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marypsue · 6 months

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@mickeymagpie said: i thought you were making star and david 1880s murder siblings and mike the novelist they draw in

Since you mention it...

...

“Estelle,” Michael says, as he swirls the captivating, mysterious Englishwoman around the dancefloor. “Seems old-fashioned, for someone as young and as pretty as you are.”

Estelle, Lady Sharpe – is she due the title? If her father was a baronet? Michael’s not certain, but he’ll need to find out, if he intends to keep courting her – blushes a little at the compliment, turning her dark, liquid eyes from Michael’s face. But only for long enough to be appropriately modest before she catches his gaze again, looking up through dark lashes in a way that makes Michael catch his breath. “My brother calls me Star.”

The reminder makes Michael look up, scan the crowds around them for the baronet’s menacing presence, a smudge of dusty black against all the glitter and light of the McMichaels’ ball. There’s no doubt in Michael’s mind that Lord Sharpe is the only reason why his sister has not yet married.

“Star,” he says, deliberately, turning back to the woman in his arms. Focusing on the burning points where their bodies meet, the lit candle held precariously between their clasped hands. Testing the shape, the colour of the word on his tongue. Savouring its taste. “Yes, that suits you far better. Star.”

The way Star smiles up at him makes Michael feel a little dizzy, a little drunk. It’s a slow, languorous smile, her eyes catching the candlelight and sparkling with the light of a thousand of her namesake as they whirl through the dance so fast and smoothly that the flame they hold together barely even flickers.

So fast, so smoothly, that it almost feels like flying.

…

“Read it. You’ll thank us.”

Samuel looks down at the pamphlet the bookseller’s pushed into his chest, and then back up at the bookseller’s face. “You seem to have mistaken me for someone with an interest in penny dreadfuls.”

“Oh, you’ll find plenty to interest you in this one.”

Sam barely manages to suffocate a long-suffering sigh. He’s already regretting volunteering to run this errand for his grandfather. The trip into town, the temporary escape from the confines of the grounds, was certainly not worth this hassle. Nor, in his estimation, is the copy of the literary journal that his grandfather receives monthly. The old man never reads any of the books reviewed or discussed, anyway. Believes that reading the journal removes the necessity.

“You are the second Emerson son, aren’t you?” the bookseller continues, looking Sam up and down. It’s an insolent look, judgmental, especially coming from such a petty tradesman. Especially one who can’t be much older than Sam himself. Especially one with the dubious blessing of such a countenance. To say nothing of his attire.

It’s true that Sam’s family have had…difficulties, since the unexpected departure of his father for Italy without them. And that his mother’s faced some censure lately, been denied invitations, for entertaining Maxwell McMichael’s attentions while still legally a married woman. But still. Sam’s grandfather may never have been a true baron of industry, but he’s still well known and respected in Buffalo, if quickly gaining a reputation as something of…an eccentric. A reputation that Sam, unfortunately, can’t entirely deny he’s earned.

People will of course form their own thoughts, their own opinions, of his family. But they might at least make overtures toward refraining from so clearly revealing them to Sam’s face. Especially when asking for his custom in the same breath.

So, since the bookseller doesn’t bother trying to conceal his judgment, Sam doesn’t bother trying to conceal his irritation. “What is it to you if I am?”

“Your brother married that Englishwoman? The one who was here with her brother the Lord So-and-so for the last season?” The other man arranging stock on the bookshop’s cramped shelves answers Sam’s question with a question. He nods in the direction of the pamphlet his associate had pressed on Sam. “You want to read that.”

“I don’t think much of your sales tactics,” Sam says, looking down at the cover of the pamphlet. Varney the Vampire. Sensationalist, fantastical claptrap, just as he’d believed. He can’t imagine what possible bearing it might have on Michael, his new bride, and the Lord Sharpe. Or, if it did, what purpose it could possibly serve to have Sam, living an ocean and a continent away from his in-laws’ beloved Allerdale Hall, read the thing.

“For you,” the first bookseller says, “free of charge.”

Sam casts him a sharp look. “And the catch?”

“Your grandfather’s been a good and loyal customer of ours,” the second bookseller offers. “Take it for his sake.”

“Or for your poor lady mother’s,” the first bookseller agrees.

“You have some gall, to speak of my mother. Be grateful I don’t speak of yours.” Sam glances over to the woman slouched insensate on the shoulder of the man who must be her husband, a hookah pipe forgotten between them. “Although I’m certain there’s no need for me to add my voice to the chorus.”

The first bookseller holds out a hand to stop the second from advancing on Sam. He ignores the insult as though Sam hadn’t spoken, lowering his voice instead like a sepulchral warning. The boyishness of that voice mostly ruins the effect. “She’ll thank us, in the end. When your brother and his bride return from their European tour. You all will.”

Sam looks down again at the cheap woodcut illustration gracing the cover of the pamphlet. The skeletal form of a man, face distorted in a grotesque snarl, crouches bestially over a slender swooning lady. It’s nearly comical in its exaggeration.

Sam can’t quite account for the little chill that shivers through him.

“Oh, I’m quite certain my family will thank you,” he agrees, slowly. “For my grandfather’s literary journal. It has come in, has it not?”

The second bookseller makes a face as though he’d love to tell Sam off. But he retreats behind the counter and emerges with the desired journal.

When Sam leafs through it, in the carriage headed for home, careful not to dog-ear the cover in the way his grandfather hates, he’s unsurprised to find the vampire pamphlet with its grotesque cover slipped between the pages.

…

Not for the first time, Michael dreams of David.

The dream – though in truth, it might be better called a nightmare – is much like the others. Michael wakes, in dread, in fevered anticipation, his sweat chilled and tacky against his back beneath his nightshirt, the room black as pitch and freezing cold around him, the chimneys of this thrice-accursed hulk of a collapsing manor-house all wailing out their lost-soul song. He reaches for Star, for where she should be warm in the bed beside him. But the sheets are empty and cold.

And as his eyes adjust, as though coalescing from the shadows, he sees the baronet watching him, from the foot of the bed.

No words are ever exchanged between them. This vision of David has never once answered any of Michael’s entreaties, or, indeed, his screams. The most he’s done to acknowledge a word Michael’s said in any of these dreams is that low, self-satisfied chuckle at the few times Michael’s been naïve enough to try to utter threats.

No matter what Michael says, no matter what he does, the dream always ends the same way. Gloved hands pinning him effortlessly back against the bed. A solid, cold weight on his chest, crushing the air from his lungs. Clammy breath close against the sensitive skin of his exposed neck, raising the fine hairs below his nape and all along his arms, sending delirious thrills of quivering terror through every inch of his body.

Sharp teeth slicing effortlessly through his flesh.

When Michael wakes, heart pounding, a shout dying on his lips unheard, the fire in the grate is low, its ruddy embers casting the vast room in a hellish light. Shadows cluster thickly and in strange configurations around the little island of precarious safety formed by the bed.

Perhaps it’s only Michael’s imagination, or the caprices of the embers, that makes those shadows writhe like living things wracked in agonies of torment.

Michael pushes the coverlet back, shaking his head to try to clear it. The fog of sleep still lies heavily upon him, his heart still rabbit-quick in his chest. It had seemed such a good idea, at the time, to humour his new wife’s desire to share her ancestral home with him before she would be forced to part from it for a new continent. Now, though, he regrets ever setting foot within these moldering walls. The sooner they continue on to Paris, the sooner they continue their honeymoon tour, the better.

Preferably without Michael’s new brother-in-law haunting their every step.

Star lies peacefully slumbering with her chestnut curls spilled out across the pillow beside Michael. He reaches out a hand to clasp the ivory skin of her bare shoulder, reassure himself of its warmth and solidity.

But stops himself.

There are spots of something dark flecking the back of his hand. And his palm. And the snow-white cover of his pillow.

Star stirs, as Michael stares. “Mm. Michael? Are you all right?”

Michael doesn’t know.

He coughs, once, into his hand, and tastes blood, bright and metallic at the back of his throat.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #crimson peak #this is mary's fic tag

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stranger-fanfiction-n-things · 2 months

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CHAPTER 2: THE WEIRDO ON MAPLE STREET

This is an Original Character fanfiction. All Stranger Things characters and content are owned by Netflix and The Duffer Brothers.

a/n: This part is heavy. A lot of things are happening. Nancy and Diana's friendship dynamic will be tested throughout the season. I wanted to make this pool party as realistic as possible. In watching this episode, I understand Nancy's want to fit in, but it's at the expense of Barb in my opinion and I wanted to showcase how that feels through Diana. As a dancer, I hate when after finding out I am a dancer, people tell me to dance...it makes me uncomfortable. It's not a skill that is always on for me. The move Diana shows everyone is called a Scorpion (Rhythmic Gymnastic Style).

P.S. This is what I picture Diana wearing to the pool party.

Warnings: Sexual implications. Blood. Peer Pressure.

Word Count: 3511

Masterlist

PART I || PART II || PART III || PART IV || PART V

HARRINGTON RESIDENCE

When Steve said he was having a party, I never expected to be outside in his backyard, sitting on a lawn chair freezing to death. I shiver wrapping my arms around my knees. I have been here for over an hour and have done nothing but sit by the heated pool watching the water. The definition of ‘party’ was as lost as I felt. Tommy H attempts to throw Carol in the pool. She screams trying her best to escape his hold. I lean against Barb savouring her warmth and rest my head on her arm watching everything unfold. Nancy sits in a lawn chair beside Steve. Barb and I were long forgotten once we arrived. I am too cold to care.

“I thought parties were primarily inside the house.” I mumble. “What kind of party is this?”

“A stupid one.” Barb responds with a sigh.

“All they do is smoke and drink. Where’s the food?”

“Eating isn’t in style, I guess.”

