partly wants to show you off too. You are certain you catch him staring at you at different times throughout the night with a blush on his face. After the pleasantries, you both wander through the party rooms hand in hand, enjoying each other's company.

Devil:

You tell the Devil about the palace party and ask if he's going to dress up. He isn't interested at first, but since you are so enthusiastic about going, he decides he can make some time for it. You don't know exactly when he will show up. You told him the time, but you know the Devil runs on his own time. You wander around the palace rooms when you are alarmed by the shrill sound of screams from the ballroom. Cursing to yourself, you dart back to find the Devil standing in the middle of the room with a few partygoers passed out on the ground in front of him. You push past the crowd and grab his arm, pulling both of you out of there. In the corridor, you angrily ask him what he thinks he's doing. He smirks down at you and declares that he has the best spooky costume.

Magician:

The Magician is fascinated by this spooky holiday and is happy that you asked him to go. You tell him what time the party starts and he agrees to meet you. You wait outside the palace gates, not wanting to go in without him when you feel a tap on your shoulder. Whisking around, you giggle as you see it's the Magician with a black bandit mask tied around his eyes. You ask him what he is supposed to be and he recounts a time when he reminded you of something and you called him a sneaky fox and then another time you described the bandits you and Asra apprehended on the countess's request. Realizing he just put two and two together, you laugh and reply that it is a very unconventional costume choice, but you like it. You make a mental note to show him other costume ideas he might like instead. He beams proudly and extends an arm to you to lead you inside. Most people look on in awe. It's not so much the bandit "costume;" it's a really niche get-up after all. Partygoers come up to him frequently throughout the night, fascinated by his fur and tail. He swishes it excitedly at the attention and more people are drawn to him. Soon, there's a crowd and you have to maneuver both of you to a quieter area for a little reprieve. He nuzzles you and asks if everything's alright. You reply that it is and ask if he's okay. He chuckles and says he's having a wonderful time, but admits that he's hardly spent any time with you that evening. For the rest of the party, you both walk through the quieter wings of the palace chatting arm in arm.

[rise-above-the-grave]

open your heart, now let the light shine in

read it on AO3

Eri wakes to sterility and white.

She blinks in the dim light of the room, then looks around. It is large and mostly bare, the bed she is in across from the door and close to a large window. When she sits up—slowly, carefully, breathing in quick, shallow breaths that aren’t from fright, they’re not—she sees that the window overlooks a small garden tucked into a courtyard between two other large buildings. Flowers are tiny pinpricks of color far below, and green trees stand tall and proud and still in the shelter of the hospital walls.

The door opens. She turns her head, looks at the tall woman who enters wearing a doctor’s white lab coat. She is smiling, her dark hair gathered into a bun at the nape of her neck, and her blue eyes crinkle in the corners.

“Hello, Eri,” she says kindly, coming into the room. A stethoscope hangs around her neck, and a pen and a notepad are tucked into the lab coat’s pocket. “How are you feeling?”

“Um,” says Eri.

It is then that she sees the other man, who had stepped into the room after the doctor. He is tall as well—taller, even, than the woman—and dark-haired and dark-eyed. There are shadows on his face, and his clothes are black like night, though there is a grey scarf looped around his neck. He watches her warily—and she watches him back.

She feels—well, she doesn’t quite know how she feels, and she squirms a little beneath the strange man’s scrutiny. His dark eyes are hollow, but not empty—bleak, but not dead. Not like Chisaki’s. Chisaki’s eyes had never been hollow—had, instead, been filled with fire and fervor, with need and drive and lust, desire, unsatiated hunger. They had been dark, dark, dark like this man’s, but they had been black in a way this man’s wasn’t. If anything, this man’s eyes reminded Eri of bone, rather than flame—bone broken and left bare and open to bleed and hurt and grow back together crooked.

The man smiles.

It is a small, even tiny, gesture. Barely more than a subtle flinch of his lips. But Eri sees it—and Eri knows what it is.

Eri turns to the woman doctor and smiles, her hands clutched together in her lap. “I’m okay,” she says, finally answering the doctor’s question. Her eyes flick to the man again, and his smile is gone, but it seems to Eri that the bleakness, the hollowness, is a little less than it had been.

“I’m okay.”

~iIi~

The man leaves with the doctor, but he comes back when a nurse brings her dinner. He hovers by the door while Eri eats and the nurse chatters kindly, hands shoved into his pockets, his eyes acutely catching every one of Eri’s slightest movements.

Eri wonders who he is. She thinks she remembers him being among the group that accompanied Mirio and Deku, but she can’t be sure. She thinks he must be a hero, dressed as he is, but she’s never heard of anyone that looks or dresses like him before. Who is he, then? And why is he here?

He leaves again with the nurse, the woman taking Eri’s picked-at food away on the tray, but again he returns when a different, male nurse comes in to take her vitals before bedtime. He watches the nurse tuck her in, and show her the button she can push if she needs help, then turns and exits after him.

Eri watches him go, and wonders. She wonders, as she settles down to sleep. She wonders, as she drifts off. She wonders, as she dreams. But she has no answers, even when she wakes.

~iIi~

The man becomes a constant in Eri’s life. The first day he is not there when someone else walks in through the door is like ice to her blood, and she nearly starts weeping then and there.

“Where is he?” she asks instead, her breath weak and shallow in her chest, her voice tiny.

“Who?” the doctor who had come in to check up on her asks.

“The man,” Eri says, and points to the door he always stands beside.

“Oh, Eraserhead? He has class right now.”

Eri frowns. Class? she thinks. Eraserhead?

“Is that his name?” she asks softly. “Eraserhead?”

The doctor smiles and nods. “That’s his hero name, at least.”

So he is a hero, Eri thinks with some satisfaction. But what about class?

She doesn’t ask, though. Instead, she answers the questions the doctor asks, and shakes her head when the doctor asks if she has any questions, and nods when the doctor asks if she’ll be okay. The doctor smiles and leaves, and Eri is alone with only her thoughts and the coloring books one of the nurses had scrounged up from the pediatrics department for company.

She wonders if Eraserhead will come back.

She hopes he will.

~iIi~

He comes back that night.

Eri watches him stand by the door with relief, and answers the questions asked of her more readily and gladly than she has yet. When the nurse leaves, though, she is surprised when Eraserhead doesn’t immediately turn and follow.

Instead, he walks towards her, stopping a few feet away from her bed.

“The doctor says you asked about me,” the man says softly. It is not a question.

It is the first time Eri has heard him speak.

Eri nods.

“Are you okay?” the man asks—and Eri is surprised at that. Of course she’s okay. Why wouldn’t she be? Even more than that, though, why would this man who has never even talked to her, and who she is irrationally attached to just because he has been there every day for the past week, care?

Some of her confusion must show on her face, because the man says, “No one hurt you while I was gone? No one scared you?”

“Oh,” says Eri, still a little confused, but a little less confused. “No.”

“Hm,” says the man, and he nods. He shoves his hands deeper into his pockets, then inclines his head to her. “Goodnight then, Eri,” he says, and he turns and leaves the room.

As Eri drifts off to sleep that night, she thinks about the man saying her name. She thinks she likes it when she hears it in his voice.

It sounds, she thinks, like safety.

~iIi~

It is Eraserhead who brings her breakfast the next morning, not a nurse, and for the first time ever he sits down in the chair pulled up to her bedside while she eats.

“How did you sleep?” he asks after a few uncomfortable minutes, in which Eri picks at her food and eyes him through her lashes.

“Okay,” Eri says. She hesitates, shoving a forkful of sausage around the plate, then asks, “How about you?”

“Me?” Eraserhead asks, sounding surprised. Then, “Oh.” He hesitates too, then says, “I…didn’t really sleep last night.”

Eri frowns. “Why not?” she asks.

The man smiles, and Eri is reminded of his eyes on that first day—his eyes that looked like broken bone.

“That’s not something you need to worry yourself about,” Eraserhead says.

“Okay,” says Eri, because she will not make this man, who she thinks she likes and maybe, maybe is beginning to trust, angry with her.

“You should eat more than that,” Eraserhead says, when Eri makes to shove the tray away from her a minute later.

Eri frowns. “I’m not hungry,” she says.

“The reports say you haven’t been eating much,” Eraserhead says. “I doubt you’re not hungry.”

Eri stops. Thinks.

“Oh,” says Eri after a few seconds. “I guess maybe I am a little hungry. I don’t feel good, though.”

“How about this?” Eraserhead says. “You eat a bite, and I’ll eat a bite. That way all your food gets gone, and we don’t have to tell the doctors that you aren’t the one who ate it all.”

Eri looks at Eraserhead, surprised again by him. “Why?” she asks.

Eraserhead looks at her in return, and says, “Because they look at things like your appetite when you’re in the hospital, and use that to help determine when you’re healthy. They aren’t going to let you leave until you’re eating well.”

“Oh,” says Eri. Then she nods. “Okay.”

They eat her breakfast together, Eri taking one bite, then Eraserhead taking another one. They go back and forth, Eraserhead noticing that she likes the eggs the best and leaving them all for her, while he eats the disgusting oatmeal.

When he stands to leave, he surprises Eri again by patting her on the head. It is the first time anyone has touched her since she woke up in the hospital who wasn’t just checking her vitals.

“Have a good day, Eri,” Eraserhead says, and turns to leave.

“Will you be back tonight?” Eri blurts. She has to know—has to make sure she hasn’t done anything that will make him stop coming.

“Of course,” Eraserhead promises.

~iIi~

True to his word, Eraserhead comes back late in the afternoon. He is carrying a bag that Eri has never seen before, slung over one shoulder, and carries another in his right hand. He puts both down carefully beside Eri’s bed, then sits in the chair.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” he says.

“You aren’t late,” Eri replies, because she hadn’t been expecting him until dinner at the earliest.

“I got you some things,” Eraserhead says.

Eri frowns. “Why?” she blurts out, because she cannot quite fathom why anyone would get her anything they didn’t have to.

Eraserhead shrugs, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. “You looked lonely and bored,” he said. “I thought you could maybe use a friend, and some distractions.”

Eri looks at him, a crease between her eyebrows. “A friend?”

“I guess we can start with that,” Eraserhead says, and he reaches into the smaller of the two bags.

When he pulls his hand out, he is holding a stuffed unicorn. It is purple and blue and white, with a shiny horn and feathers around its plush hooves. He hands it to Eri, who takes it like a saint taking a relic, and looks at it with awe.

“This is for me?” she asks.

Eraserhead nods. “I saw it and thought of you,” he says.

Eri draws the unicorn stuffed animal to her chest and tentatively hugs it. It is soft, and the unicorn’s hair is silky as Eri runs her fingers through it. It is the perfect size to be hugged, and the perfect weight to hug her back.

Eri starts to cry.

“I’m sorry,” Eraserhead says, and Eri is startled by how scared he sounds. He is not, she realizes, someone who she thought was ever scared of anything. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s for me?” Eri sniffles, trying to swallow back her tears. “It’s mine?”

Eraserhead nods, looking uncomfortable, but a little less…panicked. “It’s yours,” he says. “I bought it just for you.”

“Why?” Eri asks, voice tiny, tiny, tiny.

“Because you needed a friend,” he says.

“Aren’t you my friend?” Eri asks, before she can stop herself.

Eraserhead stops dead, even the breath freezing in his chest. Then he smiles, just a little—a twitch of his lips that is barely more than the flinch that Eri had seen the first day.

“Yes,” he says. “I’d like to be your friend.”

Eri nods, then buries her face in the unicorn’s back.

The bed dips—and then Eri is surprised yet again at the feeling of a hand on her back, large and warm and stolid. “Can I give you a hug?” Eraserhead asks quietly.

Eri nods into the unicorn, not daring to look up—not daring to believe this is real, not daring to see him in case this is all just some sort of trick and he’s about to hurt her. She doesn’t think she can survive it if this is all just some farce.

Large, warm, stolid arms wrap around her, and Eri stiffens. But they don’t hurt. They just hold. And then there is a hand in her hair, stroking softly, slowly, gently.

Eri’s tears redouble, the unicorn trapped between her arms, Eri trapped between Eraserhead’s arms. This time, though, Eraserhead doesn’t seem to panic. He just holds her, and holds her, and holds her.

~iIi~

Eraserhead stays until her bedtime.

He’d also brought games, still in their wrappings and packaging, to play with her, and they spent a fun few hours after Eri had cried herself out playing them. He sat on the end of her bed, or in the chair pulled up to her bedside, while Eri sat cross-legged on top of her covers with her back to the pillows.

He waits in the room while she brushes her teeth and uses the bathroom, then takes the nurse’s place to tuck her in after her vitals were read. “Goodnight, Eri,” her murmurs softly, resting a hand on her hair before straightening. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promises.

Eri watches him leave, turning off the light as he goes, and goes to sleep actually looking forward to the following day.Top of Form

~iIi~

He comes back the next day, just as he promised, and the next, and the next. Sometimes he grades papers while sitting by her bedside, sometimes they play the games he left stacked on her bedside table, and sometimes they just talk.

“What do you do?” Eri asks him one day, as rain beats the windows and thunder rumbles in the distance.

“I’m a hero,” Eraserhead says. He frowns. “I thought you knew that.”

Eri nods. “Do you do anything else, though?” she asks, looking at him from the corner of her eye. She still wonders, almost every day, what the doctor had meant by “class” that day.

“Yes,” Eraserhead says. “I’m a teacher at UA.”

Eri gapes. She’s heard of UA, of course—had even watched the Sports Festival one year. “Isn’t that the best hero school in Japan?” she asks, though, because she has to make sure it’s the right UA.

Eraserhead smiles the soft, secret smile he seems to only ever smile at her, and nods. “Yeah,” he says. “It is.”

“You must be a really good hero, then!” Eri says brightly, wriggling just a little on the bed. She hadn’t realized that Eraserhead was, like, an important hero.

Eraserhead, though, just shrugs. “I suppose,” he says, sounding a little uncomfortable.

Eri frowns then. “Why haven’t I ever heard of you?” she asks.

Eraserhead grins again, but it’s a different sort of grin. This one is like steel and blood, and if it was anyone else who had smiled it, Eri thinks she might have been afraid.

“I’m what’s called an Underground Hero,” Eraserhead says.

“What’s that?” Eri asks, before Eraserhead can go on.

“It’s a kind of hero that does the sort of work no one else wants to do,” Eraserhead says. “We stay out of the limelight because that would get us killed. We do a lot of undercover operations, as well as shadow work.”

“Shadow work?” Eri asks.

“Yeah,” Aizawa says. “Shadow work. Like…” He hesitates, then says, “You know how the operation to rescue you was really big? It involved a lot of heroes, and a lot of police, and there was a lot of media coverage.”

Eri nods.

“Well, there are some kids in situations where a big operation would just get them killed—and they don’t need a big operation to rescue them. They need to be saved from family members, or from a smaller and less powerful gang than the Shie Hissaikai, or from a different sort of bad situation. Something where they would have just killed the kid rather than let them escape.”

“Oh,” says Eri. She puzzles for a moment, not quite sure she can wrap her mind around that being a situation that really happens—but if Eraserhead says it is, then she believes it is. “And you help those kids?”

Eraserhead nods. “I try, anyway,” he tells her, and something black and rotted flashes through his eyes, from one to the other before disappearing back into his mind. Eri’s heart twists at the sight of it, and once again she is reminded of the broken bone, and she wonders if this has something to do with it, or if the thing that birthed the brokenness was something else entirely.

“I…” Eri trails off, and Eraserhead looks up at her from the game board sitting between them.

“Yes, Eri?” he asks, pressing gently.

“I never said thank you,” Eri whispers at last. “You were there. You helped save me. And I never—”

“It’s okay, Eri,” Eraserhead says. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“But you’ve been so nice,” Eri all but wails. “And you don’t even—you won’t even—I don’t understand!”

“What don’t you understand?” Eraserhead asks.

“Why you’re being so nice,” Eri says, and hugs the unicorn she’s named Purple against her chest. “You don’t seem to want anything, and I don’t, I mean, I don’t want, I want—”

Eraserhead sighs, stands, then shifts around the board and sits again beside Eri. He opens his arms in a silent invitation, and Eri carefully, nervously, warily fits herself against his side. His arms settle around her, drawing her close against him, and he holds her there against his body, stolid and warm and inexplicably safe.

“Only bad people want a child to do anything for them,” Eraserhead tells her. “I mean, it’s one thing I guess to want a kid to do the dishes or sweep the floor. But anything more than that isn’t okay. Children are people too, and so they aren’t meant to be abused. They’re—you’re—here to be loved, and to be taught what’s right and wrong, and to be raised to be a good person. You’re not here to give me, or anybody, anything.”

Eri’s frown returns, and she cranes her neck up to look at Eraserhead. “I don’t understand,” she says softly. “Aren’t I—I mean, Overhaul only wanted me for what I could do. And so I’ll only be good for what I can do for you, and whoever takes care of me next. Aren’t I?”

Something dark and ugly flashes over Eraserhead’s face again—something Eri can’t quantify. Then it’s gone, as quickly as it had come, replaced instead with something soft and kind.

“That’s not true,” he tells Eri. “It’s not true, and if I have to take the next 20 years teaching you that’s not true, then I will.”

Eri stiffens, then looks up at him, and says, “20 years? You mean, you aren’t going to leave me? You’re going to stay?”

Eraserhead looks awkward, then shrugs. “Maybe,” he hedges. “If you want me to.”

Eri nods, and buries her face against his side. “I do want that,” she says into his ribs, into his chest, into his heart—and above her, Eri can feel him nod.

“Okay,” he says, his chest rumbling with his voice. “Then I won’t go anywhere.”

~iIi~

As the third week draws to a close and the fourth week of Eri’s hospital stay begins, she begins to wonder what will happen to her once they’re tired of having her there. She broaches the topic with Eraserhead on Monday when he comes to see her after class.

“What’s going to happen to me?” she asks.

Eraserhead frowns, just a little. “What do you mean?”

“When I leave the hospital.”

Eraserhead goes very still, then says, “They’ll find you a home to go to. Someplace you’ll be safe, and someone can help you learn to control your quirk.”

“Oh,” says Eri, feeling uncomfortable. She had hoped—but no, that would be too much to even hope for.

“What’s wrong?” Eraserehead asks.

“Nothing,” Eri lies.

Eraserhead eyes her, but lets her have her little lie, instead going back to his grading, and that is the end of that conversation.

~iIi~

Eri brings it up again the next day, however.

“What kind of house will I go to?” she asks Eraserhead, who looks uncomfortable, fiddling with the red pen he is holding to mark essays with.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “Probably one with other kids. It’ll be fun—you’ll have people your age to play with, and parents to watch over you.” He does not, however, sound convinced, and there is something steely and cold in his eyes, like an old wound that had never quite fully healed over.

“Oh,” says Eri. Then she asks, “Will you still come see me?”

“Of course,” Eraserhead says quickly. It is maybe too quickly, and the pain that Eri had seen seems to multiply.

“Are you okay?” she asks quietly.

Eraserhead smiles at her, and reaches up to pat her head. “I’m okay,” he says. “Just thinking of an old hero I used to know, who said almost the exact same thing to me.”

“Oh?” Eri asks. “Who was it?”

“He was dead long ago,” Eraserhead says. “You wouldn’t know him anyway, though. He was an Underground Hero.”

“Like you,” Eri pipes up.

“Yeah,” Eraserhead says. “Like me.”

~iIi~

Eri thinks about it for the next day, and the next, before asking Eraserhead about it again.

“Mr. Eraserhead?” she asks.

“Yes?” Eraserhead says, looking up at her from the cards in his hand.

“Do you know where I’m going to be going yet? When I leave here?” The doctors earlier in the day had been talking about discharging her soon, and that meant her time here was drawing to a close—that her time spending every afternoon with Eraserhead was also drawing to an end.

“I wanted to talk to you about that, actually,” Eraserhead says.

Eri looks at him, confused. “Why?”

“Well,” Eraserhead says slowly, carefully, as if thinking every word over before he says it, “it’s become a possibility for you to come stay with me at UA. If you want. If you don’t, that’s okay too, we can always find you someplace else to go, with kids your own age, but I thought—well, I can help you control your quirk.”

“How?” Eri asks.

Eraserhead looks at her, a little surprised. “Has no one told you my quirk?” he asks her.

Eri shakes her head.

