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anarmorofwords · 2 years

Text

covered in you (5 times Eugenia watched Kamala dance, and one time she couldn’t bear it)

playlist (based on fic and vice versa, tho sometimes loosely/only some parts of lyrics apply)

it's a songfic of a kind? lyrics are from "ivy" by taylor swift

read on ao3

warnings: angst, mentions of homophobia, racism, grief

circa 13k, rating: mature (nothing explicit, but I just feel safer about this rating, read at your own risk kiddos)

notes: i will not be taking any questions at this time.

I'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones

In a faith forgotten land

Sometimes heartbreak enters your life disguised as happiness. Genie knows that, knows all too well how easily what once brought light into your world can shatter like glass. She’s still nursing the wounds from the shards, unable to forget them even for a moment, not with the reminders always present around her.

Particularly obvious now, as she enters the sparkling tearoom, feeling more than noticing the curious glances that follow her. At least they don’t stare right away, she thinks, moving through the crowd with her head held high. There’s been enough cowering already, hiding and avoiding people’s eyes.

You’re not the one who should be ashamed, her mother repeated over and over, and deep down, some wild part of her believes that. A part that knows nothing of propriety and behaviour, that shows teeth not to smile but to bite. The question remains, whether that part can ever come to the surface, or will it just stay dormant, tampered by the rules around her.

At the corner of the room, a group of ladies around her age converse over their tea, and she can see them leaning towards each other as soon as they spot her. Like vultures eyeing their prey. It makes her heartbeat quicken, thoughts racing to asset her appearance.

The pale blue dress she’s wearing is new, but not too extravagant, in the closest shade to white she could find. A compromise necessary to avoid drawing even more attention. No one needs to know that the pearls in her hair belonged to Barbara, other than her mother, who’s glassy eyes followed her movements as she tucked them into place.

She’s just starting to feel self-conscious in her solitary position amongst the guests when a voice sounds to her right.

“I’m not the wisest choice if you’re aiming to climb the Enclave ranks, but shall you not mind the libertine’s company, I will happily extend a dance invitation.”

Eugenia turns quickly, smiling before she fully realizes it, taking in a well-known young man in a glittered plum vest and frivolous coat.

“Asking your friend’s sister to dance seems hardly a libertine behaviour, Matthew. Beware, or people might think you’ve matured and abandoned your scandalous ways”

She lets her playful tone match his, and he chuckles, extends a hand and leads her to the adjacent room. The younger Fairchild might have a bad reputation, but so does she, and he’s a family friend - the relief at seeing a familiar face washes out any qualms she might have had about the offer.

They enter the ballroom, and she surveys the guests, made bolder by the presence at her arm - Matthew smiles easily, charming as always, and despite the heavy scent of alcohol that accompanies him, it brings her comfort. She part wishes this could be something else – a hopeful girl and a sweet, awed boy, hand for the taking held by one ready to offer.

Except, for all his attempts at being helpful and attentive, Matthew looks right past her, the golden armour of his smile reflecting all the light in the room so no one can see past it. He’s familiar, and yet so distant, which is probably unsurprising – she would barely recognize the girl’s she used to be a few months prior, and she hasn’t talked to him in far longer. As he falls into place, he seems like a mere reflection of the boy she knew, seen in a distorting mirror.

Sometimes still, the past flashes behind her eyes when she sees her brother’s friends – it's easy to recall a time when they were just annoying children in the crowd, not yet taller than her, with lopsided smiles and unruly hair. A time that feels like a part of a different life, covered with a gleaming veil of sentimentality. Though, out of them all, Matthew had always been the one that seemed to belong there the least, gaze always too sharp and serious, even in his mocking façade.

She supposes they both changed, sees the familiarly dimmed glow of his eyes, whatever real feelings hiding behind it comfortably tucked away, not belonging among a dance set.

It’s a quadrille, and soon her eyes drift to the other girl in their set, brown skinned and gorgeous, clad in a subtly embroidered lilac dress. She’s dancing with Thoby Dawndale, so Eugenia doubts she is as delighted as she appears, but the warmth of her smile seems unmistakeable, and irresistible, and she can see how poor Toby cannot tear his eyes away from it. The girl is either actually smitten with that josser, or a fantastic actress. Either way, Eugenia’s intrigued.

First notes of the dance snap her out of her thoughts, and she falls into it, the familiar movements, the joy of being part of the music, in a small way. Some girls in the other sets cast her jealous glances – she knows what Matthew is to them, a forbidden fruit that they’re forced to be frightened of, but nevertheless long for.

Yet her eyes keep wandering to the girl next to her, something about her gentle smile and the surrounding air of elegance helping Eugenia feel at ease. She’s always taken pride in her dancing skills, but this girl seems like she could be a match for her, and the prospect is weirdly exciting.

Perhaps they could become acquainted.

It’s been so long since something as simple as a thought of having a friend brought her joy - she’s leaning into the feeling like a flower to the sun.

“What is it that interests you so much about the Inquisitor’s daughter?” Matthew’s whisper startles her a little, and she almost stumbles in the process; she’s too surprised to feel embarrassed about him catching her staring.

Her kind eyes. The way she seems to be one with the music, and watching her feels like admiring a painting in a gallery.

“That’s the Inquisitor’s daughter?” She asks instead, bowing her head a little to make sure the words don’t reach the girl in question. It’s not exactly that she’s surprised, but it’s something to say that dodges his question. Because, frankly, she doesn’t have an answer for that.

She’s heard about Ariadne Bridgestock before, another girl who fell ill to the same sickness that took Barbara. She’s also heard about her hospitality to Grace Blackthorn after Tatiana Blackthorn’s arrest, but never paid it much attention – still, she has a vague memory of the girl being mentioned as a placeholder of virtue, kindness and good social standing. Suddenly she’s not sure about approaching her, not sure whether someone like that would want to be seen as much as talking to her.

But then again, she’s helped Grace, and she’s got a smile that feels too genuine for the Enclave, and way too kind to join in on the vicious gossiping.

“I didn’t know who she was. I was just admiring the dress.” They both know it’s a lie, but Matthew only raises an eyebrow, and continues, unbothered. Despite the investment in the conversation, he executes every step of the dance with an effortless grace.

“From the few times we met during her engagement to Charles, she seemed rather sweet. Bright, too, more than her own father - or my brother – gave her credit for. Though apparently not enough to avoid agreeing to marry the latter.”

He adds the last part quietly, almost in a murmur, but she still gives him a stern look in response. He’s joking, of course he is, but he will never understand being in a similar position, and Eugenia knows better than to judge an unmarried girl for her choices, whatever those might be.

When the dance ends, Matthew takes her arm and leads her past the row of chairs by the wall to the room with refreshments, and a wave of excitement goes through her when she sees Ariadne heading that way, too.

“Matthew, I trust I can count on you to introduce me to Ariadne? Without bringing up the unfortunate case of her failed engagement in the process?”

“Give me some credit, dear Genie. I’m afraid her father doesn’t like me much - by association, although I cannot ascertain whether it’s my association with a bohemian lifestyle or my mother that irks him more. But since I do not see the man in question around...” - there’s a spark of mischief in his eye, and it’s genuine for a change, reminiscent of the one she can recall from childhood. “- I’d wager it can be arranged.”

Upon entering the room, Matthew fetches her ice and offers to hold the cup, like a proper gentleman – she would comment on that if she wasn’t so preoccupied with searching the crowd for a sign of Ariadne. It might be silly, but she’s a little desperate, clinging to the hope that her intuition is right - this time.

She almost chokes on her drink when she catches a glance of pale silk at the corner of her vision, and then Ariadne is standing next to Matthew, politely exchanging pleasantries. All of her seems to sparkle in the candlelight, from the delicate dress to the thick black curls and soulful eyes. Round and so dark, looking at them for more than a moment feels like falling. Weirdly, there’s nothing frightening in the feeling.

Just as she’s about to subtly kick Matthew, to make sure he remembers what the goal here is, he gives Ariadne his brightest smile and turns his head back to Genie, saying, in a dramatic voice:

“I don’t believe you ladies have been introduced before. Allow me, then. Miss Bridgestock, this is Eugenia Lightwood, my dear friend’s sister.” Younger one, Eugenia almost adds, but then she stops herself. People don’t need the differentiator anymore.

“Genie, meet Ariadne Bridgestock, the daughter of our beloved Inquisitor.”

Ariadne’s eyes glimmer at Matthew’s theatrics, almost as if mocking her father doesn’t bother her at all. Which seems to clash with the image of polite obedience that everyone paints her as, but it leaves Eugenia all the more curious.

They exchange courtesies, and then Matthew’s gently disengaging himself from her arm and bowing in an almost caricatural manner, before slipping out of the room, and she’s suddenly facing Ariadne on her own.

Very well.

She can do this.

There’s something a little hesitant about Ariadne’s gaze, but also curious, and for a moment Eugenia fears she’ll want to ask questions.

Instead, she smiles.

“You’re Thomas’s sister, then?”

“Indeed. Do you happen to know my brother?”

“I suppose owing someone your life could be seen as some degree of acquaintance, yes.”

Oh, of course. Thomas helped with the antidote, and Ariadne was amongst the people it saved. She pushes away the thought of those who didn’t last long enough, of her sister, and smiles at Ariadne.

“For once my little brother is known for something other than his group of raggers.”

Ariadne scoffs softly at that.

“Oh, I’ve heard of them, too. Your brother however... Well, he paints a rather striking picture, what with that posture of his – I can assure you that’s what he’s mostly known for, amongst the young ladies I usually have the chance to spend time with.”

“That’s fair, I suppose. But I must ask you not to ever swoon over my brother in my presence. It makes me feel rather ill.”

Ariadne laughs at that, the sound bright, falling around Eugenia like a soft spring rain. The tension in her arms melts away a little.

“Trust me, I do not intend to swoon over your brother. Or any other gentleman – I find it frightful enough that my mother forces their existence into every conversation.” She frowns then, slightly. “As if it isn’t possible to engage oneself in a far spirited conversation without ever mentioning the opposite sex.”

Eugenia feels herself smiling at the steady fire that accompanies those words. There’s a prickling need under her skin to keep it burning, to get a closer look at the flames, no matter how dangerous it might be. She’s always been the most reckless one in her family.

So, she cocks her head to the side, and asks, with an indulgent smile:

“Such as?”

Ariadne’s startled for a second, but she quickly regains her bearings.

“How much do you know about ancient myths?”

“Not nearly as much as there is it know, I imagine.”

It’s a good answer, if she’s going by the elated expression on Ariadne’s face - she gestures for Eugenia to accompany her to the sofa, and they sink into an easy conversation amongst soft cushions.

It doesn't take long for Ariadne's passion to come to the surface, the last shreds of careful politeness evaporating as the evening progresses. She stops once, eyes widening suddenly, to suggest she's boring Eugenia to death - it couldn't possibly be farther from truth, which Eugenia hurries to assure her of.

Still, Ariadne resumes her story slowly, a blush blooming on her cheeks.

It all seems suspiciously nice. Too nice, if she's being honest, and despite dreading it, Eugenia eventually finds herself asking the one question that's clouding her current joy.

“Won’t your parents be upset with you for associating with a person of my standing?”

Ariadne tenses a little, and for a moment Eugenia sees it all slip, Ariadne’s gentle voice drifting away from her at the reminder of their harsh reality. But then Ariadne smiles again, only the smallest bit of uncertainty visible in her eyes.

“I take care not to upset them often, so they’ll be more understanding when I do. Or rather – I save risking their anger for special occasions.”

“And what would those be? Entertaining those shunned by the society to prove the goodness of your heart?"

Ariadne scoffs then, and leans closer, her eyes intent and lit up by mischief Eugenia’s never seen there before.

It suits her.

“Why of course it’s to bribe wonderful company into spending time with me.”

Wonderful isn’t exactly a word Eugenia has heard in association with herself, lately, and it confuses her immensely. For a second, she looks for sign of mockery in Ariadne’s voice, and when she finds none, she answers, letting a vulnerable note slip into the words.

“I fear you’re alone in such assessment of my character, then, but I cannot say I mind.”

Maybe it’s that sentence itself, or her suddenly small voice, but Ariadne pauses at that, and touches her shoulder briefly, with a concerned look.

“I cannot change the way they think, but it is wrong, and so damaging. One could expect people to revaluate some things, when their calling is a fight against blood-thirsty creatures that has them risking their lives on a regular basis. Does it matter so much what one does above that - and with whom - when we’re all protecting the world from a plague of evil?”

Eugenia opens her mouth to say something, but the words ring too true, and it stuns her a little. From this perspective, she finds it all even more maddening, more pointless. Noting her silence, Ariadne continues, softer now.

“We pride ourselves on being so ahead of mundanes, and yet still succumb to their most pointless rules.” A hint of resigned bitterness echoes in her words, and Eugenia wants to reassure her somehow, despite how futile of a notion that is.

“It has only got worse lately, it seems.” She says instead. “I once overheard my aunt Tessa say she’s worried about the low demon activity causing Shadowhunters to lower their guard, and I’m afraid she was correct.”

They both sigh at that, and for a moment Genie fears the solemn mood managed to kill the conversation.

“Overheard, huh?” Ariadne asks suddenly, her head tilted a little. There’s that spark from before in her eyes, and it sends a shiver of excitement down Eugenia’s spine.

“Oh yes. I suppose I am ill-behaved, after all. Just not the way I’m condemned for.”

“I’d gladly witness more of that.”

“As soon as I have the chance-”

“Well.” Ariadne starts, voice lower now, thick like caramel. “We do have an otherwise terribly dull supper ahead of us.”

And it’s right there, that fire, making her brown eyes even more hypnotising, and it dawns on Eugenia that Ariadne is nothing like what people see her as, so easily fooled by her charming smile. She knows how to play this game, how to disguise her claws from view while the audience is there, only to use them to her own desires. It’s exhilarating, and Eugenia wants more of it.

II.

oh, I can't

stop you putting roots in my dreamland (…)

my house of stone, your ivy grows

and now I'm covered

in you, in you

The invitation isn’t exactly a surprise, but it still makes her heart skip a bit when she takes in the elegant cursive. It’s the first time she sees it, but somehow, she knows it’s Ariadne’s handwriting, the careful strokes of letters feeling oddly familiar.

She’s asked to a tea party at the Inquisitor’s house, and for once in a while, a social event isn’t making her anxious. Usually, the mere concept would terrify her, but with Ariadne there, she can’t quite bring herself to care. Besides, it’ll be way more difficult to gossip about her in a small group, so the other girls will probably have to sit there, smiling forcefully, severely uncomfortable.

That is, for a change, a nice picture.

Her mother must notice the excitement, when she helps her pin her hair – but she refrains from addressing it. They both realize how fragile this is, perhaps able to collapse under the weight of words alone.

And, well, there’s been enough collapses in their life, lately.

****************

“Eugenia!” Ariadne’s hurrying to greet her before she’s fully entered the room, subtly pointing to the young ladies already gathered in the room with a sorrowful face. Eugenia tries to fight back a smile, but as soon as she sees it mirrored on Ariadne’s face, she knows it’s in vain. She takes in the room, all beige wallpapers and sofas from what she can only guess is the most expensive fabric available in England. Ariadne’s yellow tea dress seems to be tinting the room a warmer shade - a little sun illuminating flowers on the walls.

“That dress really brings out your eyes.”

She finds herself saying, because it does, and that feels worth acknowledging.

“What a coincidence, I was just about to say the same thing to you.”

“Well, I beat you to it. You’ll find I quite like winning.”

“Of course, you do.” Ariadne mutters, and then they’re seating down, Eugenia politely greeting the other four girls already waiting at the table.

The conversation is quickly resumed, which she soon finds to be a regrettable development, as it turns out to be about Grace Blackthorn. Wicked, dangerous, vain – many words fall from the lips of the gathered girls, and all make Eugenia’s insides twist. Some are said with a conviction that frightens her a little, some flatly, like a well-worn pair of shoes that simply serves a purpose.

Still - she’s glad the conversation isn’t about her, for once, but it doesn’t seem fair, or just, for Rosalind Wentworth to be preaching her opinions on the lack of fighting skills of a girl who’s just broken free from the grasp of literal demons. Just as she’s about to comment on that – her already fragile position be damned - Ariadne chimes in.

“We really ought to consider what Tatiana did to her, though. Training or not, the mere fact that she endured living with a woman cooperating with demons makes her just as much a warrior as the rest of us.”

Eugenia smiles a little into her cup, but Rosalind seems unconvinced.

“But aren’t you afraid? She might yet turn out to be Tatiana’s protegee – it would serve us right to jail her, as a means of minimising the risks.”

“My father and the Consul didn’t deem any further precautions necessary – would you like to take your complaint up with them, Rosalind?”

That finally does it. Rosalind leans back in her chair, cheeks flushed. Eugenia distantly thinks Ariadne would make a splendid politician, had that been an option.

At least one of the other girls at the table – her name’s almost certainly Dorothy – looks relieved at the turn the conversation takes, and Eugenia remembers not all of them truly believe what they say, though it does little to comfort her. Intention changes nothing about the effect of their words. She would know.

Someone, thankfully, suggests they discuss end of year preparations at their households, and soon the room’s filled with merry laughter and spirited exchange of stories. At first, Eugenia’s hesitant about mentioning her mother baking with them – and judging by the look on Rosalind’s face, rightfully so – but Ariadne listens to her with fondness and interest that overshadow the fear.

After what feels like forever, and is simultaneously way too soon, it’s time to head out, but she lingers while Ariadne bids her guests farewell, not yet wanting to exit the warm pull of the other girl.

It’s a fantastic decision, as it turns out, because the moment the last girl steps out of the house, Ariadne turns to her with a wide, slightly crooked grin – unlike any she’s usually showing in public – and then takes her by her hand and leads her out of the room.

“I do hope you can afford to stay a little longer.” Is all she offers as means of explanation, and her determined step all but rejects the possibility of a negative response.

Eugenia feels the warmth of their joined hands travel through her body – perhaps it’s her memory failing her, but no friend had ever managed to awake similarly intense fondness in her. It’s a little overwhelming.

The huge ballroom they enter soon is fashionably furnished; huge windows bracketed by maroon curtains letting in the distant glow of streetlamps. Ariadne quickly lights a few candlesticks, and their light reveals the colour of the walls to be light pink – most of all though, it falls on a pianoforte that Ariadne promptly seats at. She smiles and cocks her head.

“Any requests, my lady?”

Eugenia feels herself draw a quick breath, the words doing something suspicious to her stomach. After Augustus, they should sound like mocking, but weirdly, the feeling doesn’t seem negative. New, perhaps, and slightly puzzling, but not bad.

“Whatever you feel like playing.” She manages, and then the music fills the room, washing her confusion away. Ariadne plays a ballad, something with "stars" in the title, and she’s doing so flawlessly. The music carries around the room so smoothly it feels like a part of it.

It’s entrancing, beautiful, and Eugenia is so invested she barely realizes when the song ends. But as soon as she does, she’s stepping closer, not hiding the awe from her voice as she exclaims warranted praise.

"That was so beautiful. You’re brilliant, Ari!”