I peer around Barb’s shoulder keeping an eye on Nancy and notice she is on her second beer for the night. I groan, feeling restless and stand up to stretch my legs.

“Did you want to go for a walk?”

“Where?”

“I don’t know, around the pool.”

Barb looks at the pool, wrinkling her nose in distaste. “No thanks.”

I pout, but don’t question her and begin my walk.

“Diana, where are you going?” Nancy asks.

“I’m tired of sitting around. I’m going to walk around the pool for a bit.”

Nancy smiles, her blue eyes seem glazed and a little out of focused. “Okay. Just don’t leave.”

“I won’t.” I respond, no matter how much I actually want to leave.

I stroll along the edge of the pool thinking. Steve Harrington throws a lot of parties and I’m most certain the whole school has been to Steve’s house at least once in their lifetime. Which meant Steve’s parents weren’t home often. I look at the towering house and the expansive backyard. I don’t know what it’s like to be an only child, but I do know how it feels to be lonely even with others around. My gaze lowers to across the pool. Nancy smiles at Steve; they’ve been talking since we arrived leaving Barb and I alone. I don’t look at Tommy H and Carol, knowing they’re all over each other, stealing kisses and soft giggles. Instead, I look at Steve. Really look at him. His impressively beautiful hair, the cigarette behind his ear, the forgotten can of beer in his hand, the way he looks at Nancy. Like he…enjoys being around her.

I tilt my head to the side. This is the first time I am privy to observing how Steve interacts with Nancy. He seems more…genuine and real. Not this superficial, arrogant persona he puts on at school or when he’s with Tommy H and Carol. I admit my perception of Steve Harrington is based on how others view and talk about him. He’s the boy we watch walk away. The Big Man on Campus. The Casanova. A glorified asshole. But in being in his house for this brief moment and seeing how he is with Nancy separate from Tommy H and Carol…maybe I had it all wrong and Steve Harrington isn’t that bad.

A gust of wind blows past and I hug my jacket close to me. I am so cold I start to jump up and down. Sauté. Sauté. Sauté. I jump higher landing through my feet. Glissade assemblé. Glissade assemblé. I continue to jump from petit allegro to grand allegro and after a few minutes I begin to practice the Gargouillade.

“Do you ever sit down?” Tommy H shouts.

I almost miss what he said and stop jumping. From across the pool, Steve, Nancy, Barb, Tommy H and Carol stare at me with expressions ranging from awe to concern.

“She’s practicing.” Nancy says.

“For what?”

“The Nutcracker showcase next month.”

Tommy H winces. “Sounds painful.”

“What the hell is a Nutcracker?” Steve asks.

“The Nutcracker,” Nancy corrects. “And it’s a two-act ballet by Tchaikovsky.”

“Bless you.” Carol jokes, grinning. Tommy H kisses her temple.

I roll my eyes, putting my hands on my hips and pace back and forth in efforts to catch my breath. Sweat trickles down my back and I finally feel hot enough to take off my jacket.

“Diana got one of the lead roles in the second act.”

“Nancy.” I warn, marching to the other side of the pool.

“What? It’s a big deal and you should be so proud of yourself!”

“I am but…” I squeeze my jacket. Stop telling them my business!

“How long have you been dancing?” Steve asks me, sipping his beer. I am taken aback by his question.

It’s the first time Steve is talking to me directly and not through Nancy. The first time I feel like he acknowledges me enough to talk to me despite the circumstance being forced upon me by Nancy. It takes me a moment to respond.

“I-I was two when I started,” I stutter, looking anywhere but his face. “It’s how I met Nancy."

“You’re a dancer too?” He directs his question to her.

“I quit last year.”

“Why?”

“I just didn’t want to dance anymore.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. I just didn’t…” she shrugs, finishing the last of the beer. Nancy wipes her mouth with the back of her hand. “Diana is gonna go pro one day.”

I feel like I’m going to explode. Steve looks at me again and this time I meet his gaze.

“Pro? Sounds like sports.”

“Dance is a sport.” I interject.

Steve raises his eyebrows, though his eyes tell me he doesn’t agree with me. I’m not surprised because it’s the common stigma surrounding dance. Becoming a professional dancer is a one in a million chance. There are so many odds to win against. Making money is dependent on the opportunities you get and with whom. It’s not as stable as a regular 9 to 5 and the training is extensive and strenuous that most don’t make it.

“Diana has the grace, strength and flexibility.” Nancy continues. “Her lines are perfect; her feet are beautiful.”

“Lines?” Carol questions.

My nails dig into my palms.

"The way she moves is aesthetically pleasing. She can do crazy things with her body.”

“Is that so?” Tommy H smirks.

“Diana, show them!”

My face feels like it’s on fire. Everyone is looking at me now. I shift from side to side wanting the ground to swallow me up. All this attention on me is too much and I feel like I can’t breathe.

“No, no. I-I can’t.”

“Please, Diana?” Nancy begs, clasping her fingers together.

I want to tell her to stop. I hate being asked to dance outside of a studio. It makes me feel like a clown at a circus, ready to entertain and Nancy knows this.

“I would love to see these crazy things you can do with your body.” Tommy H’s tone suggests something else entirely.

“Me too!” Carol adds, leaning back on him.

I shake my head, tucking a loose curl behind my ear. “It’s too cold.”

“Just a kick then!” Nancy offers.

“Yeah, just a kick, Diana.” Tommy H adds, smiling devilishly at me.

“Nancy, I don’t think—” Barb begins.

“Yeah, show us!” Carol interjects, smiling at me.

Tommy H cheers aloud while clapping obnoxiously. I glance at the faces in front of me. Barb looks as uncomfortable as I feel and I can tell she’s trying to help me out of this situation but she is overshadowed by Tommy H and Carol. Steve looks surprisingly hesitant and Nancy’s hopeful face stares encouragingly at me. I close my eyes and sigh, placing my jacket on the empty lawn chair beside Barb. Nancy squeals in excitement as I perform some last-minute stretches to warm up my hips and back.

Lifting my left leg up and grab the outer side of my foot with my left hand. I begin to push my back foot towards the sky as high as I can which is pretty high, considering its already by my ear without much effort. I turn my elbow outward so it’s pointing forward and in front of my head. I lift my other hand and grab my ankle with my right hand and meet my left hand with it. When I straighten my leg and pull my leg forward, the back of my thigh touches my head. I pull until I am in an over split.

“Holy shit. How is that possible?” Steve exclaims. Nancy claps proudly while Steve stares at me wide eyed and confused.

“That’s disgusting.” Carol says.

“What are you?” Tommy H adds.

I immediately let go of my leg and stand straight. They didn’t have to be so mean.

“Okay, that’s enough.” Barb snaps, holding my jacket out to me. I take it from her, sitting in the lawn chair beside her.

The “party” resumes as if nothing happened with Tommy H, Carol and Steve all standing finding someone or something else to entertain themselves with. Nancy watches Steve’s every move, trying to be discreet but failing. Tommy H and Carol stand near the pool and Tommy H tries to throw Carol inside again. Carol screams at the top of her lungs.

“One, two, three.”

“You’re such an asshole, Tommy.” Carol giggles.

Steve comes back with a can of beer in his hand. I can’t see what he’s doing until he quickly opens the can, putting his mouth on the side. I cringe thinking about all the germs on that can. He chugs the beer in a matter of seconds, dropping the can on the ground.

“Is that supposed to impress me?”

Steve plops himself on the lawn chair. The cigarette behind his ear, dangles from his lips. He looks at her feigning confusion.

“You’re not?”

Of course, she is.

“You are such a cliché; you do realize that?”

“You are such a cliché.” Steve responds, reaching for a lighter on the side table. He lights his cigarette and inhales. “What with your grades and your band practice.”

“I’m so not in band.”

“Okay, party girl.” He hands her a can of beer and the blade, challenging her. “Why don’t you just show us how it’s done, then?”

Barb and I look at each other. That would be Nancy’s third beer for the night. Any more and she’ll get sick. I close my eyes praying Nancy won’t do what I think she’s going to do. Barb shakes her head.

“Okay.”

Nancy standing up caught the attention of Tommy H and Carol.

“You gotta make a hole at the bottom—”

“I got it.”

“Yeah, she’s smart, you douche!” Tommy H laughs, crushing a beer can against his head.

“That explains so much.” I mutter under my breath. Barb snorts, smiling.

Nancy pokes a hole in the can of beer and quickly opens the top before she begins chugging the beer.

“Chug, chug, chug! Chug, chug, chug, chug, chug!”

I’d be impressed, if I weren’t so taken aback by the way Nancy was acting. She drops the empty can on the floor, stumbling slightly. Tommy H, Carol and Steve all cheer and whoop for Nancy who curtsies in thanks.

“Barb you wanna try?”

Barb perks up. It’s the first time she’s been addressed the entire night. “What? No. No, I don’t want to. Thanks.”

Nancy pouts. “Di?”

“Absolutely not.”

Nancy looks at Barb one more time. “Come on.”

“Yeah.” Steve encourages. I squint, shaking my head.

“Nance. I don’t want to.” Barb hisses.

Nancy ignores her putting another can of beer and the blade in Barb’s hand. “It’s fun! Just give it a shot.”

“Nancy. She said no.” I interject, sternly. I can’t believe she’s forcing us to do things we clearly don’t want to do.

“Okay. Fine.”

Barb stands up in the centre of the circle. I look up at her feeling on edge about what was going to happen and what could happen. Barb isn’t equipped to poke a hole in the can. She doesn’t know how. The silence is so loud, it’s awkward and I want to grab Barb and tell her to sit down. Barb mumbles to herself, fiddling with the blade. She presses into the can, but the blade slips, slicing through her hand. Barb flinches, dropping the can and knife on the concrete.