“Oh,” says Eraserhead. “Well, I can erase the quirks of other people. Not permanently,” he adds quickly, as Eri opens her mouth to ask if he could take hers away for forever, “just until I blink, or something obstructs my view of them. But if you lose control of it, I can stop your quirk from hurting anyone.”

It is Eri’s turn to say, “Oh.” She looks at him, hopeful. “And you—you’d help me learn? To control it?”

“Of course,” Eraserhead says. “That would be part of my job as your guardian.”

“Oh,” Eri says again.

“Only if you want to come live with me, though,” Eraserhead says again. “This part is up to you.”

“Okay,” Eri says.

Eraserhead frowns. “Okay what?” he asks.

“I want—” Eri gulps.

“What do you want, Eri?” Eraserhead asks, and his voice is softer and more encouraging.

“I want to live with you,” Eri blurts, barely able to process that this is really happening, that the dream she had not even let herself dream is coming true. “I want…” She trails off, unable to say anything else for fear that it will all turn into some horrible joke and everything good and happy in her life will disappear like smoke.

“Okay,” Eraserhead says. “Then you’ll come to live with me.”

And with that, he lays a card down on the bed and says, “It’s your turn, Eri.”

~iIi~

Two days later, Eri leaves the hospital.

She walks out of the front doors, her hand ensconced in Eraserhead’s, It is a clear day, the sky blue and brilliant, the sun lowering toward the western horizon and the air arm with the afternoon. She is clad once more in the red jumper that the nurses had bought her, though Eraserhead has promised she and he will go shopping for more clothes tomorrow.

They wait for the cab together, sitting on a bench outside of the hospital’s main doors. Eri clutches to Eraserhead’s hand, not daring to let go, afraid that if she does, he’ll disappear into smoke, as will the last month. She still is not convinced that this isn’t just a dream.

“We’ll go see Deku and Mirio when we get to UA,” Eraserhead promises.

“Okay,” Eri says, not really hearing him, still lost in her thoughts.

“Oh, and Eri,” Eraserhead says, finally drawing Eri’s attention. “It would be best if you didn’t call me Eraserhead anymore. At least not when out in public.”

“Okay,” Eri says. “Then what do I call you?”

Eraserhead smiles. “Just call me Aizawa.”

[alloftheimagines]

billy hargrove | heaven-sent | part six

masterlist | series | part five

words: 2k+

warnings: mentions of death, abuse, fighting, swearing, drinking, aggression, non-consensual kiss

disclaimer: i in no way support the actions of billy. i just find his character interesting and want to explore it more with my oc. takes place from season 2. OC is hopper’s daughter.

summary:  she’s an angel. he may as well be the devil. one would not exist without the other.

The gentle hum of the engine is peaceful as the Camaro cruises through Hawkins. Billy doesn’t try to cover it with his music the way he usually would. After the night he’s had, he’s grateful for the quiet. He’s unable to forget the way his father’s fist collided with his face earlier, his cheek still throbbing painfully. His jaw aches, too, and he realises he’s been clenching it for hours. He relaxes it now as best he can, his attention drawn away from it entirely when they pass a bunch of wilted flowers placed randomly on the side of the road. There are unlit candles, too, the wax melted into the concrete.

“Someone die there or somethin’?” he asks without thinking.

From the corner of his eye, he sees Frances flinch and regrets asking. “Yeah. Her name was Barb.”

“Did you know her?” He glances at her, but she isn’t looking at him, her head turned away as she gazes out of the window.

“She was my best friend.”

Jesus. I’m—” He sucks in a breath, his grip tightening on the steering wheel sub-consciously. Sorry, he wants to say, but somehow the word doesn’t do it justice. “What happened to her?”

“She was killed.” She tucks a strand of brown hair behind her ear, her eyes hardening as she turns them back on the road ahead. She still won’t look at him.

“Shit,” he whispers. “Did they catch ‘em?”

“No.” She shakes her head, her voice cracking. Her chest is heaving as though she’s suppressing a sob or is struggling to breathe. He shuffles in his seat, unsure what to do or say. He doesn’t need to force anything out: she continues before the right words come. “I should have been there that night. She begged and begged for me to come to this stupid party with her at Steve Harrington’s house. Nancy was forcing her. She wasn’t really part of that crowd and she didn’t wanna be alone, always said it was easier for her when I was there. She died alone.”

“It’s not your fault,” Billy replies softly. It’s easier for him to be soft in the dark; easier to allow himself to sound as though he gives a damn. “You couldn’t have known.”

“But I did,” she hits back, looking at him now. Her eyes are shiny with tears, her hands clinging to her camera desperately. “I had this awful feeling in my chest, like I couldn’t breathe, all fucking night—only I thought it was because Jonathan’s brother was missing. I was so busy looking for him with my dad that I wasn’t there for Barb. Now she’s gone. And I knew.”

Her face is illuminated in the pale headlights passing on the other side of the road, and for a moment her eyes seem to flicker, blaze, change. Her irises, once a green that reminded Billy of the Californian sea on a rare, grey day, are now golden. He does a double take, almost swerving the car in the process, but when he looks again they look as they always did: murky ocean eyes half-hiding behind dark lashes and unruly bangs.

“Shit,” he curses, forcing his eyes back on the road. “Your eyes.”

She frowns, paling and pulling down the overhead mirror with enough force that Billy is worried she might break his damn car. “What?”

“Nothin’, I—” he stutters, blinking and looking at her again. Had he imagined it? Was it the light off the other car? “I thought you had something in your eye. It was nothin’.”

He pulls into the clearing where the trailer stands, lonely and grey against the black lake. The tyres roll against the gravel unevenly, the engine cutting out and replaced with silence.

“Your dad home?” he asks, just as he had the previous night. The trailer’s windows are dark, the house empty and solitary where it stands. He can’t imagine calling this place a home, even with his own circumstances.

“No,” she replies, unfastening her seat-belt slowly. “You wanna come in for a while? I could use that drink, now.”

He nods, a small smile playing on his lips as he takes the keys out of the ignition and grabs the bottle of whisky from beside him. “Sure. Why not?”

* * *

The trailer isn’t as small as it looks from the outside. It’s cosy, earthy, and he can imagine Frances pottering about on it on a Saturday, drinking coffee with the patterned curtains closed to block out the low winter sun. Still, he can’t imagine sleeping in this thing alone. They’re basically in the middle of nowhere. He can’t even smell cow shit out here, and the lake is eerily still even in the wind.

“Your dad work a lot?” He places the whiskey on the kitchen counter and she pulls out two glasses from the oak cupboards, standing on her tip-toes and arching her back to reach.

“Yeah. I’m used to it now.”

“You don’t get scared out here alone?” he teases, leaning against the counter.

She pours the whiskey carefully and slides his tumbler towards him, taking a sip of her own. If the burn fazes her, she doesn’t show it. “I’m always scared. Doesn’t make a difference if I’m out here or in the middle of town.”

“Because of Barb?”

She shrugs. Her cheeks are flushed from the short walk between the car and the trailer, making the small cut on her cheek appear redder than it did before. “Because of a lot of things. You need ice for that bruise?”

He had forgotten about it for the first time tonight. He touches it now as if to remind himself, trying to hide his wince as he realises how tender it is. “I’m good,” he says despite himself.

She rolls her eyes, kneeling down to rifle through the freezer. When she comes up, she’s holding frozen peas. She chucks them at him, and he catches reluctantly, pressing them gently to his face. “Thanks.”

“So, where did you move from?” she questions, leading him to the couch and sitting down, whiskey in hand. He follows, sitting beside her, perhaps a little closer than he had meant to. He doesn’t make an effort to budge down.

“California.”

“Yeah?” Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “That’s a little different than Hawkins. What was it like?”

“It was …,” he sighs, unable to find the right words. Nobody had asked him that yet, really. Nobody in Hawkins cared about Billy’s old life. Sometimes, it no longer feels as though it exists at all. “It was home. I basically lived on the beach. Had bonfires most nights, spent my days out in the sun. There was always something happening, too. Carnivals, fairs, gigs. You’d love it. You'd get some amazing photographs.”

“Yeah,” she smiles, hanging on his every word. He can’t help but look at her again, at her eyes that he’d been sure had changed. They were still green, still the closest he could get to his favourite place. “I bet. You must miss it like crazy.”

“More than anything,” he admits, sipping his drink to distract himself from the sudden attention. “What about you, you lived here your whole life?”

“Actually, I lived in New York for a while when I was a kid. My mom still lives there with her new husband.”

“Did you like it?”

She shakes her head, leaning back into the couch as her eyes glaze over for a moment, remembering. “I did. Now, it just reminds me of things I’d rather forget.”

“Like?”

“I think I’ve told you enough of my little sob story tonight,” she laughs, but Billy can tell it isn’t genuine. He can’t help but wonder if they’re more alike than he thought, looking at the cut on her cheek again. Did the chief do that? He seems to walk around town in an eternally foul mood: it wouldn’t necessarily surprise him if he took it out on her.

He finds himself inching closer to her, so close that their foreheads are almost touching. “I like talking to you. You’re the only person in this shitty town I can stand to be around, even if you are all gloom and doom.”

“Gee, thanks.” Sarcasm drips from her words without conviction. He can hear her breath coming out quicker as he looks down at her soft, pink lips longingly. She doesn’t close the distance, so he takes it upon himself.

Their lips press together for only a moment before her hands are on his stomach, pushing him away. She stands up, crossing her arms over her chest as though she’s naked rather than fully clothed with layers of knitwear. Her face is bright red, her eyes blazing. “What the fuck, Billy?”

“What?” he replies cluelessly, raking his hand through his hair and pretending as though his cheeks aren’t heating up in embarrassment. He can’t remember the last time he was rejected.

“What?” Frances repeats in disbelief. “God, what was this? Were you just trying to get into my pants the entire fucking time? Driving me home, getting back my camera, listening to me when I talk about my dead friend and my cheating boyfriend because I’m a fucking idiot who thought that maybe you weren’t so bad, that maybe you actually gave a shit?”

He’s speechless, licking his dry lips as he tries to figure out what to say. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”

“Why would I ever want that? I just ended a two-year relationship with my best fucking friend.”

“And I’m great at rebound sex,” he answers as though it’s obvious. He can feel anger beginning to bubble in him, not because he’s mad at her words, but because she’s yelling—and he still doesn’t know why. “Why else am I hear, Fran? You wanna talk about feelings all night while you braid my damn hair? Cuddle by the fuckin’ fire with a mug of hot cocoa, marshmallows on top? You’re not stupid. You know I’m not that guy.”

Tears are pricking her eyes again, and this time she doesn’t blink them back. He’s not sure she even knows she’s crying in her own, blind rage. “So all of this was just for sex? All of it?”

Billy softens at the sadness in her voice, his elbows digging painfully into his thighs as he puts his head in his hands and takes a breath. “No, it wasn’t like that. I didn’t plan all this just to screw you. I just … When you invited me in, I thought—”

“Thought you’d shoot your shot,” she finished bitterly. “Of course you did; of course opening my door to you automatically meant opening my legs, too. You’re a fucking asshole, Billy. I don’t know why I let you in. I don’t know why I let any of this happen. Just get out.”

“Fran—” he says desperately, standing up from the couch and walking around the coffee table to meet her.

“Get out, Billy!” Frances shouts. “Get the fuck out!”

She pushes him backwards with more force than he’d been expecting, sending him flying straight into the door. It falls open against his weight, and he falls with it, landing on the porch. His defeated, shocked body is illuminated by the white porch light.

Frances stands in the doorway, speechless. Clearly, she had been expecting this as much as he had.

“Jesus!” he yells when he’s able to find the words. It hurts him, being treated this way. He could take it from his father, his friends, the shitheads he beats up at school and parties, but he hadn’t been expecting her to touch him like that—and it’s clear she hadn’t meant to by the way she looks at him as though he’s broken, as though she’s broken him, though she can’t know what this means to him. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re a crazy bitch, you know that?”

“Fuck you,” she whispers weakly as he pulls himself up, using the fence as support. “Leave me alone, Hargrove.”

“Gladly,” he responds, his upper lip curling in contempt. His hands are balled into fists as he marches away, barely sparing her a glance as he slams the door of the Camaro shut after sliding into the driver’s seat. His tyres struggle against the gravel, spitting out dust and dirt as he speeds away, watching her retreating figure standing in the threshold of the trailer in the rear-view mirror.

part seven

[whattimeisitintokyo]

Somos Familia Ch 39: It Hits the Fan

Chapter 39: It Hits the Fan

Today was the day!

Miguel's birthday!

Héctor chuckled to himself as he finished shaving and wiping off the leftover shaving cream off his face, leaving behind the little tuft of hair that was his goatee. He had often considered shaving it off completely, being too old to have such juvenile facial hair, but at this point in his life it was practically trademarked. All his official photos and even illustrations of him all had it. He was practically stuck with it.

He chuckled again, letting his mind drift over these trivial things that made him smile. Any thoughts that didn't include what this day also was. Yes, he would put items on the ofrenda for his beloved daughter, tell her how much he missed her and loved her. Even give a respectful nod to Ernesto's foto. But other than that his thoughts were only on Miguel's birthday party. All the family would be there, everyone would feast on Miguel's favorite meals, presents, games, laughter and love. If he just concentrated on that then the pain wouldn't be so bad.

He didn't sleep well last night. He never did on the days leading up to Dia de Muertos. He vaguely remembered waking up crying once last night, but he was soon lulled back to sleep by his wife's calming presence and he was fine afterwards. She didn't even say anything when he awoke the next morning, and he was thankful for that. He could pass off the dark circles under his eyes on his age, and no one besides Imelda would notice.

He stepped into his walk-in closet and pushed aside Imelda's beautiful dresses to get to his clothes. He was feeling particularly festive today and pulled out his royal purple suit jacket off the hanger. Thinking about which tie would go well with hit, he looked up and saw something gleaming in between the hanging clothes.

The golden tooth of a grinning skull.

Immediately his mood dropped as he blankly stared at the headstock of his once prized guitar. He didn't feel any pride or joy in looking at it, hadn't even played it for over nine years, but he couldn't bring himself to hate it either. Many times he had considered giving it away or, in his more depressive states, simply throw it into the dumpster where he felt it belonged.

But he never could. Because his beloved wife had given it to him on his birthday, oh so many years ago.

'Y-you… bought this for me?! I don't know what to say…'

'You don't need to say anything Héctor. Feliz Cumpleaños. Now stop saving your money for it and go buy yourself some food, tonto.'

And then she had kissed him for the first time ever. On the cheek, yes, but it had made his whole head burst into flames and his ears buzz. It was the true beginning of their relationship, and this guitar was the key. It was a precious moment in his life: a fond memory. So no, he couldn't get rid of it so easily. But it wasn't going to stay in the closet anymore either. He'd have a talk with Chente later about sending it off to Rivera de La Cruz Records to be put on display to the public if they wanted it. It would still be his, but he wouldn't have to look at it anymore.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Picking up a red necktie he pushed a bunch of clothes over the guitar, concealing it again, and walked away.

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

"Facundo! Don't smear icing on your sister's dress! Anselmo! Osvaldo! Stop fighting, you're in front of company, show some respect! Ay, Dahlia hold the baby for me, would you? You're the oldest, you need to help Papá."

Miguel walked into the courtyard with Victoria to absolute mayhem, with Victoria pulling him out of the way just in time before a sticky pastry struck the wall where his head was. Nodding his thanks to his niece he looked out to see Elena and Charlie playing with five other small, very rambunctious children dressed in their best church clothes. Soiled in mud, breakfast foods and sans shoes of course, but there was an effort to get Martín and Rosita's children dressed nicely for the special occasion. Martín was standing over them, trying not to be knocked down by the running, screaming children as he also tried not to drop the baby girl in his arms. Matty was also seated at the table set outside, holding Clara and looking very smug that his own children were behaving themselves properly, and Julio was looking out at the chaos with a thousand-yard stare.

Sitting down after finally passing the baby to his eldest, Martín slumped into a chair with a groan and leaned towards Matty in exhaustion. "Remember the Nazis? How easy it was with them? They were so neat and organized. Precise."

"They blew your leg off, amigo."

"At this point in my life, I wish they blew something else off."

"Papá, Papá!" One of Martín's sons came up to him, pulling on his sleeve and smiling with gapped teeth. "Charlie wants to play horses! Can we, por favor?"

"Ay, all right." Reaching down underneath the table, Martín fumbled around a little with belts and straps before pulling off and giving the child his prosthetic leg. "Don't get it dirty and do not, I repeat, do not… stick forks in it again."

Suddenly Julio sat up with a smile and shouted. "Hey everyone! The birthday boy is here!"

All the little children stopped immediately to look at Miguel standing in the doorway, before screaming again and running into him for hugs. This time Victoria didn't help, and Miguel let out a squawk when he was bombarded with seven sticky children. "Feliz cumpleaños, Miguel!" several little voices yelled out.

"Agh!... Gr-gracias… AHH! You guys are squeezing me to hard!"

"Ah, there you are mijo." Imelda swooped in and managed to pry the little ones off her son, brushing down his hair and giving him a kiss. "Fashionably late to your own party, I see. You look very nice today."

"Gracias, Mamá." Miguel said, pulling down his sleeves to cover up the wristbands that Victoria had made for him. 'I've gotta look nice for my performance tonight.' He said to himself. It wasn't a charro suit that he would have liked to wear, like a professional mariachi, but the bolo tie and shiny new boots were a nice touch.

"Well I hope your hungry." Imelda said. "We've been cooking up a storm all morning in that cramped little kitchen. And Wanda has made a delicious surprise for you."

"Cinnamon rolls!" Wanda said happily, placing a tray of pastries absolutely dripping with icing and candied nuts on the table. "My grandmother's recipe. I really hope you'll like them, but if you're anything like your brother then I know you're going to love them Miguel."

"No, I don't love them." Matty said, already double fisting the freshly glazed rolls with hungry eyes. "I'm damn near addicted to them. I crave them all day every day. But they're considered a Sunday food, and I'm forced to go without all week! It's torture, hermanito, pure torture."

"Which reminds me, since I'm making them on a Friday that means you've had them two times this week. So, we can skip them on Sunday and have them the next week."

"What?!"

"It's actually a little funny." Wanda said as Matty started to hoard as many rolls as he could in front of him. "Rosita's had three so far, but she's been pouring lime juice all over them. Lime juice! Can you believe it? How can you eat something so sour with something so sweet is beyond me!"

The others laughed a little and started to doll out the rest of the pastries to everyone else, with only Matty noticing the way Martín's face had turned pale white and he sunk lowly in his chair. "Lime juice?… Oh, no no no no nooo…"

Matty shook his head with pity, but mostly with exasperation, and ate his cinnamon roll. "Cochino…"

Breakfast was delicious, of course, and the party continued throughout the day. There were party games, cake and ice cream and even more sugary delights that threw all the little children into an even more manic frenzy until they had finally passed out underneath the shade of the tree. The ofrenda had been set up, decorated with flowers and offerings for Imelda's parents, Leti, the late Facundo and even Matty's friend Barto, while the adults shared stories of their dearly departed despite Héctor's best efforts to divert their attention to another party game or business idea he had. Even Chente and his best friend Javier had come to whish him a happy birthday to join the festivities. They always seemed really cool to Miguel, and he also felt like they understood his frustration with the lack of music.

Miguel absently kept checking the clock every so often, time seeming to move achingly slow as it creeped towards seven. He had hidden his guitar underneath the ofrenda table, somewhere he knew his father wouldn't be near that much, so it would be ready to be picked up when he left.

But for now his concentration was on opening the last birthday present, then he could go get his real gift. "Wow, sneakers! Gracias Tío Oscar y Tío Felipe!"

"Not just any sneakers." Felipe said proudly.

"But the new Rivera Freeflyers!"

"The new line of children's shoes-"

"-that goes on the market next year."

"Designed by us of course."

"But you're the first kid to wear them!"

"Feliz cumpleaños!"

Smiling, Miguel set the shoes back in the box. "That's really cool. Thanks again. Is that the last present? Aw man, that's sad. But I guess good things can't last forever. Well, if we're done I have some stuff I-"

"Atata. Not so fast, Miguel." Héctor walked up to him, smiling widely. "Because I also have a present for you."

Sitting back down, glancing at the clock again, Miguel's smile drooped a little in uncertainty. "Okay…"

Clearing his throat theatrically, Héctor stood next to his son in the center of the room spoke loud for all to hear. "Twelve years ago today, Miguel Rivera… beloved nephew, tío, brother and son… was brought into this world. A harrowing, frightful day for the whole family, especially for his dear mother, mi diosa, but one that ultimately ended in triumph. For that tiny baby was able to grow into a healthy little boy, and who has now grown into the fine young man standing before us all today."