It’s a bit of a gamble, to use that nickname unprompted, but Eugenia’s never been one to shy away from risks, and it feels right to address Ariadne in a way that’s as unique and informal as possible.

Except Ariadne pauses before facing her again. The flickering light of the candles makes it difficult to read her expression, but if nothing else, it’s... uncertain.

“I like that nickname.” She starts carefully. “But... would you care to hear what my birth name is?”

Birth name. Of course. She doesn’t know exactly how old Ariadne was when Bridgestocks adopted her, but she surely wasn’t an infant. It never occurred to her that they changed her name. It should have.

“As long as you want me to know it.”

“I wouldn’t offer otherwise, would I?” A small attempt at nonchalance, and then a deep breath. “It’s Kamala. That’s the name I was given by my parents.”

Eugenia cocks her head to the side, and repeats it, letting the sound roll off her tongue easily.

“Kamala.”

“Could you please call me that? At least in private? There aren’t many people I can share this with. Ari is a nickname everyone can know – and I want this one to be just for you.”

Oh.

“Of course. And thank you - for trusting me with that.”

The words seem to wash away any lingering doubts on Kamala’s face, and she smiles easily in response. It’s that smile that draws the next words from her mouth, before she fully decides on speaking them.

“In this case, might I ask you to call me Genie? I think Eugenia is far too serious a name.”

“You do not wish to be seen as serious?”

“Whenever I can avoid it.” She says with a wink, and feels that wild thing inside her roar in delight, a step closer to taking control. Kamala eyes her curiously.

“In that case... What do you say I play for you, and you can dance? It’d paint a lovely picture, if the last ball is anything to go by.”

She clears her throat then, eyes fixed on the keys. “Besides, I’m sure a lady floating alone around an empty ballroom cannot be taken seriously.”

It’s true. And it sounds delightful, if a little silly, but-

“I have an even better idea. What about two ladies dancing in an otherwise empty ballroom...” Eugenia pauses dramatically. “...with no music?”

When Kamala doesn’t respond, Eugenia steps closer, pulling her from the seat and clutching her hands tightly.

“I can be your partner. I can, uhm, dance the male parts. It is a remnant of the time I attempted to teach Thomas - the poor boy has all the grace of a log."

Eugenia says with a smile, and she’s grabbing at Kamala’s hand and positioning them properly. Kamala tenses when her hands land on her waist.

“Kamala, dear, please say yes.”

“I... shouldn’t.”

Eugenia scoffs.

“I hardly think anyone will see, and worst of all, they might find it silly – but a dance practice couldn’t possibly hurt.”

Kamala looks ready to protest further, biting down her lip, but then she takes a deep breath and draws closer - the sudden movement pushes the air out of Eugenia’s lungs.

She needs to catch up on her training.

Kamala really is as good as her, and Eugenia finds herself giddy at the way they move smoothly through the dancefloor, somehow finding rhythm despite the lack of music. There’s something hypnotic about it, the way dresses tangle together amongst graceful motions, their shadows flickering on the walls. It’s a testament of her innate skills and years of practice that she manages to follow the steps despite completely losing herself in the gossamer pattern of candlelight on Kamala’s face.

Eugenia distantly wishes her hands were free so she could brush away the tiny strands of hair that fall into her eyes.

Silence is only disturbed by the gentle click of their heels, but it’s almost like an actual ball - and all the better for the lack of prying eyes around. The relief must be reflected on her face, because Kamala smiles softly at her, but there’s a hint of something else there, hesitant, or fearful even. As if she is scared to bring it up, knowing it’s a topic Eugenia loathes.

And it’s a lovely sentiment, truly, but it’s also frustrating – she wishes Kamala felt comfortable with her, fully at ease. Without much thought, she spins her, nearly sending them both to the ground, and is rewarded with a surprised laughter.

Which quickly pushes her to laugh, too, and before she knows it, they’re both dissolving into a mess of chuckles and smiles. There’s something inexplicably satisfying about the glimmer of joyful tears in Kamala’s eyes, turned to crystals by the candlelight. Making Kamala laugh feels like something that could become a hobby, and for once it’s the kind she could gladly spend hours practicing.

It’s a strange thought – Eugenia quickly shakes it out of her head, and gives Kamala another smile, forcing herself to ignore the heavy mood of dusk cloaked in silence.

“I told you it would be fun! I learnt some of these steps with Anna – my cousin. She dances with women frequently. You must have seen, she’s quite difficult to miss.”

Frantic rambling is her strong forte, and seems like a good way of brightening up the mood - and Anna is a topic as good as any.

Or maybe she isn’t, because Ariadne tenses and averts her gaze.

“I do know how effervescent Anna is. In fact...” Suddenly pulling away, Kamala fumbles with the rim of her sleeve.

“Genie, I-. I feel like perhaps I ought not to tell you this, but I trust you can keep it to yourself, and, well, Anna’s lifestyle is hardly a secret-”

“You want to tell me something about Anna? My cousin Anna? What does-” Eugenia stops then, feeling her eyes widen.

Oh.

“By the Angel. So that’s why you- Charles- I mean- Oh dear, Matthew would be so surprised-” Kamala stills then, withdrawing even further, and Eugenia realizes her mistake immediately.

“Oh, no, please, do not worry! That isn’t what I- I mean, I would never tell him. I won’t tell a soul, you can be sure of that. It’s simply – he couldn’t understand your engagement to Charles, and I knew there was more to the story. Now it all makes sense.”

Kamala is still eyeing her somewhat cautiously, and then finally asks, because for some reason it’s not obvious for her.

“Are you alright with that?”

Eugenia scoffs before she can stop herself, and then lets her hands fall on Kamala’s shoulders, forcing her to meet her eyes.

“Of course I am. I do not understand, in fact, why people would be against it, although I realize that’s very much a common occurrence.”

Kamala stares at the floor. Her voice is bitter when she speaks again, and quiet, resigned to a degree Eugenia never heard from her before.

“You’re ruined for falling for a man, and I would be for being with a woman. It is a game you cannot win; no matter what you do.”

She’s right, Eugenia knows she is. No matter how badly her instincts itch to offer some comfort, she cannot bring herself to lie.

Kamala clears her throat then, and straightens up, the armour of a regal posture back in place.

“I didn’t intend to put you in a sour mood. I simply... needed to be honest with you.”

There’s something about her tone now, the intentional way she speaks those words, that confuses Eugenia, but it’s far too elusive to grasp. So she takes Kamala by the arm and leads them back to the tea room. Maybe it’s a shock of that revelation, but her heart beats rather frantically in her chest as they walk in silence. Despite trying, questions arise in her throat, and finally, she breaks the silence.

“Well then. You and Anna?”

“That’s a thing of the past, I promise. It... It wasn’t pretty, the way it ended. Anna probably never mentions it.”

Eugenia frowns.

“You do not have to explain yourself. It wouldn’t bother me if you were somehow still engaged with my cousin.”

Except, when she thinks about it, it does. Bother her. A little. It is an unwelcome thought, one she plans on facing later on, because she does not have a problem with Kamala loving women like that, and she’ll be damned if she hurts her by accidently suggesting that she does.

Later, though. There are more pressing matters at hand now. It wasn’t pretty. There’s something about the way Kamala winces when she says that that has her wanting to sit her in a chair by a fire and prepare a warm beverage - her mother says tea is good for a broken heart.

“I can’t help but wonder, I suppose. Did your parents- Do they-?”

“They don’t know, if that’s what you’re asking. I’m a Desi girl in London raised by British parents - that’s enough of an anomaly."

"Oh. I thought Shadowhunters didn’t pay much attention to skin colour?”

Kamala sighs, like she’s tired jut by the prospect of the answer. “Not as much as mundanes, sure. But they do care, Genie. They might respect other Shadowhunters – especially from Asia - but they’re seen as Others. Different. Fine to visit and be visited by, but temporarily and on neutral ground. Fine as a part of another, faraway world, or as long as they can blend in with this one. Other than that... I’m a crack in their world as it is, Genie. They can still squint and pretend not to notice. But living like Anna does... That would fracture it irreperably.”

It feels so wrong, it inspires in Eugenia a sudden urge to protest, as if denying it would somehow help. My family would never. Mother always said- But it’s not about her family, is it? And it’s not like they aren’t part of the Enclave either, depsite everything.

“That is.... terrrible." She’s a little at loss for words here – none can make any of this better. “I am so sorry. I assume, if they didn’t know- Who- I mean, was there anyone you could talk to? You must have had quite the blue devils, afterwards.“

“Oh.”

Kamala blinks. “Yes, I- It- It was difficult, but I learnt to manage on my own. It’s inevitable when you live with secrets like this – hiding becomes your second skin.”

III.

your touch brought forth an incandescent glow

tarnished but so grand

She reassesses her reflection again, white lace and beads lining the cleavage of a pretty peach dress gifted by aunt Tessa upon her return to London. Normally, it would feel like charity, but this is different. It’s family, not any less so for the lack of blood bonds between them. And judging by the fond look on her mother’s face when she first saw it, it is just as much a heart-warming gesture towards Eugenia, as it is a testimony of years long friendship between the two of them. It’s almost as if the fabric itself was laced with love - it will undoubtedly bring much needed comfort during the night’s party.

Or rather, “an event filled with so much artificial behaviour we could well be meeting at a theatre”, as Kamala put it in her last letter. Sure enough, despite the widespread joy at defeating Belial, political tensions are higher than ever, and Kamala is very much aware half of her father’s guests that night will be there only to maintain appearances. While they both understand it’s warranted, it won’t make for a pleasant environment.

The topic made its way into most of their recent letters – which there are plenty of, since they have started a regular correspondence that has Eugenia racing barefoot down the stairs first thing in the morning, her mother noting her lack of proper attire with a fond shake of her head. There is no use denying how much the letters excite her.

Still, it doesn’t even come close to the joy she felt at the prospect of seeing Kamala in person – between her parents’ busy schedule and Eugenia spending some overdue time with her brother, they haven’t had many occasions for that lately, and whenever those happened, something felt a little off between them. Eugenia would worry, if those moments weren’t soon followed by correspondence, as fond as ever, filling her heart with overwhelming joy.

So she tells herself she is just imagining things. Maybe she grew so fearful of tragedies she is seeing their signs everywhere, without a reason.

***************

The man she’s dancing with is being obnoxiously touchy, the girls in the corner most decisively talking about them - and her eyes automatically drift to Kamala. As usual, she's like a lighthouse amongst the waves of hostile whispers and not at all subtle stares.

Also, the most beautiful girl in the room. Not that there’s anything surprising about it, really, but it still tends to catch Eugenia off guard. The pink gown Kamala is wearing is heavily embroidered with flowers, both at the bodice and the bottom of the skirt, and as she swirls through the ballroom, Eugenia is almost sure she notices pearls sewn into the pattern. Matching pearls rest between her collarbones, a contrast to her deep brown skin – skin that's always soft and warm to the touch.

Yet it all fades to nothing once she catches Eugenia’s eyes and smiles at her. For a moment, it’s almost paralysing, and then a familiar spark of excitement fills her. It’s always there when she thinks of Kamala, but right now, with the memories of the last time they danced in this ballroom springing into her mind, the feeling’s so intense, it borders on... nervousness.

Which makes no sense, because Kamala has become her safe heaven, the one person she feels most at ease with. She reaches for the memories to feel that comfort again, but it’s not quite what she finds there.

They are instead laced with an unfamiliar desire to repeat that day, a vivid memory of Kamala’s playful eyes, their dancing silhouettes almost merging together on the wall, the soft touch of hands. She feels her cheeks flush when she realizes which parts of that evening she particularly misses, but before she can fully comprehend her own thoughts, the dance ends, and a voice startles her out them.

“Would you like some fizz?”

It’s Kamala. She’s standing next to her, two glasses in hands, a searching look on her face. Eugenia almost winces under this scrutiny, afraid it’ll reveal the cause of mysterious sensation currently plaguing her sooner than she herself can decipher it.

A frantic shake of her head seems to be enough to make Kamala abandon the sparkling drinks and draw even closer, hooking an arm around her elbow.

She shivers slightly, even though, despite the late winter, the room is well heated.

“Walk with me.”

Kamala’s voice is almost a whisper in her ears, dulled by the sound of her quickened heartbeat. She’s tugging her gently towards somewhere. Somewhere, hopefully, with less people, and less noise, where breathing comes easier.

The ballroom is a blur on the way outside, and only when panelled walls are replaced with the greenery of the winter garden, the world around Eugenia seems to come back into focus. Kamala releases her hold on Eugenia’s arm in favour of softly putting her hands on the sides of her head. The stars peeking behind the plants around them make her look almost ethereal, which is. By the Angel. Not. Helping.

“Breathe. In and out. What’s wrong?”

It’s a good question, and Eugenia wishes she could have a good answer for it. Or, if she’s being honest, any answer. The deep breaths are barely helping, so she glances at her feet, struggling through her panic to compose an answer.

“I-… I think I might be, uhm.”

Like you, though not quite. Desperate to dance with you more often. Longing to touch you the way people accuse me of being touched by Augustus. Falling in love with you.

None of these responses make it out of her lips. What does is a confused whine, a pathetic attempt at expressing thoughts bubbling inside her mind. Because she’s never felt this way before, and if it all means what her overwhelmed brain tries to tell her it does, she’s scared. Maybe that’s why these thoughts have been kept at bay until know.

But, she realizes, they’re not new. Through wild late-night thoughts scribbled inside letters, knowing smiles across ballrooms, and lingering hugs that occupied her thoughts long after they ended, it’s all coming together. Looking back, that suspicion now ringing in her heartbeat has been there for a long time, forced under the surface of conscious thought by fear and fear alone. And here, under a shadow of a linden tree just outside a ballroom, the fear’s finally out in the open. She refuses to let it beat her - them – she has an inkling of a suspicion that all this refers to a plural, that it always had.

As in response, Kamala takes a step closer, the fabrics of their dresses rustling against each other. Her hand circles Eugenia's waist, and her whole body seems to be burning from the touch - she realizes the shivers earlier had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with Kamala's intent gaze on her. Her brain supplies a vague memory of that first day, thinking of the fire inside Kamala, that she only got a glimpse at and yet was mesmerized by from the start. She's only know realizing just how close she longed to get to it.

“Genie.”

She can feel the shift between them, a buzzing feeling sparking to life in her at the sound of Kamala’s voice, her tone – once she’s never heard before, low and desperate.

It’s that pleading note that has her lifting her eyes, meeting the dark gaze she knows so well. There’s something new there, though, something both firm and delicate, that draws her in, and she leans even closer, her hand coming up to Kamala’s face.

Before she knows it, her lips are parting under the soft touch of Kamala’s, and they’re kissing, slow and a little awkward at first. It takes her a moment to find the rhythm and angle that’s comfortable, and she draws closer yet in the process, losing herself in Kamala’s embrace until their bodies are pressed so tightly together, she feels as if they were sharing a heartbeat.

Her hands are moving now, cradling Kamala’s cheek and neck, slipping into her hair, messing up the careful updo with delirious satisfaction. The kiss is still gentle, but more rushed, like they’re both desperate for more.

Just as she thinks that, the sensation is gone, and she chases Kamala’s touch when it vanishes from her lips.

“Wait.”

Kamala is panting, and Eugenia reluctantly opens her eyes, letting the outside world back in. The sounds of the party cut through her mind alongside it, a reminder of exactly where they are, and why this is an absolutely terrible idea. Still, she doesn’t take her hands away from Kamala, just moves them to her neck instead, one thumb resting against her collarbone. She’s quite pleased that Kamala’s hands have also stayed on her waist, relaxing just enough to put a little space between them.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this.” Kamala murmurs with a soft smile.

“In fairness, I have no idea how long I’ve been wanting to do this, so I suppose I couldn’t be expected to so much as guess your thoughts. I am not exactly capable of thinking clearly in your presence.”

It’s a ridiculous statement, and she’s rambling, but Kamala only laughs at that, which in turn means Eugenia cannot quite stop her own lips from curving into a smile. It seems she’s not entirely in control of her own faculties - the way Kamala’s eyes shine in the moonlight causes her heart to skip a bit and her mind to feel both too loud and blissfully blank.

Kamala rests her forehead against Eugenia with a contented sigh, which somehow allows her to finally take a breath. For the first moment this night, it’s rid of tension.

“Would you like to continue this somewhere... less exposed?”

Eugenia grins at her. She’s not exactly sure what "this" entails, but if she’s being honest, she’s more than keen to find out.

****************

They sneak through the house as quietly as possible, Kamala stepping into the ballroom just long enough to ask Grace and Alastair to cover up their disappearance. Despite her usually nonchalant demeanour, it’s obvious that Grace will do anything for Kamala – quite literally, which is why they agree Alastair takes on the role of her impulse control.

Eugenia is trying her best to remain patient, but it’s a losing battle – as soon as Kamala re-emerges from the ballroom, she’s all but dragging her away.

Once the doors of Kamala’s bedroom close behind them, Eugenia presses her against them, crushing their lips together. She’s already missed this. The softness and heat of it, the delightful feeling of being so close to each other.

She draws away after a moment, lets herself finally breathe, knowing Kamala is here, in her arms, and not going anywhere. For a moment they just stare at each other, and then Kamala reaches out to stroke her face gently, a reverent gleam in her eyes.

“I didn’t dare to hope that you could possibly share my feelings.” She says in a whisper.

“I still cannot wrap my head around you wanting me, too.”

Kamala chuckles at that, and says, with a fond shake of her head:

“Dearest, you’ve occupied my heart and thoughts ever since we first met. I’ve long given up hope that it could be reciprocated.”

“It is. Kami, I- It's scaring me how deeply I’m attached to you, after such a short time, but it’s no use denying it, I suppose. I’m all yours. I have been for far longer than I can actually recall.”

Kamala’s hands fall back to her waist then, and pull her closer, until they’re barely a breath away.

“I really want to kiss you again.”

In lieu of a reply, Eugenia just surges towards her, bringing their lips together. This time when her hands go around Kamala’s neck, she doesn’t stop them from pulling out hairpins and letting thick strands fall down. They feel like silk when she curls them around her fingers, just as she's dreamed of doing for weeks.

The restless sensation from before is back, urging her to take more, get even closer, though she’s not quite sure how.

Her body seems to have some ideas though, so she stops thinking and lets the instinct take control, hands moving on their own accord. Her fingers swipe at the pearls on Kamala’s collarbone, and then move to take them off.

As soon as they are free again, they drift back up, the now exposed collarbone burning under the touch. The kiss deepens then, and when Kamala slips her tongue into her mouth, Eugenia’s almost sure her knees are about to give way.

But before they do, Kamala pulls away, just briefly.

“How far do you want to go?”

Oh.

“I’ve never... I’ve never been with anyone, like this. But I want everything.”

The confession makes Kamala close her eyes for a brief moment. When they open, they look impossibly darker, any hesitation gone and replaced with a decisive spark. She leans in and Eugenia closes her eyes, anticipating a kiss, except-

Except the featherlight touch of Kamala’s lips lands on her neck instead, and then continues up to her ear, a trail of heat that spreads through her body.