“Barb!” I shout, rushing to her. I hold her wrist in my hand to inspect the damage. Blood oozes out of the cut in her palm, trickling down her wrist and my fingers. “Oh my gosh.”

“Gnarly.” Tommy H laughs.

I glare at him, letting go of her wrist. “It’s not funny.” I snap.

“Are you okay?” Nancy asks, her eyebrows etched with worry. She seemed to have sobered up a little.

“Yeah.” Barb says.

“Barb, you’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine.” Barb replies, her voice is shaking and I know she’s fighting back tears. Barb looks at Steve. “Where’s your bathroom?”

“Oh, it’s…it’s, uh, down past the kitchen to the left.” He stands up escorting her back to the house.

I look at my hand and the dry blood sticking to my fingers and quickly grab my jacket from the lawn chair running after them. I can’t stand to be around Nancy right now.

“I’m coming with you, Barb.”

I hold Barb’s hand under the cold water in the downstairs bathroom. Steve left five minutes ago leaving me and Barb alone. The air feels thick and heavy around us as we stand in silence. I know Barb feels embarrassed about what happened and that’s the reason she’s not talking. I understand completely and allow her the time to process what had just happened. Removing Barb’s hand from the water, I quickly soap my hands and rinse them before closing the tap. I quickly dry my hands against the hand towel and tend to Barb. I take her hand and inspect the cut.

“It’s not that deep which is good.” I comment.

“Yeah.”

The cut begins to bleed again and I take a heap of toilet paper and quickly wrap it around her finger tight to stop the blood. Barb watches me work. I tell her to hold the wound tight to stop the bleeding. Barb nods her head and sits down on the toilet seat staring at nothing in particular. I sigh deeply and crouch to her eye level placing my hands on her knees.

“Are you sure, you’re okay, Barb?” I ask, softly.

Dark brown eyes look at me. “I’ll be fine.”

I frown, growing upset with what happened by the pool. “I don’t know what’s up with Nancy or why we’re even here. Did you see how she was acting out there? I felt like I was in a circus and you, Barb. Your hand.”

“She wants us to be her guardians. So that’s what we’re going to do. Guide her and make sure she doesn’t get too drunk and do something stupid.”

“Like sleep with Steve Harrington.” It wasn’t a question. It was a fact. I shake my head. “We can’t stop her from doing that when she clearly wants to, Barb. Nancy can deny all she wants, but she wants to be here. She wants to get drunk and she wants to sleep with Steve.” And it doesn’t explain why we need to be here.

“I know…” Barb says solemnly.

Neither of us say anything for a moment. I am lost in thought, drawling circles on Barbs thighs. If Nancy would just admit how much she likes Steve, Barb and I wouldn’t be here right now. Tonight, left me wondering where did my best friend go. That person out by the pool is not Nancy, it’s a version of her I don’t know nor want to know. She didn’t notice how uncomfortable Barb and I were tonight which is so out of character, I don’t even…I shake my head again, biting my lower lip.

“Why are we here, Barb?” I ask quietly.

“Because Nancy wants us to be here for her.”

“Then why do I feel like…a handbag. An accessory in all of this? Why do I feel like she doesn’t want us here?”

Barb doesn’t answer. I sigh and stand up feeling completely drained. I want to go home. I want to take a shower and sleep. I want to do anything but be here. I hear footsteps and laughter followed by Nancy and Steve’s voice. Barb and I look at each other before springing into action. We are scrambling out the door in seconds rushing towards the grand staircase.

“Nance. Nancy!” Barb calls.

Nancy pauses, hugging the towel against her face, looking at us. Steve continues to walk the steps, not bothering to look back. I observe Nancy. She is drenched from head to toe with bits of mascara gathered around her eye.

“Where are you going?” Barb asks.

“Nowhere. Just upstairs…” she hesitates to respond finding the right words, “to change. I fell in the pool.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and go home. I’ll just get a ride or something.”

My jaw drops. Go home? Go home? She begged us to come and make sure she doesn’t do anything stupid, and now she wants us to leave? That’s all we ever wanted to do since arriving here.

“Nance.”

“Pardon?”

Barb and I say at the same time. Nancy looks at us.

“I said why don’t you go home.”

“I know what you said, Nancy, but you asked us to be here for you.”

“I’m fine,” Nancy says with a hint of attitude. “You guys can go.”

I stare at her for a moment trying to figure out where my best friend went. “Did we do something wrong?

“No.”

“You seem like you’re mad at us.”

Nancy sighs, rolling her eyes. “I’m not mad at you guys. I can just tell you don’t want to be here so you can both go home. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

Barb and I don’t speak for a moment. I’m too frustrated to say another word. I lied to my parents to be here. I lied to Mrs. Wheeler to be here. I wanted nothing to do with this and Nancy knew that, yet Barb and I were forced to be here, ridiculed and embarrassed. And Nancy doesn’t see any of it. She only sees Steve Harrington.

“Nancy. This isn’t you.” Barb says, sadly.

“I’m fine, Barb. Just go, both of you.”

Nancy races upstairs without looking back. I scoff shaking my head. Unbelievable. I turn towards the door grabbing Barbs arm.

“Let’s go.” I snap.

I am stunned when Barb resists. She looks at me with sympathy and I immediately know what she’s about to say.

“I’m gonna stay here…”

“Barb, are you serious?” I exclaim. I don’t care how loud I’m being.

“I know, I know,” Barb says pinching the bridge of her nose. “But I can’t leave her here.”

“She just told us to go home and I don’t know about you, but I’m not staying where I’m not wanted.”

“I just can’t leave Nancy here alone.”

My chest feels hollow. What about me? I want to ask. Barb was supposed to be our ride home. With Nancy staying and Barb staying with her, I had no way of getting home. But I refuse to linger around while Nancy stays upstairs with Steve. I can’t call my parents; I’m not supposed to be here across town. I’ll get in so much trouble, I doubt I’ll be able to leave my house for anything other than school and dance for a long time. I can’t risk it. I look at the door behind me. The thought of walking home alone scares me and I wish Barb would leave Nancy and come with me. Be with me, like I’ve been with her when she cut her hand.

My nostrils flare as I push down the tears brimming my eyes. No. This is your mess, Diana. You have to fix it. I swallow the lump forming in my throat and I stand straight holding my head high.

“If that’s what you want to do,” I say quietly. “I’m going home.”

“Are you going to call your parents?” Barb asks, eyes slightly wide.

I shake my head, putting my jacket on. “I’m just going to walk.”

“Walk!? Diana, c’mon. Just stay here—”

“No, I can’t.” I say with finality.

Looking defeated, Barb nods her head, pulling me in for a hug. “Be safe. Please.” she whispers.

I hold Barb tight, breathing in her floral scent. Neither of us let go for a long moment and a part of me feels like this hug was a…farewell. I release myself from her hold and glance down at her finger. It’s still bleeding, drenching the white tissue paper a bright red.

“You be safe too, Barb. Please find a bandage for your finger.”

“Yes, mom.” Barb teases.

I smile and it feels genuine. “I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

#stranger things rewrite #black fem reader #stranger things fic #stranger things #dianasinclair #eddie munson x black!reader #steve harrington x black!reader #eddie munson x female reader #steve harrington x fem!reader #sinclair!reader #eddie munson fanfic #steve harrington fanfic #eddie munson x sinclair!reader #steve harrington x sinclair!reader

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definegodliness · 1 year

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Still frames and slow-motion pictures

I wonder if you keep an eye out, now the world comes alive in all its mesmerising colours, and I hope you are not too busy to witness all that longs bloom; how it now buttons, or blossoms already.

There was a former life wherein you held nature sacred. Every season would be deeply experienced. But, as they change, so, you have changed; taking paths I cannot follow. I suppose, to you, the everyday comings and goings of Mother Nature have turned to matter little. Yet, spring's arrival is such a profound moment... the past might rattle its chains in your heart's cage. As it does within mine, ridding me with questions:

Do you have time to take it all in? Do you take the time? Does time still bend to your soul’s will, in craving creating still frames, or a slowed pace, all to savour these moments of humbly delighting in existence?

Tell me you haven't lost your link with the world you re-enchanted. For it is as such that I now watch the world come to bloom, attentively enchanted; watching the flowers I tend to, thinking of you. Nothing all too meaningful. Simply reminiscing the still frames, captured, and all the slow-motion pictures.

I walk the garden, pensive, as I am; reflecting there is something vulnerable and intimate in watching the flower beds filled with tulips. Witnessing each stage of their slow unfurling, day by day. And for some reason it makes me think of the way you'd put on your tights in the morning. The crumpling and fiddling to make them fit around your feet; the stretching of your legs making the soft skin of your thighs disappear beneath the dark fabric. Then, that cute little butt wiggle, that always felt so endearing to me, because I was the only one who got to see you at your thoughtless loveliness.

I remember your smile as you lowered your skirt. Never really sure why I would gaze at you, eyes opened wide; never figuring I was so mesmerised. Rather guessing I’d deem your fumbling humorous. I did. But never more than I’d deem you magic. And, in my head, or by my soul, I captured your essence in still frames and slow-motion pictures.

There’s many a reason why I think of you — feel you — when the flowers bloom, but that shared blissful unawareness of innate wondrousness resonates deepest. You’d be surprised how many memories live inside me wherein you aren’t trying to be, but are simply being. Therein, utterly lovely, and endearing. Yes, beautiful. You’d be suprised how often your presence had me humbly delighting in existence. And how, now, when I walk this Earth, feeling but a glimpse of such profoundness, a little light and love seeps in.

You are my joy of living.

---

8-4-2023, M.A. Tempels ©

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threepwoodmarley · 4 months

Text

The Sweetest Dream

Merry Christmas, @peacehopeandrats! I’m your Secret Santa! I hope you like your fic and that you will forgive me for taking at least part of your prompt in a way that I’m sure you didn’t intend!