"And since you are on the brink of adulthood, it's high time that we start thinking about your future, Miguel. Specifically what you're going to do for a living when you grow up. Now as much as we, and pretty much the whole world, loves your Mamá's shoes I get the feeling that's not where your passions truly lie. But after having a talk with Chente yesterday, we came to the conclusion that maybe your future lies with… Rivera de la Cruz Records."

Miguel noticed the way his father flinched at saying Ernesto's name, like he always did, but that didn't matter at the moment. There was a sudden bubbling of excitement and anticipation welling up inside of him, and he happily looked over at Chente for a confirmation. The former assistant, now CEO of the biggest movie and music production company in Mexico, gave him a silent smile and thumbs up. Turning back to his father with a big smile, Héctor continued.

"So your mother and I talked about it last night, and we both decided the best opportunity for you would be-"

Miguel could see it now: His name in lights, the crowd chanting his name, strumming a guitar just like, no better, than Tío Nesto's. Singing songs that he had written himself, the crowd singing along with him because they were so good, so memorable. Immortalized for all time by doing the one thing he truly loved to do: Playing the guit-

"-to start training you in business, just like your brother! And to start with that, we're going to enroll you in business management classes!"

…..

…..

"… What?"

There was not a sound coming from anyone else in the room. Wanda, Julio and Coco looked at each other in complete disbelief and mild disgust, Matty slowly bringing his hand over his eyes in complete exasperation. The other adults in the room cringed and suddenly became very interested in their plates of leftover food and cake, except for Vicente and Javier. Poor Chente stared at Héctor like he had just condemned the man to his death, eyes wide and mouth agape in horror, while Javier was bent nearly in half in his chair. Shoulders shaking and biting down on his clenched fist, Javier was doing everything he could to not just bust out laughing at the entire fiasco in front of him. Oblivious to everyone's obvious displeasure of his grand announcement, Héctor continued.

"There's a school nearby. In San Benito. They specialize in training children for college. Mateo, you went there, remember?"

Nodding and smiling painfully, Matty said, "Yes, Papá. I remember going… I remember willingly going-"

"Well, you did so well there that we thought Miguel would too! Now, they've got a new program where they include room and boarding, and you can do your regular schooling there."

"Which" Imelda interjected, "I have already vetoed. They still have just the same smaller classes every other weekend that you went to, Mateo. I don't want our little boy to be away from home for so long."

"Right," Héctor said. "I agree with her. You'll still go to school here, so don't worry about that. You won't miss your friends or your family. But I feel like this is a great opportunity for you."

Miguel felt like congratulating himself for how well he was hiding his displeasure from his parents. No, displeasure was too light a word for how he was feeling. He felt like his face was about to break and shatter for how long he was holding the rictus of his earlier smile, and his heart and stomach freefalling down to his boots. He felt like he was slowly dying, and yet his parents were looking at him like they were doing this for his own good. And they were proud of it too!

Maybe it was his own fault: being so secretive about who he truly was and what his interests were. His parents didn't know who he was at all and thought he would be glad that they were practically dooming him to a fate worse than death.

Swallowing painfully, almost as if he felt like he was about to cry, Miguel croaked out. "W-well… That's… a lot to take in."

"It's just an idea, mijo." Héctor said gently, as if finally sensing that his son might not be totally ready for such a radical change in his life. "And you've got plenty of time to decide. We can talk about more in the morning alone."

"It's just that that- uh…" Miguel fumbled a little with his wristbands hidden under his sleeves. "I'm not like Matty was when he was my age. I mean… I'm more like a normal kid, you know. Not a nerd like him."

"…Hey…"

"I mean I not as smart as him. I won't be any good in a school like that."

"Don't worry about that, Miguel." Imelda said softly, placing her head gently on his head and smoothing his hair. "You'll have your family here to guide you. We'll help you every step of the way. You won't be alone."

"And to help you even more, here's another present!" Héctor said. From behind his back he pulled out a small briefcase, made from leather dyed in a brilliant shade of red, and the letters M.R. embedded on the front in solid gold. Placing in the boy's hands, Héctor smiled widely and clapped his hands with pride. "Look at that. Another businessman in the family! You look so professional already! Ha ha!"

Glancing down miserably at the briefcase, as if he were handed a live grenade instead, Miguel nodded and once more looked up at his parents with that same faked, gritting smile. "Gracias Papá… Gracias Mamá…"

"Aw, feliz cumpleaños, my boy!" Héctor said as he hugged his son happily. "And don't just thank me. Thank Chente, since this was also his idea!"

"Ohhh…." Vicente moaned, trying to ignore the way Javiar was applauding loudly next him with that stupid smug grin of his. "Please don't thank me…."

"Better watch out!" Héctor jokingly said. "One day Miguelito here will take your job out from under you!"

"…I'll do that…"

As the adults carried on with their conversation, Miguel kept looking at the briefcase in hands. It really was a beautifully designed briefcase, something that Matty probably carried around all the time and would probably love having himself, but all it did was make Miguel want to cry. This wasn't what he wanted at all. This wasn't him. And the fact that his own parents didn't see that in him, couldn't see that, broke his heart.

He would have started crying then and there until he felt a hand on his shoulder. Turning he saw Victoria standing next to him, giving him a look of sympathy and understanding. But also of defiance. Glancing down at the briefcase in disgust, she said, "Put that thing away and go get your guitar. Wanda and Papá will distract Abuelito and everyone else. It's showtime, Tio."

With a start Miguel looked over at the clock and gasped. All his inner turmoil had made him nearly forget about the contest! And it was in twenty minutes! With Victoria giving him an encouraging smile and a slight shove Miguel took off to the ofrenda room. Ducking underneath the tablecloth he flung the accursed briefcase underneath it and grabbed his prized guitar, feeling so much better now that it was in his hands. Glancing to his late sister's foto, and then to his Tío Nesto's, Miguel gave them a watery smile.

"Wish me luck." He whispered, and then headed out the doorway.

No one noticed he, Victoria, Matty and Coco leave the party at all.

Except for one little girl with a big mouth.

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

Picking up a small, fried grasshopper from the bowl on the side table, he twisted it to and fro for his grandson to see. It was such a lovely surprise: Here he thought there wasn't many chapulines left for the season, and then all of a sudden Julio gifted him with a heaping bowl of the crunchy little things! Then Wanda had come up to him, saying that his grandchildren wanted to spend some time with their grandfather and to tell them stories. He was more than happy too, even if it was odd that he and the children were practically shoved into the kitchen and the door was slammed shut. But for now, with Clara babbling happily in his arm and with Charlie's rapt attention, he continued his story.

"So at the end of the day, there I was: Scratched up by dried alfalfa, bitten all over by every mosquito there ever was, and with a bag of caught grasshoppers slung over my shoulder. I took it to old Señor Perales and he would fry them up for the customers, and for my pay he would give me a handful of them on a stale tortilla. Sometimes that would be the only thing that I would get to eat for the whole day. But I didn't mind much, it was worth it for me. They're good, no?"

"They're salty." Charlie said as he crunched one with a grimace.

"Sí. Salty, crunchy and my favorite snack. And that was the first job I ever had at four years old. Your age, mijo! Grasshopper catcher extraordinaire."

"My friend Timmy likes to pick out earthworms from his Mommy's garden and eats them too, even with dirt on them! Is that the same thing, Grandpa?"

"No, your friend's just odd."

"Oh."

The sound of the door being opened caused the three of them to look, only to see Elena poking her head in. Héctor was immediately worried: His granddaughter looked very troubled, staring at the floor and lip trembling, trying to decide if she should come in or not. Shifting the baby in his arms to free his hand he held it out. "Elena? Is there something wrong?"

Nodding a little, she slowly edged her way in and closed the door. "My tummy hurts…"

"Aww, too much cake and ice cream, huh?" Héctor asked kindly, squeezing her hand when she took it. "I guess it also didn't help that your cousins gave you too much excitement as well. Well, if you want I can walk you home-"

"It's not that, Abuelito." Elena said softly. "My tummy hurts because I feel guilty."

"Guilty? Did you and your sister have a fight? Because if you said or did something to make her upset I'm sure she'll forgive you. That's what a family who loves each other does, mija. We always forgive each other with time."

Eyes widening, Elena looked up at her grandfather with a slight glimmer of hope. "Really? Family forgives each other for anything?. They don't… get really mad and hate them for it?"

"Of course not."

Elena smiled a little at that, looking like she felt a little better. Then her smile faded, and she shook her head. "No, no… Papá says that I should always do what my parents say…"

Blinking in confusion, Héctor nodded in agreement. "Uh, yes… Yes, children should do what their parents say. Your Papá's right."

"Buuuut…"

"…But?"

"But you're Mamá's papá…" Elena said slowly, nervously picking at her fingers and biting her lip hard in agitation. "So, she has to do whatever you say… right?"

Now he was growing concerned. Pulling his granddaughter close to him, Héctor made Elena look at him squarely in the eye. "Elena, if something is wrong with your Mamá you need to tell me, claro? Now, what's going on?"

"….Well…"

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

"Congratulations, Señor Magallanes."

"Oh you too, Mrs. Rivera."

Chuckling and clinking their mugs of coffee, Julio and Wanda sat on the old boarded up well and each took a sip of the hot brew. They watched as the Reyes children ran around the courtyard in a wild frenzy, having woken up from their sugar comas and putting an end to their parents' moment of peace and quiet, and smiled smugly to themselves. Both because they were thankful that their own children were not as wild and rambunctious, and also for a job well done.

"Nice work on getting the fried grasshoppers so late and getting so many. I'm told they're a seasonal…delicacy." Wanda grimaced at the word.

"Gracias. And that was a nice move of giving him your kids. 'Charlie wants to hear all about you when you were his age!'" Julio chuckled at that. "It really was a nice distraction."

Wanda hummed and gave a sultry smile, gazing off into the distance. "Well, Matthew has always said that I am… a master of distraction. In more ways than one"

"…Uh, right…" Taking an uncomfortable gulp from his coffee mug and coughing awkwardly, Julio changed the subject. "So when should they be back?"

"Well Miguel is the first act." Wanda said. "So it'll start at seven, he'll sing his little song, then Matthew and Coco will bring him right back. So I guess they should be back in about half an hour? Plenty of time before anyone notices they're gone. And if they ask we'll just say he went to a friend's house."

"Thirty minutes?" Julio asked, a little downhearted at the thought. "So, he won't get to stay to see if he wins?"

Wanda nodded in sympathy. "Yes, it is a shame. But honestly do you really think he would win? I mean, I know he's very good, but he'd be going up against musicians who have been playing for much longer than he's even been alive. It seems a little unlikely, right?"

"Sí, you're right… It still would be amazing if he did, though."

"Honestly I think the poor boy just wants to be heard. Can you blame him? Especially after that… gift his parents gave him. Ugh…"

"Sí. Let him have some fun for one night." Julio nodded, bring the cup back up to take a sip. "Thirty minutes. Plenty of time. Go out, perform, come back. No one will suspect a thing."

"All will be well." Wanda agreed.

The sudden slamming of a door hitting the wall startled everyone in the courtyard. All the children skidded to a halt, the adults stopped talking immediately, and all eyes turned towards a very livid Héctor Rivera.

"MIGUEL IS GOING TO PLAY THE GUITAR IN THE PLAZA?!"

Clara started to cry in fright in her grandfather's arms, but Héctor paid her no heed as he marched up Julio and Wanda. "Elena just told me that Miguel's playing in the contest! Julio, is that true?!"

Julio stared at his father-in-law, chalk white and looking like he was about to drop dead on the spot. His mouth worked itself up and down, but all that came out was choked squeaks and croaks. "Uh-uh…uh uh…ah…uh."

With a growl, Héctor turned his glare to his daughter-in-law. "Wanda, did you know anything about this?!"

Wanda, also much whiter than usual, managed to give a nervous half smile and shrugged with a weak chuckle. "Uh… No hablo es-pan-ol?..."

"Forget it!" Héctor shouted, placing the now screaming baby in her mother's arms and turning out to the exit. "You all want to go behind my back?! Fine! I'll put a stop to this myself!"

As Héctor left the courtyard in a mad dash, Julio wilted with a moan. "No no no no! This has all gone to hell. We had one job to do and we failed even that! Matty and Coco are going to kill us!"

Wanda shook her head, trying to calm down her poor baby. "No, they won't!"

"You're right. Only Coco is going to kill only me!" Julio cried. "Elena, why did you tell Abuelito?! You promised you wouldn't!"

Elena was sobbing by now. This wasn't supposed to happen: Abuelito had said that he wouldn't be angry, that he wouldn't hate Miguel for what he did. But it was all a lie! "You don't keep secrets from family, Papá! I couldn't stand lying to Abuelito!"

"What is going on here?!"

They all turned to see Imelda, Rosita, Martín and the twins coming out of the ofrenda room, confused as to why everyone was either in shock, scared or crying their eyes out. With a sigh Wanda came up to them. "Oh, Mamá Imelda, you might as well know now. Miguel was going to play the guitar at the music competition in the plaza-"

"What?!"

"- and Papá Héctor just found out. He's going after them to stop him. I've never seen him look so mad! I think he's going to do something-"

"Stupid…" Imelda finished, hitching up her skirts to run as fast as she could in her high heeled boots. "Dios mio, Héctor! Héctor come back!"

"Oh Rosita, could you take the baby?" Wanda asked as she handed Clara to Rosita. "I need to go to! Matthew might need my help! Come on Julio, Coco needs you to!"

"Wait! Coco will need my help as well!" Rosita cried out. "Martín, mi amor, hold the baby and hold down the fort. Oscar, Felipe! Let's go!"

"Wait, what?!" Martín cried out, watching helplessly as all the adults ran out of the Rivera complex, leaving him alone with nine children all under eight years old, screaming and crying with fright. Looking at Clara in one arm and his own crying daughter in the other, Martín growled in frustration. "Oh sure! Leave all the kids with the one guy who can't run away! I see how it is! This is discrimination! I am a war veteran, I deserve some respect and a break!"

"Don't worry, Tío Martín…" Elena sadly said, taking Clara away from her uncle and holding the baby close. "I'll help you with the babies…"

"Ay, gracias Elenita." Martín sighed in relief, patting her head gratefully. "You're a good kid."

Burying her face in her little cousin's blanket, Elena tried to hide as the tears came pouring out again with her sobs. She wasn't good. She didn't deserve the praise. She deserved to be punished, not Miguel. Miguel was going to be kicked out of the family. Abuelito hated him now.

It was all her fault.

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

"I knew it." Miguel moaned as he, his siblings and Victoria made their way to the plaza. Clutching his guitar for dear life, as if he was afraid it would be ripped away from him, he hung is head low while Victoria guided him by his shoulders. "I knew Papá would never even consider letting me play music, he just hates it too much. I'm gonna have to play in secret for the rest of my life."

"Yeah." Victoria sighed with a pout. "I guess I'm going to have to as well. I'll never get to dance in the likes of La Scala or the Royal Opera House. I'd even settle for dancing at a rec center at this point."

"Cheer up, both of you." Matty said. "Miguel, you know Papá doesn't hate music. He just… has some hang-ups about it that is hard for him to overcome. A lot of bad things happened to him, and he attributes it to music. You understand, sí?"

"No, I don't." Miguel said. "And that's easy for you to say. Papá sang and danced with all three of you and let you play instruments. I never had that."

"That's not true, Miguel." Coco said. "Papá used to sing to you all the time, especially when he tucked you into bed. And he played his guitar for you, don't you remember that?"

"No. I was a baby, Coco."

Coco tsked and shook her head in mock sorrow. "Well that is a shame. You should remember stuff like that. I, for one, can remember stuff quite vividly all the way from when I was about two years old. It's a gift I possess."

Breaking out of his current funk, Miguel looked up at his older sister and smirked. "Gee Coco, maybe you should be the one in the talent show instead of me."

Matty barked out a laugh and nodded. "Yeah, you could tell everyone what you had for breakfast in May of 1936."

"Or recite an old shopping list you made ten years ago." Victoria added.

Coco huffed and crossed her arms with pout. "All right, all three of you can go kiss a burro."

"Well we can't do that now, because," Matty said as they rounded the corner, "we have arrived at our destination."

As they all walked into the plaza, Miguel smiled when he saw the gazebo decked out in the familiar decorations for Dia de Muertos: garlands of cempazuchitl flowers, papel picado and, most excitingly, posters for the contest. He also saw several other musicians dressed up in charro suits and practicing on their own instruments. They had probably been practicing for much longer than he ever had and were probably better than him too. But Miguel didn't care if he won or lost the contest, he just wanted to perform in front of people. To show them all that he had what it took to be a musician. And luckily for him there were plenty of people who had come to watch.

A very… large amount of people.

Practically the whole town. Even other kids from his school were there.

Suddenly Miguel felt a nauseous curl in his belly, and his breath seemed to stick in his throat. Without realizing it he took a step backwards, softly bumping into his sister, and flinched in surprise when she knelt down to speak to him.

"Miguel?" Coco asked softly. "If you're nervous you don't have to go up there."

"Wh-what?" Miguel asked, wincing when his voice gave an unexpected squeak and trying to cough it away. "Nervous? I'm not nervous!"

"You're really pale Miguel, and you started sweating bullets in less than five seconds." Victoria pointed out. "It's actually quite impressive."

"Callate!" Miguel grumbled.

"It's alright if you've changed your mind, Miguel." Coco said and rubbed his shoulder comfortingly. "We can just go right back to the museum, and Papá will have never known you were here."

The very mention of his father, how much he hated music, how he would be forced to play music in secret again if he backed away now, how this might actually be his last chance to perform before he was to go to that stupid business school, steeled something inside of Miguel. Straightening up, jaw clenched tight and his guitar held up like a shield, he shook his head vigorously. "No! No way! I'm gonna play in mariachi plaza if it kills me!"

"That's the spirit!" Matty said. "And good thing too because it looks like you're on now!"

"What?!"

"They're beckoning you over! Knock 'em dead and break a leg, gordito!" With a hearty slap on the back Matty propelled his little brother towards the stage. As they all watched the boy meekly walk to the contest coordinators, Matty leaned into Coco. "He can sing, right?"

Coco nodded. "Of course! He has the voice of an angel, you're going to be blown away."

"Either that or he's going to blow his dinner all over the stage floor." Victoria said.

Miguel took his place next to the steps of the gazebo, turning back to wave at the siblings and niece, who all returned it with a thumbs up. With his back turned to them again Matty sighed wistfully. "Papá would really love this. He would be so proud. If… you know…"

"If he was like he used to be?"

"Si…" Matty nodded. "It just doesn't feel the same without him here. Miguel is so much like how our father was: Filled with a love of music, bursting with creativity. Miguel may look up to Tío Nesto, but I see Papá in him more than any of us."

"You're right." Coco sighed. "I wish Papá were here to see this too."

"SOCORRO! MATEO!"

Coco and Matty immediately felt their hearts stop, blood seize up, insides clench and air leave their lungs as they heard their full names bellowed out from behind. Turning around they saw a sight they had never seen before. Héctor Rivera, normally so jovial and mild-mannered with all he encountered, marching towards them red-faced and glaring holes into their very souls. As he got closer and closer to them, Coco whispered, "Itakeitback, Itakeitback!..."

Placing himself in front of his sister and niece like a shield, Matty leaned causally on his cane and smiled shakily. "H-hola, padre! Qué tal? I d-didn't expect to see you come to the plaza today. They're having a music contest right now so you might want to go back and-"

"Would you both care to explain to me," Héctor said as he reached them, very close to seething like a bull. "why I had to hear from Elena that my son is going to play the guitar, on a stage, in front of an audience?!"

With a loud groan Matty turned to glare at Coco. "You told la Lengua Larga about the plan?!"

"I told you it was a bad idea, Mamá."

"So this was your idea!" Héctor growled as he glared at Coco. Distantly they could hear Imelda calling out as she was making her way to the plaza herself, but they all ignored her for the moment. "You're letting your brother perform? After what nearly happened to you? What did happen to your godfather?!"

Coco glared back. "What happened to Tío Nesto was terrible, but it was an accident that could have happened anywhere! It had nothing to do with music! Why can't you see that?"