By the Angel.

She shudders when she feels a ghost of a breath on her ear, followed by a whisper.

“If you want to stop at any time, just tell me.”

She’s past words now, but she nods frantically, hoping it gets the message across. Judging by the fact that the kisses are resumed, it does, so she lets her hands go back to roaming Kamala’s body, bolder now.

She has never appreciated the current fashion this much, she thinks, as her finger trails down Kamala’s neck and along the hem of her dress, the fabric thin enough to let her nails dig lightly into the skin underneath. It earns her a moan, and she grins, a burst of satisfaction cursing through her veins.

Then Kamala’s grip on her waist tightens, hand sliding down, and she was wrong before – for all she cares, the gowns don’t matter at all. In fact, they would be better off on the floor – which, it occurs to her, is only a matter of time.

The thought is making her a little dizzy, so when the top of her dress is off, she’s relieved to sink to the bed, hands never leaving Kamala’s body. She’s trying to follow Kamala’s lead, but even though she’s taken off countless gowns in her life, now her fingers tremble at the fastening. It finally gives way just as she’s about to rip it off. The corset, pads, petticoats – why on Earth are there so many elements? – consequently fall to floor.

It’s only then that she stops for a moment, taking in the sight - Kamala smiling down at her in nothing but an elegant chemise. Eugenia reaches out, draws her hand up her shoulder. Touching the soft lace feels like the most devastating thing she’d ever done, and yet, she doesn’t stop there.

Soon Kamala kisses her again, pushing her farther onto the bed, straddling her waist. Her skin seems on fire even through the fabric of the chemise.

Eugenia distantly thinks this night might just turn out to be her downfall, but it doesn’t seem to matter – she’s so, so ready to burn.

IV.

clover blooms in the fields

spring breaks loose, the time is near

what would he do if he found us out?

crescent moon, coast is clear

spring breaks loose, but so does fear

he's gonna burn this house to the ground

Shortly into April, London is graced with a sunny day, so unusual for early spring. Without hesitation, Eugenia arranges for a picnic - after her family decided to replace the forest landscape of Alicante with the gloomy London, she’s started appreciating any opportunity to be out in nature. Picnics however, have always had a particularly special place in her heart, warranted by the fond memories of family outings in her early childhood.

Nothing can bring back that particular joy, the vibrant colour of those carefree days when her family was still whole, but as she looks at Kamala, seated on a blanket with a bouquet of flowers in her lap, the grass seems almost as green as in her memories.

“He did pick beautiful ones, didn’t he?”

Kamala says as she looks up from her attempts at making a flower crown – it is already looking fantastic, and Eugenia is both amazed and slightly offended at her beloved’s manual skills. The flowers Alastair brought her are indeed beautiful – carefully chosen to match, stems long enough to comfortably weave them together.

“I almost bribed him into making the crowns, but he claims he doesn’t know how to.”

“Liar.” Eugenia says with false outrage. “I am certain Cordelia forced him to make them for her.”

They both know Alastair can, in fact, make flower crowns, just as well as they know he’d rather be found dead than admit it.

She looks over at where him and Thomas are wandering around the park, under the pretence of picking flowers. Their hands brush from time to time, and it’s as close to open affection as they can be granted in public, which makes her smile. Thomas seems happier than she’s ever seen him, his gestures animated, eyes bright, and even though her heart clenches with a reminder of years he spent closing himself off, without her even noticing, she's relieved to see things have changed.

She figured a picnic would be a nice opportunity for the four of them to spend time together outside of the privacy of their homes, as well as a chance to be together in broad daylight. The secluded corner of the park creates a delusion of freedom she desperately wants to immortalize.

Once she’s done with it, Kamala asks her closer and places the flower crown on top of her head, and then lays back to “admire the view”. Eugenia's muscles almost hurt from smiling, which is probably the reason behind her next words falling freely from her mouth.

“If I could make you a crown out of something, it would be stars.”

Kamala chuckles. Her smile’s carefree, the sun playfully dancing in her eyes where it breaks through the tree branches.

“Stars? Dear, I think you’re getting ahead of yourself.”

“But stars suit you.”

“Do they?”

“Yes. They’re as otherworldly beautiful as you are, and they light up the darkness, don’t they?” Eugenia frowns slightly, lost in thought. “Or maybe you’re one of those Greek muses you told me about.”

“Says a girl who’s most certainly a changeling.” Kamala mumbles, though Eugenia supposes it’s just to distract her from the blush creeping up her cheeks.

“You do realize those were regarded as malicious, evil creatures, darling?”

Kamala groans in response and covers her face. “I was aiming for magical and impossible.” It comes out muffled, though not quite as much as the next words. “But malicious? Sounds about right, too.”

She laughs when Eugenia throws a handful of grass at her.

“Alright, alright, I am joking. Well then, which muse am I?”

Eugenia thinks for a moment, recalls the stories. The wind pulls a single strand of ink hair onto Kamala’s face, and that invisible touch seems to relax her features, eyes falling closed.

“The one that inspired the musician.” Eugenia says, quietly, barely aware that she’s staring. The sun seems to be blurring the world around into a kaleidoscopic image, Kamala the only sharp element in its centre. “I’m no musician, but if I was ever to create art, it would be for your sake.”

Kamala smiles and reaches out a hand to squeeze hers.

“Everything you bring into my life is like art, Genie.”

************

The man’s gaze is hungry, falling, again and again, to the rim of Kamala’s cleavage, and some dark part of her recoils at it. She isn’t sure which feeling brewing inside her chest terrifies her more – the bloodthirsty desire to gauge his eyes out, or the burst of satisfaction at knowing he will never get more.

That maybe he has her twirling in his arms, perfectly polite and pliant, but Eugenia is the one that sees the crooked smile that has no place in elegant ballrooms, but comes to life on late night walks through the garden. She is the one whose hands got to untie that corset, let the delicate fabric of the dress fall to the floor. It is a bitter consolation, as it comes with the reminder of the confines of their relationship.

What they have might be bright and strong, but it's always going to be hidden, stolen time and abandoned rooms and garden paths cloaked in shadow.

As they sneak out and stumble into Kamala’s bedroom a few hours later, Eugenia thinks she could learn to live in the shadows, for this.

But there’s an edge to Kamala’s kisses today, an urgency to the words she whispers – they don’t want to separate for long enough to light any candles, so her face is barely visible in the shadows – still, it seems to be wet with tears.

Before Eugenia can comment on it, Kamala curls around her and closes her eyes, and silence envelops them. Sleep comes soon, too soon maybe - and the morning arrives right after.

Kamala wakes up first. Her movement pulls Eugenia from sleep, too, but they remain silent, letting the day crawls inside the room like a gloomy shadow. Their picnic from just days before seems like a faraway dream, and Kamala seems distant, too, extinguished.

She sits up amongst the sheets, and Eugenia shivers at the sudden lack of warmth. Kamala’s silhouette is outlined against the backdrop of the dawn light filling the bedroom, hair sticking wildly in all directions.

Eugenia reaches out, just to touch her warm skin, tracing idle patterns on it in a hopefully relaxing manner.

Kamala exhales slowly, though it somehow makes her posture even more hunched, as if she was trying to disappear under the weight of this tension.

“I’m scared.” She says in a small voice Eugenia almost never hears her use.

“Father is restless lately, and harsher towards me. He knows he lost much of Enclave’s support, and, well - it doesn’t bode well for the upcoming elections. I fear he’s turning his attention to me to gain a sense of control. It’s almost impossible to get out of the house without a proper excuse.”

She’s almost shaking now, but Eugenia thinks it has little to do with goosebumps appearing on her skin. “Thank the Angel for your cousin’s invention, because I wouldn’t even dare send a letter right now.”

The last part comes out breathless, choked, and then it’s like her resolve crumbled completely, body shaking with barely contained sobs. Eugenia props herself on one elbow and reaches to cup her cheek, forcing Kamala to look at her.

“Sweetheart.”

Her gaze shines bright with tears. It’s unsettling how small she looks, how fragile. Eugenia takes one of her hands and brings her down on top of her, hoping a tight embrace will ease the panic somehow, as it usually does to her. However temporary, it’s the only solution at hand. It doesn’t stop the steady flood of words falling from Kamala’s lips – it's not supposed to. She’s only hoping they’ll be less scary if they’re muffled by their embrace.

“What if he sees us? Sees me leaving, sneaking out, getting back late at night? Genie, he would never forgive me – I-, I heard what he was saying about Anna. That they should send her off to the Iron Labyrinth, that she’s corrupting our youth. He would send me away in a heartbeat.”

Eugenia bites her lip until it draws blood, trying to keep herself from saying false, worthless contradictions. In the following silence, her grip might be becoming too tight, but if the way Kamala clings to her is any indication, she supposes neither of them minds.

After Augustus, she thought the only way to survive going forward would be to harden her heart, to build walls around it that could never let anyone in.

Yet Kamala found a way to creep inside, slowly but surely warming the cold stone, reminding her hearts aren’t meant for imprisonment.

So she holds on, strokes her hair gently, murmuring reassurance mixed with nonsense, until it all turns into three words she’d been holding back from saying, but she knows are present in her every move and thought.

They deserve to be said out loud – Kamala deserves to hear them. Somehow, that’s enough to finally make them come out of her lips.

“I love you.”

It’s barely a whisper, and yet it seems to echo through a suddenly quiet room.

Kamala stills for a second.

“You do?”

“Yes. I am not saying that in order to bribe you into promises.” Promises aren’t something they can afford, both as Shadowhunters and as what they are together. “But I want you to know that, here and now and for as long as can – I love you.”

Kamala shifts to face her, eyes still red-rimmed, though almost obscured from view with the mess of tangled hair. Eugenia reaches out to brush it away, heart breaking at the sight.

“i love you, too. Despite all the obstacles we face, it sometimes seems like I’m far too lucky to know you, yet alone love you." She smiles sadly. "Maybe that’s why we cannot have more – it would be too much.”

Eugenia’s distantly aware she’s also crying now.

“We deserve that, my love. We deserve everything the world doesn’t want to grant us.”

She plants a kiss on Kamala’s forehead, and then draws her close again, until Kamala’s nuzzling her neck, and for a moment, everything seems almost at her fingertips.

my pain fits in the palm of your freezing hand

taking mine, but it's been promised to another

(…) I'd live and die for moments that we stole

on begged and borrowed time

so tell me to run

or dare to sit and watch what we'll become

and drink my husband's wine

For once, Kamala is genuinely happy during a dance, undoubtedly because of her dancing partner. Alastair himself seems to scowl less than usual, too, and Eugenia almost wants to laugh at the number of stares they’re earning – of jealousy, desire, and both mixed together. God, if they only knew.

But they won’t.

No one will ever know. The thought is like a pang in her chest – why is it that she could not be seen at Kamala's arm, why would that cause people to stare? Who decides it’s fine for Alastair to hold her while dancing, but Eugenia's love is an anomally?

Those same people who decided Augustus damaged you, a voice in her head whispers, and she knows it’s right. It’s no longer something she can ignore, part of her growing more and more desperate to rebel against it.

“They’re a sight, aren’t they?” Thomas’s voice brings her back to the present moment. The soft, almost reverent look in his eyes is still new to her – he rarely lets it show in public, and even when they're in a small group, her brother seems to shy away from making his love visible.

"Indeed they are. And to think we managed to be so lucky despite father's genes."

Thomas laughs at her.

"He did end up with mum, even after his questionable advances, so maybe we're just as lucky as he is."

***********

As agreed, she finds herself at the balcony halfway through the party, almost vibrating with the need to have Kamala close again, for just one moment throughout the whole evening of pretending.

But the moment she sees Kamala's face, her heart sinks, and she freezes at the spot. There's a juvenile urge in her brain to run away, to cover her ears with her hands and scream stubbornly, anything not to hear whatever news have Kamala looking like that. Her usually proud stance is crooked, uncertain, as if she was hunching under a weight of the upcoming conversation.

As, practically against her own will, she takes a few steps forward, everything in her recoils. It's almost too familiar a feeling, the dreadful anticipation, so much so that she realizes she's shaking only when Kamala's hands reach to grasp hers.

“Genie.”

Her eyes glisten.

No.

No, no, no. Not yet. She wants to protest, draw it out, as if this way she can keep reality at bay, like a too early wake up call. Wants to pull the duvet over her head and sink into the blissful warmth of obliviousness, to be dragged from under there kicking and screaming.

Instead, she meets Kamala's eyes, and, for once, it doesn’t bring her comfort. It’s a sharp feeling, sharper yet for the steady blow of realisation spreading through her veins. She finds her voice, somehow, despite the numbness that follows.

“Which one?”

They’ve been through this. Hours of dissecting the potential suitors, exchanging gossip they managed to collect. Sometimes it lead to emptying wine bottles with their friends and laughing hysterically at their attempts to lighten up the mood with ridiculous jokes.

More often than not, in tears and whispered confessions, messy kisses, and increasingly desperate ideas for a way out. But there was no escaping it – Kamala's father had strictly demanded she be married off, and they both knew nothing could be done about it.

“Frederick. We just talked, and he already has an agreement with father."

Eugenia closes her eyes and inhales sharply.

There.

Finally, a name for the fear that accompanied them throughout all this, her nightmares personified at last.

Kamala walks over to the balustrade, her gaze set on the lights of the city in the distance – a landscape that became their comfort, the symbol of a safe heaven. Now not even the night can provide cover - they're out of places to hide.

Kamala takes a deep breath, its shaky quality betraying the tears not visible in the darkness, and continues, quietly.

“We have decided to move to Idris after the wedding. I convinced him that London holds too many memories. It wasn’t a lie, exactly – I just didn’t mean what he thought I did. He is under an impression that I want to get away from the horrors of this city.”

She laughs, a bitter sound, so unlike the bright and warm one Eugenia is used to. “I just don’t think I could stand living amongst the ruins of us with someone else.”

“I wish we had more choice. Then I would have chosen differently – I would have chosen you, you must know that. But... I need to choose myself first, finally have a chance at being my own person. Running from father and lowering my head will not grant me that freedom. Frederick will. He’s understanding enough, and gentle, and he’ll be a good father-

Eugenia feels the need to say something, to disrupt the shaky stream of words coming from Kamala’s lips before it blows them both away, but she cannot quite force any sound through the tightness in her throat.

“He is quite taken with travelling, too. Promised we would go to India, one day.”

Oh.

“I’m- I’m so glad you will.” It comes out hollow, but deep down, she is. This was a dream for Kamala, and she is truly happy, even if she can’t bring herself to show – or feel - it just now.

“This is it, then?”

“Genie.” Kamala crosses the distance between them in two swift motions. Although they’re hidden from view by the wall, it’s still risky, but Kamala’s hands come to cradle her face. Her touch is featherlight, but suddenly Eugenia’s not sure she can stand without it.

“You must know.” Kamala is so close she feels the words more than hears them, the sound barely audible.

“I know.” she says, voice breaking at the small phrase. “By the angel, I know.”

A tear falls from her eye along with that last word. Because it’s true, and that’s probably what makes it so much worse. She knows this isn’t a choice either of them wanted to make. She knows they are worth fighting for, but the dice is loaded, as it's always been.

The only choice they really have is whether or not to destroy themselves in the battle for the impossible. And maybe, if it was just her, she’d risk it, the angry creature inside her mind is already longing to be set free. But if there’s anything she dreads more than losing Kamala, it’s seeing her defeated, surrendered, having lost herself – that is too great a cost.

Kamala plants a kiss on her hair, and then leans her forehead against hers, and Eugenia can’t tell if her hands are shaking or if she is, but the world itself seems to be tilted, perhaps permanently.

Yet the chatter and music inside go on, insusceptible to their pain.

“I’ll come tonight, if you want me to. To- to say goodbye.”

*************

Both of their necks will be covered in bruises by the morning, and for once, it doesn't matter how they'll cover it. Nothing matters, except for the sloppy kisses that taste of salt, and half-delirious words of love falling between them.

The room seems to be out of reach of the passing time, seconds ticked off only by Kamala’s fingers stroking her skin. She bites her lip when she realizes the touch paints a symbol of a marriage rune, over and over, above her heart. Her mind suggest a silly idea of having the fingers replaced by a stele, but instead, they go away.

Don’t go, she wants to say. Just a moment longer. But she's aware, the need for one more moment won’t ever vanish. They have always been on borrowed time, and much like a dawn sharply forcing them apart in the morning, that time ends at last.

She’s always known Kamala was the stronger of them two – apparently enough so to turn at the doorstep and vanish into the London night without ever glancing back. It’s easier this way.

She must get back inside, because soon she’s amongst well known walls, feet carrying her to the bedroom upstairs, to the safety of soft sheets and closed doors. It’s the same path, the same escape route she took after last time, except then, she wished for solace.

Now it overwhelms her.

She slumps to the bed and buries her nose in the sheets, inhaling the faint notes of jasmine still present there. It will fade away completely, soon, she knows, so she scrambles to pull the sheets closer, to wrap herself in them, immortalize the scent somehow. But they’re cold and slipping through her fingers, and no matter how frantically she tugs at them, the fabric falls around her – empty and lifeless.

“Genie.” Her mother’s voice cuts through the deafening silence in her head, and she realizes she’s shaking.

“Oh, a stór.” There are arms around her, and she is full-on sobbing now, a raw and striking sound.

The room echoes it like a botomless well, and she's falling inside it.

Kamala grew inside her, like ivy covering the frame of her bones, and now the stems wither, leaving barren dirt in their wake. She needs to learn to grow around the empty space left by her absence, and hope the memories will be enough to fill the blanks, to still have those spaces belong to Kamala without suffering the hollowness of them. She’s not sure she’s up to the task.

+ I

and the old widow goes to the stone every day

but I don't, I just sit here and wait

grieving for the living

It’s a late summer wedding.

And it’s beautiful, the Accord’s Hall decorated richly with heaps of flowers, beige and dark yellow and literally sparkling gold, because that is apparently what people do, when they have a fortune to spend and a convenient ability to forget, even for a moment, about their disdain for the Downworld. Anyone who could afford an invitation and money to come is here, and Eugenia badly wishes she wasn’t - she only came here at Kamala’s request.

The Enclave is eager to wipe away the terror of the past few months with a celebration, and what better reason for it than seeing the Inquisitor’s daughter happily married, a personal new beginning marking the new era for them all. The man himself seems momentarily forgotten, in favour of much needed hope. Some are already talking about babies, a generation to fill in the blanks in their orders – it makes Eugenia sick in so many ways, she’s desperately clutching at the fine silk of her dress to keep her hands from shaking.

Fantastic timing. What a joy. Beautiful match.

Whenever a piece of conversation reaches her, her lungs tighten, and soon enough she finds she’s barely breathing. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe, despite Kamala’s pleas, she should have never come here.

But how could she have said no?

The letter was a surprise, and it stung. After so many weeks of reaching for Kamala and finding empty spaces, of them slipping through her fingers, it brought back a barely deserted feeling of anticipation, and a following disappointment. A phantom feeling of looking for the pen, hand stopping at the door handle, leaving the window open.

A reminder that there were still things she wanted to tell Kamala.