Prompt: Coco, fire, fresh snow, bakery

Summary: Ever since Belle French opened her bakery in Storybrooke, Frank Gold has looked forward to the days she brings free samples to the townsfolk. Her kind heart always includes him in her rounds and he cherishes the moments they spend together, bonding over cookies and cake.

Title from Muppet Christmas Carol

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“Good morning, Mr Gold!”

The tinkle of the bell above his shop door accompanied the lilting voice of the woman who had just stepped through. Frank Gold looked up from his ledger to greet his visitor, noting the covered tray in her hands and the wide smile on her face.

“Miss French, a pleasure as always.” He placed his pen down to give her his full attention. “What gastronomic delights bring you to my shop today?”

“It's Christmas!” She held up the tray as if that explained everything.

“It's November.”

“Exactly, I'm already behind!” She practically bounced over to set her tray down on the counter and lift the lid. “I'm about to start on our seasonal menu and wanted to get your opinion on which flavours you like best.”

This was not an unusual occurrence. Belle French owned and ran the local bakery, Storybrookies, which she'd opened earlier that year, and often went around town handing out samples to drum up business. His shop must have been on her route as she came in most days to give him a taste of her latest creations.

He moved his gaze down towards the counter top and eyed the various confections there. “So this is market research?”

“Exactly! Got to give the public what they want!” She pointed to each cookie in turn as she rattled their names off. “We have mint choc chip, chocolate orange shortbread, and cinnamon and basil.”

Try as he might, Gold couldn't stop his lips curling in distaste at that last one. “Whatever happened to good old-fashioned gingerbread?”

“We'll have that as well, of course, but this is my bakery's first Christmas and I wanted to offer something different, maybe be a bit adventurous. All I will say is don't knock it till you've tried it.”

“Hmm.” Tentatively Gold picked up each cookie, carefully tasting them one at a time as Belle looked on eagerly. He could see how important this was to her, so he closed his eyes and opened his mind to better savour the different flavours, wanting to give each a fair chance.

“Well?” Her patience had apparently run out as she prompted him for his opinion, her voice strangely breathless. He opened his eyes to find her own fixated on his face, her pupils blown wide with her eagerness for his answer.

He carefully placed down the remains of the final cookie that was still in his hand. “I'm afraid you haven't convinced me that cinnamon and basil is in any way a reasonable flavour combination. However I am fond of the first two, the shortbread in particular."

Belle beamed. “I hoped you'd like that one. I know that shortbread is Scottish and chocolate orange is more of a popular flavour over there so combining them seemed like a good idea...” she trailed off with a blush that Gold didn't understand.

“It was,” he agreed. “But as you say, it's a flavour that's more popular over there than here. How has it gone down with the other people you've asked?”

“Oh. Um, you're actually the first person I've shown these to.” Belle looked down and began fiddling with the tray, picking up the half-eaten cookie that he'd left. “I value your opinion, you see. And I know you'll give me honest feedback.”

Gold felt a strange warmth in his chest at her words. “Well, I'm glad you feel you can rely on me. However, as I'm sure you're aware, a sample size should be as large as possible to most accurately reflect public opinion.”

“Of course.” She put the cookie down again before replacing the lid on the tray and lifting it into her arms. “That's why I'm on my way now to canvass the town. Who knows, maybe cinnamon and basil will reign supreme.”

“Knowing some of the inhabitants of this town as I do, that wouldn't surprise me.”

Belle laughed as she carried the tray to the door, walking backwards until the last possible moment and throwing a parting glance over her shoulder as she left. “See you around, Mr Gold.”

~*~

“Good morning, Mr Gold!”

“Miss French,” Gold felt himself smiling as the bell chimed and the familiar voice met his ears. It had been a few days since she had graced his shop and he found himself missing her presence.

“I'm sorry I haven't been around for a while, but the bakery has been so busy. We started selling the chocolate orange shortbread last week and it's been a huge hit.”

“I'm glad to hear it.”

“And to thank you for your invaluable input I thought I'd bring over some of my festive hot cocoa.” She reached into her bag to produce a thermos. “It's spiced with cinnamon, nutmeg and star anise.”

He watched as she brought out two mugs, pouring an equal share into each before handing him one.

“Thank you.” He gave the concoction a cautious sip, relishing in the initial taste before taking another longer one. The perfectly spiced chocolate slipped over his tongue like velvet and he had to use all his willpower to prevent a rather unseemly moan from escaping his lips. He took a few seconds to compose himself before speaking. “Another triumph, I would say. I imagine this must be one of your best sellers too.”

Belle took a sip from her own mug before shaking her head. “I don't sell this at the bakery. It's my own personal recipe.”

“Oh.” Gold looked into his mug and felt his heart flutter at the thought she would have made something personal especially for him. He ruthlessly tamped that idea down before he could get any fanciful notions in his head. She was thanking him for his help, that was all. She probably made the same thing for everyone else in town whose opinion she had sought out.

“Well I thank you for sharing it with me. Do you mind if I ask how you came up with the recipe?”

“It was my mother's.” Her voice took on a melancholy twinge and he instantly regretted the question. “We used to make it together every Christmas. It was our holiday tradition, no matter how hot the weather was. Dad thought we were mad having cocoa in summer but I loved it.”

Her eyes had taken on a faraway look as she cradled her mug carefully and he thought he knew the answer to his next question but felt compelled to ask anyway. “Is your mother...?” he trailed off, unsure how to finish.

“She died.” Belle brought her eyes back to him and smiled sadly. “A few years ago now. I still make the same recipe every Christmas though. It's a lot more seasonally appropriate now I've moved here, but I must admit that sometimes I miss the incongruity of sitting in the bright sunshine with my hot cocoa. That probably sounds silly, I know.”

“Not at all. I used to...” he trailed off, unsure whether he wanted to go where he'd been about to. His fingers twitched and he put his mug down before he dropped it.

“You used to?” She looked at him with such an open and honest expression he felt almost helpless in the face of it. Something about her compelled him to speak about things that he'd kept locked up inside of himself for years.

“I used to make paper snowflakes with my son. My ex-wife hated them, said that they looked cheap and tacky, but we had fun. It was the time spent together that was special.”

“You have a son!” Belle's face brightened, then quickly fell as something seemed to occur to her. “Is he...?”

“Oh, no, nothing like that,” he was quick to reassure her. “He's alive. He lives in New York with his wife and a son of his own now. But we did have a falling out a few years ago. It was a bad one and all my fault, of course. I didn't hear from him in so long I feared the worst so many times.”

“I'm sorry.” She placed her mug down and reached out to cover his hand with hers where it rested on the counter. His breath caught at her touch and he kept perfectly still for fear of losing it. “But it sounds like you've heard from him since?”

“Yes. He got in contact with me not long after Henry was born. Said he finally understood how terrifying it was to be a father. We had a long talk, I apologised and he forgave me. I didn't deserve it, but then he's always been a better person than me in every way.”

“I think the kind of person he is is a reflection of the man who raised him.” She squeezed his hand gently. “Is he coming for the holidays?”

“No.” He sighed. “He said they want a quiet Christmas at home this year. I don't think he's ready to completely trust me yet and I can understand that. I just wish we hadn't lost all those years we could have spent together due to my stupidity.”

“I think you need to stop beating yourself up about it. The past is the past and all you can do now is move forward. Your son is alive, he's forgiven you and you'll have many Christmasses in the future to spend together, I'm sure.” She leaned towards him, her eyes locked on his while he stared at her dumbly. Apparently he was silent too long because she blushed and pulled away from him, lifting her hand from his. “Sorry, I'm probably overstepping here. Please tell me to shut up and go away.”

“Never,” he breathed, before clearing his throat. “No, I mean, you're right. As usual.”

He reached for his cocoa once again and brought the mug to his lips, grateful for both the shield it provided and the warmth it brought back after the loss of her touch.

They finished their drinks in a companionable silence, as though any further words would break the spell that had fallen over them. Sooner than Gold would have liked, Belle began packing their empty mugs into her bag and made to leave.

Walking to the door, she turned and looked as though she wanted to say something else but thought better of it, deciding to go with her usual parting instead.

“See you around, Mr Gold.”

~*~

“Good morning, Mr Gold!” Belle's cheery voice betrayed none of the heaviness of their previous conversation and Gold was glad for it. He had been half afraid she would be put off visiting him again after the revelations of the other day.

“Good morning, Miss French.” Gold looked up and felt his eyes widen. “What on earth do you have on your head?”

“They're reindeer antlers!” She shook her head to make the attached bell jingle, and he was momentarily mesmerised by the way her curls bounced around her shoulders. “Do you like them? I could get you a pair if you like.”

He shuddered. “That's very thoughtful but I think I'll pass, thank you.”

“Are you sure? I think you'd look very dashing.”

“I highly doubt that. They look far better on you than they ever would on me.”

Belle's radiant smile nearly blinded him and it took him a second to realise she had moved forward and was now holding a paper bag out to him. “Here.”

“What's this?” He took it from her outstretched hand.

“It's a 'good old-fashioned gingerbread man.'”

He peeked into the paper bag and raised an eyebrow. “Since when do gingerbread men wear suits?”

“That's what makes him so old-fashioned.” Belle laughed, tilting her head and leaning forward on the counter almost conspiratorially. She looked out the window and sighed wistfully before turning back to him. “Do you think it's going to snow soon?”

“Probably,” he grumbled. “We've been lucky so far but I can feel a chill in the air. At least we're spared the worst of it being this close to the sea.”

She lightly slapped his arm and he looked at her hand in surprise as she admonished him. “Oh humbug Mr Gold, don't tell me you're a snow-hater.”

“Live in Maine long enough and you will be too,” he responded drily.