"It has everything to do with what happened to him!" Héctor shouted. "And I will not have the same thing happen to my-"

"Put your hands together for our first contestant, Miguel 'De la Cruzito' Rivera!"

As a loud smattering of applause and cheers erupted, the family turned to see Miguel taking the small stage of the gazebo. Smiling nervously and waving at the crowd, he didn't seem to notice the brewing turmoil taking place amongst the audience. Héctor gritted his teeth and was about to make his way towards his son to put an end to this nonsense, when one of the nearby bands decided to strike up some intro music for the young guitarist. After all, the son of the world's greatest songwriter, the patron of Santa Cecilia, deserved a grand entrance for his musical debut.

And they couldn't have picked a worse song.

As the trumpets blasted the upbeat version of Remember Me and the audience clapped along to the beat, Matty and Coco moaned in dread and instantly went into damage control. Coco and Victoria shouted in vain over the crowd to get the musicians to stop, but their voices were lost among the deafening cheers and song. Imelda heard the song playing from the distance, and with a curse tried to run even faster to her husband. Matty grabbed his father by the shoulders and shook him, trying to direct his attention to him. "Papá! Papá, listen to me. Listen to my voice. It's okay. It's just a song. Come with me, we'll get you out of here…"

It had been about a year since he had heard that song last. Not intentionally, of course, but when a song is that popular people are bound to either sing it aloud or try to play it themselves. One such incident occurred when he was out with Elena for a treat of ice cream, when suddenly he had heard it. A quite lovely rendition on a violin by that scarf-wearing kid with the weird facial hair whose named escaped him. But it was enough to do the trick. Several painful minutes of him hunched low to the ground, pressing the heels of his hands into his ears hard, trying to get his breathing under control. His own granddaughter, seven years old at the time, was forced to take action herself: Swatting that kid with her shoe in order to stop him from playing, then sitting with him silently and comfortingly until the panic had finally passed. They had both lost their ice creams on the ground that day, but the two had grown even closer due to the experience.

But those same feelings were rushing back just like that last time: Nothing had changed. Immediately his heart started hammering and it became hard to breathe, his insides squirmed and clenched painfully and those awful visions flashed in his mind again. As the song continued he didn't see his eldest son frantically trying to get his attention, but his youngest daughter wheezing her last breaths in his arms. Of Ernesto walking away from him to the stage, underneath the bell that would eventually turn him into nothing but a smear. And the blood, so much blood. He could smell it, practically taste it.

He was about to try to block out the sounds like he always did and then curl up in a ball, when he happened to glance at the stage again. Ernesto was there, about to perform with the bell perch precariously over his head. But no, that wasn't Ernesto standing there. It was-

"MIGUEL! NO!"

Breaking Matty's grip on his arms he made a run for the gazebo, pushing and shoving others out of the way. He didn't hear their exclaims of alarm and pain as they were roughly shoved aside or to the ground, nor the cries of his family as they begged him to wait, to come back. No, all he heard was that damned song playing loudly in his head, now a ticking timer to the point where, at the end, his boy would be no more.

Miguel didn't notice his father parting through the crowd at breakneck speed, too busy tugging on the emcee's sleeve to tell him to make those musicians stop playing the song 'That's the song I'm going to play.' But it was too late, and as the band played the last triumphant note he turned back to the crowd with an eye roll and hefted his guitar up to begin to play the song everyone had just heard.

Just in time to see his father diving straight for him.

Imelda reached her oldest children just in time to see Héctor tackle Miguel and send them both flying to the back of the gazebo. The incident was so shocking that aside from a large gasp from the crowd, it became so still and quiet. Quiet enough that everyone was able to hear the sickening crunch once the two of them landed in a crumpled heap.

A flash of terror made it's way down Imelda and her children's spines. "No…" she breathed, and then quickly made her way to the gazebo herself, the others following her.

The song was over, put panic was still surging through Héctor as he got up and immediately started checking over his boy. "Miguel! Are you all right?! Sit up, let me see!" He patted his body up and down, trying to see if there were any injuries, thankfully finding none. But the boy seemed shocked, and frantically he cupped the boys face to look in his eyes. "Did you hit your head? Look at me, mijo-"

"Papá…"

Miguel's eyes were widened with shock, but surprisingly the wind was not knocked out of him nor was he scuffed or marked in any way from the surprise tackle. The guitar in his hands, however, was not so lucky. It had taken the brunt of the assault and protected the boy from harm, but it had not survived. Three of the strings had snapped right off and were coiled in bent angles, the body was completely caved in from the center hole and up, and the neck had broken cleanly in half, now only connect by the remaining strings. His beloved guitar was now destroyed. His father had destroyed it.

"What-? Why?... What have you done?" Miguel whispered as he gripped the broken neck and tried in vain to get it to stick back into the position. "It's ruined…"

Héctor looked down at the broken guitar in his son's hands, taking in the cheap gold paint that had been sloppily painted all over it. The crude designs done in brown, and the headstock. That same mocking skull that looked so much like his own, except for the one personal detail that he had made for his older brother: The thin mustache above perfectly white grinning teeth. His worries and concerns over his son instantly vanished. He was fine. Now what came back was more comfortable, easier for him to handle: Rage.

"Where the hell did you learn to play guitar?!"

Miguel's attention snapped back to his father, and he shrunk back at the ferocious anger meekly. Before he was able to squeak out a pitiful answer, he felt eyes on him. Turning slightly he paled when he saw everyone in the crowd looking at him with morbid curiosity. The whole town had watched as his supposed debut had crumbled to ash, his most prized possession had been reduced to kindling, and his father was now bearing down on him about to start a very public fight.

It was all ruined. It was too much for him, and the poor boy broke.

With a choked-out cry of heartbreak Miguel flung what was left of his guitar away, shot up to his feet and fled from the gazebo. The crowd gave him enough room to make his getaway and he was grateful. He didn't want to be held back, didn't want to be touched by anyone. Especially his family. He heard his Papá angrily yelling at him to come back, his Mamá pleading with him to do so as well. But he couldn't even look at anyone right now.

He just ran and ran, broken sobs escaping as he gasped and panted.

He hated his birthday.

[stardancerluv]

All Flowers Must Bloom Even In Winter

Part 6

Summary: John had been called away but now he’s back.

Warning: light fingering. A touch of sex. Lots of fluff

@theblackmaskclub ...oh John... haha naughty and sweet??

Vic, rode up just then. His eyes were wild and he was out of breath. You already knew something was up before he spoke.

“John, you’re needed right now.” John rolled his eyes.

“I just got back and want to spend sometime...”

“Look, I’m sorry honestly, I am. But it’s important.”

“It’s ok. Just ride back with me to the house and go.”

John’s mouth had taken a grim line. “Alright.”

*****

What you had not expected was three long days of not knowing. You didn’t even know what happened that took him away from you. But you kept things tired and worked more on making it pretty and livable.

Everyday, hoping he would return you made sure to try and look as pretty as could. Something about the suddenness of him leaving meant he needed to really feel home and away from it all when he finally got home.

You were taking a breather on swing on the veranda, when he rode up.

Your mood immediately brightened. It grew brighter then the mid-day sun that had was shining above.

“Little flower.” Was all he said when you ran over and hugged his leg. “Grab our blankets again, that damn soap and perhaps bread if we have some.”

“I can do that.” You smiled up at him.

You grabbed the blankets, soap, the bread and you would surprise him with some cheese you made that came out wonderfully. Wrapping it into a bundle, you fastened it. Holding, his hand you climbed up and wrapped your arms around his middle. “I missed you, John.”

“I missed you, too.” He admitted, his voice was gravely and tired sounding.

With your arms around John’s middle, Chestnut began to gallop away. You were beyond, relieved to have your arms around him again. You breathed him deeply in. The steady rhythm reminded of Chesnut’s gallop reminded you of the countless storms, snow and rain alike you and John rode through, you did not leave his side. He had wanted you to seek shelter in one of the wagons, but if he wasn’t you would not either. Once near the lake, Chestnut slowed to trot.

Stopping him, John slid off. Turning, he offered his hands. You smiled, “My gentleman, always.” You took his hands and slid off.

“I always like that you see me as a gentleman first and an outlaw second.” Still, holding your hands he wrapped his arms around, bringing your hands behind your back.

You wiggled, enjoying how his body felt. “Is that why you are holding me like an outlaw?” You wiggled again.

He smirked down at you, his hands on your wrists tightening. You inhaled sharply, as your heart began to race. “Maybe or maybe these last few days when I was surrounded by only cattle, the other men, and some of their sour woman made me miss you, made me miss the feel of you.”

“I missed you too.” You replied, breathlessly. “So what are you gonna do about it?”

You gasped as he pulled you tighter still against him. “I can feel your heart. I will never tire of that.” His eyes were dark like a storm rolling in. “I’ve been in desperate need to smell and feel differently.”

“Let me help you with that.”

*****

“So we now have fifty bead of cattle.” He told you whole leaning against the tree. “The entire wind mill was brought down and now there is a new one. Sadly, he lost four men. Handling those families were rough, he sighed.

Striking a match, the rich smell of his tobacco was swirling in the air. It wasn’t till you smelled it that it really hit you how badly you missed him when he when he had to go off.

You spread the one blanket out, you smiled up at him. “Ready, to get into that water?” He nodded. You would share the bread and cheese with him later. You could see just how much he needed the water to wash off these last few days.

Handing him the hunk of soap to John, he held it to his nose. A sigh poured from his lips.

Going behind him, you pulled off your boots and stockings. Your dress was next, which he took from you and laid it on the blanket.

“I am certainly glad its warmer now.” Last time you were already shivering and had not even gone into the water yet.

“Certainly.”

Despite him standing in front of you, glancing is something you still did.

“The only thing will look down on you my little flower is me and the sun.”

You smiled. “I suppose you’re right.” You pulled off your chemise which he laid on top of your dress. You wiggled free of your underwear.

“You’re wearing the fancy ones.”

You still blushed, when the two of you had rode through El Paso the gentleman in store said he got them all the way from Paris. John wanting you to have pretty things bought you some.

“Since, I wanted to make sure when you arrived home, I could welcome you home in the best way possible. I wanted to be especially pretty for you.”

“You already are the best I could ever come home to.” He smiled. “My little flower.” He flicked what was left of his cigar, which extinguished hitting the ground.

Opening his arms with his heart picking up speed again you nestled close. The two of you discovered that you both enjoyed this. The feel of him being fully clothed and you without a stitch of cloth on your body in his arms.

“Welcome home, John.” You whispered, before pressing a kiss on his throat above the collar of his dark shirt.

His hands raked up and down your back, delighting in the softness. A soft sound came from him, and you felt him move as he pulled off his gloves. A moan that was a mixture of a sigh came from you as you felt his hands that could be tough from being out there but were gentle when they touched you. Closing your eyes, you relaxed as his hands moved over your body.

******

“At least there are ice chunks.” You gave John a brave face, as floated in front of him.

“That is an improvement.” He threw his head back and laughed hard. “Want to get my hair.”

You smiled, “I would love to.” You both moved to the rocks that gave a good advantage for such things. It was funny; only a few months there and you both knew it so well.

A sigh came from him as you worked a good soaping into his hair. Your fingers were able to give his scalp a good rub down. His hair was so thick your fingers disappeared into the inky strands.

“John?”

“Yes, little petal.”

In the back of your mind, you remembered hearing about cattle drives. How some three of the women in the town came to the hotel while their men disappeared for three to four months. A shadow of worry fell over you. Will you be running that cattle south or north?”

He turned in your hands to look at you. “My little petal, as sharp as any knife that I carry.”

You beamed at him.

He shook his head. “No way. I just finalized the purchase. Made sure they were good stock.” He chuckled. “You worried about losing me to some cows, weren’t you?”

You nodded.

“There is no way, am I leaving you alone like that and for that long.”

You grew serious. “I’d miss you something awful.”

He rose an eyebrow. “Even, when I snore?”

“Yes, even then!”

You pushed him then, making you both just laugh and splash around.

He caught you then, both of your were out of breath from laughing. John’s hair was flopping all different directions, some into his face. His blue eyes were shiny and bright as he met yours.

“Damn, I missed you.” He said, then he kissed you. Your arms, easily went around him.

******

“John,” You murmured against his lips as you laid under him on the blanket. To fight the chill from the light wind you had slide on your chemise and he put on some undergarments, but the two of you still desperately didn’t want anything separating the two of you.

He held you close with one arm but his free hand caressed your drying body. His long fingers, found your center. “Tell me blossom, while I was away...” He rubbed at your little bud, that would always made you come undone. As he touched you threw your head back gasping and moaning softly. Oh, how he could make you feel so good. “Did you touch yourself here? Like I showed you.” Hmm, he made a soft, deep questioning sound.

You trembled. “The second...the second night.” You gasped.

“Did it feel good?”

“Yes,” You managed, barely able to think as his fingers continued to touch you. “But your fingers feel so much better.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He smiled down at you. “Open, for me little flower.” You did as he asked. There wasn’t much you wouldn’t do. That’s when you felt him enter you, shivering and clung onto him.

John’s back, @shantellorraine

[jichew]

bang yedam ♡ soft love song

pairing: gender-neutral character x bang yedam

genre: fluff

a/n: so this is kind of different than the bullet point fics i usually write, so i’m kind of iffy on posting this,,, but i’ve been wanting to write a rocker!yedam fic since i heard hard lov song so here we go!! i actually based this off of the vibe of hard love song, but then i read the lyrics halfway through writing this and i realized how angsty it was?? so i just ended up doing this and im kind of basing it off of yedam’s song u. enjoy!!

bang yedam. a name you’d only ever associate with good things. things like color coded notes and perfect grades and being early to class. a star studded student whom you’d only ever spot between the worn shelves of the library or at the front of your calculus class. there was an air of intrigue that surrounded bang yedam. a pronounced sense of anonymity, one could argue. he was top of the class, that much was evident. but everything else seemed a mystery. and it was almost like no one seemed to notice. except you.

perhaps it was for those reasons and more that you found the corners of your lips turning up as you entered the dimly lit bar that friday night. because on the stage, a guitar positioned around his torso, stood bang yedam. you had always considered the possibility that bang yedam lived a double life. something like hannah montana. straight a student by day, rock band guitarist by night. that had a nice ring to it, as well.

you couldn’t help but notice the air of confidence that surrounded him. this doesn’t go to say that bang yedam was not a confident person. it’s more so the idea that perpetual sweater paws and bangs that are long overgrown don’t exactly scream confidence. but under the neon blue lights, it seemed as if bang yedam was the only person in the room. perhaps, the only person in the world. his bangs were parted at the middle, slightly matted to his forehead with sweat. his eyes almost seemed to sparkle under the lighting, or perhaps that was merely because this was your first time not seeing them behind a curtain of bangs. the sleeveless top adorning his torso highlighted his biceps, toned with the constant strumming of his guitar. maybe it was a bit superficial of you to take into account his looks. then again, it’s only fair to appreciate a man who looks so ethereal while playing guitar.

but most of all, you were enraptured by his voice. a sweet sound that rose and fell at all the right moments. a unique tone that made everyone stop what they were doing and look in awe upon the teenage boy on stage. a melody that seemed to encase your body in its warmth, tendrils entering every accessible part of you and rewiring your brain to only think “bang yedam, bang yedam, bang yedam”. and maybe something in the air allowed for him to hear your thoughts, because right then, he lifted his head. between his drenched bangs and the throng of people scattered in front of you, bang yedam found your eyes. and he winked.

                                                           ~

it wasn’t until later that night, after the soles of your feet had long been worn out from dancing, that you decided to seat yourself at the bar. your friends were still going strong on the dance floor, attempting their own rendition of swan lake as a folk tune played from the speakers above. and perhaps you would’ve gotten back up to join them if it wasn’t for the presence that took up space in the seat next to you. looking over, it seemed as if bang yedam was a juxtaposition personified - silver hoops lining his ears and biceps on display, yet his face wore a shy smile, head tilting to cover his eyes with his bangs yet again. it was an endearing sight, you could admit that much.

“uh.. hey.. you’re in my calc class right?” he asked, with the slightest tilt of his head, body leaning towards you. you almost giggled at the shy tone of his voice. it was cute.

“yup.. thats me”

“ahh.. “ he awkwardly bobbed his head in what seemed to be a nod “well my name’s bang yedam”

“i know who you are” you finally let out a giggle, head turning to fully face him. his mouth was slightly open, eyes wide. and suddenly he was leaning back, head fervently nodding, almost as if you had just said the most interesting thing he had heard all day. you found this cute as well.

a drop of silence fell between you two. in which the both of you chose to stare straight ahead, one thinking of what to say next and one quite content just sitting idle. it wasn’t awkward, though. more so the silence that occurs when snowflakes blanket the ground in white. a silence indeed, but an easy silence. a comfortable white noise.

“so... can i get you something to drink?” he suddenly turned towards you, head shaking so his bangs allowed for a sliver of his eyes to be visible.

“you know we’re underage right?” you deadpanned.

“ahh... right” he turned his head back to hide the rosy color that slowly found it’s way to his cheeks at the realization of his statement. “you want some water?”

it was at this moment that you knew you liked bang yedam.

                                                           ~

the next six months seemed to pass by in a frenzy of schoolwork, sleep deprivation and too many late nights at the bar. most of all, your next six months were accompanied by none other than bang yedam. after a week or two, you made it a habit to come to the bar every friday to see him and his band play. and every single friday, you both sat side by side at the bar and talked through the night. sometimes he would walk you to the nearest convenience store before he called a taxi for you. other times, on earlier nights, he would walk all the way to the bus and ride to your neighborhood with you, despite his home being in the exact opposite direction.

at first glance, bang yedam seemed cold - an unattainable mystery. he seemed like sharp edges and strict parents and classical music. but oh, how different he actually was. it seemed that the more you hung out with him, the more you realized just how misconstrued your ideas of him actually were.

bang yedam is soft. bang yedam is gummy smiles and checkered sweaters and hot chocolate that’s way too sweet for the average human being. and perhaps food preferences are the best reflector of a person, because bang yedam is too sweet for his own good. he doesn’t mind spending hours at the library teaching you how to integrate. and he doesn’t mind buying you a coffee every wednesday morning, never forgetting how you like your order. he also cries a lot. like the time he found out his friend was being redistricted to another school, he cried for hours into a vat of chocolate ice cream while you let your fingers comb through his hair. (it was kind of funny, because, after about a week of phone calls, his friend ended up staying at the same school anyway)

bang yedam is also confident. all combat boots and leather jackets and shiny electric guitars. if you didn’t consider him such an integral part of your life, you would probably be another fangirl of his and call him hot. but then again, having a crush on him wasn’t any better.

                                                             ~

you wouldn’t consider it to be a surprise - your crush on bang yedam that is. he was just one of those boys that was easy to crush on. the perfect mix of kind and attractive and smart and all things in between. often times, you allowed yourself to daydream of the prospect that he liked you back. a daydream in which the notes he left in your backpack were more than just reminders to ‘get your ass out of bed and do work’ and the smiles he sent you from the stage were more than just friendly. but more often than not, you would shut down these thoughts, because having bang yedam as a friend is something you wouldn’t compromise for love.

and perhaps, for that very reason, you found it odd that bang yedam invited you to the club that friday night. you had always thought that a silent agreement had formed between you two that you would be present at his gigs every friday, so when you received a text that read “be at the bar, friday at 6 pm xx -yedam” you were a bit confused. nonetheless, you zipped your boots up to your ankles and walked the distance to the bar. opening the door, you were surprised when you were met with complete darkness. checking the time on your phone, you found that it was only 5:56 PM. the bar shouldn’t be closed at this time?

before you could move to do or say anything, a single blue light came on above the stage. and standing below, guitar in tow, was none other than bang yedam. it was silent for a second and you couldn’t quite make out his face under the dim lighting. as you were about to say something, a light melody started playing from his guitar. that’s when bang yedam started singing. there was something a little more ethereal about him tonight. perhaps it was the fact that he was standing on stage, yet he was uncharacteristically wearing an oversized sweater. perhaps it was the tone of his voice, something softer and sweeter, as if he wanted you to hang on to the end of his every word. perhaps it was the lyrics that flowed from his mouth, a story of a love that blooms like the flowers in the spring.

and as these words dripped from his lips like honey, you found that same smile tugging at the corners of your own. so when the last notes of the song had died out, you hopped onto the stage. and in a small twist of courage, you leaned on your tip toes and kissed bang yedam.

[axel-fics]

Request: how about axel and his s/o having their first kiss?