But that is the issue, isn't it. There will always be things she will want to tell her. They’ll die on her tongue, a flower deprived of a chance to bloom, turning to ash and leaving the bitter taste on her lips.

The ceremony seems to drag for forever - Thomas grabs her hand at one point, and only then she realises she almost tore her dress with nervous tgging. Then her brother pulls out a line of wooden beads from his pocket and discreetly hands it to her, and she starts to run her fingers over them, hidden in the safety of her family seated around.

It feels like mockery, the gentle way sun dances on flower petals around her, reminiscent of the spring day a reality ago. People smile, and music fills the hall, and she closes her eyes when Frederick kisses Kamala, and somehow, then, it's over.

Or, at least, part of it is.

It's easier to blend in and let her thoughts float away during the reception. Thomas, Alastair and Grace take turns keeping her company, suggesting a glass of water or a walk when she needs it, making sure it's somehow bearable.

Until, of course, the first dance.

Frederick and Kamala command the attention of the entire room, though it's difficult to tell whether it's because of their role this evening, or Kamala's breathtaking appareance. Frederick seems enchanted by it, just as everyone else, and Eugenia cannot even blame him.

He leads Kamala onto the centre of the damcefloor as the music fills the room.

She wonders if, in another life, in a different world maybe, this could be them.

She wonders whether the universe would ever let their paths not just cross, but intertwine.

She wonders, as Frederick places his hand on Kamala's waist, if he'll take to kissing the beauty mark hidden underneath the fabric there in the mornings, discover that it's the one spot that makes Kamala ticklish, marvel at the laugh it can draw out of her.

She wonders if there will be anything left of her heart if she watches this until the end.

She turns at the door, because if Kamala's Eurydice, they've already lost, maybe that day when she first turned at the sound of her voice, and now she can only do that, watch as they're pulled apart. Their eyes meet through the crowd, the smallest liminal moment between having and losing, and she knows they’ll always belong to each other more than to any other person, no matter what the society or runes on their body will say about that.

It would be hilarious that the balcony is the only available sanctuary, but there she stands, in the warm August evening, facing away from the lights of the inside, and she's far from wanting to laugh.

"Genie?" Thomas's voice, so careful.

Again, they're careful and holding their breaths, and she hates that she actually needs it.

"Please don’t."

She can feel him opening his mouth to protest, but her misery must be showing, because he stops.

Instead, a moment later she glimpses his arms on the railing next to her. Silent, unmoving, just a steady presence.

She’s staring stubbornly into space, trying not to see the damned stars. The same stars that were once enhanced by Kamala’s smile.

Now their comforting quality is lost, the light sharp instead, cutting through her consciousness with unwelcome reminders of distance.

She remembers when she was still a child, and dreamt of picking up a star straight from the sky, of racing up the tall tower of Alicante, convinced she’ll be right amongst them, able to touch their bright light. The following, crushing realization that they’re impossibly far, even though her eyes fooled her into believing they’re right there.

“Will they ever feel just like stars again?”

Her own voice sounds foreign to her ears, so small and pained. It hadn’t sounded this way since Barbara.

“It feels like I’m constantly tripping on the debris of what we had, what we were. Yet I cannot decide what scares me more: living amongst the memories or losing them altogether. I never- I never thought you can miss someone who’s in the same room as you. And yet I miss her so terribly.”

She feels a tear run down her cheek as Thomas’s arms go around her.

Her hand moves to her collarbone, stroking the skin just underneath it, but she knows there’s nothing there. The marriage rune Kamala’s touch painted on her skin was as impermanent as the moment it belonged to.

************

"Is she... How is she?"

It’s a silent agreement that Alastair talks about Kamala whenever they meet in public, and she asks all the burning questions when he visits Thomas. Though, in fairness, it’s usually just one question – Alastair knows there’s more hidden behind it. He answers them all, and shakes his hand when she attempts to thank him with a shaky smile.

“It’s the least I can do, Genie.”

The honeymoon is a grace period, nothing more. Neither of them will be able to keep from running across each other forever – and frankly, Eugenia doesn’t think she would want to. But she’s woefully unprepared to navigate this, to handle this new uncharted land - terrified of tumbling through the hollow places she used to confidently step on.

“You’ll learn to be happy.” People around her say, as if it helps.

She knows she will. She learnt to laugh again, after Barbara, and smile, with genuine joy, but so many times those laughs were cut too short by the absence around, her head stopped halfway in turning to share the joke with her sister. She is tired of that, of the ghosts living in her heart.

They're haunting all her days, random moments that catch her off guard.

She finds herself eyeing the window at nights, opening up her mouth to buy a bouqet of roses, reaching for a quill when she’s woken up from an absurd dream.

There's one way she can imagine capturing those ghosts, banishing them away from her mind, if only for a moment. And so paper becomes her most loyal confidant.

***********

There is a space in my mind, a desolate place far away from all others, where we still happen. I wake you up with a kiss, you groan and ask if we can’t linger for a moment, and I say we can, because there is not a single reality in which I can refuse you. And then your arms come around me and you tug me close, and we’re content to stay like that until the day truly needs us to rise.

It all happens in a nondescript room that belongs to us, whose only characteristics are that it’s filled with you - the jasmine scent of your perfume forever plastered to the sheets, your favourite book of poetry constantly moved from nightstand to the desk and back again, the embroidery you decided to finish for me, because the uneven lines were giving you a heart attack, proudly hanging above the dresser.

You push me into a lake in summer, because you want to see my dress clinging to my body, and when you say just that I blush terribly, and drag you to some place under trees, hidden from view, when I can get lost in your touch. It's autumn and we go for a walk, and somehow it’s not the sun that’s painting the park golden, but your hand carefully clutching mine.

We get to visit India, just as you dreamed, and you get to rediscover yourself through the past, and I get to be by your side. You teach me hindi as you recall what you remember of it.

But no. It’s August and there’s someone else who hears you talk about your day, and I sit at the desk alone, miserable.

I wonder, wonder, wonder... All of this wondering has your face.

“What is this?” Thomas asks on one of the quiet evenings of early autumn.

“Nothing.”

He moves closer to the desk, eyeing the paper.

“Is it to Kam-”

“No.” The speed of the answer is enough of a betrayal, so she rushes to explain.

“That is- yes, it is to her, but it won’t be sent. I haven’t even written it with such intention - I simply longed to let it out somehow, all those thoughts, without burdening her further.”

“Genie-”

“Don’t.” She shakes her head, once, then again, too preocuppied with keeping the tears at bay to manage a longer response. When she finally does it, it’s a simple truth she refused to acknowledge all this time.

“I should have known better, Tom. I got ahead of myself, and painted pictures of a future we would never get to have, and now the dreams I have to bury are threatening to pull me underneath and- And it’s all my own fault.”

It’s there again, a flickering moment of doubt – would she be better off if this never happened? Happier, if they were only ever friends who didn’t wish to have what the world deems forbidden, but what made her heart sing? Would she had one less heartbreak to add to the growing collection if Kamala didn't somehow, impossibly, look at her and found someone worthy of adoration?

But deep down, she knows the answer. It was worth it.

It’s just the rule of life, she thinks.

Sometimes wanting more leaves you with less.

tag list (lmk to be tagged/removed): @thefoxandthefound @andreils-bitch @mariflorenceisabella @chaos-and-starlight @ohcoolnice @alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer @monalo4 @stxr-thxif @shadowqueendiangelo @annabeth-clace @jennyleedream @life-through-the-eyes-of @sapphic-in @yozinha-z @pastwhereourfeetcouldtouch @wannabe-warlock @littlx-songbxrd @hidethebreakables @writeforjordelia @cant-think-of-anything @time-is-the-stuff-of-dreams

#the last hours #tlh #eugenia lightwood #kamala joshi #ariadne bridgestock #shadowhunters #the shadowhunter chronicles #alastair carstairs #thomas lightwood #tlh fanfic #tlh fanfiction #tsc fanfiction

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ahatintimepieces · 3 years

Text

Fabric Hearts

Remember the first part of that build-a-bear au I wrote for @smieska-draws? It’s back! But now the au name makes sense! Imagine!

Luka, known as the Snatcher to most of the mall locals, runs the Kraft-a-Kid while his daughter, Hattie, runs around with her friends. There’s definitely nothing suspicious about Luka. The rumors that he snatches the souls of children and stuffs them into the dolls are completely unfounded. Probably. Most likely. Don’t worry about it, I’m sure it’s fine.

This is, of course, another au that Smieska and I both developed and like to swap ideas for SO send her your love and adulation because I couldn’t have written this without her ;o; <333 Here’s the link to the piece she did for first part if you haven’t seen it yet (which u should because it’s fabulous and incredible). Without further ado, here it is!

Words: 4,131

The door squeaked open as Luka recorded the number of tiny, elastic collars with bright bells in the back.

“Dimitri can’t make it today,” he warned without looking up from his clipboard. His golden gaze flickered up towards the boxes filled with cotton stuffing and he quickly counted them as footsteps approached. “If you get a sudden influx of customers, come grab me.”

“It’s me, Dad,” Hattie’s voice came from right beside him.

“Did I stutter?” He glanced down without missing a beat. She gave him a deadpan stare as he grinned. His sharp canines glinted in the unnaturally bright florescent lights. “Come on, kiddo. How about you help me with my business endeavors instead of frittering away your summer romping around the mall?”

She readjusted the brim of the top hat she made from her millinery lessons at the fabric store. Why his child fixated on hat-making out of everything she could have taken an interest in was beyond him but even he had to admit her royal purple top hat was well crafted.

“I’m going with Belle and the others to get lunch at the food court,” she said, ignoring his jesting. “Can I have money?”

“You know if you had a job you wouldn’t need to be asking me,” he lamented dramatically before wedging the clipboard between his arm and side. He reached for his wallet in the back pocket of his slacks.

“I’m not even twelve.” She blinked up at him with large blue eyes. “There are child labor laws.”

“Excellent.” He nodded, opening his wallet. “Don’t let anyone in the mall convince you otherwise. But,” he slipped out a bill and gave her a pointed look, “if you accept this, you have to do me a favor.”

“I already cleaned the bathrooms last weekend,” she whined.

His grin widened.

“Tough luck, kiddo.” He twisted the bill in the air, watching her nose scrunch as she seriously weighed her options. After a second of letting her think that she was going to have to do her least favorite chore, he extended the bill towards her. “Just bring me back a coffee and I’ll consider us even.”

Relief instantly flooded her features as she took the bill.

“I can do that! Your usual?” She headed towards the door.

“That’ll work,” he said, tucking away his wallet and grabbing the clipboard again.

“Thanks, Dad!” she chirped before moving to open the door.

Just as she reached for it, the door swung open, and she stumbled back. Luka immediately dropped the clipboard and slipped behind her with the speed of shadows dodging the light. She smacked into his legs, and he placed a steadying hand on her shoulder as Alex walked in with wide eyes.

“I’m so sorry, kid! I didn’t see you there.” Alex winced, looking from Hattie to Luka’s hard glare.

“I’m fine!” Hattie promised, giving a bright smile until she placed her hand over Luka’s fingers. She jolted and twisted around. “Dad, are you okay? You’re really warm.”

“It is hot in here.” Alex tugged at their collar, wincing.

“The thermostat dial was probably nudged,” Luka dismissed, pulling away and stooping to grab the clipboard. “I’ll take a look.”

“Should I get you water?” Hattie asked.

“I have water. Now go have fun.” He shooed her towards the door. “The sooner you leave the sooner you can run my errand.”

Hattie hesitated but when he returned to his task of recording inventory, he heard her retreating footsteps.

“Sorry,” Alex muttered as they crossed over to the table for the employees. They dropped their backpack before grabbing the light purple apron with their nametag.

“Let’s just be careful with how forcefully we open doors, hm? I don’t want to deal with any workplace liability cases. They’re a pain.” Luka shot the teen a toothy grin. Glancing back down to the clipboard, he added in a more monotone cadence, “Anyway, Dimitri can’t come today, so once Ember leaves, it’ll just be you and me for the rest of the day. If it gets too crowded on the floor and I’m not around, come find me.”

“Right.” They nodded firmly. While wiping back their bangs and smearing the beads of sweat on their brow, they hurried out. Once the door closed behind them and Luka was alone, he let out a sigh.

The flame that had flared when Hattie nearly got hit crackled noisily in his otherwise empty chest. Luka placed one of his pale hands over the flame and counted out the seconds between metered inhales and exhales. The snap and pop of embers faded and when he glanced towards the thermostat, the temperature in the room lowered back to a comfortable range.

Not that he was bothered by the heat, but he didn’t need his employees passing out.

Ember’s shift ended as he got to counting the unstuffed plush shells. As she hung her apron over the hook, she informed him that two separate groups had just entered the store. Luka nodded, finishing his current count before getting ready to help Alex on the floor.

He brushed back his long, spiky hair into a ponytail. Stray strands the color of soot fluttered against his cheek, and he tucked them behind his ear.

They reflected a warm violet when they caught the light.

With his hair as contained as he could manage, he grabbed his own amethyst apron with the Kraft-a-Kid’s signature logo; a stylized baby goat and parent goat waving a friendly greeting. After draping it over his black suit and making sure it didn’t displace his dark purple tie, he tied the apron with nimble fingers, clawed at the tips. He double-checked that the pocket had extra thread and a compact sewing kit before he clipped on his name tag and headed out into the workshop.

Alex snapped their head up from one of the stuffing stations, looking relieved when they spotted Luka rounding the counter. Alex returned their full attention to the small girl and her mother while Luka smiled at the two teens with a younger child hovering by the bins of unstuffed shells by the entrance.

While he didn’t know them personally, he recognized Brooke and her younger sister Hali, who worked (or in Hali’s case just hovered around in the back when not at daycare) at their uncle’s travel agency, and then Makoto, who worked at the jewelry store. Judging from their uniforms, the teens were probably using their breaks to accompany Hali. Since he often heard good things about their work ethic and Hali’s sweet nature from Mari, he assumed he had an easy session ahead. He waved them over.

Brooke and Makoto shared a nervous look while Hali bounded over with a bright smile.

“Why, hello there!” Luka pasted on his most vibrant customer service smile as he lowered onto the seat by the stuffing station. Cotton and soft fibers filled the glass tank decorated to look like hearty trees and branches climbed around the edges. The machine itself matched the lilac walls and brown and bronze gears that decorated them. The bins and shelves that held the merchandise throughout the store were all structured to look like spools of golden thread.

Holding an unstuffed goat with dark brown fuzz and silver horns, Hali shyly smiled up at Luka as Brooke and Makoto slowly joined.

“I see you’ve picked your new friend!” Luka held out his hands and Hali gingerly lowered the flat goat into his palms. “Before we bring them to life, how stuffed do you want them to be?”

“Um?” Hali tilted her head with a blank expression.

“Do you want them to be firm or squishy?” Luka clarified, fitting the goat around the nozzle and getting his foot ready over the pedal.

“Fiwm, pwease!” Hali declared in a cutesy voice.

“Excellent choice!” Luka set to work, pumping the pedal as he filled out the head of the goat plush. The machine roared to life, blowing air and fluff with the force of a vacuum. Though, his ears perked when he caught Brooke and Makoto in an intense discussion as they remained a couple steps back. What he couldn’t hear over the machine, he pieced together easily enough.

He knew the rumors and could guess what was on their mind when they mentioned the Snatcher and stolen souls.

Luka smirked as he pulled his foot from the pedal and the machine hushed.

“Now it’s time for my favorite part.” He beamed, pulling off the firmly stuffed goat and then reaching for a bucket full of small felt hearts. “The soul ceremony! Go ahead and pick the heart that most resonates with you.”

“If it’s just a heart, why is it called a soul ceremony?” Brooke asked, her voice quivering as she pressed closer to Makoto.

Hali, meanwhile, was completely enraptured with picking out the right fabric heart.

“Hearts, souls, same thing, really,” Luka soothed with a toothy grin, giving the teens a considering look.

Makoto’s gaze flickered down to his fangs. She lifted her chin, trying to project an air of confidence. But her furrowed brows wavered.

“Souws awe heawts?” Hali gasped, looking up with awe.

“Absolutely!” Luka kept his voice cheerful, gesturing to the bucket. “It’s what gives your new friend life! I imagine without one, they would feel pretty empty and hollow.” Keeping his chin tilted down, he lifted his eyes towards the teens and lowered his voice just a touch. “Wouldn’t you feel pretty soulless without a heart?”

The two stiffened.

“Pwobabwy!” Hali chirped, completely unaware of their increasing unease. She dug around the hearts and pursed her lips. “How do woo know which heawt is the best?”

“That’s up to you!” Luka bounced effortlessly back into an upbeat cadence. He pinched a heart with a checkerboard pattern in red and white. “The nice thing about these hearts is that they’re blank slates. They’ll be filled with whatever you put into them. But don’t put in too much!” he added with a chuckle. “Wouldn’t want your new friend to be more you than you!”

Brooke squeaked in fright and his grin stretched.

“I wiwl take this one, then!” Hali held up a solid red heart.

“Great! Hold on to it, now.” Luka placed the tub back down. “First, why don’t you rub the heart on your hair so your little buddy will always have soft fur!”

Hali beamed at that and rubbed the fabric heart on her hair. When she pulled it back down, some of the blond strands followed the heart while the strands too far away stuck up from the lingering static.

“Well done! Now, rub it against your funny bone so your friend has a sense of humor.” Luka tapped his elbow when Hali crinkled her nose for a moment. Her eyes lit up in understanding and once the heart was granted good humor, Luka added, “and why don’t you strike a superhero pose, so that your pal will hold courage.”

Hali giggled as she placed her hands on her hips and preened.

“Fantastic. Lastly, I want you to rub the heart between your palms!” Luka motioned for her to mimic him as he demonstrated. “Now, when it’s nice and warm, give it a clap to start its heartbeat!”

The clap resounded through the workshop and the teens jolted behind her.

“That should do it,” Luka praised, holding out his palm. Hali handed the heart over, and he slipped it into the goat, tucking it snuggly away in the cotton and fluff.

He then set to filling out the rest of the plush. Once it was stiff and sturdy, he handed it to her, asking if she was content with it. When he received an enthusiastic nod, he took it back and sealed the hole. He snipped the extra thread with the scissors in his apron and then passed the goat back to Hali.

“Here’s your new friend! Be sure to visit our shop in the back! We have plenty of accessories and outfits for the newest member of your family,” Luka recited the same sales pitch as always. “Once you’re ready, head over to an open kiosk so you can fill out the adoption papers. If you need any help, Alex or I will be overjoyed to assist.”

“Thank woo!” Hali hurried over to the accessories, hugging the goat to her chest.

Luka clasped his hands and turned to the teens. When his gaze flickered to the floppy hooded doll in Makoto’s arms, her embrace tightened.

“Ready?” He motioned for her to hand it over so that he could stuff it.

She looked to Brooke, who shrugged with uncertainty. Makoto stepped forward.