“Well, I love it. We never had snow when I was growing up in Melbourne. Then I moved here and I can still remember the first morning I woke up to a snowy day. It was like the world was covered in a pure white blanket, glittering in the sun. I thought it was the most beautiful sight I'd ever seen.”

“And did you still think that when you had to shovel three feet of the stuff off your driveway? Or when it felt like your fingers were going to fall off from frostbite? Or when you slipped on hidden ice and nearly broke your neck?”

She eyed him suspiciously. “How do you know about that?”

“Lucky guess,” he deadpanned.

“Well, it was just the one time and I learned my lesson.” She held up a finger accusingly. “High heeled ankle boots may look cute but are not practical for icy weather.”

With deliberate slowness Gold peered over the counter. He was not at all surprised to see a pair of red heels at the end of her shapely legs.

Before his brain could go in a dangerous direction he forced his eyes back up to hers and raised his brow in silence.

She blushed. “Hey, it's not icy yet. I have a pair of snow boots at the bakery just in case though.”

“As long as you're prepared.”

“I am.” She gave him a wide smile which dimmed slightly as she caught sight of the clock behind him. “Oh, shoot. I have to head off now. I told Ariel I'd be there by ten, so this has to be a flying visit.”

Gold felt heart sink in response, but kept his face neutral to hide his disappointment. “In that case don't let me keep you. And thank you once again for the gingerbread man.”

“You're very welcome and I hope you enjoy it.” She walked to the door and turned back to him with a twinkle in her eye. “Maybe I'll bring you a matching gingerbread lady tomorrow. See you around, Mr Gold!”

~*~

The implied promise in Miss French's words meant that Gold started the next day in an uncharacteristically good mood, hopeful that he wouldn't have to wait too long before another visit from his favourite baker.

That good mood soon faded upon his arrival into town and the sight that greeted him there. The entrance to one of the roads was blocked off and he was just about able to catch a glimpse of flashing lights through the crowd of people gathered by the roadside. Spying David Nolan among their number, he quickly parked his car and grabbed his cane, walking over to the group as quickly as he could.

“Mr Nolan.” He waited for the other man to turn and acknowledge his presence. “What's going on?”

David looked surprised. “You haven't heard? No, I suppose you wouldn't have since the bakery isn't one of your buildings.”

“The bakery?” Gold's stomach twisted as his eyes moved from scanning the scene to focus all his attention on the man next to him. “What about the bakery?”

“There was a fire. Last night. Looks like the whole place has been completely destroyed.”

Gold felt as though a cold vice had gripped his heart. He could barely breathe except to stutter out a single word. “Belle?”

“Oh, don't worry. Belle's fine.” David waved his hand, apparently unaware of the magnitude of his words. “I mean she's devastated, obviously, but no one was inside the building at the time.”

David's gaze moved from Gold's face to somewhere over his shoulder, leading Gold to turn his head to follow his line of sight. Belle stood near the edge of the crowd, her arms wrapped around herself as though for protection against the world.

Barely aware that David was still speaking to him, Gold turned the rest of his body and set out in her direction. One of her friends, the grumpy one, was standing nearby and appeared to be attempting to provide support but Gold paid him no mind as he approached Belle.

“Miss French.” The greeting felt woefully inadequate, but it was all he could think of in the moment.

“Oh, Mr Gold, hi.” Belle turned to him, lifting a hand to wipe away the tears that were still clearly visible on her face. “I'm sorry, I don't think I'm going to have any gingerbread for you today.”

He watched as the corners of her mouth turned up in a weak approximation of a smile before her entire face crumbled again.

“Don't worry about it.” Gold flinched, mentally kicking himself for such an inane response. He scrambled for something better to say before settling on what he should have started with in the first place. “Are you all right?”

“No,” she huffed quietly before visibly steeling herself and meeting his eyes, “but I will be. Nobody was hurt, which is the main thing. It's just... hard. To see everything I've worked for, everything I've put my heart and soul into, be destroyed so completely.”

“I'm sorry.” His fingers itched to comfort her but he wasn't sure he'd be welcome, so instead he just continued to stand ineffectually at her side, wishing he had something better to say. “You have insurance, I assume?”

“Of course.” She nodded. “But it's going to take weeks to sort it all out and then even longer to rebuild. There's no way I'm going to have a bakery in time for Christmas.”

“Perhaps you could use one of the empty properties in town as a temporary base. I happen to know there are a few available.”

“That's very kind of you, Mr Gold, but until the insurance pays out I'm not going to be able to afford to rent anywhere, let alone buy the equipment I'm going to need.”

“I could pay for anything you...”

“No.” Her face was resolute as she cut him off. “I mean, I appreciate the offer, I really do. It's just that I don't want...”

“It's all right, Miss French. I completely understand.” It was his turn to cut her off and he tried not to let the sting of rejection hurt too much. “Perhaps a fundraiser then.”

“What, like charity?”

“I prefer to think of it as community. The bakery is such a beloved part of this town, I'm sure the townsfolk would be more than happy to help you get back on your feet. It would be in everyone's best interest to have you back in business as soon as possible.”

“Really? My bakery is beloved?” Belle had the first real smile he'd seen on her face all day.

“Of course. You've said yourself how busy you've been.”

“True, I guess. But I'm not sure, I wouldn't feel right taking people's money when I'll be getting the insurance payout eventually.”

“As you said, that could take weeks. Would you really deprive Storybrooke of your baked delights for all that time?” He could see she was still unsure, so went for an angle that he knew would appeal to her. “And when you do receive the insurance money you could take whatever amount the town raised for you and donate it to another worthwhile cause. Pay it forward, as they say. I know the library is always struggling with their budget and would be very appreciative of funds to purchase new books.”

That caught her attention, just as he'd suspected it would, so he continued, “and if you're worried about the appearance of impropriety you can always ask the town council to organise it. Keep everything above board.”

“Thank you for the suggestion, Mr Gold,” she said, and he was pleased to see a thoughtful expression on her face. “I'll definitely think about it.”

Gold nodded his farewells and took his leave. He felt confident that Belle would be all right in the company of her friends. The grumpy one was still hovering protectively, and he'd seen the Lucas girl pushing her way through the crowd heading in their direction.

He made his way straight to his shop but didn't open for business right away, opting to retreat to the back room while he made some calls. He had arrangements to make.

~*~

A few days later Gold stood at the side of the road, watching as Belle and her friends set up her new premises.

He hadn't talked to her in a while, but she looked happy and he was glad for that. He was so focused on watching her that he didn't notice David Nolan approaching him until it was too late.

“Hey, Gold”

“Mr Nolan.” Gold inclined his head and made to move away, but David refused to let him go.

“You know, this was a good thing you did.”

Gold blinked. “I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about.”

“Making this place available for Belle. Marco told me that it was an empty shell last week, yet somehow it's been brought up to code and ready to rent in just a few days. I can't imagine how much that would have cost you.”

“I don't know how it goes in your line of work, Mr Nolan, but in the landlord business it's always better to have an income than to not. Investing money into a property in order to rent it out is what I do.”

“Uh huh.” The man had a smug look on his face that Gold didn't like one bit. “And, where is this rental income coming from exactly? The money the town raised with the fundraiser?”

“How should I know?” Gold flicked his hand dismissively. “All that matters to me is being paid the money I'm owed. The source of the funds is not my concern.”

“Really? You don't care at all? Because, you know, there's a funny thing about that fundraiser.” David looked around and lowered his voice conspiratorially, “Mary Margaret told me that while a lot of people were willing to donate, they weren't able to give all that much. Certainly nowhere near the amount necessary. Apparently almost all of the money raised came from one, extremely generous, anonymous donor.”

“What exactly is your point?” Gold snarled, baring his teeth.

“Why don't you just tell her that you like her?”

“Excuse me?”

“Belle. Tell her that you like her.”

“You're being ridiculous.” Gold tried again to move away, but David refused to let up.

“Am I? Because I've known you for years and in all that time I've never seen you do anything without some ulterior motive.”

Gold's mouth twisted. He knew what people thought of him, of course, but to have it laid out so baldly, and from someone he almost considered a friend, still stung. “I see. And you think if I tell Miss French that I donated the money to help her bakery then she will feel so grateful she'll have sex with me.”

“What? No!” David seemed flustered. “Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just meant that this is the first time I've seen you do something nice for someone just because you wanted to help them. She must be pretty special.”

“Yes, well. It doesn't matter.” Gold felt his fingers twitch remembering their previous conversation. “Miss French made it very clear that she wants nothing to do with me.”

“Are you sure about that?” David looked over his shoulder in confusion. “Because she talks about you a lot. And it sure doesn't seem like she wants nothing to do with you.”

“Perhaps you don't know her as well as you think you do. Good day, Mr Nolan.” Gold finally managed to make his escape, barely resisting the urge to look back and attempt to catch another glimpse of Belle as he did so.

~*~

One of the advantages of a reputation such as his was that people didn't generally seek him out if they didn't have to, which meant that his evenings at home usually went undisturbed.

That's why the knock on his door, coming not long after his return, was such a surprise to him.

The sight of the very woman who had occupied his thoughts most of the day stood on his front porch was yet another surprise.

“Good evening, Mr Gold,” she greeted him with a soft smile on her face.

“Miss French.” Gold stared at her dumbly. “What are you doing here?”

Her smile faltered at his rather unwelcoming response, but she pressed on. “I wanted to talk to you. Can I come in?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” He stood back to allow her entry before closing the door behind her. “May I take your coat?”

She seemed relieved at this indication that he wasn't going to kick her out immediately and smiled again, placing her bag down as she removed her overcoat, passing it into his outstretched hand for him to hang up.

When he turned back around he saw her reaching into her bag and pulling out a small box, which she handed to him.