I’m sorry it’s so short hun >_

First Kiss

Today was a really good day; the best Axel’s had in who knows how long. After months of spending practically every day together, Axel finally gathered up the courage to ask you out on an official date. The evening started out with a candlelight dinner (prepared by Axel himself) at his apartment. He cooked up a selection of your favorites and decorated the table with a bouquet of your favorite flowers. Your eyes widened with surprise when you walked into the small kitchen area and you placed a hand on your chest; it was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for you. The entire time while the two of you ate, you chatted away about almost everything the came to mind and learned more about each other. Axel held your hand practically throughout the entire dinner from across the table, occasionally rubbing his thumb across the top of your hand and lightly squeezing. 

Now walking around the streets of town, you both walked towards your usual ice cream shop to pick up some sea-salt ice creams for dessert. The bells from the top of the famous Clock Tower rang out to signal the top of the hour, a sound that never grew tired for either of you. You slowed your steps down and came to a stop, still holding onto Axel’s hand to take in a light breeze that passed by. The wind blew your hair around gently; Axel could smell the rose scented shampoo you used and became entranced by it. 

“I wish there was some place high we could see the sunset from,” you said as you stared up at the sky. “Sometimes I think the buildings here aren’t tall enough to see everything perfectly.”

It had just occurred to him that after all this time, Axel never brought you up to the top of the clock tower. Usually it’s Roxas and Xion who would join him up there for ice cream, but there was no excuse not to show you his favorite spot in town. He pulled your arm slightly towards the steep hill of Market Street and smiled. “I know just the place.”

Moments later, the two of you were climbing the narrow stairs up the clock tower. “Axel, are you sure we’re allowed up here?”

“Relax, [Y/N]. Have I ever steered you wrong? Roxas, Xion and I come up here all the time. No one’s said anything,” Axel laughed. “You worry too much.”

“Only because with my luck, we’ll get caught,” you joked. 

“You’re with me, babe. I promise you, everything’s going be fine.” Axel pushed the door to the top of the tower open, and you were immediately blinded by the bright rays of the sunset. Letting your eyes adjust, you stepped out to the balcony of the tower and gazed at the view in awe. The town beneath you looked miniature-sized from this height, basking in the golden light of the sunset. It almost looked like the entire town was sparkling! The sunset was breathtaking in the distance; the clouds above you moving fast against the purple sky that changed to a red-orange ombre color around the sun. 

Axel extended a hand out to you, which you gladly accepted, and helped you sit down on the edge of the tower’s balcony before settling down beside you. You swung your legs over and let them dangle freely beneath you, the sensation of almost feeling weightless exciting you. “Oh Axel…it’s so beautiful!”

“Yeah, sure is,” he said while looking directly at you. You caught him from the corner of your eye and turned away, slightly blushing. Axel chuckled and intertwined his fingers with yours. Your eyes met his, those two great big shiny emerald jewels that you could get lost in forever, and you felt your heart skip a beat. Axel started to bring his head closer to yours, only breaking eye contact to close them the second before his lips met yours in a soft kiss. All you could think about in that first moment was how right this felt to you; how right he felt to you. The kiss grew more passionate, your fingers lightly grabbing on his long red hair and his tongue occasionally slipping into the mix (which you happily returned). 

Axel placed an arm around your waist and started to push you backwards until you were both lying down on the balcony, legs still slightly dangling off the edge. It was an uncomfortable position, but you didn’t care; neither of you wanted to break that kiss for any reason whatsoever. Axel positioned himself over you, one arm propping him up while his other hand cupped your cheek. He kissed you again deeply, the ends of his spiky hair slightly tickling your cheeks. This was the happiest the two of you felt probably…ever. Nothing could ruin this mome—

“Uhhhh… should we come back?”

Hearts practically leaping out of your chests, you both looked up to see Roxas and Xion standing at the opposite side of the balcony holding sea-salt ice creams blushing profusely. 

“And just how long were you two standing there for?” Axel groaned. 

“We just got here, swear! We’ll leave you two alone, right Roxas?” Xion pulled on Roxas’s arm. 

“Fineee, we’ll go. Next time give us a heads up, will ya? Kinda had the same idea…” Roxas muttered. 

“Roxas!!” Xion yelped. 

You giggled as Roxas and Xion left the tower, Axel rolling his eyes. “Now, where were we?” Axel asked slyly. 

“Oh, I think we were right about…here.” 

[nerdybubblebee]

I Love You More Than Ice Cream

It’s A Date

Chap 5/?

Chapter Summary:

Jon takes Dany on their very first date. A dinner for two under the starry sky, talks of childhood shenanigans and a relatively large revelation about Jon comes to light. How will things go? Will they have a good time? Will the night end with a sweet goodnight in a meeting of lips for the very first time? Read on my dear readers XD.

Can be read on Ao3 too. Along with the previous chaps 1, 2, 3, 4. :)

A small smile edged its way onto her lips, inch by inch, growing and growing into a huge grin as she took in the view before her. An inexplicable sense of surprise settled in her belly and blossomed into wonder. Nestled behind the bright towering neon letters displaying the word ‘diner’ was a rooftop garden.

Though the area wasn’t very spacious, pots and planters housing various flowers and herbs galore were lined up neatly in two rows starting from the metal gate and along the perimeter of the space. Spindly leafy appendages bobbed in time with the cool evening breeze. The earthy scent of dirt, picked up by the circulating air currents harmonized wonderfully with the sweet exotic aroma of plants. Creeper vines twisted their nimble bodies around the steel skeleton of the neon sign, inching all the way up the pillars, across the wooden beams of the pergola overhead. Intermingled with the leaves were fairy lights, posing as wannabe stars that twinkled faintly against the backdrop of the setting sun. In the middle of the garden sat a table, decked out for two.

Ambling slowly behind Dany with his hands tucked into his jeans pockets, Jon’s eyes tracked her every move as she navigated her way through the garden. He could barely contain his joy, so thrilled to see the wide-eyed look of fascination on her face. He thanked his lucky stars for having such a supportive family who were more than ecstatic when he told them he was bringing his crush on a date. His uncle immediately pushed for them to have it at this very diner. To be more original, Arya then suggested that they modify the venue a little. Instead of eating in the diner, crammed into a booth during dinner rush, having to shout to hear each other over the crowd, why not make it a little more romantic? They’d spend the past week preparing for this moment. From the menu, to the decorations and the flower bouquet he gifted to her. Gaping at the splendour around her, at the flora with hues of every shade of the rainbow, taking it all in, Dany was in awe. Along the little path between the plants she went, she also spotted several pots of daisies sitting in a corner. Jon must have picked each flower one by one to form the bouquet for her. All around her, every plant in the garden looked healthy and strong, making her wonder just how much labour and love was poured into tending to this magical little sanctuary, hidden away from the eyes of the people on the street. 

As she neared the clearing where the table was, a flash of colour at her periphery caught her eye. Huddled amongst the miscellaneous flora was an unusual rose bush. Stopping before it, she got onto her haunches to get a closer look. Never had she seen roses of that colour nor had she smelt a scent so sweet. The blossoms, just beginning to bloom wore a hue of the bluest, clearest sky on a sunny cloudless day. Under her thumb the unmarred azure petals were of the smoothest of velvet. “You’ve never been here before now have you?” Glancing up at her date for the night, who had came to a stop by her side, Dany stated dryly: “If I did, I would’ve been trespassing on private property.” Just then, the puppy in her arms that she had almost forgotten was there, started to wiggle, whining to be let down. “You want to go explore too little guy? Okay.” Dany placed Ghost onto the concrete ground. As soon as he landed, he darted forwards in a run before turning the corner and disappearing behind the back wall like he was accustomed with the place already. Strange. “You’re here! Finally!“ Following the voice, Dany was pleasantly surprised to find a petite young woman standing by a small door that looked to be a dumbwaiter sitting in the wall. “Welcome to Lone Wolf Diner where the pack serves fries, free with every main course you order!” The girl continued, reciting the well-versed motto of her family’s diner. With a gasp and a happy heart, quick steps brought her over to the girl. Pulling her in for a big hug, Dany squealed. “Arya! It’s so good to see you again. It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” “Hi! And yes it has been too long. We’ve missed hanging out with you so much.” Arya hugged her back, tightly. She liked Dany very much. Memories of nights staying up late with her siblings way pass their bed time, cuddled into Dany’s sides on the couch, gorging on snacks whilst a Disney movie played on the television were the catalysts for the fondness she held for her favourite babysitter. Plus, the woman, then teenager made really yummy treats. She’d always had a knack for it. Arya drew back from their hug, still clutching Dany’s hands in hers. Her large grey eyes were sparkling with hopeful glee. “Now that you’re dating Jon.... Maybe you’d be around more often.”

“Wait... you guys know each other?” 

“I should have told you earlier but we didn’t gotten the chance to. We’re family and Arya’s my cousin.” Moving over to the table, Jon pulled out a chair for Dany before turning to look at her expectantly with a touch of hesitance and sheepishness. He hoped she didn’t feel miffed about his identity. His family was her competition after all.

Wordlessly applauding Jon’s gallantry, Arya tugged a gawping Dany by the arm over to the table and shepherded her into her seat. “Thank you.” Dany muttered absently over her shoulder to Jon as he pushed her chair in like the gentleman he was. Once Jon was seated opposite her, Dany looked between him and Arya in complete bafflement. “Mister Stark’s your uncle? Mister Benjen has a child?” “Oh no, Jon is Auntie Lyanna’s son.” Arya commented. “Lyanna? I never knew Mister Stark had a sister.” “My mum left to explore the world when she turned twenty one with nothing but a suit case and a thirst for adventure. Long story short, she met my dad who was on vacation in Greece, fell in love and had me. She hasn’t been back here in ages because she says she has so much more to see of this world and she would only return when she’s done. They’re currently in New Zealand now.” “Auntie Lyanna is such a badass! Sometimes, we get to talk with her on the phone or even video call and she’s always in a different country every time! She’s my inspiration.” Arya gushed with complete admiration for her globe-trotting aunt. Looking to Jon, she added as forethought, “Your dad is a total badass too of course. Can’t forget him.” “Thanks.” Jon smiled, fiddling with the fork laid out for him on the table. His parents were definitely not the most conventional kind. The years of his childhood up till the age of fifteen, just before his grandparents enrolled him into the boarding school his father had attended as a child in England, were spent in foreign countries. The things he learnt about the people, the culture, all that knowledge that comes from traveling had shaped him into the man he was today. “That’s amazing. Your parents are such courageous people and you must have had such a fun childhood!” Dany couldn’t help feeling a tad bit envious. Traveling the world, visiting distant lands, soaking up all that the world had to offer? That would be the perfect life. An ambitious dream that she’d had since forever. “I hope to tick that off my bucket list one day. To leave my footprints all around the world and see everything.” “Oh.... Why don’t you guys go together? Start off with New Zealand to visit Auntie Lyanna, meet the parents and all that.” Voicing her suggestion, Arya waggled her dark brows at Dany while clapping a hand repeatedly on Jon’s shoulder. Teasing Jon alone was hardly this entertaining! The two adults before her were growing as red as the beetroots that her mother cultivated in summer. She could nearly feel the heat radiating off the two of them. I could even fry eggs on the apples of their cheeks, she thought. “All right, okay I’ll stop messing with you two now. You guys are just so adorable. Sheesh!” Arya scampered back to the dumbwaiter. “My main mission for coming up here was to inform you that your food would come straight up from the kitchen downstairs in this contraption.” Patting the shiny metal door she elaborated, “When you’re done with each course, just send the dishes back down with this button and the next course will be sent up for you.” Jon and Dany nodded at her instructions mutely, each looking down at their feet and fingers respectively, their faces aflame. Maybe just one more time wouldn’t hurt? Never one to miss a chance at letting her trickster side out, Arya didn’t even bother putting a stopper on her next ploy. “Before I go, you want to know something stinkingly cute, Dany?” “Hmm?” At the mention of her name, Dany’s head shot up to Arya from staring at her twiddling fingers lying on her lap. “This guy here?” Locking an arm around her cousin’s neck, Arya revealed to Dany something Jon probably would never for the life of him, want her to find out about. “He spent the whole morning looking at his reflection giving himself a stern pep talk on what to say, what to do and to not freak out when he goes to pick you up.” Arya was bouncing with excitement. She’d been waiting a whole week for this moment to do this. Some would say it was mean but she liked to think it was what family did, practical jokes, endless teasing and tasteful pranks of course. His embarrassment from before hadn’t even faded and now this? Jon’s jaw fell in mortification. Glancing at Dany out of the corner of his eye, the mirthful surprise dancing within her pretty purple eyes and the daintily arched brow had a further gush of heat rushing straight up to his head like the mercury line of a thermometer, forcing his face to heat up even more. Reaching around Arya, his arms flailed as he tried to stop her blabbing. He had to curb to spill of words from her mouth. His grumbles of ‘Shut up, Arya!’ did nothing to stop her, cackling ecstatically to herself, Arya’s slender fingers wound themselves tightly around Jon’s wrists. With a strong grip, developed from years of rough housing with her three brothers, she held Jon’s hands effortlessly away from her face. She was on a roll and she wasn’t going to let him stop her. “I could go on all day about how panicky he’d been since he came home from meeting you last week. This was the first time we’ve ever seen broody Jon this uncharacteristically... un-broody. Beaming like a loon while staring into space thinking about you. He couldn’t even go two sentences without mentioning your name!” “I don’t do that.... surely?” Jon uttered indignantly to himself, struggling to free his hands from Arya’s claws. “Oh yes. You sure do!” Noticing Dany’s hands clamped over her mouth and the tremor in her shoulders, filled Arya with a smug sense of accomplishment. “If you didn’t know before, this man is downright smitten with you!” The plaintive groans from the man behind her only spurred her on even more. “Naturally, we couldn’t let this chance pass him by! We all pitched in to set up this date for the both you!” The five siblings minus their eldest brother, Robb, who was busy with his job and a baby on the way, had spent the day hanging up the fairy lights, rearranging the pots and cleaning up the rooftop, making it presentable for their guest. Abruptly, she let go of Jon’s wrists causing him to fall back down into his seat, landing on his bum with an ‘oof!’.

Swapping out playfulness with sincerity, Arya took a step closer to where Dany sat. “He really, really likes you, Dany. We hope you feel the same for him too.” Taking the young girl’s hands in hers and squeezing them, Dany couldn’t deny that Arya’s revelation, knowing that he was just as anxious and happy about their date as her only made Jon all the more favourable in her eyes. Meeting the eyes of the blushing, endearing man across the table, she informed the two of them and herself out loud for the first time, “It just so happens, I like him a lot too.” There was a swooping in his tummy like a rollercoaster, free falling to the pull of gravity before shooting back up again. Jon grinned, his brown eyes squinting intensely from the push of his smile. They were trained on the dark wood of the table. Nowhere near the stunning woman he knew was watching him with her twinkling eyes. She likes him! “Aww you guys are so sweet!” Arya cheered. The man that was her favourite cousin, technically only cousin but it still counted, wore the dopiest grin she’d ever seen strung across his lips. Her favourite babysitter looked so demure, giving the man on the other side of the table bashful glances from beneath her lashes, accompanied by a red tinge on her face. Their happiness seemed to light them up from the inside out. Arya’s own smile softened into relieved one. It was evident that these two silly lovebirds were made for each other. Deciding it was time to stop bugging them, Arya coughed just loud enough to draw Jon and Dany’s mooneyes away from each other, she bid them farewell. “I’ll leave you guys alone now. Enjoy your dinner! I’ll see you around, Dany!” “It’s been great seeing you again!” Dany said, watching as the brunette girl tossed a quick wave in her direction before going around the wall that Ghost had disappeared behind. Leaning forward, she caught a glimpse of a glass sliding door slide shut, followed by the closing of a retractable folding door with wooden shutters. With Arya gone the rooftop became so quiet, save for the two people seated giggling at each other, suddenly shy again. Dany’s admission of her feelings for her date came rolling back, slamming into them both like a torrent of untameable waves. Idly tracing a line against the grain of the wooden table with his finger, Jon voiced that singular, blaring thought that had been whirling through his mind for the past few minutes: “So.... you... like me?” He looked like a young boy kicking at stones with his feet as he waited for his crush to push him away, waiting for her to decide that she didn’t want to play with him anymore because he wasn’t cool like the big kids.

Dany nodded resolutely. It was too late to turn back now, might as well take it all with her chin held high. “Yes.” She could hardly believe that she had said it right in front of his face without any hesitation at all! All this while she never told a soul save for Missandei. She hadn’t even dared to declare those feelings to herself yet! Where did that courage come from, she wondered. Heart hammering hard behind the curve of her ribs, Dany pondered at how miraculous the human body was. How was it that seeing Jon smile at her could have her feeling so peculiarly wonderful, all fuzzy and effervescent on the inside? “They say first impressions are everything. First dates even more so I think. I hadn’t come clean about my family to you before today and you had to hear all about my awkward self just now thanks to my pesky relative. You still like me?” Those wide chocolate orbs looking back at her were teeming with an open vulnerability that sent her heart lurching. He was so beautiful, how could she not adore him? “Oh, Jon. I’m very happy that you’re related to the Starks. They watched me grow up and your uncle has helped me so much with my business, I owe them a lot. Don’t be sorry for not telling me sooner. As you mentioned, we’ve haven’t had the time.” Threading her fingers with his, Dany marvelled at how perfectly their digits slid into place, hers within the gaps of his and his within hers. “And if you must know, I meant what I said. I like you and your awkward self very, very much.” “Well.... I’m immensely pleased to hear that.” Jon gave the slender fingers linked with his a light squeeze. Tenderly, his thumb began to move. “I just so happen to like you a lot too. You and your perfect self.” And he truly did. This was a long time coming confession since the moment his heart was struck down by the sight of her smile. Transfixed, Dany watched the path of Jon’s thumb as it outlined the curve between her index finger and thumb. His feather light touch stirred up a flurry of goose bumps all over her body and a need for something, something more. Subconsciously, she wriggled in her seat, crossing and uncrossing her legs.Expelling a tremor-laden chuckle, Dany professed, “Believe me when I say I’m not perfect. You haven’t see the side of me that’s not on a date with a handsome man yet.” “Oh. I hope you don’t mind if I stick around to find out then?” His voice adopted that hopeful lilt once more. She called him handsome. His stomach did a summersault. “I’d like that, yes. Very much actually.” She wondered if they would get to the point where they could be comfortably unglamorous around each other. The two of them lounged in front of the television, gorging on greasy pizzas or mornings where the first thing they saw of each other was messy bed head. She prayed they’d get there one day. Just then the mechanism within the little food elevator came on, producing a whirring noise, leading up to a cheery ‘ding’. The little button beside the door lit up too. Their dinner was served. 

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

Reluctantly letting go of her hand, Jon went over to the dumbwaiter. Pushing the doors apart, two steaming bowls of par green soup were revealed, served on a wooden tray. A folded piece of cream-colored paper sat word side down like an erected tent in between the bowls. Lifting the tray from the metal box, Jon brought it over to their table. Careful not to spill any of the soup, he served a bowl to his eagerly awaiting date first and then himself. The tantalizing fragrance of something rich and earthy hit Dany’s nose as it wafted up into the air with the steam. “Oh... I can’t wait to try this. Looks and smells like asparagus or could it be peas? What does that note say?” Picking up the folded note, Jon’s eyes gave it a skim. “Hello young lovers...” Relishing in Dany’s tinkle of a giggle, lips twitching upwards in response, he continued, “To start off your evening, I have prepared a cream based soup that features the freshest of spring ingredients - asparagus, peas and fennel. Spring is a time for new beginnings and new relationships alike. I hope you’ll have a splendid date and may your budding romance flourish like a blossom coming to bloom under the nurturing hand of nature. Love, Ned, your chef and hopefully family in due time.” Family! Nibbling on her lower lip, a new wave of heat simmered under her skin at Ned’s pointedly written words directed at her. It was all too soon. Dare she hope to be a part of Jon’s family? Tucking an errant tendril of hair behind her ear, she begged her heart to stop pounding just enough for her to get through this dinner. Resting the paper on the table, Jon gulped, shoving the torrent of flustered nerves back into the depths of his belly. His uncle really was too much sometimes. He’d been so preoccupied with trying to make her notice him that the idea of having Dany in his life forever never even had the chance to cross his mind yet. Having her successfully look his way was a miracle in itself! One day in the future, perchance she’d have him entirely, for a long, long time. Only then, he’d consider himself, truly, the luckiest man on earth. “Umm... So... Shall we?”