Keeping his tone light, he went through the same script as always. He asked if she wanted the doll to be firm or squishy and, in an effort to loosen her up a bit, offered to add any fun sound boxes or scents to the plush. She remained on edge until he asked about the nametag on her uniform as the machine roared to life again. She explained how her boss liked to give everyone themed nicknames and she was saddled with “Makoneko.” When he asked if she appreciated the nickname, she pointedly rolled her eyes as he removed his foot from the machine pedal again. Her shoulders relaxed when he chuckled.

“Your turn to pick a heart,” Luka twittered in an overly cheerful voice as he held out the bucket.

“Do I have to do the ceremony?” Makoto hesitated, plucking the first heart she saw. Rather than scared, her bored expression mirrored that of many teens who wanted to skip the step.

Perfect.

“I wouldn’t recommend it.” He shrugged casually. “What is a heart without a heartbeat? A soul without a person behind the personality?”

“What?” She faltered, shoulders slowly stiffening again as Brooke’s eyes widened.

“I only mean it’ll be a sorry existence for this little friend.” Luka waved the stubby hands of the purple plush toy. “And you get out what you put in.” Her brows dipped in slight confusion, and he smirked. “You have to at least start its heartbeat. You don’t want to bring a ghost home, do you?”

“Just do the ceremony!” Brooke hissed through clenched teeth.

“F-fine,” Makoto said, slowly lifting the heart to her long black locks. “So, hair for soft fur?”

“Does it look like this one has fur?” Luka gestured to the doll with the yellow spiral in its hood. He scoffed, turning up his nose. “Of course not! No. First, why don’t you rub the heart against your belly so that it’s full of laughter.”

“I thought that was the elbow.” Makoto crinkled her nose. Though she rubbed the heart against her stomach, eager to get it over with.

“There is a difference between telling good jokes and laughing at them, kiddo,” Luka offered with a smirk. “Now, how about you jump up and down a few times? I’m sure your friend would love to share some of your energy.”

“What does that mean?” She jolted.

“Just that exercise keeps the heart healthy,” Luka said placidly.

Her eyes narrowed but she eventually gave a sluggish skip.

“Then, rub it against your ear, so it will always listen.” He smiled brightly, being sure to bare his teeth. Once she complied, he clasped his hands together. “I’m sure you know what to do now! Warm it between your palms and then clap to start the heartbeat!”

She let out the breath that she had been holding, relieved it was finally over. She gave a small clap before passing the heart back. He slipped it into the doll.

“Any names in mind for your friend?” Luka prompted as his foot tapped the pedal.

“I don’t know,” she mumbled curtly, purposefully trying to let the whirling air in the stuffing machine drown out her answer.

“How’s this feel?” he asked a few seconds later when the machine hushed again. He pulled the doll from the nozzle and passed it back to her.

“Good.” She returned it after assessing the squishiness.

“If you haven’t got any names, I always thought these particular dolls looked like minions,” he prattled, closing the seam. When she didn’t respond, he continued lightly, “so Minion might be a good name.” He glanced up to meet her gaze and lowered his tone. “You did make sure it’ll listen. It’ll be an obedient little kiddo.”

Her breath hitched.

“Obedient to who?” she challenged, maintaining a fragile glare.

“All done!” Luka snapped upright after snipping the excess thread, pretending he hadn’t heard her question. “Welcome your friend into the world!”

Makoto accepted the doll, her gaze flickering between it and Luka with uncertainty.

“Same as always,” he droned in his peppy, customer service voice. “Browse to your contentment. My daughter recommends the plush purple cherries. You want to keep your buddy happy and fed! Make sure to finalize the adoption and meet Alex or I by the counter.” He glanced over to find the other young girl with her mother already at the cash register. “Looks like it’ll be Alex!”

Makoto nodded numbly as Brooke stepped forward and looped her arm through hers, rescuing Makoto by tugging her away.

“One more thing,” Luka began, keeping his eyes on his clean-up routine. The teens’ footsteps paused as they hovered. Though his smile laced his voice, his enunciation was sharp. “I’m sure the Snatcher doesn’t have to tell you but be sure to treat your new friend as you would yourself. You put your soul into bringing them to life, after all.”

The teens gasped.

“Have a good day, kids.” Laughter laced his voice.

They rushed away as he chuckled.

While he finished cleaning up, Hattie returned with her friends. As soon as she spotted him behind the stuffing machine, she rushed across the tiles decorated to look vaguely like a forest path.

“Here’s your coffee,” she chirped, holding up the cup.

“Any plans for the rest of the day?” he asked, pushing to his feet and picking stray fluff from his apron. Once he was as clean as he was going to get, he accepted the drink. He held it towards his lips, pausing to quirk a brow at young Muriel and Timmy as they passed the stuffing machines to check out all the colorful outfits. Belle, meanwhile, joined Hattie with her azure bow bouncing in her dark coils.

“We’re going to head to the bookstore.” Hattie shrugged. “Tim’s friend is hosting a card game tournament.”

“Remember to be back by six,” he instructed. “Don’t go snacking after four or you’ll spoil your dinner.”

“I know, Dad,” she huffed dramatically.

“Also, Mom says hi, Mr. Kingsley,” Belle pipped in.

“Tell Mari I return the sentiment. Now get your friends to stop loitering.” He turned back towards Hattie and rose his voice so Timmy and Mu could hear. “They scare away customers.”

“Says the Snatcher,” Timmy whispered to Mu.

Luka covered his smirk with the coffee cup. His gaze shifted over Hattie and Belle and he watched as Makoto and Brooke fled the store at a brisk pace. Hali struggled to keep up, but she managed to meet his eyes and offered a cheerful wave.

“Fine,” Hattie sighed. “Come on, guys!”

“I need to stop by Mom’s before we head to the bookstore,” Belle mentioned as she and Hattie turned to leave. “I left my cards with my backpack.”

As the girls left, Luka turned to head back towards the counter, taking a sip of his coffee. He immediately winced.

“Ugh, tepid,” he grumbled as Timmy and Mu ran past, hurrying out to follow Hattie and Belle.

After making sure the kids all had their backs turned and Alex was busy with something on the counter, Luka summoned a gentle ember to his hand. While the flame harmlessly licked the cup, the coffee warmed inside until steam wafted from the hole in the lid. He took a tentative sip and swallowed the scalding liquid.

The flames in his chest crackled and popped, and the knots in his shoulders eased.

He snuffed out the ember in his hand as he lowered the cup. Mist trailed from the lid as the coffee maintained its heat.

“I think you scarred those two for life,” Alex muttered as Luka returned to the counter.

“Which two?” he asked, mind still on Hattie and her friends.

“Brooke and Makoto.” Alex glanced up, shaking their head with a scolding expression.

“I didn’t do anything out of the ordinary,” Luka said calmly. He leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee during his momentary break. “If those hooligans are letting their imaginations run wild, it’s not on my conscience.”

“Uh-huh.” Alex gave him an unimpressed look. “Also, I think we’re running low on the beach ball accessories.”

“I noticed,” Luka muttered, swirling his cup pensively. “Those aren’t particularly popular, and we are getting near the end of the season…”

While they discussed whether they needed to send out an order or if they would make it until the fall selection came out, Hattie rolled on the balls of her feet as she, Timmy, and Mu waited for Belle to return from her mom’s flower shop just across from Kraft-a-Kid. Hattie idly watched all the mallgoers, thoughts blank, but Timmy and Mu had their eyes locked on Kraft-a-Kid, thoughts whirling noisier than the stuffing machines.

“Okay, I’m ready!” Belle announced as she bounced out with her deck of cards.

“Hattie.” Timmy whirled around. “Your dad’s magic!”

“Timmy, he doesn’t steal souls, we’ve been over this,” Hattie whined, crossing her arms.

“If he doesn’t steal souls, then what’s with his coffee?” Mu snapped, nodding her head towards the display window where Luka could be seen leaning against the counter inside the workshop.

Hattie squinted, trying to figure out what was out of place with the steaming coffee cup. After a moment, she turned to Belle, who shrugged.

“It’s hot!” Mu gestured wildly, causing her blond mustache to bob with her movement. “Look at that steam!”

Hattie blinked in disbelief.

“Yeah,” Belle supplied dryly. “Because Hattie ordered it hot.”

“But he said it was tepid!” Timmy argued. “We heard him!”

“He probably thinks it is,” Hattie said, knitting her brows together. “He likes his coffee hot enough to burn his tastebuds.”

“You aren’t getting it!” Mu huffed. “It wasn’t steaming when he said it was cold!”

“Okay, but even if he somehow heated it up, that didn’t have anything to do with stealing souls,” Belle appeased.

“That’s what we mean!” Timmy urged. “If he can use one type of magic, he can use others!”

“I regret the day I told you about those rumors,” Hattie grumbled.

It didn’t matter as much when strangers said it, but instead of laughing with Hattie when she told them that people thought her dad was some kind of heartless, soul-snatching monster, Mu and Timmy had latched onto the conspiracy and ever since refused to let go. She couldn’t talk about new product plushies or designs around them anymore because they would just start a debate about which shell would best hold the souls of children.

“Look can we just get going?” She started walking in the direction of the bookstore and Belle matched her pace. Mu hurried to catch up as Timmy trailed behind, keeping a watchful eye on Kraft-a-Kid.

“Are you sure you haven’t seen anything weird?” Mu insisted. “Heard any screams of children he caught? Seen any dolls move in the corner of your eye?”

“You know he laughs like a cartoon villain?” Timmy added.

“The store is literally called Kraft-a-Kid!” Mu continued. “Open your eyes, Hattie!”

“Kid is just another word for baby goat!” Belle argued. “It’s cute!”

“We aren’t talking about this anymore!” Hattie snapped, tugging down on the brim of her hat. She turned away from them and focused on Belle. “So, what deck are you using? The one with fairy types? Or your cat themed one?”

“Both!” She grinned mischievously as she happily helped to redirect the conversation. “I combined them because I wanted to use all my favorites. How about you?”

“Going with the forest deck.” Hattie glanced up, where her deck was safely tucked away in the hidden compartment she stitched into the top hat.

Timmy and Mu huffed, letting their argument go as they pipped in with talking about their own decks. But it was only a matter of time before they started back on their theories about her dad’s supposed magic. Trying not to deflate too much, she kept her eyes forward. She swallowed her frustration and focused on the upcoming tournament.

Besides, even if her dad did have magic and only used it for heating up coffee, it hardly seemed something a heartless monster would do.

Right?

#a hat in time #ahit snatcher #ahit prince #ahit hat kid #ahit dadtcher #my writing #build-a-bear au #'im gonna take a break'#*proceeds to post exactly one day after the old posting schedule #im still writing lol just gonna be all over the place for a bit #ALSO FINALLY WROTE THIS #ITS BEEN ON MY MIND FOR FOREVER #ITS JUST REALLY FUNNY TO ME TO IMAGINE SNATCHER RUNNING A BUILD A BEAR PLEEEEEEASE #i have one more short thing for this that addresses the heart-shaped hole in the room and then u might find me #ricocheting around other aus like a pinball #anyway that's all for now #thank you so much for reading as always!!!!!#catch ya later!

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a-small-batch-of-dragons · 3 years

Text

Remember, Don't You Miss Us?

Prompt: hey, if you're taking requests for Sanders sides, can I request some angsty human au! familial sides? patton/janus as parents that get/have gotten divorced and (some of) the others move between houses or smth?? idk do what you want as long as its angsty with a happy ending

Thanks for the prompt, babe!

Read on Ao3

Warnings: divorced moceit at the start, they fix it, other than that you good

Pairings: parental moceit, errybody else is the kids

Word Count: 3738

The void never used to be as obvious.

Patton and Janus got divorced, their children split between the two houses. They manage to keep up appearances, but the emptiness never really goes away.

The kids decide to do something about it.

The void never used to be as obvious.

There were times when Patton would come downstairs, expecting to see at least someone else awake, perhaps Logan in the corner chair, curled around a mug of coffee and staring out the window, perhaps Roman at the table with his notebook out and his pen flying, or perhaps Virgil, just rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he tried to figure out what to do next. Remus wasn’t an early riser, but perhaps—on very rare occasions—there he would be, sprawled across the floor, playing with his toys.

But now there’s no one to make the coffee for Logan, no one to encourage Roman to write down his ideas, no one to chuckle softly at bleary little Virgil. No one to halfheartedly scold Remus for leaving his toys all over the floor.

Patton still goes to the coffee pot and turns it on, even if there are buttons on the top he doesn’t dare to touch. Logan asked him once why he refuses to change the settings, even if he doesn’t like the kind of coffee it makes. His hands had shaken too much to answer.

He still goes through all the motions of making breakfast, even if the sudden tug in his chest at the worry they won’t have enough eggs goes limp as he realizes there are only three of them in the house now. Roman asked him once why he was staring at the carton of eggs lying there on the counter. He’d shaken his head and said he was counting.

He still hesitates at the door too long when it’s time to take his kiddos to school, expecting a green blur to tug a blob of purple down the stairs so fast he worries they’re going to hurt themselves. Both Roman and Logan look at him confused when he wants to wait a little longer before taking them out to the car.

But mostly…

Mostly he misses the flash of yellow in the corner of his eye. He could never quite pull off the color, something about the way his undertones refused to cooperate or…something like that. His own wardrobe looks…smaller now, simpler. He never used to blend into the walls this much.

Mostly he misses the low voice coming from the other room, up the stairs, just over his shoulder. His own voice is too high, too bubbly to be properly sarcastic and the absence of that voice twisting words around and around and around. Or when it would soften, and oh how much he could drown in the softness.

Mostly he misses the gloved hands on his shoulder, the small of his back, around his waist, on his hips, cupping the nape of his neck. Patton hugs his kiddos all the time, but there was something about the drag of gloves against his clothes that made him tighten his hugs.

Mostly he misses waking up to someone else warm on cold nights.

The bed feels so much bigger.

No.

No, don’t go down that road, it only leads to crying and Roman and Logan trying frantically to fix it.

They couldn’t.

It wasn’t their fault, they’re kids. They didn’t deserve to have to fix these things, these were an adult’s responsibility, these were problems they wouldn’t know how to solve. It wasn’t their fault that Patton never learned when to stop pushing. It wasn’t their fault that Patton could never figure out where the lines were drawn. It wasn’t their fault that Patton could never stop crying, making it all about himself, never wanting to listen.

Patton scrubs a hand under his nose before it can start to drip.

No. No, it wasn’t their fault, it was—it is his.

It’s his fault they can’t see their brothers anymore, not like they used to.

It’s his fault their Papa went away.

It’s his fault that he couldn’t figure out how to love Janus.

But goodness, does he miss him.

———————————————

The room’s never felt this small before.

There were times when Janus would open the door and expect someone, anyone, to barrel into him before he could step over the threshold and words would tumble out, perhaps a new idea Remus had, perhaps something Virgil was worried about, perhaps Logan with a slew of new questions for him, or perhaps—if he was coming home on a night that Roman didn’t have an after-school club—it would be Roman, wrapping his arms tightly around Janus and refusing to let him go.

But now there’s no one to keep Remus supplied with new sketchbook paper, no one to sit quietly and talk through Virgil’s fears with him, no one to go on Wikipedia odysseys with Logan, and no one to beam at Roman.

Janus still walks to the bookshelf and runs his hand along the spine of the books, searching, searching for something to read that he hasn’t read in a while, and unbidden his mind will go directly to what puns he could make from the titles. Remus had looked up at him once as a chuckle forced its way out through his lips and asked him what was so funny. Janus had shaken his head and said something had just crossed his mind.

He still walks into a room and instinctively picks up a pen to toss into the corner, expecting a soft ‘thank you’ or an ‘ow!’ from the chair or the couch or the desk. Virgil had stared at him one time when he’d walked into the room and without thinking, grabbed a pen from the pen pot and chucked it across the room, eyes wide, wondering what was happening. Janus had dropped to the ground and done his very best to comfort the poor dear, saying that no, he wasn’t angry, he did that from a habit, it’s alright, it’s alright…

He still has the urge to buy another beanbag chair, even though the one they have right now fits the three of them perfectly, unable to get the worry of making the twins share for longer than absolutely necessary out of his head. Virgil and Remus had shrugged and said they’d be fine with having their own beanbag chairs, but they look too small all alone in the sea of fabric and small plastic balls. He’d shaken his head and said he prefers seeing them all together.

But mostly…

Mostly he misses the bright, bubbly laughter that would fill the house to bursting, drawing a smile to his lips at how unabashedly happy it was. The siren song would lure him from every corner of the house, even if he were knee-deep in work, just to see what made its owner so deliriously happy.

Mostly he misses the easy words, the sweet nothings, the effortless comfort. He’s a little too rough, too guarded, too intimidating to sound as gentle and kind and reassuring, he can’t be the softer kind of support that his sweeties need sometimes. That loss, the fumbling of his tongue, always makes those sobs sound so much louder.

Mostly he misses the shameless questions. How is he doing today, what can we do to help, you know we love you, right? Such selfless care, emanating from everywhere, unconditional support, that promise, he doesn’t know how anyone could do that. For someone for whom love still fit clumsily on his tongue, he was in danger of dying of thirst after years of feeling like he could drown in it.

Mostly he misses turning around and not seeing an empty space next to him.

Don’t start.

Not again.

You don’t deserve to miss something when you threw it away without caring.

This road only leads to silences, silences Remus tries to fill by being too big, too loud, too much, silences Virgil detests and hides away, waits out, curling around his security stuffie until feels it’s safe to come out again.

It won’t be.

It’s not their fault, they’re kids. They shouldn’t be trained to read every single emotional cue to make sure their worlds won’t be upended again, they shouldn’t have to try and take of their parent, they shouldn’t be worrying about what’s going on with a problem they can’t fix. It isn’t their fault that Janus never learned how to let himself be vulnerable. It isn’t their fault that he never learned how to bite back some of his harsher remarks. It isn’t their fault that Janus could never stop trying to defend himself from someone who would never hurt him, never wanting to listen.

Janus takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.

It’s his fault. Of course, it’s his fault.

It’s his fault Remus still looks around for his twin in the mornings.

It’s his fault that the brothers will grow up divided.

It’s his fault that Dad lives separately from them now.

But damn, he misses Patton so much.

———————————————

Logan: So we’re in agreement, this happens this Friday.

emo-nightmare: no need for all the grammar there L

Princey: Yes! This Friday™! It will be glorious and victorious!

living nightmare: we all will shout uproarious?

emo-nightmare: cause life is so euphorious

Logan: That’s not a word, Virgil.

emo-nightmare: if you wanna write to disney and tell em theyre using made up words i can think of better places for u to start

Princey: no virge don’t he’ll actually do it

Logan: Putting that aside, we agree that we’re doing this this Friday, yes?

Princey: Yep. Dad thinks we’re gonna go to the park to hang out after school and he’s meeting us there.

emo-nightmare: papa’s got a photoshoot with that new brand and rem and i suggested the park at 530

living nightmare: I got the fake blood and mannequin heads

Princey: REMSU WHAT THE FUKC

emo-nightmare: wow how is L letting yo make that many typos

Princey: fuck off V

living nightmare: how is Dad letting you get away with swearing that much

Princey: I am disowning you

living nightmare: on what grounds?