“Here. I, um, I brought some cookies. The first batch made in my new bakery. I wanted to say thank you. For everything”

“It's no matter.” He shrugged, trying to downplay his involvement, as he led her into the kitchen, placing the cookies down on the counter. “The place was sitting empty. This way we both get something out of it.”

“Right.” She bit her lip before taking a deep breath. “See, the thing is... David told me. That you donated the money too.”

Gold made a mental note to have words with Mr Nolan about the consequences of gossip. “He shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry. I know you didn't want me involved and I hope you're not too upset...”

He was cut off by the sudden pressure of her small body crashing into his. Her arms wound around his back and he could feel her breath on his neck. Gold felt his heart stutter in his chest at the contact and he almost missed the words she whispered into his skin.

“I'm not upset.” The quaver in her voice gave him pause, and he pulled back slightly. Belle mirrored his actions, but instead of letting him go she tilted her head, bringing her lips close to his. Ice ran through his veins as he understood her intention and he pushed her away more roughly than he meant to, taking a step back and planting his cane in front of his feet like a shield.

“Miss French, please. I don't know what Nolan told you, but you don't owe me anything. And even if you did I am most certainly not the kind of monster who would expect...that.” The fact that she thought him capable of such things hurt more than he could express and he hoped she would leave soon so he could drown his sorrows in scotch.

“You're not a monster at all,” she cried, moving forward to close the distance between them again and placing her hands over his on his cane. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I shouldn't have done that. And I shouldn't have refused your kind offer the way I did. I hope you know it was never because I was afraid you would hold it over me. I know you wouldn't. I just didn't want you to think I was only interested in you for your money.”

“You... what?” It was an inarticulate response, but his mind had gone blank and he couldn't quite comprehend the meaning of her words.

“Because it was never about that and I wouldn't want you to think it was. I should have known better, I see that now, but I was so afraid of ruining what we have. I'd just lost my bakery and I couldn't bear to lose you too.”

“You're... interested in me?” He felt like his world had been turned upside down in just a few seconds and he never wanted it to right itself. Could she really be saying what he thought she was?

“Of course,” she laughed. “Why do you think I was always at your shop bringing you baked goods?”

“I just thought you were giving out free samples to everyone.”

“Mr Gold, if I gave out as many samples to everyone else as I gave to you I'd have gone out of business months ago.”

“But... why?”

“Because I like you. I like spending time with you. I like talking to you. And I thought...” Here her expression flickered. “I thought maybe you felt the same.”

“I do,” he was quick to reassure her. The last thing he wanted was yet another misunderstanding between them. “Your visits are the highlight of my days. I just never imagined it was possible that you could reciprocate my feelings.”

“Well I do.” She smiled shyly. “You don’t know how many times I wanted to reach across that counter and kiss you. Speaking of which… may I now?”

“By all means,” he breathed.

This time when she moved closer to him he didn't resist, instead bringing his hand up to stroke the side of her face, sliding it around to cup the back of her head as their lips met.

Gold felt tempted to pinch himself, half-convinced that he was having the most wonderful dream. Belle's lips were soft and sweet, moving gently against his as he responded in kind. The kiss was undemanding and delicate, but he could feel the potential for more passionate ones in the future bubbling under the surface.

When they pulled apart he rested his forehead against hers, delighting in sharing her breath as they smiled at each other.

“Would you...” he broke the silence. “Would you like to stay for dinner, Miss French?”

“I would love to.” Her smile widened even further. “And I think it's about time you call me Belle.”

“Belle.” He spoke her name like a caress. “You can call me Frank.”

She pulled back a little and raised an eyebrow. “Your name is Frank Gold?”

“Yes,” he sighed. “And yes, I was called 'Incense and Myrrh' every Christmas throughout all my school years.”

She giggled slightly, “I'm sorry. But that's adorable.”

“I'm glad you think so.”

“If it makes you feel any better, the kids at my school called me Jingle Belle.”

“Actually, it does.” He blinked, wondering what to say next when movement in the darkness outside caught his eye. “Huh.”

“What?” She turned and he could see the moment she noticed what he had as she pulled away in excitement. “Oh wow, it's snowing!”

“Apparently so.” They moved closer to the window to better see the thick white flakes. “And it looks like there's going to be a lot of it.”

“It's so beautiful,” she sighed, leaning into his side. For once he didn't feel like disagreeing. “But I should probably mention that I didn't bring any snow boots with me.”

She looked up at him with a mischievous grin that he returned, before glancing down at her heels. “I suppose you'll just have to stay here then. Those shoes are definitely not appropriate for this weather.”

“I suppose so.” He could hear the smile in her voice. “I did bring the ingredients for my festive cocoa though. I thought we could make it together.”

His breath caught as he comprehended the magnitude of what she was offering. “I'd like that.”

~*~

Christmas Eve, Five Years Later

“Good morning, Mr Gold!” Belle's cheerful voice rang out through his shop as she stepped through the door. Gold smiled at the familiar sound as he raised his head from his ledger to greet her in return.

“Good morning, Mrs Gold.” He put his pen down as she skipped over to give him a quick kiss. “What brings you here?”

“I wanted to remind you that we both need to get home by four at the latest if we're going to have the festive cocoa ready by the time Bae and Emma arrive. You know as soon as they get here Henry's going to be having you make paper snowflakes with him all evening.”

“I remember.” Warmth spread through him as he thought about having all his family together for Christmas again this year. “You didn't have to leave the bakery to come and tell me that, I'm sure this must be a busy morning for you.”

“It is,” Belle admitted, “but Ariel and Astrid have it under control. And... I wanted to give you this.”

He took the paper bag she held out to him and reached inside, pulling out two gingerbread figures. One was clearly a man, decorated with a suit that matched the one he was currently wearing. The other was a woman wearing a dress the same colour as Belle's, but with a far more prominent waistline than his wife had.

He looked up at her, watching the way she bit her lip as the meaning of the gift dawned on him. “Are you...?”

“I am,” she confirmed, placing a gentle hand over her stomach. “It's still early days so I don't want to announce it yet, but I wanted you to know. Of course this does mean we'll have to come up with a reason why I'm not drinking any of the eggnog tonight.”

Gold laughed in delight, hurrying around the side of the counter as quickly as he could to throw his arms around his wife. Just when he'd thought his life was as happy as it could possibly be, she went and proved him wrong. She'd always been good at that.

Belle returned his hug, her own arms tight around his back, before pulling away and looking into his eyes, tears in her own. “Merry Christmas, Frank,” she whispered, her face moving towards his.

“Merry Christmas, Belle,” he replied, closing the distance between them and capturing her lips with his own.

#rumbelle secret santa #peacehopeandrats #rumbelle #rumbelle fic #ouat #my fic

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gaymer-hag-stan · 3 months

Text

A Tekken 8 Review That Nobody Asked for From a Longtime Fan Who Has Been Playing for Ages But Is Not a Pro - That Title Is Too Long

Having spent a little over 24 hours playing the game on my PS5, I feel like it's an appropriate amount of time to share my first thoughts on it. I will try to keep spoilers to a minimum so just skip the "Story" section and you should be fine.

General Thoughts

A pretty healthy roster, overall happy with who we got. I do wish Anna and Christie were here, and I also miss Lucky Chloe. With Eddy already announced and Azucena taking over the "cooky dance-y character" I unfortunately don't see Christie or Chloe returning, but Anna better fucking do!

They all look great, even the ugly ones, they look satisfyingly ugly, if that makes any sense. The girls still suffer from the Madame Tussaud's wax figure syndrome that plagued the entirety of Tekken 7's roster, but, maybe I'm gaslighting myself, I do feel like they look a bit less plasticky than some of the initial teasers? Most of the redesigns are great, the hair (Lili's hair has never looked better), water and dirt physics all finally WORK and I love how all the clothing animates with the wind effect, the Fallen Destiny stage is a great one to illustrate all of the above. We can see Yoshimitsu's fingers after three decades! I'd love to know the thought process behind this redesign lmao

I love that they finally, after so many years of other fighting games having it but being inexplicably absent from Tekken, they finally added Player vs CPU matches! FINALLY! Finally I can pick my character and my opponent of choice, pick their costumes and set a stage for them to battle. I'm so happy for this even though it might not make any sense to anyone.

Combo Challenges! We finally have combo challenge in Tekken! Another common fighting game feature inexplicably missing up until now.

Gameplay feels a lot of fun. I wasn't sure about the heat mechanic but it's actually a lot more fun than I initially thought! I tried out all of the cast and am slowly completing both their story episodes and an Arcade run for good measure. I am obviously still maining Nina. They have decided to simplify a lot of her combo throws and I am having fun terrorizing people online with them by breaking their bones! I'm also using Arcade Quest to learn how to play as Lili and Azucena, some basic moves and combos and whatnot. I wanna also do Zafina, Jun, Jin, Hwoarang and Xiaoyu as well eventually. I think these eight will be my main squad for the time being. As a side note, King and Steve feel extremely fun to play, I haven't picked either in ages, but with King I was really close!

The netcode is, surprisingly functional??? We did recently switch to an optic fiber connection type, but I'm still on WiFi and I am having zero problems!

Jukebox is thankfully back again! I literally spent an hour or more before playing the game at all to decide which song goes where lol

Something that scares me regarding upcoming DLC, is that I do not see a season pass being sold anywhere except the Deluxe Edition bundle that costs 40€... I'm sorry but I don't give a fuck about owning 32 identical gold costumes or Tetsujin or whoever the fuck as my Arcade Quest avatar... I only want Eddy and the other three (one of them better be Anna!) thank you very much!