“Yes. Let’s eat! Bon appétit.” 

Dunking her spoon it into her bowl, Dany swirled the dollop of cream around until it blended in with the milky, pale green, piping hot liquid goodness. The little cubes of toasted bread floated like isles in a sea of green.

Desperately needing something to calm the fluttering in her middle, she brought the spoon back up and towards her lips before taking a sip. The moan that flew out of her lips, still attached to the spoon would have made her blush if she wasn’t already ladling another spoonful of the wonderful warm soup into her mouth. It could easily be the best thing she’d ever tasted. The earthy sweet flavourful medley of asparagus, peas and fennel was strong upon her tongue, yet it left a light, refreshing aftertaste, making her want more. If tea was a hug in a mug, this soup was like consuming liquid sunshine. Before she knew it, she had reached the bottom of her bowl. Sitting across from her, Jon slurped up his soup just as speedily, just noticing how famished he was having not eaten much all day, too anxious to ingest anything but a few bites of toast that morning. Sitting back in his seat feeling satisfied, Jon smacked his lips, savouring any remnant taste of the soup in his mouth. Having eaten his food every day, he could really attest that his uncle truly was a very capable chef. Judging from Dany’s gleaming bowl, he could tell that she would thoroughly agree with him.

“Shall I send our dishes back done and move on to the main course?” “Yes please!” Already moving to place her empty bowl and used spoon back onto the tray that it came from, Dany replied, her enthusiasm palpable. Down the dishes went and up came more. This time, it was two serves of warm lasagna and a bottle of red to go with them. “Oh! I haven’t had this in ages!” The familiar fragrance of tomato, onions, garlic, minced beef and Italian herbs filled the air. “You know I used to come to the diner after school every day just to have Mister Stark’s lasagna?” “I think my uncle must have known that.” Lifting up the note that came with their food, Jon flipped it the right side up before taking in the scrawl of letters. “Ah! Yes. He said so right here.” This note was much shorter than the last, lacking in more teasing quips, thank the gods. “‘For your main course, a classic from this very diner and a favourite of a certain little lady with the purple eyes. The bottle of Merlot goes really well with the red sauce.’” The layers of pasta, meat sauce and cheese caved under the pressure of her fork like butter under the blade of a hot knife. Lifting the fork towards her mouth, pulling a string of gooey melted cheese along with it, Dany blew on the forkful hastily before popping it into her mouth. The taste was just as she remembered, transporting her instantly back to the days of her youth when she’d run over to the diner instead of going home for lunch. “My mum could never make it quite as good as his. Don’t ever tell her I said that. She’s great with numbers but she isn’t that much of a cook.” Pouring some wine into a wine glass for Dany and then tipping some into his own, Jon smiled a wistful smile. An image of the cutest little girl with silver curls and lavender eyes like a doll formed in his mind. What would it have been like to grow up with her? Would they have been good friends? Would they have found themselves in their current state much sooner? “What I wouldn’t give to meet little you. I bet you were just as wonderful as you are now.” “Mm.” Shaking her head with her mouth stuffed, Dany chewed quickly and swallowed. “Wonderful? I wouldn’t go that far. I’ll have you know that I was quite naughty as a child. Detention was my best friend in high school.” Taking a sip of his wine, Jon couldn’t help but disagree. “I find that hard to believe.” “It’s true! You see I had a bad boy jock boyfriend at the time. I used to get up to lots of silly, sometimes not so nice antics just to get myself into detention so I could be with him a little more.” A ruefully half smirk tugged at her lips from behind her wine glass. “When he dumped me after two years, a veil had lifted and I could finally see that in my strive to keep him with me the people around me got hurt.” Thumbtacks scattered upon a teacher’s chair, gum in their hair, all the notorious things that she never would have done if she were given another chance to relive her childhood. Her parents were so disappointed in her. “I did get over him eventually and the pain didn’t last for long. After that, I knew I had to change. So, I apologized to everyone I hurt and I worked hard in school. I got into college and all the rest was history. Time heals even the deepest of wounds I suppose.” ”I need to put it out there. That jackass was an idiot for leaving you.” How could anyone do that to someone like her? He would never, ever have left her. “And for what it’s worth, you were just a child then. I think we’ve all done things we aren’t too proud of as kids. Whether it was to fit in or earn the affection of someone we liked.” Giving Jon’s arm a gentle squeeze, Dany gave him a grateful smile, passing along a silent ‘thank you’. He understood her.  The chance of finding someone who you could relate to was so slim. Someone like him was rare in the world. For that, she counted herself extremely blessed.

“What I am most intrigued about now is… What, may I ask, did you do as a boy that was so shameful?“ “All I’m going to say is that it involved drunkenness, a bottle of the headmaster’s whiskey and a dare.” Dany’s eyebrow rose up high. She could venture a guess as to the outcome from all the clues he dropped and it sounded like an entertaining tale. “What happened?” “Not telling.” Batting her eyelashes coquettishly, putting on her best puppy dog eyes, Dany pleaded with him. “Tell me... please...?” This woman would be the death of him. He was sure of it. How was he to deny her anything when she looked like that? Groaning under effect of those large doe like eyes of hers, his resolve crumbled like a house of cards.“Fine. I will tell you on one condition that this stays between us and only us. No one else can know about this.” Index finger drawing a cross over her heart, Dany gave him a solemn nod in promise. “I won’t tell anyone.” Resting her forearms on the table, interlocking her fingers on the table, Dany leant forward, ready to listen to whatever sordid tale Jon had to tell. Taking a gulp of his wine, shifting to mimic Dany’s posture, Jon commenced his tale. He regaled her of a drunken night of partying, which lead to a classic game of truth or dare. Bolstered by the copious amounts of beer and spiked punch, young Jon chose to participate in a dare which required him to steal the bottle of Jameson stored in the bottom left drawer of his headmaster’s desk. Simple enough, right? How naïve he was. Just sneak in quick, pick the lock and get out. Unfortunately for him, there was a catch. He had to run from the dorms to the other side of the campus.

Naked as the day he was born. “No.... You didn’t!” “You can bet all the money in the world that I did.” There he went in the dark of night, butt naked, streaking across the campus grounds. His gaggle of drunken friends followed behind him, giggling like schoolgirls. Up the stairs they went, stopping just outside their destination. To their utmost joy, the office door was unlocked! In Jon crept, his friends waiting outside the corridor for him to emerge victorious. “There I stood without a stitch on me, clumsily fumbling with the handle of the drawer, trying so hard to pull it open. Until, it came to me that I didn’t know how to pick a lock. To make matters worse, the headmaster chose that very moment to traipse back into his office.” “Oh dear...” Dany cringed. She had an inkling of what was coming. His fellow dorm mates and friends had bailed on him once they caught sight of Mr Montgomery’s shiny baldhead. In the end, their pajama-clad headmaster caught a very exposed, totally hammered, teenage Jon standing by his desk trying to break into his finest whiskey. Shrugging as nonchalantly as he could Jon casually picked up his wine glass and swirled the maroon liquid around. “I spent two weeks on kitchen duty after and none of the boys would let me forget that night. I was pretty much a legend.” “A shameless one at that!” A bark of laughter erupted from Dany’s mouth. She was so glad that she wasn’t drinking her wine. Otherwise, it would have gone up her nose and projected everywhere. “I’m glad my plight amuses you.” Jon said appreciating how charming Dany looked succumbed to the call of full belly chortles. Her laughter filled him with veneration and pride knowing that he brought it to light. Everyone knows a good meal cannot end without dessert. For such a special occasion, Ned had created something new for them - a s’more pie. Sitting on two plates were two generously large slices. A base of crushed Graham crackers, a filling of decedent dark chocolate mousse topped with pieces of toasted marshmallows. Just as the last two courses, this final one was enjoyed and disappeared in the blink of an eye betwixt a volley of banter and a chorus of laughter. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Dad! Leave the two of them alone.” Sansa laughed. Her father had his hands cupped around his eyes straining to peek through the wooden shutters at the two little lovebirds dining outside. Looking over the railing from his position a top the spiral staircase leading to the roof, Ned asked his brood: “Aren’t you curious about how things are going? My only baby sister’s son is on a date! The last time he was here he was just a wee boy of four! I was never there to see him grow up and I’ve definitely never had the chance to see him bring a girl home before.” His arms waving about animatedly and his eyes exaggeratedly wide as he sprinted back up the steps.“Oh.... I need to document every second of this fine moment for your aunt. Do they like my food?” Arya and Rickon were practically rolling on the carpet laughing at their dramatic daddy. Rolling her eyes, Sansa shook her head once more before turning back to her laptop. Rickon gave his brother, Bran’s leg a shake only to get a grunt in return. Frowning at his brother’s engrossment in his book. The fool is missing out with his nose always stuck in a book! Looking up at his father’s back, he pointed out a very obvious problem. “You’re not doing it right, daddy! The wood is blocking your eyes! You need to open the window to see.” Ned pried away one of the loose pieces of wood from the shutters with a triumphant ‘hah!’. Pressing his ear to the strip of glass revealed all he heard was muffled laughter and conversation. With his eyes cupped to erase any trace of a reflection, he could see their silhouettes in the dark pretty well thanks to the fairy lights they’d strung up. Jon and Dany seemed to be having a good time, animatedly chatting over their dessert with smiles plastered on their faces. Replacing the wooden plank in its rightful place, Ned knew Lyanna would be happy to know that her quiet son had found himself a nice girl. “Or... we could sneak a camera out there to watch them! That way you could document their interactions properly too. Why didn’t I think of this sooner! From the way they were mooning all over each other even with me standing right there, this has got to be good!” Bolting up from her sprawled position within her nest of pillows on the floor that she was sharing with Rickon, Arya’s eyes glowed with excitement. Her new prototype could finally be taken out for a trial run! “I’ll go and get it for you. I have just the thing!” “Hold on a minute, kiddo.” Ned caught his pesky daughter around her shoulders and reeled her in to him. Peering up at her father, she asked in her most innocent voice: “When did you come back down from there, daddy? You’re very quick.” Ruffling her head of raven curls that matched his own minus the odd strands of grey, Ned’s heart swelled with love. They said a parent should never have a favourite child, but he couldn’t help it. Even though he loved all his children, all five of them very much, Arya was his baby girl. “I think filming them might be a bit too intrusive. Your sister is right. Let’s give them their space to be better acquainted.” “Aww man! My miniature camera goes untested once again!” Hugging her father around his waist, she nuzzled her face into his chest and whined. Patting her hair, Ned smiled. No matter how big she got, she was still his headstrong, spirited, incredibly bright baby girl. Now, he had to make an international call to New Zealand. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- With sated bellies, minds a buzz from the wine, the two budding lovers meandered along the vacant streets, hands finding each other’s in the dark. Reaching the street that would take them to Dany’s home, she huddled closer into Jon’s side, not out of fear for what loitered in the night but for the reassurance that he was truly real and to prove that the lovely evening they’d spent together truly did happen. Each step they took, dawdled a little more the closer they got to their destination. Taking pauses every few seconds to just bask in each other’s presence for a little while longer. Neither of them wanted the night to end that soon. “I’ve loved every second of this evening, Jon. Please give my compliments to the chef and I think he’d be happy to know that I may have gotten some inspiration from this wonderful meal for my next range of ice cream flavours.” “What do you have in mind?” 

Trying hard not to stumble in the dark as they made their way up the steps to her little ice cream haven, Jon couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting back to Dany. Watching every move she made, gracefully moving between the shadows of the night. The beams of moonlight painted her in an ethereal glow. Like an elven nymph dancing before him, leading him along by the hand to wherever her heart desired to go. The small hand tightly tucked within his, the warmth of her palm pressed against his was a homing beacon for all his senses to congregate to. He felt light and tingly all over. Boy, was he far gone. Not letting go of his hand, Dany stepped up onto her porch and spun around to face him. Jon now stood a step below her, gazing up at her with his deep chocolate eyes that shone with unwavering adoration under the silver light of the moon.

An adoration for her.

It was hard to fathom this happening so quickly considering they’d only just met only recently. Who was she to deny the affections of someone so genuinely sweet? Someone who was captivated by her, not just for her looks but she was inclined to believe that it was for all of her, inside and out. If Jon wanted to discover it all, discover every single thing about her? She would personally hold the door open and invite him in.  “Mmm.... I’m afraid you’ll have to swing by tomorrow and find out for yourself.” 

Any excuse, any chance to see this darling man again, she would come up with and take them all. After all, he wasn’t the only one who was paddling in the deep end of affection. He wanted to be with her and she too wanted him close, so very much. She hadn’t smiled or laughed like she had with a member of the opposite sex in so long. Every moment spent with Jon brought her to life. She wanted to learn all that she could about this man who was so quickly becoming a fixture that she wanted to create a permanent home for in her world. “Are you asking me out on a date, my lady?” “You gave me such a marvellous one tonight. Turn about is only fair. What do you say to hanging out in my kitchen and do some experiments on ice cream with me?” “I say.... experimentation with food may not be as great as a three course meal but I suppose it’d be nice.” He couldn’t help it. He had to know how this perfect woman would react should he push her buttons a little. “Hey! Are you underestimating my abilities to provide a good time? At least give a girl a chance! Ice cream making is an art that requires precision and wit, which I assume you’ve never experienced before. Here I thought it would be something fun for us to do together.” Releasing a harrumph, Dany swatted him lightly on the arm with her free hand before making a move to shake off his hand that was still clasped around hers. Chuckling, Jon tightened his hold on her hand and drew his very cute pouty-lipped date towards him. A sharp gasp escaped from her as her body collided with his. Perhaps it was the alcohol giving him a boost in confidence, his arm shot out to snake around Dany’s waist. Whether it was to keep her from falling or to usher her in closer to him, Jon really couldn’t say. The urge to have her as close to him as humanly possible was all too compelling. 

“I was merely playing with you.” The instant their bodies aligned, the air around them crackled with a certain tension that had both their hearts leaping into their mouths. “You’re coming tomorrow? This date might not to be a very romantic one nor does it go according to the list of cliché activities of what couples usually go for.” Her hands grabbed at Jon’s shoulders in seek of some semblance of balance while her heart went haywire, beating out of tempo like an un-tuned metronome. Their sudden closeness threw her, bringing forth dizziness. Jon’s broad chest rose and fell against hers, each inhale and exhale of his, pressed him to her even more. A callused thumb coasting down the curve of her cheek had a tremor zinging through her body. It felt so good that her knees could have buckled under her. A tiny whimper lodged its way up her throat.  Their lips parted without much coaxing. Just an inch closer and they would touch. Curiosity lanced with desire coiled deep within their beings. Did they dare to venture a taste? Was it all too soon to cross that boundary, to take a step in the direction of physical intimacy? Could they throw everything to the wind and give in to that temptation? “My answer to your request is, yes, I would love nothing more than to come over.” Under the spell of that irresistible magnetic pull between them, Jon inched even closer to his ladylove. No one knew what supplied him with the courage to do what he did next, but nonetheless, he brushed the tip of his nose alongside hers before running it up and down along the length of her nose, keeping his touch to a graze. “As long as we’re together, anything would be fine. What we do wouldn’t matter if I got to spend time with you. I’m sure we could find a way to amp up the romance somehow anyway.” His ticklish caresses and those affectionate, heartfelt words articulated in that husky voice of his had jolts of electricity bolting straight towards the point between her legs, at the apex where her thighs met. Dany’s toes curled within her sneakers. Oh god, what was happening to her? “I’ll be here tomorrow. How about around the time your shop closes?” Jon whispered. There was no need to speak much louder than that with her so near. So near, he could count the freckles fanning out across her cheeks.

Their lips were now a mere hair’s breadth apart. So close, that each exhalation from their lungs mingled between them. Dany’s eyes grew enthralled by the movement of Jon’s lips and his pink tongue that darted out to moisten his lips.

Just a little closer.

Embroiled in the magic of the moment, her words eluded her. All she could manage was a nod and a hum of acquiescence. That mouth of his was so pretty, unfairly pretty for a man. She had a sudden craving to know how they felt moving against hers. Would those enticing lips be smooth or would they be rough? Whether his tongue would set her body on fire, trailing down her neck or up the inside of her thighs to kiss her there? What was this man kindling in her?

Looking back on that very night, neither of them could pin point with confidence which one out of the two of them made the first move. Dany would deny vehemently that it was her and Jon would do the same when she brought it up. Back in the present, the miniscule gap keeping them apart vanished in an ever so gentle collision of lips, like the timid flutter of a butterfly’s wings. The tentative press of their closed lips lingered and their hearts lurched to a halt. Sucking in a sharp breath through their noses, their beating organs came to, riding upon the backs of a horde of stampeding rhinoceroses that rattled them both to the core. Just a sweet, delicate touch was enough to send their senses into a tizzy, lighting up every nerve ending in their bodies like the insides of a pinball machine.

Kissing each other was everything they had expected and so much more. For Jon, Dany’s lips under his were like the insides of a rosebud, soft and sweet, bringing forth a sense of possessiveness from his core. For Dany, Jon’s plaint lips were a little dry and yet still very pleasant. Combined with the steady enclosure of his arms around her holding her upright and his lips moving in what she could only describe as lovingly upon hers made her shiver. It was a shame that their physiological demand for air forced them to drag their lips unwittingly away from their lip lock. A euphoric sort of bubble held them both hostage and neither of them was eager to depart from it. So, they stood together just breathing as one, taking in some much needed air. Meeting each other’s eyes, they saw disbelief, stunned surprise and something else swimming in there. Their gazes held for moments as they watched the desire within each other’s pupils flare up and expand, pushing their irises outwards until there was just a small ring left.

He (She) had to have more, no, needed more.

They plunged headfirst, back in for more. This time, their parted lips fused seamlessly, both of them hungry for the sweetness they knew would be found within. Hesitantly still, yet fuelled by a newfound passion, their tongues met in a timid flick, kicking up a languid rhythm, relishing in the taste of the person in their arms. Their dance soon became frenzied and moans floated unbridled to the sky with each tilt of their heads. Without conscious thought, their hands began to wander, searching for an anchor at whatever they could reach. Jon’s fingers fisted at the silky locks that hung loose down Dany’s back while hers burrowed their way into the curls at the nape of his neck. Their daydreams and fantasies paled in comparison to how delicious reality was. Each slant of their mouths, each touch of their lips, stroke of their tongues brought about a hint of wine and an intoxicating flavour that was uniquely their own.

And as they broke apart, heads spinning and hearts reverberating like jackhammers within their chest cavities, Jon tipped his forehead to Dany’s. Letting out a quiet laugh under his breath, his mind fought to catch up with the rest of his body. “For a first kiss, that was...” “Fantastic? Brilliant? Magnificent?” Fingers flexing around the silky midnight curls still grasped in her hand, Dany laughed too. Her starving lungs just refused to hold air. 

Arms dropping to frame her waist, he tucked the woman he was head over heels, so very madly enamoured with securely to him. “Hands down, all of the above.” 

The night could not have been more perfect.

[dreamingoffairys]

Teardrops & Coffee Chapter 8 (Stingue)

Okay, okay, I know, I know. You're all screaming at me. I'm aware I've sucked at keeping an update schedule. I'm totally awful I'm sooo sorry. The good news is I got a lot of new ideas now, so updates will be faster by a lot! (HUUUGE THANK YOU TO @little-miss-heartfillia WHO HELPED ME GET INSPIRED! THIS CHAPTER IS DEDICATED TO YOU!)

In case you forgot what happened last time, Rogue asked Sting out for dinner, so this is going to be their... "date", if you can call it that, heehee...

Speaking of the previous chapters! PLEASE RE-READ CHAPTER 6 UNLESS THIS IS YOUR FIRST TIME READING THROUGH THIS FIC! I edited a bunch of stuff there because before it was far too dramatic and over-the-top for a mutual pining college au fanfic.

Okay I'm done babbling now! I hope you enjoy this long awaited chapter, and I realllly hope it was worth the wait (it's over 4k words just for you guys!). 