Princey: on the grounds that your a douchebag and you swear every two words

emo-nightmare: *you’re are u proud of me L

Logan: Had you not used the ‘u’, I would be

emo-nightmare: smh when will I be enough

Princey: you don’t need to be enough for us to love u now NO MORE SAD TALK IT IS OPERATION GET OUR DADS TO PULL THEIR HEADS OUTTA THEIR ASSES TIME

Logan: Everything is a go?

Princey: Sure is!

emo-nightmare: Roger

living nightmare: so I shouldn’t bring the mannequin heads?

Logan: No.

Princey: NO

emo-nightmare: guess not

living nightmare: :(

———————————————

In the end, it’s surprisingly easy for their kids to do things without them noticing.

Patton doesn’t Roman sneaking a camera into his backpack on the way to school, or the way he nods at Logan as they spilt up upon reaching the gates. He’s too preoccupied with scanning the parking lot, seeing if maybe, just maybe, there’s another familiar car here that he shouldn’t be caught looking at.

He doesn’t notice the way Logan texts him to remind him that they’ll be meeting at the park, across the street from the library, at 5:30 pm sharp, next to the fountain, and says that Patton will be there, not him. He’s too busy remember the last time he was at that fountain.

Janus doesn’t notice the way Remus pouts one more time at Virgil as they get ready to go, sighing and rolling his eyes about how boring the others are getting. He’s too focused on how he still expects to see a different person in the passenger seat as he drops them off a block away from the school.

He doesn’t notice the way Virgil doesn’t ask him to remember that they’re meeting after school in the park so he can help with taking the photos, but tells him, in no uncertain terms, that Janus better be in the park by the fountain at 5:30. He’s…busy remembering why he agreed to have the photoshoot by the fountain in the first place.

“Wait, why don’t you want to do the partner photoshoot?”

Janus sighs, leaning back against the fountain. “Because it has me fake being a couple.”

Patton’s mouth opens and closes and Janus sighs. Patton looks at the ground.

“I don’t believe that kind of bond can be just an arrangement,” he says after a moment, “as if it were a…contract or something. For something that they want but not—not like that.”

The fountain burbles quietly. Janus tips his head back to look at the stars.

“And what do you want?”

Patton turns, straightening as the frustration in his voice drifts away. “What do I want?”

Janus nods.

“What a good question,” he murmurs, looking at him, “what I want…is for you to come closer.”

Janus blinks in shock, his brow furrows just the slightest bit. Patton smiles and beckons.

“Yes,” he encourages when he takes a tentative step, “come closer.”

He stands to his full height as he stops in front of him, still searching his face for a clue as to what is going on. He doesn’t hold his gaze, instead looking at him with such awe that the sweet thing flushes. His hands come up slowly, hovering above his shoulders before carefully, carefully taking hold of his arms.

“This,” he breathes, “is what I want,” he says as his fingers toy with the roughness of his jacket, “this is what I want, what I have always wanted.”

Oh.

Janus’s breath catches in his throat but Patton doesn’t stop.

“To have you here in my arms and to know—“ his gaze flashes up to catch Janus’s— “that you feel at home here.”

As his eyes go wide, Patton takes them a step away from the fountain. His gaze searches his face desperately.

“Tell me,” he asks, “do you still feel comfortable here? With me? Is it still home for you?”

It’s too much. The way his gaze threatens to tear his heart from his chest, his words pluck his walls apart, brick by brick, it’s too much. He can be the friend, he can’t—he can’t see Patton like this.

“Please…please…don't turn away from me—look at me.” A hand catches his chin, guiding him back. “Look in my eyes.”

I can’t, he wants to say, it’ll hurt when I have to look away.

“Are you scared?” His face falls. “By what? I won’t hurt you, I’d never hurt you, unless…”

He swallows, and something flickers behind his eyes.

“…you want to go?”

“It’s not that,” he manages, closing his eyes as he shakes his head, “I promise it’s not that.”

“If not, then what?”

“The others—I can’t—“

He doesn’t let him finish, swiftly cutting him off with a shake of his head. “No. No one can tell you that you can’t be here with me. I want you here, as long as you want to be here.”

I can stay? he asks with the furrow between his brows.

You can stay, he replies with the appearance of a smile.

“I know what I want, Janus.” Patton takes the smallest step closer. “Always have. And there was a time when…when you wanted that too.”

Janus chuckles. “You sound ridiculous.”

Patton laughs too. “Maybe. Maybe not. But I’m happy to be ridiculous if it lets me…”

He trails off and Janus frowns.

“…lets you what?”

“Be yours,” he murmurs as Janus’s heart pounds, “and to hear you be called mine.”

His face contorts as he traces the curve of his cheek again. He follows the trail of warmth, pushing into it with the hesitant desperation of a single trickle of water, halted by a dam in the river.

“You’re still here,” comes the quiet observation, “so clearly you're not afraid…are you?”

“…I don’t know anymore.”

“Then if you didn't trust me…” He swallows. “Then I’d ask you to—to go. Because I don’t want you to be here if you don’t want to be.”

The thought of leaving sends a spike through his ribs, punching a breath out of his lungs. He presses into his hand as much as he dares.

“…but if you do trust me,” he whispers, the fountain still humming behind them, “if you are truly not afraid of my touch as you've shown…close your eyes.”

“What?”

“Close them,” he repeats, “…please.”

He does as bid, all but thrumming in his hands. The hand on his cheek trembles for barely a moment, as if its owner is suddenly overcome by the realization that they’re here, before he feels a warmth next to his face and a puff of breath that isn’t his own.

“W-wait!”

The air freezes.

His eyes fly open as he struggles to process what just happened.

Patton. Patton. His Patton. He—he loves him. He invited him here tonight because he loves him. He wants to spend time with him because he loves him.

Gods above, he loves him.

He—gods, he just tried to kiss him because he loves him.

He just tried to kiss him.

And he—

—oh, gods, he told him to wait.

“Patton—“ he tries to find him but it’s too late.

The second he meets his eyes, he’s met with a tidal wave of anguish, slammed quickly behind iron doors that fail to banish the hurt from his expression. It breaks his heart.

“I understand,” he says lowly, going to move away, “I understand—“

“No—please, listen to me, I—“

“You don’t have to say anything,” he says smoothly, his hand already leaving his face, “I understand. That was an abuse of power, it was not my intention to—“

“I didn’t mean it like that, I don’t want you to think that I—“

“The last thing I want is to pressure you into something you don’t want.”

“You don’t know I don’t want it!”

“I do!” His gaze flares sharply with anger, with hurt, seas of pain buried behind smiles and guarded expressions. He takes a deep breath and tries to force it away. “You told me to wait. And, forgive me, but I won’t wait to have my heart be broken all over again.”

“I’m not trying to break your heart—“ he scrabbles frantically for him— “please, just listen—“

“You don’t need to explain yourself, you never have, I understand that you don’t want me like that.” He lets him grab onto him but does not stop turning away. “But if you could give me a moment to collect myself, I—“

“I don’t know how to kiss!”

He freezes. “…what?”

His cheeks burn with the weight of his embarrassment and his unshed tears. “I don’t know how to kiss,” he repeats at a much more reasonable volume. He twists his hands in front of him. “I…you…I’m sorry, fuck, I’m making a mess of this.”

He buries his head in his hands, willing the tears to stay behind his eyes. As he looks up, he knows he’s going to fail as he spots the red-rimmed eyes staring back at him.

“Don’t ever,” he starts, voice wobbling a little, “don’t you ever believe that I don’t love you.”

His breath leaves him in a rush.

“Of course I love you,” he continues, growing stronger when he lets out a whimper and reaches for him, “of course I love you.”

“Then why—“ he grasps his shoulders, tighter than before, “why did you ask me to wait?”

The fountain bubbles and burbles, the soft smell of their drinks mixing with the sweet smell of the water. It’s warm here, in each other’s arms. It feels like home.

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” he confesses softly, “not like…not like that. It scares me.”

Patton shifts, not enough to hurt, just enough to hold Janus closer.

“I don’t know how to speak it.” His eyes fall closed, breathing in the warm smell of safe. “I don’t know what to do with it. And I—“

Patton gives his sides a gentle squeeze.

“…I am terrified of what normally comes after.”

“You don’t have to be,” comes the immediate reassurance, “not here, not with me. I won’t force you to do anything you’re not ready for. I will never ask anything of you that you wouldn’t give. Not until you want to.”

“…and what if I never want to?”

Janus feels his soft smile as he rests his chin on top of his head. “Then we won’t.”

“No?”

“No.” His forehead comes to rest against Janus’s once more. “But kissing doesn’t have to lead to that. It can just be a kiss.”

“It can?”

“Of course.” There’s a pause. “As that is the case…”

His eyes open. Is he…

“…are you asking?”

Patton pulls back just far enough to look him in the eyes.

“May I teach you how to kiss, my love?”

Janus’s breath leaves him in a rush. “Yes.”

They would say that it took a lot of work. And it did; getting back to a place where they could trust each other again, to live together again, was a slow progression. Over a year, at least, but there they were, working together against the problem, not each other.

But really, really it…

Well, Janus turned around, expecting to see Virgil, and saw Patton instead, blinking in confusion.

Patton mumbled something about Roman and Logan saying he should be here, a small smile growing when Janus says that Virgil and Remus did the same.

“…our kids, huh?”

“Our kids.”

Patton cautiously broached the topic of whether he remembered the fountain. Janus had smiled and said that how could he forget?

“…anything else you remember?”

And, well, maybe there was something to be said about the movies that Roman loved so much and everyone else pretended they didn’t.

Because as Janus wraps his hand around Patton’s hoodie and pulls him in, they could swear they could hear cheering and whooping all around them.

In fairness to the kids, they had an excellent reason for why they shouldn’t be grounded for lying about their after-school plans.

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#sanders sides #fic #dragonbabbles #virgil sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders #deceit sanders #sympathetic deceit #remus sanders #sympathetic remus #roman sanders #creativitwins #logan sanders

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 4 years

Note

Imagine if the suitors went to the beach for a whole day in the modern world...what crazy crap do you think will happen

Here are a handful of crazy and/or cute headcanons that came to mind! :D

-Mozart swatting away seagulls because HE IS TRYING TO EAT IN PEACE

-Jeanne watching him, MC offering him two water guns with a silent nod (sunglasses on, we’re going full meme)

-Jeanne then proceeds to shoot at them (no gulls were harmed in making of this promotional video) and his aim is impeccable it would be disturbing if the thwarted squawking wasn’t so funny

-Little kids start swarming around Jeanne asking how he’s so amazing and wanting to play team battles, inviting him to join

-Napoleon encourages him, and even Mozart joins in despite not liking getting wet very much (he wants Jeanne to have some positive fun times bc he BIIIIIIIG depressy)

-In the end they both admit to having fun, and one of the kids even teaches Jeanne a special ten step handshake (Jeanne has no idea what that was but the kiddo was smiling so he figured he’d go with it)

-HE AND MOZART STILL SECRETLY USE THE HANDSHAKE FOR FUNSIES BUT TELL NO ONE BECAUSE THEY DON’T LIKE F U N DON’T LOOK AT THEM

-Dazai, alternatively, gathers the fallen gull army and becomes their god with a singular cylinder of Pringles. No I will not elaborate--THE SEA GULLS GOT HER!!!!!!!!

-Spends most of the beach day wetting his feet in the tide pools and talking very earnestly to the gulls about this new thing he learned about called tax evasion while people pass by this fucker in full kimono at the beach and are convinced he’s lost it

-Dazai is very much not sane but we knew this already, offers sea shells to little kids that ask him what he’s doing and tells them to listen to the secrets bird friends can tell them

-If Dazai sounds like an Animal Crossing Villager, that was entirely by accident but remains no less true

-Surprising absolutely no one, Arthur suggests volley ball after watching people play and invites some pretty ladies to join him

-Arthur ends up needing two more people to play, so he invites Vincent and Theo (Vincent is so excited about trying something new that Theo can’t say no despite wanting to make a volleyball-shaped crater in Arthur’s face)

-The funniest part about the volleyball game is that not only is Arthur a shit player (CANON WEAK ARMS FOOL) Theo destroys with his spikes, and Vincent’s reach is insane--the two brothers end up becoming the talk of the beach

-I just laugh imagining Vincent sincerely complimenting people around him and the ladies swooning because he’s just so nice and pretty is he even real

-Men aren’t happy about that^TM but at the sight of Theo’s defensive glower they keep their malicious traps shut--which turn on whichever girls weren’t interested in Vincent jahkslgjh

-**Kaguyasama narrator voice** Today on Arthur Shenanigans: Arthur loses

-Poor Isaac is hiding under the umbrella clutching sunscreen bc HE IS A PASTY BOY HELP HIM

-MC brought a few of the newest Maths/Physics books in her time for him to read, and while he doesn’t enjoy the intensity of the sun--not like vamp weakness, it’s just the strain on his body (too many stimuli too many people too much noise) that makes him tired and ultimately thirsty bc aberrant. But the change of scenery's not so bad.......

-MC laughs when she gets out of the water and the salt dries visibly on her skin, Isaac’s eyes bug out and he asks if it hurts (startles when Leo flicks sea water at him and asks how on earth they got in the water when it’s so cold!!!)

-Leo chats with him and he likes being able to draw theorems and the like in the sand, it’s like one big chalkboard (until a kid tramples across them in the middle of writing, POPPYCOCK!). Isaac ultimately has fun but prefers to stay inside poor bub

-Leonardo, surprising no one, falls asleep in the sand the second he gets there HE IS HOME (Italian beaches, amirite)

-MC decides to, after a point, bury him fully in the sand for shits

-Comte notices and aids in her shenanigans from his beach chair, snickering the whole time

-When the two are satisfied they go for a swim together, trusting Leo to look after Isaac if need be (even if he’s a mummy rn)

-Comte is relieved to hear that she knows how to swim, but also watches carefully and doesn’t let her drift out too far by keeping closer to the shore himself (riptides!!!! can be!!!!!!! dangerous!!!!!!!!!!) if he had his way (he would never impose but he worries ;-;) she’d be wearing floaties SAFETY FIRST

-They splash at each other like maniacs and chat amiably until they start swimming away as fast as possible when Leo wakes up, laughing

-How do we know that Leo woke up?

-Because he sat up ramrod straight and a tower of sand fell. He then proceeded to jump up and sprint to the water despite Isaac’s startled cries about being careful, and swam after them like a shark to get his revenge (it was like something out of an anime s2g)

-Mostly just tugs on MC’s leg, picks her up in the water, and yeets her across in retaliation; really harmless, she’s cackling the whole time

-Dunks Comte’s head in the water while he’s being scolded, and MC has to de-escalate their increasingly dangerous shenanigans before the life guard comes after them LMFAO

-They concede only bc MC looks sad/worried abt being kicked out, and agree to keep things fun FIGHT TO THE DEATH LATER TONIGHT

-Napoleon goes for a nice long walk along the shoreline and climbs the rocks if he finds any til he gets to the top (he does not go to his happy place HE GOES TO HIS HIGH LONESOME PLACE) wishes that Jupiter could be here to enjoy the brine

-Our boy Napoleon is simply just vibin he loves the beach. A little further off the sound of people is p muted, it’s just the crashing waves and crisp smell of salt, the light breeze ruffling his hair

-Sebas is absolutely watching through binoculars and writing down how majestic Napoleon is while making sure no one gets lost/wrecked as he takes notes

Bonus: since volleyball games can often happen back to back on a sizable beach, the boys^TM were playing and Arthur called out “Theo duck!!!!” and just as Theo was saying “Are you fucking kidding me did you really think I’d--T H W A C K” Theo gets nailed in the back of the head (Arthur later died after being put in a headlock)

Shakespeare didn’t feel like playing volley ball and didn’t have much else to do (can’t swim and has no interest), so he just sat back and tried to throw Theo off his game as much as possible

Por ejemplo: Theo misses a serve and Shakespeare just “For never was there a story of more woe; O bard Alexa, verily, play us Despacito” “SHUT THE FUCK UP”

Jeanne also gets hit by a stray volley ball, but when Vincent said “Oh no, Jeanne, duck!” he has one of either two reactions: 1. Boulevard of Broken Dreams plays obnoxiously loud as he dodges inhumanly fast 2. he quacks, gets nailed, and doesn’t react because he doesn’t have any brain cells to damage

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imagineredwood · 4 years

Text

Request: Reader hides her feelings for Angel but EZ knows, something happens where Angel finds someone else and introduces them to the club. Reader is heartbroken and distant to the point EZ has to explain why she is when Angel is upset at her for blowing him off

Pairing: Angel x reader, EZ x reader (platonic)

Warnings: Heartbreak, angst, emotional hurt, crying

Word count: 2.6K

**What do we want to see happen here? 👀***

“You should just tell him.”

You looked up from your lunch to look at EZ instead, the prospect still eating his food.

“Tell who what?”

“Tell Angel that you love him.”

EZ looked at you then, seeing as you opened and closed your mouth, trying to come up with an excuse or defense. EZ cut you off before you could though.

“Don’t even try to lie. I know you. I can look at you and tell what you’re thinking. You’re in love with Angel, and you should tell him.”

Shaking your head, you looked back down at your plate, messing around with your food.

“It’s not that simple, EZ. Angel is so…he’s got such a different life than me. I can’t see him ever loving me. Not in the same way that I love him at least.”

EZ wanted to keep encouraging you, but he could see that your love for his brother was complicated. You did not get giddy and doe eyed like most people did when they spoke of the one they loved. Instead, you seemed down. Unsure and frustrated. No doubt yearning for someone that was not yours could do that to a person. With a sigh, EZ reached across the table, stroking the back of your hand in comfort.

“Just…talk to him. Hint around, see where he’s at. I know it can be scary when there isn’t much being reciprocated. You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

You nodded quietly, taking his words to heart.

“I’ll try.”

At that, EZ smiled.

“Good. We’re having a big party this Friday. Come by. You can spend some time with him and see where things go.”

With a smile of your own, you nodded. You still had time to plan a nice outfit that would draw his attention.

“I’ll be there.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

Friday rolled around before you knew it and you had gotten yourself dolled up. Nothing crazy or extravagant, but you had been more particular. Put it more effort, and it shows. You had even managed to find a dress in the deep, gorgeous green that Angel liked. The dress was as close of a match to his bike as you were going to get, and you hoped that he would notice the effort.

Shoes on and keys in hand, you left your house and got into your car, making thee drive out to the clubhouse. Your hands were shaking the entire time, tense on the steering wheel as you drove. You felt confident and beautiful, but that did not do too much to soothe the anxiety you felt in the pit of your tummy. What if he said no? What if he decided that you were better as friends? Or that you just weren’t what he wanted? The thoughts were almost enough to have you make a U-turn and head back home, but you were already so close, the lights from the clubhouse illuminating the yard. Swallowing, you pushed through and pulled into the yard, parking by the other cars.

You stayed seated in your seat for a few moments, taking deep breaths, in through your nose and out through your mouth. You were nervous yet excited. Sure, it could end with you getting shot down, but the idea that there was a possibility of Angel caring about you the same way that you cared about him was enough to tip the scale. You had been friends with him for a while now. You trusted each other, looked after each other. Checked each other when needed. Angel was absolutely your best friend. But you wanted more.