Story

"The Dark Awakens"

Believe it or not I haven't even finished the main story yet as I'm trying to pace myself through all the modes and enjoy them, savouring every moment. At the moment of typing this I am almost halfway through and I must say, even though I am still firmly in the "Drop the cinematic NRS style story modes" camp, and I would much rather have had either arcade mode with proper, canon endings back, or a revival and repurposing of the Tekken Force mode, in an SF6 World Tour mode type of way, out of all of Bandai Namco's attempts at a cinematic story mode, from SCV to Tekken 8, this has been the most satisfying attempt so far. I love that they are fully embracing the overdramatic nature of Tekken along with its campy side and it's present from the very beginning, with Jin throwing his bike at Kazuya's helicopter! "A Fate Decided by Fists" were we actually get to choose which fighters advance through the first round was the biggest highlight so far! I did not expect to fight Azazel again in 2024! I miss his Tekken 6 design though, he no longer glows according to his remaining health or has his limbs crumble away into scarabs according to which parts of him you're hitting. Also, I do understand why they felt the need to overemphasize how "Jin was a good guy all along and he's not like Kazuya" to redeem him and attempt to portray him as a more traditional hero, but I think they went way too far. Literally every single cast member, characters who've never met him before especially, makes a point of how good a person Jin is. Also, I do understand that there were a lot of people complaining that most of the cast were ignored in Tekken 7's story mode and I appreciate that they tried to include more of them this time, but it's so half assed and superficial. Like, Lili, Asuka, Hwoarang, Leo (who finds their missing father, a forgotten plot point from Tekken 6 of screen without a single explanation) Xiaoyu, PANDA offer absolutely nothing to the story so far other than to just be there and tell Jin what a good guy he is. And I say all that as someone who is firmly on Jin's side and despises Kazuya.

Character Episodes

Thank god they have more than one single fight this time! I would have liked it if they found a way to make each of them be canon. Like, I think every single one of the Arcade mode endings of SF6 is canon, if I'm not mistaken, and most of them seem to take place before the events of the main story, as a way to give us a clearer understanding of why each fighter fights. I think Guilty Gear does exactly that too. Nevertheless, I do appreciate that each fighter has fights specifically tailored to them, with specific opponents. It's not clear to me yet if they're completely non-canon or not, as in Nina's she seems to have been hired by Lee to sabotage G Corporation and Kazuya, I pray to God this is true and she's not actually, willingly working for that asshole, like, I'm still in complete denial that they threw her entire character development from Tekken 4 to Tekken 7 to the trash can just to go "NInA WiLl WoRK FoR WhOmEvEr"... She's also suspiciously missing from the actual story like, she simply just appeared in ONE scene so far and then left without doing literally anything. She also seems to only have special interactions with Steve and Lee so far when others get a lot more. Her handling story wise in this installment is insulting, considering she's the most popular female fighter in the series and one of the most popular in the genre...

Offline Modes

Arcade Quest

It's cute... It's certainly a cool way to mask your tutorial and the avatars are kinda cool, but they're nowhere near as good as what Capcom did with SF6 and World Tour. I must say I prefer Tag 2's Tekken Lab over this.

Super Ghost Battle

Ghost battle, after five attempts is finally fun! Tekken 7's was by far the worst attempt as the game would automatically pick opponents for you, matching you with much harder ones if you were winning too much and much lower ones if you were losing too much so that you wouldn't climb the ranks as fast and it would artificially increase playtime. Now that Tekken has actual single player modes other that the story there's no need for that, and they made it work. You simply choose from a list, and the ones that contain unlockable (useless) customisation options for specific characters are actually marked so that you can attempt to get the item you want.

Arcade Battle

I love that they still included a traditional eight battle long Arcade mode, even though they could have just had the character episodes and call it a day. My slight nitpick, again, is that they're still doing this thing that they've been doing since Tekken 5 or 6 where the first few battles are characters in their default costumes and then a horde of Namco's customized monstrosities attack your eyes... This is a huge pet peeve of mine, I understand it in the context of Ghost Battle, and Arcade Quest, but I do not want to see goofy customs in other, "serious" modes. On top of that, the ghosts you get seem to be from the Super Ghost Battle's catalogue of freaks, and are therefore higher difficulty than most, which in turn makes them actively harder than the mode's final boss which I think is kinda hilarious!

Tekken Ball

I will admit, I only played a single match and never touched it again. It is actually challenging, I'll give it that, but I don't see the appeal. I'd much rather have Tekken Bowl again back instead tbh. Also I wish that stage was playable in normal modes too.

Customization

Avatar customization is kinda whatever, but it works well enough for Arcade Quest and I don't really visit the Tekken Fight Lounge.

Character Customization however is where I have an issue. While I've seen lots of cool customs of various characters from other games and IPs, including Shimbori himself dressing up Super Battle ghosts as DOA characters!, I don't really care for the customization options? My only real use for Character Customization in Tekken so far was to recreate past / alternate outfits. Like, in Tekken 6 I would buy the schoolgirl outfit parts for all the teen girlies, in Tekken 7 I recreated Nina's 2P outfit from Tekken 4 using her Blood Vengeance catsuit as a base, stuff like that. In Tekken 8 all I'm getting is a huge catalogue of Zara's apparel... And all the unlockable outfits are either their default look with less clothes on, or weird cosplays of other characters. Why? Tekken Character Customization peaked in Tekken 6, where every single one of the 40 (41 if you count Panda, who I think had some different options from Kuma) characters had his own personal selection of outfits and items, matching their personality and look. I don't want to play as Nina dressed up as Ada Wong or in a business casual for a 9-5 desk job. They made everything way too generic and bland and, on top of that, we don't even have trademark pieces like Nina's purple catsuit, her ponytail, Hwoarang's taekwondo garb, Xiaoyu's Tekken 6 battle costume. The Tekken 5 veterans should have had their Tekken 5/6/TTT2 costumes and hairstyles on top of their Tekken 7 ones.

Overall, I am very very happy with this game! It seemingly does almost everything right and I am glad to see it improving on, literally, every single thing over Tekken 7.

Score: 9 / 10

#Tekken #Tekken 8 #Video Games #Gaming #Bandai Namco #Fighting Games #Nina #Lili #Azucena #Zafina #Jun #Jin #Hwoarang #Xiaoyu #Nina Williams #Azucena Milagros Ortiz Castillo #Jun Kazama #Jin Kazama #Ling Xiaoyu

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the-himawari-otome · 1 month

Text

[Shuuen no Virche] La Saint-Valentin - Capucine

･ﾟ･:,｡★ translation under the cut ★,｡･:･ﾟ

It's perfectly fine to enjoy seasonal events, but do be careful not to consume too many sweets.

—And I will finish my doctor's lecture here.

I'm sure that you with your sensibility will have no problems even without my reminder.

I suppose I will take good care to savour the sweets that you have gifted me as well.

When you're in this line of work, your brain regularly craves for sugar.

Having said that, I don't have the time to prepare anything myself... so I am very grateful for these refreshments from you.

Hm... what if we take this opportunity to try developing sweets that even our patients can eat?

It's unreasonable to exclude people from events that allow them to feel the passage of time simply because their bodies are weak, don't you agree?

Thank you for giving me this idea for a new initiative.

I hope you can spend this day peacefully with your loved ones.

---

[DO NOT USE OR REPOST MY WORK W/O PERMISSION, THANK YOU]

#shuuen no virche #virche evermore #virche evermore capucine

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mediumtires · 9 months

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i only got into F1 this season and dear lord i so wish i had started watching like CENTURIES ago i feel like i missed out on so fucking much! but i love it and i'm having a lot of fun with everything that's happening now and learning about everything that's happened in the past and honestly late to the party, but glad i made it at all lol

anyway, having said all this, i wanted to thank you for Seven Years Next May because it's some of the most beautiful writing i've had the pleasure of enjoying in a bit. i started reading christian/toto stuff on a literal whim just to see what's out there and because i was rewatching dts and there was like a 2 second moment in s3e1 in australia when they were talking and they were both wearing casual clothes and they were so /soft/ that it made me lose my mind a bit.

i still have 3 more parts of the story and i am trying to savour it, it's just incredible, you captured them really well and apart from being so intelligently written and paced and structured, god, the love and the passion and the sex and the tender intimacy between them just feels so real it makes my heart ache, that's the type of love and care we should all be so lucky to find. and this is why i love fan fiction so much bc it's literally a story about two fucking 50 yr old formula 1 principals lol but it's so so much more than that

so yes thank you so much for sharing your writing with us, i am extremely grateful! i plan on picking up the pen myself for some sewis so wish me luck and i wish you a wonderful day & rest of the summer

this is the absolute sweetest fucking thing anon omg. thank you so so much, this made my whole day 🥺

and welcome to hell! i hope you’re not a ferrari fan 🥰

#saying this #do i dare open another seven years word doc #there’s an idea that’s been floating at the back of my mind but my mojo has been off lately #but i miss writing petty comfort husbands

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yallemagne · 1 year

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Honestly thank you for that anon for mentioning Wotton because you know that fucking bitch would try to sour up Sibyl and Lucy's happiness whenever he encounters because (insert here sexist bullshit about female friendships), unluckily for him Lucy and Sibyl are moisturized, happy, thriving, frolicking, hot victorian girl summer vibes, and many more things that only make him look like a fool to anyone who watches him talk to two young girls eating pastries.

Wotton sees Lucy and Sibyl having a nice time eating pastries and chatting and decides to move closer so he is within hearing range of them.

Feeling smug, he clears his throat and begins: "Female friendships are one of the most shallow types of relationships, possibly more impersonal and meaningless than a gentleman's relationship with a whore. They giggle and titter over the men in their lives for hours on end, and if they find that it is the same man they are fawning over, they will have each others' heads. Truly a fickle thing: a connection based entirely around someone never present. But it's no wonder women can't find anything better to talk about than men. What else are they to speak of? Themselves? There's nothing to say."