Please reblog with nice tags, leave a reply, shoot me an ask, or message me! I’d love to hear what you think, it’s your kindness that keeps me going and keeps me inspired, and that’s why I came back to this fic at all.❤️❤️

AO3 LINK HERE

Sting's hands won’t stop sweating. He adjusts the collar of his dress shirt for the fifth time, still wondering if it is a bad idea to wear pink. He is also wearing eyeliner, which makes his deep blue irises pop, however gives him an edge. The gel in his hair is a bit shiny, which ends up also being a cause for concern. In fact, everything in Sting’s outfit is stressing him out. He has to look perfect for his first date with the guy of his dreams… Well, first not-date-that-is-probably-a-date. But that’s close enough for Sting. He is willing to take whatever he can get with Rogue.

He nearly jumps out of his skin at the sound of a knock on his door, adjusting his collar one final time before dashing to get it. He throws open the door, beaming and trying to hide his extreme nerves. “H-Hi Rogue! R-Right on time, I see!” Sting laughs nervously, hoping that Rogue didn’t notice Sting isn’t ready.

Rogue smiles back politely. He is dressed in a black collared shirt with a gray sweater vest over it, his hair tied back into a neat ponytail. Sting’s knees were ready to melt from underneath him: Rogue really does dress like one of those stereotypical hot nerds.

Rogue looks at Sting with kind eyes, “You look really nice.”

“Th-Thanks,” Sting laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was worried the pink would be a little bit...much...but uh...I did it anyways.” Why can’t I ever stop talking around him? I keep making a fool of myself!

“I think it suits you,” Rogue compliments Sting with ease. Sting has to replay Rogue’s words three times in his head before comprehending him, nodding quickly as a hot blush spreads across his cheeks. However, the soaring movement his heart made drops when Rogue speaks up again, “However...where are your shoes?”

Sting looks down at his feet and finds only the cuff of his crisp skinny jeans and one white sock. The shy blush turns to embarrassment, holding in a yelp as he rushes back into the dorm room, “Ah! Sorry! I somehow...forgot! Be right back!” Dying of shame, Sting pulls on his shoes and left sock and rushes back out to meet Rogue. “S-Sorry.”

Rogue laughs, “Not a problem.” He takes a step back, “After you.”

Sting exits his dorm room and shuts the door, shaking slightly with every step. They walk in silence for a long moment, the hallways filled with tiny bits of noise that keep it from being too awkward. However, once they reach the elevator and the doors close, the quiet is no longer acceptable. Sting knows he has to make his move. “So, where exactly are we going?”

“It’s a surprise,” Rogue replies with a smug smile, wanting to keep Sting in the dark for as long as possible.

“Oh, okay, cool,” Sting nods, heart sinking. Shit. There goes my conversation topic. What do I do now? Quick! Think of something! “Uhm...you look really uhm…” Fuck… “...fantastic.” Does that sound too gay? Shit! I should’ve said uh...no...that wouldn’t have been much better either.

Rogue laughs, smiling with his teeth, “Thanks. You do too. I really like the eyeliner. It makes your eyes really stand out.”

“That’s what I was going for,” Sting says hastily, trying to hide another round of blushing. He runs his fingers through his gelled hair, hopefully not messing it up. The door to the elevator finally opens with a loud DING, and Sting watches as Rogue exits without fault. Sting tries to copy him, but instead stumbles over his own feet. He laughs to himself out of nerves, hoping Rogue didn’t see. Thankfully, he didn’t...either that, or he just pretended not to notice for Sting’s pride’s sake.

Rogue leads Sting out to his car, climbing into the driver’s seat, then waiting with a smile as Sting sits shotgun. “Music, Sting?” Rogue asks, reaching for the stereo. “I’ve got mostly classical, but if you’d like something else, I’ve got an AUX cord for your phone…”

“N-No, classical is fine!” Sting stammers, despite not liking classical much. His music taste is pop that good for dancing to or scream singing at the top of his lungs. Not very attractive. So instead, he leans back against the seat and listens to a song with some string instruments as Rogue drove them down the road to wherever they were going. The car ride is awkwardly silent, but Rogue didn’t seem to mind, smiling and listening to the music with a small smile.

Finally, Rogue pulls up in front of an Italian restaurant, one known for being nice without being too expensive. Rogue parks, turning to Sting with that cute little smile again. “This okay?”

“It’s perfect!” Sting says in a rush, starting to unbuckle his seatbelt. “I’ve never been here but I’ve heard good things about it.”

Rogue steps out of the car, then moves to Sting’s door. He offers Sting his hand, and the blond takes it, blushing brightly. “I’m glad then that I get to take you for the first time.”

The two of them approach the double glass doors of the restaurant, Rogue holding the door for Sting yet again, making Sting feel kind of like a dick. Rogue is being quite the gentleman, and what’d he done? Showed up to the door with no shoes, tripped over himself, didn’t make very good conversation…he really didn’t deserve Rogue.

“Table for two?” asks the hostess, grabbing two menus.

“Yes, please,” Rogue replies, smiling at Sting. Sting’s heart skips a beat. He’s so handsome.

The hostess nods, “Right this way.” She leads them through the restaurant, giving Sting a moment to take in their surroundings. The smooth marble floor, etched wood walls, lots of flowers, soft jazzy piano music, candle-like lighting…it felt very romantic. This had to be a date…right?

They reach a polished table with two plush red booths on either side, the table tucked in a corner away from most of the noise. The hostess sets down the menus on the table, and Sting and Rogue slide into the booth across from each other. “Your server will be with you shortly.”

“Thank you,” says Sting, trying to be polite since so far he’s been nothing but an annoyance.

Once she leaves, Rogue’s attention turns to Sting. He doesn’t even open his menu, watching as Sting opens his and starts to scour the specials. “Sting?”

“Hm?” Sting hums, eyeing a fancy-sounding sandwich. Grilled tomato, chèvre, thyme baguette… What the hell is chèvre? How do you even pronounce that? Is there even meat in this damn thing?

“Are you willing to let me surprise you with something?” Rogue drums his fingers on the polished table. “There’s something here I really enjoy, and I think you’d like it too.”

Sting looks over the menu, giving up on the stupid chèvre thing, and meets Rogue’s eyes. “Oh yeah? What is it?”

“Like I said, it’s a surprise.” Rogue’s eyes twinkle playfully. “Do you trust me? I promise it’s not gross.”

Sting bites his lip in thought. Rogue didn’t know his food preferences all that well, so maybe it wouldn’t be something Sting would like… But on the flipside, if this is a date, and getting something together would be really romantic. “Uhhhh…”

Rogue chuckles softly, “Is that a yes?”

“You know what, what the hell,” Sting says, closing his menu and dropping it onto the table, cringing at the sound. “Might as well take a risk.”

“Great,” Rogue smiles. “You don’t have any allergies, right?”

“Just bees,” Sting says immediately without thinking. He watches as a smug smile starts to spread across Rogue’s face as he tries to hold back laughter. “What?!”

“Your name is Sting, and you’re allergic to bees?” Rogue snickers.

“Trust me, I’m aware of the irony,” Sting rolls his eyes. “I prefer to associate my name with like…the sword from Lord of the Rings, or the band from the guy that used to be with The Police.”

“You keep surprising me more and more,” Rogue rests his chin on the palm of his hand. “I’m glad you and I are both nerdy people. I don’t know if I’d be able to stand you if you hated Lord of the Rings.”

“To be totally honest, I haven’t read the books,” Sting admits. “I started reading Fellowship and then there was like 60 fucking pages about the Sackville Bagginses or whatever and I got so bored and confused.”

Rogue laughs, “Yeah, the beginning of Fellowship is a real headache. Although the book does have some things the movies don’t that are fascinating.”

A young woman with purple hair walks up to them, holding a notepad. “Hi, my name is Laki, and I’ll be your waitress for tonight. Can I start you off with some drinks?”

“Hey, Laki,” Rogue smiles. “I’ll take an iced tea.”

“Uhh…” Sting feels himself flush. He hadn’t gotten a chance to look at the drink menu, since Rogue had said he is going to order for both of them. “Err..what kind of drinks do you have?”

Laki smiles, but Sting still feels bad for asking. “Coke, Diet Coke, Sprite, Lemonade, Iced Tea, Raspberry Iced Tea-”

“I’ll just take a Coke,” Sting says hastily, not wanting to put the poor waitress through any more. “Thank you.”

Rogue looks at her, “Is it alright if we place our order now too? We’ll do the the Double Special.”

“Of course,” she smiles, jotting that down. “All set. I’ll be back with those drinks.” She turns and walks away, her heels clicking on the floor.

Sting flushes. A nice restaurant, alone with Rogue, sharing a meal… He had to ask, he had to know, he couldn’t sit here in confusion for any longer… He’s going to tell Rogue that he-

“So, Sting,” Rogue asks, cutting into Sting’s thoughts, not noticing Sting’s mental turmoil. “I was wondering something. You, of course, told me about your mom...but what about your dad? Do you get along with him?”

Sting starts for a moment, not prepared for Rogue to say anything. For a moment he mentally screams at himself for not speaking quickly enough, but then he registers the question in his head and feels a lot better. ‘This I can do! I love talking about my dad…’ Sting grins at Rogue happily, “Yeah! My dad’s the best. He’s super supportive of me, and he’s always been so much fun. We’ve played card games together since I was old enough to understand them, he taught me sports and a lot of stuff about computers, and we used to fix up the house together.” Sting feels a nostalgic smile cross his face. “Yeah...I love him a lot. Without him, I’d be so lost...he’s always been there for me, no matter what bullshit I was dealing with, you know?”

Rogue’s cheeks are lightly dusted with pink, eyes glued on Sting’s face. “That’s really wonderful. What kind of card games did you play?”

Sting rubs the back of his neck and looks away, embarrassed. “Errrr...well I mean, this was when I was a kid, but…I was...really into Pokemon and Yu-Gi-Oh.”

Rogue chuckles softly, “No need to be shy about it. Gajeel loved Pokemon too, though he’ll never admit it.” Rogue shrugs, “I read books more than I played games, but I played a little Pokemon with him. My favorite was always...I think its name is Umbreon?”

“The Dark Type Eeveelution,” Sting blurts out, then turns redder. “Uhm...b-but yeah, that’s right.” He looks down at his lap, his ears burning. Oh, damn. Now I look like a child.

Rogue laughs a bit louder, “Yeah, that one. Which one was your favorite?”

Sting shifts in his seat, anxiety clawing at his throat. Why is this making him so nervous? “Dratini… It’s so cute, and so is Dragonair, and then Dragonite is really strong…” He blushes darker. “Yeah…”

“Here’s your drinks,” Laki walks up to the table and sets down their drinks and their waters. “Your food will be out shortly. Anything else you need?”

Courage. The ability to flirt. Some answers. “Err, nope!” Sting laughs. “I’m all good.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Rogue smiles at her, and she nods and walks away.

Sting’s chest feels tight. Here’s another chance. “S-So…” he manages to say, then shuts his mouth as the panic sets in. ‘I...I can’t do it. I can’t ask. If he says no it’ll be so embarrassing...especially with everything he’s told me…!’

“So?” Rogue replies, that smile still on his face, but this time the look is more than just polite. There’s admiration in his eyes, warm and kind, enjoying himself in Sting’s presence.

Sting studies Rogue’s face. Fuck. His one visible shining red eye, his silky black hair, that warm smile… Rogue almost seems like he’s glowing. Sting had to ask him. He had to tell Rogue how he felt. He couldn’t afford to lose this...Rogue is too special.

And so….he takes a deep breath, and blurts out, “Rogue, is this a date?”

Sting’s heart leaps into his throat. He actually said it! After all this time of nerves and shit, and he’d just blurted it out effortlessly! Why had he been so afraid before?

He watches as Rogue’s mouth curls into a wider smile, a blush on his cheeks. He still looks like he’s glowing...how beautiful . “Of course it is. I really have fallen for you, Sting. You’re my everything. I’d love to date you.”

“You would?” Sting squeaks, his heart pounding. ‘Ohgod it’s happening-!’

“Huh?” Rogue looks at Sting in confusion, his voice sounding different all of a sudden, the glow completely gone, “I would what?”

It is then that Sting realized he’d completely imagined that scenario. Thanks to his nerves, he’d started daydreaming about what he wished could happen. He sighs, feeling ashamed and deflated. “Nevermind…” he mumbles, reaching up for his drink and sipping it. The bubbles tickle his tongue, and the sweetness is almost overpowering.

When Rogue frowns, Sting feels like his heart shatters. “Are you sure..? It seemed like what you wanted to say was important…”

“Forget it,” Sting takes another sip of his drink, then forces a smile. “I just forgot what I was gonna say. It’s not a big deal.”

Rogue drinks a bit of iced tea, then sighs softly. “If you say so…”

Sting bites his lip, but before he can try and make up something to ease Rogue’s worries (or at least thank him for being concerned), Laki walks over with a covered tray. She smiles at them both, setting the platter onto the table and uncovering it, revealing a huge bowl of pasta accompanied by two pieces of garlic bread. “Carbonara for two?”

Sting has no idea what the heck carbonara is, but it looks tasty, and the smell makes his stomach growl. He pushes aside the fact that they’re splitting a bowl just like in the romantic movies for a moment and instead leans forward to smell it.

Rogue smiles up at Laki, still looking at Sting out of the corner of his eye. “Thank you so much.”

“Enjoy,” Laki replies, then walks away, her heels clicking on the fancy floor.

“Sooo...what exactly is it?” Sting asks, grabbing his garlic bread first. “I mean, besides pasta, obviously.”

Rogue grabs his fork and twirls it. “Carbonara is a pasta dish with egg, pecorino romano cheese, pork, and pepper.” He lifts it up towards his mouth and grins. “And it’s one of my favorites.”

Sting makes a mental note of that as Rogue takes a bite: spaghetti, egg, some cheese, pepper, and pork...okay! He takes a big bite of his garlic bread, then sits it back down on the plate. “Sounds delicious.” He grabs his own fork and twirls it the way Rogue did (or at least, attempts to, as he has do it a couple times before getting it right) and then lifts it to his mouth and takes a huge bite. He feels like his taste buds are exploding as a wonderful flavor touches his tongue. “Mmmm…oh man, that’s-” Suddenly realizing he is talking with his mouth full, he blushes and swallows hard. “Ahem. It’s really good.”

Rogue laughs, and Sting realizes he isn’t grossed out by his bad manners. “Isn’t it? It’s fairly easy to make, too. There’s some really easy recipes online. I’ve made it a couple of times just in the dorm kitchen. I always ended up splitting it with people because they all loved it so much, haha.”

I would love to try yours… Sting thinks dreamily. If there is one thing that he loved more than attractive guys, it is attractive guys who could cook. Instead of voicing that thought, he shoves more of the pasta into his mouth, relieved that he now had an excuse to be quiet. He’d already chickened out twice on asking Rogue if this is a date...maybe a little bit of silence to think would help.

Rogue twists the pasta around his fork slowly, that same endearing smile still on his lips. “I’m glad you like it. I was a bit worried you wouldn’t care for it and then wouldn’t have a good time. A risk I’m glad I took, I suppose.”

But why did you take it? Sting wonders silently. Is it because it’s a date and you wanted to be romantic? Or were you trying to impress me or something? Because you don’t have to...I was impressed the moment I laid eyes on you. In comparison, I’m kind of a nobody… If anything, I should be working on impressing you.

For a moment, Sting could’ve sworn he saw Rogue blush, but it fades as soon as it appeared. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to keep talking at you while you were trying to eat.”

Sting swallows and finally finds his voice right as Rogue takes another bite. “Rogue, you’re fine. I like hearing what you have to say. You’re interesting, and funny.” Wow, that was stupid.

Rogue coughs slightly, then swallows his pasta. “You think so?” Sting nods quickly in response, and Rogue reaches for his iced tea. “Thanks, Sting. I appreciate it.”

Sting blushes again. “Mhm!” he manages to say with a mouth full of pasta, then scarfs more down.

The two of them are then silent until the plate is completely clear, both of them having ate their fill on pasta and bread. Their drinks are almost empty as well, as they are both broke college students and don’t like being wasteful.

Eventually, Laki comes with the check. “Here’s your bill,” she says, placing it on the edge of the table. “Thank you so much for dining with us tonight.”

As she walks away, Rogue reaches for the check holder, and Sting has to scramble, “W-Wait, shouldn’t we split the bill?”

Rogue looks Sting right in the eyes, “Well...I thought I’d pay, since I invited you…”

Sting’s heart skips a beat. He isn’t quite sure how the whole stupid, heteronormative “the man pays to be a gentleman on the first date” thing works for gay couples, but to him this seemed like Rogue is implying it is a date. Should I ask…? Say that if he considers it a date he can pay? Or would it be nice to offer to pay for myself? What do I do?

“Uhhhhmmm…” is all Sting can bring himself to say, his palms starting to sweat. He watches helplessly as Rogue reads the bill, then slips their debit card into the check holder and places it back on the edge of the table. Too late now…

He finds that he feels guilty about it when Laki picks it back up to swipe the card, so he mumbles out, “I can pay you back…”

“No,” Rogue leans forward a bit. “There’s no need, Sting. It’s my treat.”

What does that MEAN? Sting screams mentally, but has no time to ask because Laki returns at that exact moment. Damn! It seemed like the whole damn world is against him getting to speak his mind.

Rogue retrieves his debit card, then stands up and looks at Sting. “Ready to go?”

“Where?” Sting asks, joining Rogue on his feet. Realizing that was a stupid question (aka, one that implied they were going somewhere other than back to the dorms), Sting quickly tacks on, “A-Ah, sorry, I’m tired.”

“Actually, I was thinking we could take a walk in the nearby park?” Rogue suggests as they walk out of the restaurant together. “It’s a nice night, and I wanted to talk to you for a little bit longer.”

“About…?” Sting asks, having trouble breathing. The world felt like it was spinning underneath his feet, and he swore Rogue could hear his heart beating.

Instead of answering, Rogue leads Sting down the block to a nice park with a sparkling water fountain, beautiful rose bushes, carved wooden benches, and a few tall oak trees. The ground underneath their feet is brown and red patterned stone, but nearby are numerous patches of soft green grass dotted with wildflowers starting to close for the night. The cool night air blows Sting and Rogue’s hair in front of their faces, and the light of the setting sun bathes them in a soft gold glow. The water of the fountain reflects the pink, orange sky streaked with thin white clouds, almost like something out of a painting.

All of Sting’s nerves vanish. There is nothing to interrupt them now. The moment is so...perfect. It feels like something out of a romance movie...a love confession at sunset in front of a fountain, surrounded by roses...yes. He felt certain now that this is a date, and that any moment now, Rogue is going to confess his feelings for Sting. Finally, the uncertainty, the fear, the nerves, the anxiety...it will all come to an end.

“Sting.” Rogue’s hair blows away from his face, showing off both of his narrow, shining red eyes, looking at Sting with admiration. “I wanted to tell you something.”

Sting’s heart beats a mile a minute, and he’s sure there’s a stupid, lovesick grin on his face. “Y-Yeah...what is it?”

Rogue opens his mouth when suddenly his phone buzzes in his pocket. Rogue groans and digs his hand into his pocket, “Dammit, hold on a second.” Frowning, Rogue pulls his phone out and looks at it. Sting watches as Rogue’s face goes from annoyed to shocked, then texts something quickly. “Shit. Shit shit shit !” He looks up at Sting, concern written all over his face. “I…I’m so sorry, I have to go. Right now. Thanks for coming, I had fun, I’ll see you soon!”

With that, Rogue shoves his phone into his pocket and takes off down the sidewalk.

Sting’s heart shatters. “W-WAIT, ROGUE, HOLD ON-! YOU DROVE ME HERE!” he screams, starting to chase after him. He suddenly realizes he has no idea where Rogue went, and by the time he remembers what street they came from, it’s too late… Rogue’s car speeds by the sidewalk, way over the speed limit, and disappears around the corner.

Tears fill Sting’s eyes as emotions flood through him all at once. Heartbreak, anger, desperation...until it all finally resolves in pure, unrestrained hysteria. “FUCK YOU, ROGUE!” he screams, stomping his foot like a child throwing a tantrum. “YOU’RE A FUCKING ASSHOLE! I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS!”

Sobbing uncontrollably, Sting storms back over towards the fountain, his legs too weak to stand for much longer. As he collapses onto a bench, he realizes everything around him that once seemed so perfect and beautiful looks absolutely sickening now. The roses slowly closing seem to taunt him, as if reminding him that all good things must eventually come to an end. The sound of the sparkling water fountain as it bubbles and spills into the basin sounds like his tears splashing down his cheeks. The tall oak trees bend and creak in the wind, as if mocking his own fragile state. Even the sunset, once romantic and hopeful, now fades into black.