You imagined Angel loving you more. Loving you romantically. Loving you in the way that elderly coupled loved. The way that he coupled loved in your favorite books. You would always take whatever love Angel would give you, but it would be a lie to say that you did not want more. You wanted more of Angel. You wanted him to spend more time with you one on one, going on dates with you. Kissing you, being there with you when you really needed someone. To share a home with you. To think of those things made your heart skip a beat. You loved Angel more than anything, and all you wanted was for him to love you back.

Taking one last deep breath, you steadied yourself and hopped out of your car, smoothing down the front of your dress. Looking around you saw that EZ had been right. It was a bigger party than usual, more Mayans from other charters present and even more women. You felt better as you saw many of them in dresses as well, thankful you hadn’t gone too over the top. Locking your car, you started walking through the lot and going up to the clubhouse entrance. You looked over at the bikes and noticed that Angel’s was not there, but you didn’t think much of it. He had probably gone with someone else to pick some stuff up for the party.

You entered the clubhouse, the music much louder now that it was not muffled by the walls. Stepping in, you looked around, eyes scanning. You saw Coco off to the corner and he raised his arm, waving to you before motioning for you to come over. Just seeing the people that had become your family was enough to soothe your tummy a little bit more and you walked over to them, Taza wrapping his arm around your shoulders before kissing the side of your head.

“Glad you could make it, kiddo.”

You made your way around the table, greeting the members of this charter and some from others. You stopped to stand by Coco, the one you were closest to, after the Reyes brothers. He stood from his seat and gave it to you, waving his hand when you tried to argue.

“Sit, mama. I’m good.”

You fell into conversation with the men, some of the club girls coming up to say hi and hug you. EZ could barely get time away from grabbing new beers to sit with you but that was alright. You weren’t sure how much time had passed, genuinely enjoying the company. It was not until the door opened and you saw Angel enter that you remembered why you had been so nervous in the first place. You all looked as Angel started making his way over, shaking hands with members as he walked up. By the time he got to the table, your heart was already thudding in your chest. Of course, you weren’t going to tell him as soon as he got in. You would wait until much later. Once he was finally at the table though, he turned behind him and let a girl that was standing there come to now stand in front of him. They both smiled as they looked at the group, Angel’s voice excited and proud.

“Sup, guys. This is my date.”

The girl smiled somewhat shyly having all the eyes on her, but she waved nonetheless, everyone wearing wide grins as they greeted and welcomed her.

You on the other hand felt like you had been shot.

The blow to the chest practically knocked the wind out of you and your stomach felt like you were on a roller coaster. You tried to keep your face neutral but as you looked on, Angel standing behind her with his hands on her shoulders watching happily as the Mayans complimented his new girl, you felt like the world was crashing down around you. You could hear your blood pumping in your ears, and you stood from your seat, no one noticing as the attention was on the new addition. You slipped away quickly, heading to the bathroom praying it was empty.

It seemed that the universe had taken pity on you and thankfully the bathroom was empty. You had barely gotten the door closed and locked before the heavy tears started to stream down your cheeks. The music was loud, and you knew no one could hear you anyway, but that didn’t stop you from covering your mouth to muffle the sobs.

Never in your entire life had you felt both so broken and stupid at the same time. You did not expect Angel to be single forever. You knew at some point he was going to want to get a girl that he could settle down with. You just didn’t think it was going to be so soon, and you sure as hell didn’t expect him to bring her on the night were you had finally gathered the courage to tell him how you felt. It was as if the world was playing a sick joke on you.

With your back against the bathroom door, you tried to steady your breathing, bulky tears still rolling down your cheeks. Reaching for the toilet paper, you grabbed a wad and turned to the mirror, trying to wipe the tears before they made any bigger of a mess. Just then, a knock came from the other side of the door and you cleared your throat, trying to make it sound as if you weren’t in there having the breakdown of your life.

“I’ll be out in a minute.”

You expected it to be one of the girls or maybe another member. You were surprised to hear EZ’s voice on the other side.

“Open up, querida. Come one, let me in.”

You hesitated, not wanting him to see you like this, but opened the door against your better judgement anyway. As soon as his eyes landed on you, he tilted his head with a pout and came into the bathroom, closing the bathroom behind him and locking it again.

“I’m sorry, y/n. I…I didn’t know he was bringing someone. I never would’ve asked you to come if I knew he was doing that. I wouldn’t have done that to you.”

You shook your head and tried to force a smile, still dabbing at your eyes and cheeks.

“I know, EZ. I know. It’s not your fault. It’s not his either. I’m happy that he found someone, it’s just,”

You couldn’t complete the sentence before a fresh wave of tears was brought on, EZ snatching you into his arms. He held you tightly, one hand stroking your hair as he cooed at you.

“It’s ok, mama. It’ll be ok. You’ll find someone. You’ll get over him in time and find someone for you and then this will all just be a memory.”

You knew that he was trying to comfort you but hearing him say out loud that having Angel just wasn’t a possibility anymore only deepened the crack in your heart.

You cried on his for a few minutes more before pulling away, your hiccupping sobs gone. Turning to the mirror though, it was still painfully obvious that you had been crying. Eyes puffy and your top lip a little swollen from all the rubbing your nose. You turned toward EZ and the pain on your face and in your voice made his heart clench.

“I just wanna go home.”

EZ nodded and started to open the door for you.

“Head out through the back, I’ll go and grab your purse for you.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

It had been nearly two weeks since that night and you had yet to see Angel. He had texted you the morning after the party to see how you were doing. EZ had told everyone that you had gotten sick and had to leave early. They had bought it but now Angel was wanting to hang out like you both usually did. You were normally inseparable and now you had barely spoken. You would answer his texts, but they were short. He had tried to make plans and you had come up with excuses why you could not make it. You had just been spending your time at home trying to heal from the heartbreak.

It was your first one, and while you knew that the pain would not last forever, that did not make it any easier to deal with. Your tears still snuck up on you out of nowhere sometimes whenever he popped into your mind. It was like a grieving process, and as much as you wanted to try and get back to normal, you just could not face him. You figured Angel wouldn’t even really notice your absence, too caught up in the honeymoon phase with his new girl. The truth was the exact opposite was happening.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~`

“What the fuck is her problem? Every time I hit her up, she’s got an excuse.”

Angel angrily tossed his phone onto the table, both Felipe and EZ looking at him. The father and youngest son shared a look before Felipe went back to slicing up the pork. EZ looked at Angel who now sat back in his chair with an angry expression, arms crossed over his chest. EZ sighed and shook his head, looking out the window.

“Don’t be mad at her.”

Angel’s head snapped to him, an incredulous look on his face.

“What do you mean, don’t be mad at her? She’s been blowing me off for two fuckin’ weeks! No matter what I say we do, she can’t make it. I ask if I can go over to her place, she says she’s not in the mood for company. She barely comes by the clubhouse and when she does, she makes sure I’m not there. What the fuck is that about? I haven’t done shit to her and now she’s avoiding me like the plague. Some fuckin’ friend.”

Angel huffed as his finished ranting, EZ looking directly at him now.

“You broke her heart, Angel.”

The older brother stared blankly before shaking his head as he blinked repeatedly.

“What are you talking about?”

EZ sighed, turning his body to his older brother.

“She’s in love with you, Angel. She has been for months. It’s not a crush or wanting to sleep with you, she fucking loves you. She thinks the sun shines out of your ass like you’re the most perfect thing in the world. That night? When you brought your new girl? I had convinced her to come by and tell you. She went out and bought a dress to grab your attention and everything because I convinced her to just see how you felt. She showed up thinking that she might finally get a chance to be with you, and you came with another woman. You have the right to be with whoever you want, I’m not saying you don’t, but don’t be mad at her. She had her heart broken and was humiliated all within 5 seconds. That’s why she’s ‘blowing you off’. She just can’t…she can’t look at you. It hurts her too much.”

All the anger in Angel’s face and slowly melted as EZ was speaking, but by the time he finished, Angel looked like a kicked puppy. Brows knitted, mouth open slightly in a frown. He had no idea. He never once thought that you held anything more for him than the love of a friend. He had been with plenty of Vicki’s girls and you had never really batted an eyelash. That was much different than having a girlfriend though. He shook his head in disbelief.

“Obviously I never meant for her to get hurt. I wouldn’t have shoved another girl in her face if I knew.”

EZ shrugged, nodding.

“But you did, and she is.”

Angel cursed, slamming his fist on the table, the saltshaker toppling over from the force before standing.

“I gotta go see her.”

General taglist @piccasoe @ateliefloresdaprimavera @gemini0410 @woahitslucyylu @my-rosegold-soul @that-chick212 @everyhowlmarksthedead @glimmerglittergirl @elcococruz @fanaticfangurl21 @ifoundmyhappythought @encounterthepast

Mayans taglist @dazzledamazon @abunnykisses @briana-mishell24

Angel taglist @cardenasarmy @ezekielreyes

#angel reyes #ez reyes #angel x reader #ez x reader #Mayans MC #imagines #mayans fx #mayans imagine

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starlight-writes-stuff · 3 years

Note

hey! i sent in the ask for the party fic with ethan (which was so good holy shit) and i was hoping you could do the SFW alphabet for him? can I be ⚙️ anon, as well? (get it?)

⚙️anon (thats so clever ily for it) , welcome !! im sorry this took me forever , but here’s your sfw alphabet - this came so easy to me i spend too much time consuming ethan content - anyway ! i really hope you enjoy this ((: reblogs are always appreciated <3

AYO LOOK AT THESE : soft , fluffy ethan content , no tws ! also , yall rockin with the new blog theme ⁉️

a = affection (how affectionate are they? how do they show affection?)

ethan is incredibly affectionate in all senses of the word- big gestures, small moments, and everything in between. he brings you flowers or food quite often, just something small to show you that you were on his mind while he was out and about. you two would have a designated date night once a week where he’d clear his schedule to spend quality time with you; either taking you out to dinner or cooking and watching movies at home with spencer. also, ethan would definitely go out of his way to do little things around the house to help you out - washing the dishes, vacuuming, folding the laundry. however, ethan wouldn’t shy away from larger gestures of affection, either: he’d take you on surprise vacations or road trips for holidays or anniversaries.

b = best friend (what would they be like as a best friend? how would the friendship start?)

being ethan’s best friend would be so much fun. he’s definitely the kind of guy that would send you a text when he was 10 minutes away from your house because he was bored and wanted to go do something together. you’d never be bored around ethan- he can talk for hours, and would 100% know how to make you laugh, even if the two of you were just chilling on the couch. a friendship with ethan would be filled with adventures; concerts, midnight snack runs, campouts in the backyard and lots of fun with spencer.

c = cuddles (do they like to cuddle? how would they cuddle?)

yes, 100%. thinking back to unus annus, ethan was a vvv touchy guy with mark, and i think that would only be amplified with his significant other- touch is one of his love languages, for sure. he’d be the type to always have some soft of physical connection; a hand on your thigh while he drives, mindlessly drawing patterns over your skin while your working, aways holding your hand in public type beat. if ethan wasn’t getting your attention when he wanted it he, would not hesitate to pick you up over his shoulder and carry you to the closest soft surface before plopping you down and wrapping you in his arms. i think he’s probably a fan of having you laying on your side, facing him so that he can hold you, but still see your face/ talk to you. he’d also love laying on your chest because he’s such a boob guy but that’s a conversation for another time ,,,,,

d = domestic (do they want to settle down? how are they at cooking and cleaning?)

i think that if you and ethan were committed and had been dating for a while than he would absolutely want to settle down- but i feel like dating ethan would also include being around each other all the time (constant sleepovers while you aren't living together) so it wouldn’t be that drastic of a change. while he was living on his own, though, ethan obviously had to take care of himself, so he taught himself to cook and clean and do general, domestic tasks. i think he’d be a really good partner when it came to things around the house like that; ethan would always do his fair share and would pick up anything that you needed him to.

e = ending (if they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

ethan just comes off as a very feeling, sensitive person (his brand is literally soft boy what do u expect), so i think breakups would be really hard for him. he wouldnt break up with his s/o until he was 10000000% positive that it as the right choice, and had thought through it multiple times. even then, it would rip his heart out to end things- he wouldn’t be afraid to show his emotions. ethan would definitely break up with whoever he was dating in person- he knows that he owes them that.

f = fiance(e) (how do they feel about commitment? how quick would they want to get married?)

okay, this one is up in the air for me. i definitely feel like ethan would settle down with his person and be completely loyal to them- thats a no brainer. i just don’t know how he feels about marriage? i feel like ethan wants a life partner, i just dont know if he would marry them. (this could 1792049384% be my personal bias peeking through because i think marriage is fkn weird, but for some reason i think he would too ????? maybe thats just me)

g = gentle (how gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

ethan is just ,,,,, soft hearted, dude. he’s just gentle in general. i think emotionally he’s a total teddybear, and he feels all his emotions incredibly deep- he rules with his heart, for sure. he wants to make sure that everyone around him is happy, and if they arent, it would affect him more than he’d like to admit. physically, ethan can vary- like i said, he’s always touching you in some way, but i think he’d be down for getting a little rougher in bed when you guys want to.

h = hugs (do they like hugs? how often do they do it? what are their hugs like?)

ethan is an envelope-the-whole-ass-person kinda hugger, hug-with-your-whole-body type deal. if you look at pictures from unus annus, even old old pictures from the tour he did w/ mark, ethan is always completely wrapped around someone, hugging them with everything in him. i think if his s/o was shorter, he’d love to stack his head on top of theirs, and if y’all were around the same height, he’d bury his face in your neck. he’s very huggy- when you’re out and about, he’s always hugging you from behind, pulling your body closer to his. i also think ethan would love koala hugs, where he was sitting and his s/o wraps their arms and legs around him- he’d sit like that forever, rubbing up and down your back.

i = i love you (how fast do they say the l-word?)

hhhhhhhhhh don't clock me for this one, yall- if ethan was feeling some type of way, he would tell you. i don't think the length of the relationship would matter as much to him as the intensity and depth of his feelings; if ethan really truly loved you and wanted to say it, he would. he’d definitely preface it with the fact that you didn’t have to say it back, that he just wanted to get it on the table and out of his head.

j = jealousy (how jealous do they get? what do they do when they’re jealous?)

ethan would be very secure in his relationships, and i think it would take a lot to get him jealous. however, when he was,,,,,,,, it wouldnt be pretty. like, at all. if it was a situation where someone was hitting on his s/o, he wouldn’t step in until you’d already tried to get them to leave you alone- not because he didn’t want to, but because he knew that if he did, it would get ugly. when he did step in, he’d start by saying something (not kindly worded, but to the point), and if that didn’t work i don’t think ethan would be above getting physical- he’s extremely protective of you.

k = kisses (what are their kisses like? where do they like to kiss you? where do they like to be kissed?)

I THINK ABOUT THIS A LOT AND I HAVE SO MANY THINGS I'D LIKE TO SAY SO THIS ONE’S GOIN IN BULLET POINTS , GANG

okay- ethan loves to kiss you. he just loves kisses- they feel so personal and intimate to him, and he kisses you all the time, everywhere

he’ll dip you and kiss you in the middle of the grocery store aisles, he dgaf

but i think his favorite spots for kissing you would be your forehead, your lips (duh), collarbones/shoulders, down your spine and on your inner thighs hngggggg

but it goes vice versa too

ethan wants ALL your kisses . all of them , everywhere

He’s such a sucker for you kissing his neck and you cant talk me out of that (:

l = little ones (how are they around children?)

cute. literally so cute. i think that ethan would love other people’s kids, but definitely doesn’t want any of his own- at least, not right now. however, with other people’s babies he is S O F T; he loves to hold them, and would absolutely offer to try and calm a crying baby down, rocking them and singing soft lullabies to calm their woes. i also think that he would LOVE toddler aged kiddos- like 3-6. he’d be cool uncle ethan, playing catch with them, taking them to the park, finding games to play and always letting them win. he’d totally try to teach them how to ride their bike, or how to do a cartwheel, or how to jump off the swings for maximum height. ethan would totally bring them a fun lunch at school or sneak the kid’s favorite candy over to them and eat it together in a secret spot.

m = morning (how are mornings spent with them?)

mornings with ethan would be slow and lazy and filled with golden light filtering in through the blinds. if he woke up first, ethan would be as soft as humanly possible in order not to wake you up & would sneak downstairs to make coffee and start breakfast for the two of you, sometimes bringing it up to surprise you with breakfast in bed. the two of you would spend an hour (at minimum) in bed together, waking up and peppering each other with soft pecks all over. i think ethan would be extra soft™ in the mornings- he’d be super cuddly and affectionate.

n = night (how are nights spent with them?)

nights spent with ethan would always hold a sort of unexplainable magic- there’s something about the thought of falling asleep next to him thats just so… comforting? he’d be so warm and easy to fall asleep with, all soft and hazy and gentle; he’d fall asleep holding you as big spoon, but when y’all woke up he’d be wrapped in your arms, laying on your chest. also, if you were having a hard time falling asleep, ethan would stay up with you, talking through whatever was on your mind even if he was barely able to keep his eyes open.

o = open (when would they start revealing things about themselves? do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

i think that ethan would open up more and more as the relationship progresses, going along with the natural advancement of things unless something happened that made it crucial for him to open up; if that did happen, though, you wouldn’t have to pry anything out of him. ethan is a pretty honest, open person and wants to be transparent with you always- trust is something that he values above all else and he wants to remain very truthful with you.

p = patience (how easily angered are they?)

ethan is incredibly patient and understanding- it would take a lot to truly upset him. sure, the two of you would get into little tiffs here and there about stupid things, but the small arguments would be resolved within the hour with lots of hugs and kisses and soft “im sorry”s. however, if yall managed to get into a big argument, i think it would take ethan a bit to calm down and he would want to put some space between you two while he did- not to anger you any further, but to make sure that he didn’t say anything he didn't mean. ethan has a bit of a temper while he’s angry, and he wouldn’t want to say anything just to hurt you out of anger. after he cooled off he would come back and be willing to re-examine whatever had caused the issue with fresh eyes.

q = quizzes (how much would they remember about you? do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

if you’ve watched ethan ever, you know that the sweet bby doesn’t remember shit (cue the instagram live thats purpose was to help him remember a word)- but listen. i think that ethan would go out of his way to hold on to little pieces of information about his s/o, and would put so much effort into trying to remember little details. he’d store them in his brain (things like your favorite flower, the brand of chocolate you like best, etc) and reference them when he needed.

r = remember (what is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

a couple moments would stick out to ethan - when y’all first met being his favorite. he’d remember every detail of the moment he was first introduced to you; what you were wearing, where you were, what y’all had been doing that night. it was something that he though about a lot, actually- he loved to reflect on the way you’d blushed as he’d introduced himself, how you’d hugged him at the end of the night.

s = security (how protective are they? how would they protect you? how would they like to be protected?)

ethan isn't possessive, but he is incredibly protective of you. he secretly hates whenever someone flirts with you, even if it’s strictly platonic- you're his s/o, and he doesn't want anyone thinking any different. like i said earlier (reference letter j), ethan wouldn’t be afraid to step in and put someone in their place of they were getting a little too friendly. he likes when you’re protective of him as well, even if its something very subtle to show that he’s spoken for, such as calling him a nickname or dropping a kiss on his cheek.

t = try (how much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

romantic ethan my belOVED- he would try so hard. ethan would plan surprises for you for weeks before they would unfold, even roping your family and friends into his schemes. He’d be so creative with date ideas too; picnics, art classes, different seasonal excursions around california. For bigger occasions like anniversaries, holidays, birthdays and all that, ethan wouldn’t hesitate to go bigger- i definitely think he would take you traveling. he wants to see the world with his love :,)

u = ugly (what would be some bad habits of theirs?)

ethan bites his nails, which is why he’d had you paint them- he’s trying to break the habit

he’s a very sweary human, but so are you; the only issue is he has no filter and accidentally swears in front of kids all the time lmao

v = vanity (how concerned are they with their looks?)

eh. ethan is more particular about certain aspects of his appearance over others, but he’s generally well put together. he likes for his hair to look good, though- that’s the one thing that he’s picky about.

w = whole (would they feel incomplete without you?)

ethan is his own person and is able to function on his own, but the two of you have developed a sense of codependency with each other, like any couple does. he can’t see his life without you at all anymore, and would much rather have you around than not. the two of you have fallen into a flow together- you and him against the world. life is much easier when you have another person on your team, and he’s honored that he gets to play that role for you.

x = xtra (a random headcanon for them.)