The man he's saddled up next to looks at him, confused, just trying to eat his sandwich.

Sibyl hears this tirade and starts to curl in on herself, but Lucy lays a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"It's okay. I will handle this." She turns to the unsubtle man and calls him over, much to Sibyl's chagrin. "Lord Henry! What a surprise to see you here!"

Wotton approaches, holding out a hand to accept Lucy's own and press a kiss to it. "The pleasure is all mine, Lady Godalming."

She does not offer her hand and instead smiles up at him ingratiatingly. "I did not say it was a pleasure, sir."

Wotton's eyes flash, but he does not let his expression fall.

"What are you doing here this lovely afternoon, Lord Henry? You're positively bringing down the mood of the entire pastry shop!"

"Well, that--"

"Is it your wife Victoria? Oh, do tell me how she's doing! Have you come here to purchase for her a strawberry tart?"

"How romantic!" Sibyl cries, catching on. "It's very kind of you to be so thoughtful for your dear wife! I haven't met her, but I am sure she's the loveliest woman! And a lucky woman to have so thoughtful a husband!" She's loud enough that the other patrons have turned to look at the group, eyes settling expectantly upon the young lord especially.

At a loss for words, Wotton answers the young women's expectations: "Yes. Of course, I am."

Lucy wrinkles her nose. "Well, you shouldn't. You should know Victoria much prefers raspberry tarts. Something with a bit more bite to it."

Not wanting to lose, Wotton does buy a raspberry tart, his eye twitching as he realizes the price is just slightly higher than that of the strawberry tart.

"They must not be in season," Sibyl surmises.

"But I'm sure your beloved will appreciate the gesture even moreso!" Lucy says with a simper.

Wotton leaves in a huff, and when he returns home and presents his wife Victoria with the pastry, she smiles at him, taking the tiniest bites of the tart and savouring the displeased expression on her husband's face.

#update #people ask me things #lucy westenra #sibyl vane #lord henry wotton #dracula #dracula daily #dracula fanfiction #fanfiction #the picture of dorian gray #dorian gray weekly #dorian gray fanfiction #ask and ye shall receive

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nibwhipdragon · 1 year

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1, 7, 8, 15, 16, 22, 28 for Caejose :D

Haufhawawawawawa,,,,divorce duo....

Ok this is getting long so like always I'm putting it under a read more

1. What's their love language?

Caesar's definitely a guy that expresses his love through words – though, mostly in a flowery, stereotypically romantic way that Joseph wouldn't be that pleased with. Dude comes from like the 1500s with how he approaches romance. I wouldn't be surprised if he writes poems and sings them to Joseph.

Joseph's definitely shows his love through actions. I feel that he'd be quite selfish, but would happily give stuff up for others if he cared about them enough. He also probably rants about things with people he cares about. Caesar would end up knowing a bunch of stuff he wouldn't know otherwise (and probably some stuff he wished he never knew, knowing the sort of person Joseph is. Anyways do you know that most reptiles have two–)

7. Who is the more romantic one?

Hmmm...neither? With Caesar he's too romantic to the point it wraps around to feeling forced and fake, he definitely hasn't been in any proper relationships, only hookups so he definitely doesn't know what to do outside of that fake front. And well. Joseph is Joseph and doesn't really care about being romantic. I feel like he'd try his best to be romantic (waking up earlier than Caesar to cook him breakfast and such, despite Not Being Able To Cook) but he'd be so cringefail flop about it that it just wouldn't be romantic. It'd be romantic to ME, but I am aware enough to know that most people don't have a thing for pathetic insane sopping wet men so (god I'm speaking like I'm not even aroace huh)

8. Do they have any favourite activities to do together?

Divorce

I think that they'd still enjoy sparring together. As a person who beats the shit out of one of my friends specifically frequently and vice versa, I can confirm that it's very enjoyable to do with a friend! Idk if the whole romantic aspect would ruin that though. I also think they'd enjoy going out on nature walks and such, and appreciate nature. They'd definitely take it slow and savour their moments together. Seeing that they both nearly died against the Pillar Men, I feel that they'd gain a new appreciation for life, and a new appreciation for each other's presence.

15. Do they go on vacations together? Where is their favourite place to visit?

Ohhh they'd definitely go to Italy for holidays (there's no way Joseph would stay there all year round he is British. Way too hot for him. He prefers cold places). They'd visit Air Supplena Island too. Nobody uses it anymore, but it's still nostalgic to them. I think it'd be a yearly thing for them, maybe they go on the anniversary of them getting together?

16. What's their favourite "domestic bliss" moment? Do they cook/clean together? Do they like to go out shopping together?

Their favourite domestic bliss moment would definitely just be Existing Together. Maybe they're just chilling on the sofa watching TV, or cuddling up in bed together ready to go to sleep. Maybe Joseph's done some completely stupid thing and made a mess/hurt himself and they have to deal with the aftermath. Whatever it is, they really enjoy doing mundane, normal things with each other. It's much better than the whole thing they had going on with the threat of the Pillar Men looming over them. They just really love and appreciate mundane things people would gloss over after All That.

They do not cook together, because Caesar is not letting that pathetic excuse of a man into the kitchen. Maybe I'm biased because I don't like 99% of British cuisine (beans on toast is pretty good though. the eels too tbh) but Joseph would not be able to make a good meal. That mf would season with salt and pepper and leave it at that. Where's the garlic??? The onions???? This man will be the death of me (and Caesar, if he wasn't smart enough to not let Joseph cook).

They don't like to go shopping together. They definitely argue about what to get. They argue about a lot of things it's a wonder they're still together. I think they should get divorced. Though, if Joseph wants to go shopping on his own, Caesar usually convices him to let him go along as well. This is because Joseph will definitely buy a ton of stuff on impulse, because having ADHD does that to a guy. He's gotta have a wall to stop him from doing things on impulse or he's gonna like come back from IKEA with a million plushies and Swedish sweets and no furniture because he Forgot

22. How do they apologise after arguments?

Really, it depends on the argument. Little spats they can get over quite quickly. It's pretty much banter to them by this point. With bigger arguments, I think they'd end up apologising formally and then going about their day like nothing happened. Or, in other cases, try to get the last point in when they think it's simmered down enough and start it all back up again (that doesn't sound like a healthy relationship! How about they do themselves a favour and get divorced). And then there's the Massive arguments. Usually they'll try to make it back to the other, usually using the other person's love language. Joseph would tell Caesar how much he loves him and that the argument hasn't changed his feelings at all and that Caesar's the most important person in the world to him. Caesar might try make a little trinket or item (can you imagine him doing origami or clay sculpting. He'd be so cringeflop about it, spent all his time on the streets, hamon training or performing The Intercourse on women to practice doing stuff like that. Thinking about this does Caesar have an STD??? I feel that he might he doesn't seem like the type of guy to use protection. God I'm getting off track) to give to Joseph, or he might prompt Joseph to talk about the things he enjoys talking about. Though, seeing that Joseph has ADHD because I Decided This, Araki Make It Canon You Bastard, and ADHD can be A Massive Bitch, I wouldn't be surprised if Joseph got really upset sometimes over them. Like to the point he wouldn't bother to try make amends because he'd think it's pointless because This One is Definitely The Argument to End It All And God I've Ruined Our Relationship Forever. Maybe he wouldn't have this problem if they were both divorced. However that feeling of absolutely destroying the relationship would probably be exacerbated by the whole argument that happened before the Whammu fight so Yeah. Joseph's so cringeflop I need his head in my mouth

ANYWAYS I am falling off track once more, in those instances I think that Caesar would simply go and sit next to Joseph, and hug him if it was possible in that position. Just sorta remind him that it isn't his fault because Caesar is as much in the wrong as Joseph is, and that they have quite literally been through worse before and that they'll get through this argument easily. They'd watch a film or something afterwards, pretty much anything as long as it's something they're doing together. It's absolutely ridiculous how much they argue but at least in the end they can get over it like functional adults

28. What's something that reminds them of their partner(s)? Do they have anything on them daily as a reminder (a photo, phone background, tattoo, clothing, accessory, etc.)?

I am going to bend canon a lil and say that Joseph still has the headband Caesar gave him before his presumed death (let's just go along and assume that he got badly hurt and maybe got hit by a lil rubble instead of the big rock) and that he keeps it in his pocket or smth at all times. If Joseph's upset/stressed and Caesar isn't there for whatever reason he'll take the headband out of his pocket and start fiddling with it, weaving it around his fingers and the sorts.

For Caesar, he'd keep a really bad drawing Joseph did with him. He'd fold it up and put it in his wallet or smth like that. For the drawing itself, they would've gone to an art museum or the likes, and Joseph would've tried to make a work of art himself, claiming that "It's not that hard, you don't need a museum for art", only to produce the Worst Piece of Art To Exist. Joseph would want to throw it away – even if he did spend hours working on it – but Caesar refused to get rid of it. Sure, it's not as good as the art in museums, but it had heart and soul and meaning put into it, and it touched Caesar's heart, so it's more special and important to him than any painting made by a famous artist.

#HOUGHHHHHH THESE TWO....#to be honest. i may be aroace BUT. Joseph needs to get divorced to Caesar and he needs to be married to me #i need to rehabilitate that man i am not the househusband of my friend group for no reason #i can fix him #and then i can get divorced to him and it will be awesome #i can talk about joseph and his ADHD for ages #its. so blatantly THERE in the canon and Araki refuses to confirm it canon #i could go on about it for ages but i feel bad posting essays on here if not prompted (<– look at me being a hypocrite!)#anyways yeah I've decided to highlight divorce in red now. it's a thing of importance so it's highlighted. I'm an npc now #ask game answers #jjba #joseph joestar #caesar anthonio zeppeli #caejose #I'm insane your honour

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