Defeated and drowning, Sting puts his head in his hands and curls into himself. He sits there too broken to move until the final beam of sunlight disappears from the sky, then picks himself up and takes the long walk of shame home, swallowed up by the night.

[amuletrebel]

Bring May Flowers (Ch. 25)

AO3 Link / FF.net Link

Prompt: Chat Noir Merch

Adrien and Marinette stepped into the latter’s house, the blunette closing the door behind them. She gestured to the couch and Adrien took a seat. He glanced around the living area and smiled fondly. The only time he had been in this particular room, it was as his alter ego. Her parents were so understanding and genuinely worried for him, despite knowing next to nothing about him, superhero or not. As Adrien, he never got the chance to just sit and relax in this room. He had only ever been in Marinette’s room as his model persona. His ears picked up the sound of her descending steps, which confused him. Wasn’t she in the kitchen? The only staircase in the house led to her room, so why did she need to go up to her room? When the blonde turned around, he swore his jaw hurt when it hit the floor. Marinette stood at the bottom of the stairs, wearing what he knew was his favorite outfit out of all her designs. It was the Purrincess jacket he first saw her in back when he was grounded by his father and couldn’t go see her for three days. She matched it with a neon green tank top that had pawprints scattered around the bottom hem and black jean shorts with tasteful rips at the thighs. Her pink flats were replaced with black sandals, revealing the lime green nail polish on her toes. The blunette’s lips, shiny with flavored lip gloss, curled up in a saucy grin and she did a little twirl. “How do I look?” Adrien didn’t even give her a worded response. Instead, he jumped over the couch and ran to her. He placed his hands on her waist and pressed his lips to hers. She eagerly returned it, gently caressing his cheeks with her palms. To Adrien, Marinette was like oxygen. He didn’t need anything else be to be right in the moment, their bodies flush against each other and his lips on hers. Looks like he got those strawberry kisses after all. Marinette felt the exact same way. The world seemed to disappear around them, leaving only the two lovers left. “Ugh! Gross!” Plagg’s voice suddenly piped up, scattering the illusion. “I come in to say I’m done with my cheese break and I’m subjected to your gross lovey-dovey rituals!” “Now, now Plagg,” Tikki said, floating up next to him, “I believe the phrase is ‘the pot calling the kettle black.’ Besides, remember all those centuries ago when you—” “We do not speak of it!” the chaos kwami suddenly interrupted, his cheeks surprisingly turning red. “J-just do your thing and leave my past in the past!” “Alright,” Adrien answered, followed by Plagg heaving a sigh of relief, “…for now.” “Oh, come on!” “Plagg, claws out!” Adrien transformed into Chat Noir and held his hand out to Marinette. Marinette took it and was led up to her balcony so they could leave without keeping any windows open. It was the 21st century, filled with stealthy superheroes and rambunctious villains, so you never know what could be heading its way into your home. Chat carried Marinette Princess style across Paris, people who spotted them would swoon in awe at their cute little dynamic while the blunette could spot some girls, and even a good chunk of guys, huffing about not winning the “contest.” “Oh!” Chat suddenly exclaimed and made an unexpected stop at the Trocadéro. The pigtailed girl raised her eyebrow and looked at him with a confused expression. But he just gave her a sly grin and held up a finger; the universal sign to hold that thought. So she kept quiet and observed him, not knowing what he possibly had in store for her. Her bluebell eyes widened and she facepalmed with a silent giggle when she saw Chat head to a cart that was selling Ladybug and Chat Noir merchandise. Marinette watched as the store clerk started bouncing in place excitedly and Chat was kind enough to take a picture with her. Then she handed him a bag with whatever he was picked out—her view was blocked from her position—and he sauntered back over to his lovely girlfriend. “Surprise!” Chat exclaimed enthusiastically, reaching into the bag. What Marinette didn’t expect was a bell collar secured around her neck and a cat ear headband placed on her head. She blinked a few times, touching the bell gently with one hand. Then that hand went to the ears. They were fuzzy like a cat’s. Her bluebell eyes then trained on him, waiting for an explanation. “I just thought they’d look cute on you,” Chat explained simply, grinning ear to ear, “and I was so right.” Marinette rolled her eyes, her shoulders shaking from her giggles. “Alright, Chaton. I’ll give it to you. These are kind of cute.” She looked around, taking in the gentle breeze that hit her skin and delicately shook the trees. “Hey, before you take me to the next destination on your grand plan contest date, can we walk around the park a bit?” “Of course! Besides, the final place is best at night.” Marinette learned not to question her model/hero boyfriend at this point. It felt it was in his  nature to go to extreme lengths to impress her and make her happy. It was certainly nice to be treated like royalty from time to time, but she wanted to reassure him that she didn’t need the grand gestures or large amounts of money spent on her to be happy. She just needed him; his very presence in her life. The two walked side by side, not drawing too much attention to themselves. Even though Adrien wanted to be as affectionate as possible, they had agreed to keep the PDA on the down-low when only one of them was in their hero persona. The news of Chat Noir and Marinette dating was never made public, the rumors contained exclusively within the school walls. That would make the transition much easier. Adrien would ask Marinette out more publicly, she would agree (and probably mess around a bit just to make him suffer and stun everyone around them), and then they could be as sickeningly sweet with their affection in public as possible. The events of the day didn’t just end with a walk in the park. Chat found Andre and they were treated to free ice cream. Chat made Marinette laugh by trying to balance a spoon on his nose. The sun began to set as the two ended up at the Pont de Arts Bridge, Chat sitting on the railing and Marinette leaning safely against it. “Well, Princess,” Chat suddenly said, holding out his gloved hand, “Are you ready for the final destination?” She smiled and took his hand. “As ready as I’ll ever be, mon minou.” Chat picked his girlfriend up princess-style. “Hold on tight, mon amour,” he whispered before taking off, Marinette’s arms securely locked around his neck, her bell collar tinkling softly in the night. The moon hung overheard as the hero flew through the air toward his destination.

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[joanabeleza]

THREE WOMEN: A Poem for Three Voices (Sylvia Plath)

Setting: A Maternity Ward and round about

FIRST VOICE: I am slow as the world. I am very patient, Turning through my time, the suns and stars Regarding me with attention. The moon’s concern is more personal: She passes and repasses, luminous as a nurse. Is she sorry for what will happen? I do not think so. She is simply astonished at fertility.

When I walk out, I am a great event. I do not have to think, or even rehearse. What happens in me will happen without attention. The pheasant stands on the hill ; He is arranging his brown feathers. I cannot help smiling at what it is I know. Leaves and petals attend me. I am ready.

SECOND VOICE: When I first saw it, the small red seep, I did not believe it. I watched the men walk about me in the office. They were so flat! There was something about them like cardboard, and now I had caught it, That flat, flat, flatness from which ideas, destructions, Bulldozers, guillotines, white chambers of shrieks proceed, Endlessly proceed-and the cold angels, the abstractions. I sat at my desk in my stockings, my high heels,

And the man I work for laughed: ‘Have you seen something awful? You are so white, suddenly.’ And I said nothing. I saw death in the bare trees, a deprivation. I could not believe it. Is it so difficult For the spirit to conceive a face, a mouth? The letters proceed from these black keys, and these black keys proceed From my alphabetical fingers, ordering parts,

Parts, bits, cogs, the shining multiples. I am dying as I sit. I lose a dimension. Trains roar in my ears, departures, departures! The silver track of time empties into the distance, The white sky empties of its promise, like a cup. These are my feet, these mechanical echoes. Tap, tap, tap, steel pegs. I am found wanting.

This is a disease I carry home, this is a death. Again, this is a death. Is it the air, The particles of destruction I suck up? Am I a pulse That wanes and wanes, facing the cold angel? Is this my lover then? This death, this death? As a child I loved a lichen-bitten name. Is this the one sin then, this old dead love of death?

THIRD VOICE: I remember the minute when I knew for sure. The willows were chilling, The face in the pool was beautiful, but not mine- It had a consequential look, like everything else, And all I could see was dangers: doves and words, Stars and showers of gold-conceptions, conceptions! I remember a white, cold wing

And the great swan, with its terrible look, Coming at me, like a castle, from the top of the river. There is a snake in swans. He glided by; his eye had a black meaning. I saw the world in it-small, mean and black, Every little word hooked to every little word, and act to act. A hot blue day had budded into something.

I wasn’t ready. The white clouds rearing Aside were dragging me in four directions. I wasn’t ready. I had no reverence. I thought I could deny the consequence- But it was too late for that. It was too late, and the face Went shaping itself with love, as if I was ready.

SECOND VOICE: It is a world of snow now. I am not at home. How white these sheets are. The faces have no features. They are bald and impossible, like the faces of my children, Those little sick ones that elude my arms. Other children do not touch me: they are terrible. They have too many colours, too much life. They are not quiet, Quiet, like the little emptinesses I carry.

I have had my chances. I have tried and tried. I have stitched life into me like a rare organ, And walked carefully, precariously, like something rare. I have tried not to think too hard. I have tried to be natural. I have tried to be blind in love, like other women, Blind in my bed, with my dear blind sweet one, Not looking, through the thick dark, for the face of another.

I did not look. But still the face was there, The face of the unborn one that loved its perfections,

The face of the dead one that could only be perfect In its easy peace, could only keep holy so. And then there were other faces. The faces of nations, Governments, parliaments, societies, The faceless faces of important men.

It is these men I mind: They are so jealous of anything that is not flat! They are jealous gods That would have the whole world flat because they are. I see the Father conversing with the Son. Such flatness cannot but be holy. ‘Let us make a heaven,’ they say. ‘Let us flatten and launder the grossness from these souls.’

FIRST VOICE: I am calm. I am calm. It is the calm before something awful: The yellow minute before the wind walks, when the leaves Turn up their hands, their pallors. It is so quiet here. The sheets, the faces, are white and stopped, like clocks. Voices stand back and flatten. Their visible hieroglyphs Flatten to parchment screens to keep the wind off. They paint such secrets in Arabic, Chinese!

I am dumb and brown. I am a seed about to break. The brownness is my dead self, and it is sullen: It does not wish to be more, or different. Dusk hoods me in blue now, like a Mary. O colour of distance and forgetfulness! – When will it be, the second when Time breaks And eternity engulfs it, and I drown utterly?

I talk to myself, myself only, set apart – Swabbed and lurid with disinfectants, sacrificial. Waiting lies heavy on my lids. It lies like sleep, Like a big sea. Far off, far off, I feel the first wave tug

Its cargo of agony toward me, inescapable, tidal. And I, a shell, echoing on this white beach Face the voices that overwhelm, the terrible element.

THIRD VOICE: I am a mountain now, among mountainy women. The doctors move among us as if our bigness Frightened the mind. They smile like fools. They are to blame for what I am, and they know it. They hug their flatness like a kind of health. And what if they found themselves surprised, as I did? They would go mad with it.

And what if two lives leaked between my thighs? I have seen the white clean chamber with its instruments. It is a place of shrieks. It is not happy. ‘This is where you will come when you are ready.’ The night lights are flat red moons. They are dull with blood. I am not ready for anything to happen. I should have murdered this, that murders me.

FIRST VOICE: There is no miracle more cruel than this. I am dragged by the horses, the iron hooves. I last. I last it out. I accomplish a work. Dark tunnel, through which hurtle the visitations, The visitations, the manifestations, the startled faces. I am the centre of an atrocity. What pains, what sorrows must I be mothering?

Can such innocence kill and kill? It milks my life. The trees wither in the street. The rain is corrosive. I taste it on my tongue, and the workable horrors, The horrors that stand and idle, the slighted godmothers With their hearts that tick and tick, with their satchels of instruments.

I shall be a wall and a roof, protecting. I shall be a sky and a hill of good: O let me be!

A power is growing on me, an old tenacity. I am breaking apart like the world. There is this blackness, This ram of blackness. I fold my hands on a mountain. The air is thick. It is thick with this working. I am used. I am drummed into use. My eyes are squeezed by this blackness. I see nothing.

SECOND VOICE: I am accused. I dream of massacres. I am a garden of black and red agonies. I drink them, Hating myself, hating and fearing. And now the world conceives Its end and runs toward it, arms held out in love. It is a love of death that sickens everything. A dead sun stains the newsprint. It is red. I lose life after life. The dark earth drinks them.

She is the vampire of us all. So she supports us, Fattens us, is kind. Her mouth is red. I know her. I know her intimately- Old winter-face, old barren one, old time bomb. Men have used her meanly. She will eat them. Eat them, eat them, eat them in the end. The sun is down. I die. I make a death.

FIRST VOICE: Who is he, this blue, furious boy, Shiny and strange, as if he had hurtled from a star? He is looking so angrily! He flew into the room, a shriek at his heel. The blue colour pales. He is human after all. A red lotus opens in its bowl of blood ; They are stitching me up with silk, as if I were a material.

What did my fingers do before they held him? What did my heart do, with its love? I have never seen a thing so clear. His lids are like the lilac-flower And soft as a moth, his breath. I shall not let go. There is no guile or warp in him. May he keep so.

SECOND VOICE: There is the moon in the high window. It is over. How winter fills my soul! And that chalk light Laying its scales on the windows, the windows of empty offices, Empty schoolrooms, empty churches. O so much emptiness! There is this cessation. This terrible cessation of everything. These bodies mounded around me now, these polar sleepers – What blue, moony ray ices their dreams?

I feel it enter me, cold, alien, like an instrument. And that mad, hard face at the end of it, that O-mouth Open in its gape of perpetual grieving. It is she that drags the blood-black sea around Month after month, with its voices of failure. I am helpless as the sea at the end of her string. I am restless. Restless and useless. I, too, create corpses.

I shall move north. I shall move into a long blackness. I see myself as a shadow, neither man nor woman, Neither a woman, happy to be like a man, nor a man Blunt and flat enough to feel no lack. I feel a lack. I hold my fingers up, ten white pickets. See, the darkness is leaking from the cracks. I cannot contain it. I cannot contain my life.

I shall be a heroine of the peripheral. I shall not be accused by isolate buttons, Holes in the heels of socks, the white mute faces Of unanswered letters, coffined in a letter case. I shall not be accused, I shall not be accused. The clock shall not find me wanting, nor these stars That rivet in place abyss after abyss.

THIRD VOICE: I see her in my sleep, my red, terrible girl. She is crying through the glass that separates us. She is crying, and she is furious. Her cries are hooks that catch and grate like cats. It is by these hooks she climbs to my notice. She is crying at the dark, or at the stars That at such a distance from us shine and whirl.

I think her little head is carved in wood A red, hard wood, eyes shut and mouth wide open. And from the open mouth issue sharp cries Scratching at my sleep like arrows, Scratching at my sleep, and entering my side. My daughter has no teeth. Her mouth is wide. It utters such dark sounds it cannot be good.

FIRST VOICE: What is it that flings these innocent souls at us? Look, they are so exhausted, they are all flat out In their canvas-sided cots, names tied to their wrists, The little silver trophies they’ve come so far for. There are some with thick black hair, there are some bald. Their skin tints are pink or sallow, brown or red; They are beginning to remember their differences.

I think they are made of water ; they have no expression. Their features are sleeping, like light on quiet water. They are the real monks and nuns in their identical garments. I see them showering like stars on to the world-

On India, Africa, America, these miraculous ones, These pure, small images. They smell of milk. Their footsoles are untouched. They are walkers of air.

Can nothingness be so prodigal? Here is my son. His wide eye is that general, flat blue. He is turning to me like a little, blind, bright plant. One cry. It is the hook I hang on. And I am a river of milk. I am a warm hill.

SECOND VOICE: I am not ugly. I am even beautiful. The mirror gives back a woman without deformity. The nurses give back my clothes, and an identity. It is usual, they say, for such a thing to happen. It is usual in my life, and the lives of others. I am one in five, something like that. l am not hopeless. I am beautiful as a statistic. Here is my lipstick.

I draw on the old mouth. The red mouth I put by with my identity A day ago, two days, three days ago. It was a Friday. I do not even need a holiday ; I can go to work today. I can love my husband, who will understand. Who will love me through the blur of my deformity As if I had lost an eye, a leg, a tongue.

And so I stand, a little sightless. So I walk Away on wheels, instead of legs, they serve as well. And I learn to speak with fingers, not a tongue. The body is resourceful. The body of a starfish can grow back its arms And newts are prodigal in legs. And may I be As prodigal in what lacks me.

THIRD VOICE: She is a small island, asleep and peaceful, And I am a white ship hooting: Goodbye, goodbye. The day is blazing. It is very mournful. The flowers in this room are red and tropical. They have lived behind glass all their lives, they have been cared for tenderly. Now they face a winter of white sheets, white faces. There is very little to go into my suitcase.

There are the clothes of a fat woman I do not know. There is my comb and brush. There is an emptiness. I am so vulnerable suddenly. I am a wound walking out of hospital. I am a wound that they are letting go. I leave my health behind. I leave someone Who would adhere to me: I undo her fingers like bandages: I go.

SECOND VOICE: I am myself again. There are no loose ends. I am bled white as wax, I have no attachments. I am flat and virginal, which means nothing has happened, Nothing that cannot be erased, ripped up and scrapped, begun again. These little black twigs do not think to bud, Nor do these dry, dry gutters dream of rain. This woman who meets me in windows-she is neat.

So neat she is transparent, like a spirit. How shyly she superimposes her neat self On the inferno of African oranges, the heel-hung pigs. She is deferring to reality. It is I. It is I – Tasting the bitterness between my teeth. The incalculable malice of the everyday.

FIRST VOICE: How long can I be a wall, keeping the wind off? How long can I be Gentling the sun with the shade of my hand, Intercepting the blue bolts of a cold moon? The voices of loneliness, the voices of sorrow Lap at my back ineluctably. How shall it soften them, this little lullaby?

How long can I be a wall around my green property? How long can my hands Be a bandage to his hurt, and my words Bright birds in the sky, consoling, consoling? It is a terrible thing To be so open: it is as if my heart Put on a face and walked into the world.

THIRD VOICE: Today the colleges are drunk with spring. My black gown is a little funeral: It shows I am serious. The books I carry wedge into my side. I had an old wound once, but it is healing. I had a dream of an island, red with cries. It was a dream, and did not mean a thing.

FIRST VOICE: Dawn flowers in the great elm outside the house. The swifts are back. They are shrieking like paper rockets. I hear the sound of the hours Widen and die in the hedgerows. I hear the moo of cows. The colours replenish themselves, and the wet Thatch smokes in the sun. The narcissi open white faces in the orchard.

I am reassured. I am reassured. These are the clear bright colours of the nursery, The talking ducks, the happy lambs. I am simple again. I believe in miracles. I do not believe in those terrible children Who injure my sleep with their white eyes, their fingerless hands. They are not mine. They do not belong to me.

I shall meditate upon normality. I shall meditate upon my little son. He does not walk. He does not speak a word. He is still swaddled in white bands. But he is pink and perfect. He smiles so frequently. I have papered his room with big roses, I have painted little hearts on everything.

I do not will him to be exceptional. It is the exception that interests the devil. It is the exception that climbs the sorrowful hill Or sits in the desert and hurts his mother’s heart. I will him to be common, To love me as I love him, And to marry what he wants and where he will.

THIRD VOICE: Hot noon in the meadows. The buttercups Swelter and melt, and the lovers Pass by, pass by. They are black and flat as shadows. It is so beautiful to have no attachments! I am solitary as grass. What is it I miss? Shall I ever find it, whatever it is?

The swans are gone. Still the river Remembers how white they were.

It strives after them with its lights. It finds their shapes in a cloud. What is that bird that cries With such sorrow in its voice? I am young as ever, it says. What is it I miss?

SECOND VOICE: I am at home in the lamplight. The evenings are lengthening. I am mending a silk slip: my husband is reading. How beautifully the light includes these things. There is a kind of smoke in the spring air, A smoke that takes the parks, the little statues With pinkness, as if a tenderness awoke, A tenderness that did not tire, something healing.

I wait and ache. I think I have been healing. There is a great deal else to do. My hands Can stitch lace neatly on to this material. My husband Can turn and turn the pages of a book. And so we are at home together, after hours. It is only time that weighs upon our hands. It is only time, and that is not material.

The streets may turn to paper suddenly, but I recover From the long fall, and find myself in bed, Safe on the mattress, hands braced, as for a fall. I find myself again. I am no shadow Though there is a shadow starting from my feet. I am a wife. The city waits and aches. The little grasses Crack through stone, and they are green with life.