(this may or may not be a lil hint to a fic i'm working on shshhshshhhhhhhh)

on the night unus annus ended, ethan was a wreck - rightfully so

he had a bit of an existential crisis , and started to spiral a bit

you were worried about him , and knew that he would just continue to get into his own head

so you got him out of bed

and took him on a v special date

thats all for now ;)

y = yuck (what are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

ethan wouldn't like smoking (nicotine), and if that was a habit that you were willing to budge on, he would really try to help you break it.

overall, ethan is a very considerate and kind person, so someone that was rude or had a sense of entitlement just wouldn’t fit well with him.

z = zzz (what is a sleep habits of theirs?)

ethan can’t fall asleep without background noise. his brain gets too loud when he’s just in bed in complete silence, for better or for worse; sometimes this leads to great video ideas or new concepts for the channel, but other times it just lead to him overthinking his life. when it was that kind of night, ethan would fall asleep to soft music or one of those white noise apps- then he became dependent on it to be able to fall asleep. something about filler noise managed to calm him right down and lull him to sleep, and he pays $5 a month for the premium version of his favorite white noise app.

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platypanthewriter · 3 years

Text

The Devil Looks After His Own Ch2

Part 1: Little Steve Harrington is so lonely he tries summoning a demon with a ritual advertised on TV--but luckily, it doesn't work, and a buff, non-human nanny hired by his mom shows up minutes later. Years later, they're best friends, and Steve still doesn't know the truth. For @magniloquent-raven!

The other thing that Billy did that no other grown-ups Steve knew had ever done was have sex in bathrooms. He wasn’t sure for a while—because Billy always made sure Steve was fine, settled with his pancakes at IHOP, or in the play area at Fred Meyer—but Billy would leave for about twenty minutes, and come back sweaty and grinning, and kind of tired.

Steve snuck after him, once, and saw someone holding Billy’s wrists against the wall of the bathroom and kissing him, sliding his hand down to unbutton Billy’s jeans and pull his penis out, and Steve had stared through his fingers just long enough to see Billy grinning into the kisses, and shifting his hips.

Steve’d run back to his pancakes, his heart pounding.

He realized, thinking about it as he drew designs in the syrup with his fork, that Billy was that thing he’d heard yelled when somebody kissed boys—a slut—and he wondered whether it mattered. Billy did everything he was supposed to do, and he was nice, and stuck around with Steve in the shoe section while Steve tried on every single pair, and then when Steve didn’t want any of them, Billy took him to three more stores.

It couldn’t be a bad thing, Steve thought, biting his lips, not if Billy was one.

When the guy who’d been kissing Billy walked out—he had gray speckled feathered wings, so Steve was pretty sure it was him, even from the back—Steve ducked his head down over his pancakes. By the time Billy wandered back, still grinning, to slump in the booth, Steve’s jaw had firmed. Billy had looked happy, and he was okay, Steve was pretty sure. Probably. Even if it was the kind of thing that made parents yell like they did when they were scared.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his cheeks reddening again, keeping his eyes on his eggs. Billy sat up and faced him, flattening his hands on the table.

“What,” he asked, levelly.

“Are you okay,” Steve mumbled stubbornly, hunching his shoulders. “Y-you looked—okay. H-happy.”

“...you followed me,” Billy whispered, his fingers clenching into fists. “Shit. Uh, darn. ...it.”

“I won’t tell,” Steve said, shrugging awkwardly, and wishing he hadn’t been worried enough to see where Billy was going, because now he was more worried. “If—if you’re okay.”

“...I’m fine,” Billy said, which was what he’d said when Steve’s dad had threatened to fire him, and Steve wasn’t sure he believed it.

He forced himself to look up at Billy, surveying his just-washed face, and how pale he’d gotten since Steve opened his dumb mouth. “I’m not mad,” he said, which was weird to say to a grownup, but Billy looked like he might want to know.

“Just disappointed?” Billy asked, laughing, and grimacing.

“No,” Steve said quickly. “I-I’m not.” He’d been thinking about Tommy’s elder sister, and how she’d gotten in big trouble when their parents found condoms in her room—and how he and Tommy had hidden at the top of the stairs, listening to Tommy’s parents yell. “Um are you u-using condoms,” he asked as fast as he could, and Billy choked on the water he was sipping, coughing and thumping himself in the chest.

“Kid,” he spluttered, and Steve made a face at him.

“Are you?” he hissed. “You have to be safe. I love you.”

Billy stared at him for a long second, until Steve started feeling embarrassed, even though it was just what he said every night, as Billy put him to bed. “...love you too, brat,” he finally muttered back, leaning his face in his arms on the table with a deep sigh. “I’m...fine.”

“I don’t believe you,” Steve said, his cheeks heating further, because he’d found Billy that very morning trying to fill a sandwich with chunky soup. “We should—we should talk to—to my mom, or a teacher. So—so you can be safe—”

“Oh my god,” Billy mumbled, folding his arms over his head. His ears were very red. “I can’t catch anything from a human, okay, I’m not gonna get syphilis.”

Steve had no idea what that was, but it didn’t make him any less worried. He took a bite of egg as the server came over and asked how his breakfast was, and he nodded to her, smiling, even though he was so worried the egg tasted like nothing. “Wh-what about saying no,” he whispered to Billy, as soon as she was gone. “You, um, you can say no to—to uh, things, right?”

“I can and I do, kiddo,” Billy laughed, sliding his hand over to link their pinkies, his face still hidden in his other arm. “I’m okay, Stevie, I swear. You made sure I could say no, remember?”

“You’re still bad at it,” Steve said, because usually Billy scooped him up and put him in the bath, or in bed, even if Steve was laughing and yelling ‘Nope! No! You jerk, I’m still eating!’, but sometimes Steve would forget, and tell Billy to do something, and Billy would take a deep breath and hold very still until Steve remembered.

“Sure, with you,” Billy said, raising his head enough to grin lazily at Steve, and Steve couldn’t help smiling back.

“We should talk to—to somebody,” he said, stubbornly. “A—a real grownup.”

“I’m real,” Billy huffed.

“Somebody older,” Steve hissed, and Billy made a face.

“I’m older than your dad,” he muttered, crossing his arms.

“But you—you’re not human,” Steve reminded him. “You—you’re like a teenager. You said.”

“Nooo, come on, kiddo, lemme alone,” Billy groaned. “I’m old enough.”

Steve narrowed his eyes and grabbed Billy’s phone, and typed s-a-f-e into the search bar, and then braced himself, and tapped s-e-x. He hunched his shoulders, his face burning, and hit search. He found a lot of...things, and squeaked in a kind of dying way through his hand.

Billy snatched the phone back, looked at it, and said “Oh my god. Stevie. Stop. I will research it myself, and I—I will be careful. Okay?”

Steve buried his hot face in his hands, nodding, and trying to suppress horrified giggles. He kinda wanted to turtle into his jacket, or crawl away under the tables, but he just pulled his knees up on the seat, and tried not to whine like a tea kettle.

Billy grimaced, scrolling through his phone, and Steve realized—while his ears probably smoked with the imagery he’d seen about things in butts—that Billy’s shoulders were up, and he had his arms crossed in front of himself too.

“Sorry,” Steve wheezed, through his fingers. “Y-you aren’t—you aren’t gross! Sorry! I just—I just love you and—I have to keep you safe—”

“I have to keep you safe,” Billy told him, grinning, and shaking his head. “I’m more grown up than you, fetus.” His cheeks were pink, and Steve scowled at him, then kicked at his knees under the table.

“You’re bad at some things!” he hissed, as Billy yelped, swinging his legs away. “I have to help, I have to help you—”

Billy shushed him, laughing, and then opened his mouth, and closed it, as Steve sipped at his hot chocolate. Billy waved at it, and suddenly it was hot again like it had just come from the kitchen, and had rainbow sprinkles, and Steve sighed, wanting to—hug him, or something, and feeling the same annoying worry he always felt when he wasn’t doing enough. He knew Billy’d stay, he told himself, as long as he could.

As long as Steve could keep him wanting to.

“Finish your pancakes,” Billy told him, grinning. “Gonna take you to the park.”

Steve liked the park okay, mostly because it was where they went when somebody was happy with him, but it was also worrying, because it was where they went when his parents wanted him to shut up and go play. He was pretty sure this time was both, but when they got out to the parking lot, Billy grabbed him and spun him around so his legs swung around in the air, and hugged him the whole way to the car, and when they got there, he didn’t send Steve off to play while Billy talked on his phone, so it was Good Park Reasons.

“You’re not...mad,” Steve asked, cautiously, and Billy laughed, squeezing him tighter.

“Nah,” he said. “You?”

“Naaaah,” Steve giggled back, drawing out the syllable.

There was a pattern to Billy being a slut, Steve noticed, because if it was Billy, it couldn’t be a bad word. They’d be out, and somebody would see Billy, or Billy’d see them, and Steve would see them staring at each other. “I’m going to go listen to storytime,” he’d announce, or “Look, there’s a play area here, I’m gonna go ride the bouncy horse.”

“Me too,” Billy said once, cheerfully, grinning at him, and Steve shook his head.

“They don’t allow grownups on the bouncy horse,” he said slowly, wishing he didn’t have to tell Billy sad things when he was grinning, but Billy just laughed, hugged Steve’s head—messing up his hair—and walked off.

When Steve had to start first grade, he clung to Billy the night before, and Billy carried him around for two hours, making him giggle as they made popcorn and watched cartoons on Netflix, and then pulled a big wrapped present out of nowhere. It was a new LEGO set, one Steve had never even heard of, a dragon that could transform into a pirate ship.

“Is it that weird?” Billy asked, grimacing at it, while Steve stared, and Steve threw his arms around Billy’s neck, shaking his head.

“I don’t want to go to school. I want to stay home with you,” Steve said into Billy’s shoulder, and sighed.

“Maybe I should put it away, then,” Billy said, raising his eyebrows. “I was saving it for when you had to go back to school, but if you don’t want it—”

“I want it!” Steve yelped, scrambling back out of Billy’s lap to huddle around it. “I want it, I want it!”

“Okay,” Billy told him, ruffling his hair. “We probably won’t finish it tonight, but once you make a ton of friends, I’ll need something super cool to get you to hang out with me, right?”

“No,” Steve told him, laughing. “You’re my best friend.”

Billy laughed, but he didn’t look convinced, so when he got the fruit snacks out after dinner, Steve gave him all the blue ones—they tasted best—and the trucks, which were biggest.

“Ah,” said Billy, biting his lips together. “They’re very...warm,” because they’d gotten a little sticky as Steve waited for him to finish the dishes, but he crouched and pulled Steve into a tight hug.

Steve fell asleep curled up against Billy’s shoulder, and woke up in his bed, with his mom shaking him awake.

“I told Billy we don’t need him during the school year,” she said, frowning at her phone. “During the day, anyway. He’ll still come by and feed you, and put you to bed.”

She wandered off, and Steve wondered, clutching his blankets, whether anyone would make him breakfast. He climbed out of his bed feeling kind of...bad, like he’d had a nightmare, and might cry. He sniffled, and rubbed his face, and stayed in his pajamas until after breakfast, trying not to think about his usual mornings, with Billy pretending he was an out-of-control backhoe and scooping him out of bed, or Billy humming at the stove as he made Steve eggs and toast.

Steve’s eyes leaked a little, and he stomped to the bathroom and blew his nose, feeling like a big baby for missing Billy so much. He got himself cereal, and remembered shopping for it—Billy’d slowly taken over all the things Steve’s mom and dad used to do, like buying him new school clothes, and taking him to the doctor—and Billy had let him pick out things his mom never would have, weird fruits they didn’t know how to eat, and once, because Steve had liked it, a set of footie pajamas with rainbows and unicorns that was definitely for girls.

He’d warned Steve, once they were back in the car, that sometimes people were mean to boys who wore unicorns, and Steve had held up his middle fingers, the way he was allowed to do when their downstairs neighbor called Billy mean names.

“You tell ‘em, tiger,” Billy had said, laughing.

The day school started, Steve hugged himself in the soft unicorn pajamas, and pulled the hood over his head. He tried to stop crying so he could go finish breakfast, but he kept thinking of awful things, like what if Billy didn’t come on weekends anymore, and it was just Steve all alone in the house, and what if nobody bought food at all, and what if Billy was taking care of some new kid he liked better. His mom found him bawling on the toilet, and groaned.

“You have to go to school even if you cry,” she said flatly, and Steve nodded, sniffling.

“C-can I call Billy,” he whispered, his voice sounding kind of funny, like he was sick.

She rolled her eyes, sighing, but handed him her phone, and he fiddled with it until she yanked it back, clicked around, and handed it back, ringing.

“Yes ma’am?” came Billy’s voice, and Steve stood up.

“BILLY!” he yelled, and Billy laughed.

“Hey, kiddo,” he said, “—did you need something? You know I’ll see you after school, right?”

“I miss you,” Steve told him, with another sniffle, and Billy started making all these shushing, calming noises, like the time Steve had fallen down the outside stairs of the apartment building, and Billy’d been more freaked out than Steve was.

Steve giggled, wetly. “Um,” he asked, clearing his throat, “—are—are you with a...different kid?”

“No!” Billy laughed. “No way, short stuff, I’m just at the laundromat, okay?”

“If you get a different kid,” Steve said, stubbornly, around the hard lump in his throat, “—they have to let you say no. They have to tell you you can say no, you have to—”

“I’m okay, Stevie,” Billy said, sounding a little teary himself. “I’m gonna see you today, and we’re both okay, okay? We’re gonna both be fine. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I wouldn’t be there this morning, I didn’t know either, okay?”

“...okay,” Steve mumbled, glaring up at his mom, who was inspecting the edges of her false nails.

“I’ll talk to you later, all right, my man?” Billy asked, and Steve nodded, swallowing.

“Later,” he managed.

“So dramatic,” his mom said, grabbing her phone back, and hanging up.

Steve waited for the school bus with four older kids who kept screaming and pretending to shove each other into traffic. He rubbed his nails up and down his backpack straps, making a wsht wsht wsht noise, and worried about Billy. It was hot already in the sun, and he squinted watching for the bus.

The teachers met them by the bus, and they did a roll call, different loud voices yelling out their names. Right after Steve’s name was called was Billy Hargrove, by the same teacher, and that was Billy’s name, his whole name that Steve’s parents used. Steve spun, huge-eyed, to see a kid run up, his age, but definitely Billy, and Steve threw both arms around him, trying not to cry.

“Is this okay?” Billy asked, stiff and nervous, and Steve squeezed him tighter, feeling how small he was, Steve’s size or even littler, but still with his pretty hair, and his earring.

“You two are friends, huh? That’s nice,” the teacher told them, smiling, and Steve nodded at her.

“He’s my Billy,” he said, unable to stop smiling, or let go of Billy. Billy looked kind of startled, and proud of himself, the way he did when he cooked something right the first time, or found the boy’s shoe section.

“Are you gonna come all the time?!” Steve whispered, and Billy shrugged, raising his eyebrows.

“Maaaaybe,” he whispered back, but he was smiling as huge and goofily as Steve, and Steve missed paying attention to half the first day of class, he was so excited. Once he got Billy alone, at recess, around the side of the gym, he hugged him again, and Billy laughed.

“Are you a genie,” Steve asked, half serious, and Billy stilled again.

“...what d’you mean,” he asked, cautiously, and Steve laughed.

“You keep giving me wishes,” he said. “You gave me a best friend. And I’m not lonesome at school. And the LEGO dragon,” he told Billy, holding both his hands. “That’s three wishes.”

Billy was watching him uncertainly, and Steve was happy, not mad, so he leaned in and kissed the end of Billy’s nose. Billy squirmed away, laughing.

“That’s not all, though,” Steve told him, grabbing his hands again. “You got me Honey Nut Cheerios yesterday. I know we were out of them, Billy. You got my mom the job she wanted...I think,” he said, because he’d had suspicions, but Billy grimaced guiltily, and then he was sure.

“I got a best friend out of it too,” he muttered, glaring at Steve. Steve grinned at him, and Billy sighed. “Don’t worry, you’re not gonna run out of wishes, I’m not the guy from Aladdin.”

“You’re a genie?” Steve whispered, bouncing a little on his toes, and leaning in too close, probably, his weight squishing Billy’s shoulder blades against the cement wall of the gym, but then he remembered that Billy was bad at saying no. He stepped back. “Um, do you—do you need help?”

“I’m okay,” Billy said, laughing again. As a kid, his cheeks were kind of pink and round, and Steve clenched his fists so he wouldn’t get grabby.

“Could—could people make you do things?” Steve asked, biting his lip.

“You could,” Billy said, smiling, and turning even pinker. “But you don’t.”

“I won’t,” Steve nodded. “Is there—is there something people could—could someone steal you,” he asked, his voice cracking as the horrible thought occurred to him, and Billy shook his head, laughing.

“It’s not exactly like that, there’s no lamp, or anything,” he said, glancing at Steve, and then frowning at the ground. “I-I’m not exactly a genie. I’m—I’m just yours, as long as you want me.”

“Oh,” Steve said, in a small voice, wondering how he’d gotten so lucky, and also feeling like this was an even bigger responsibility than a puppy. “Um.”

“Or you can send me away,” Billy said, smiling, a little. “If you get bored.”

“I wouldn’t ever,” Steve said, pulling him into a hug again, and sighing into his smaller, softer shoulder. “Um, unless—unless you want me to.”

Billy shook his head, hugging Steve back.

He knew even less about first grade than Steve did, which was kind of weird, but fun, because Steve got to show him how to sharpen pencils, and clean the whiteboard, and Billy listened to books like he had no idea what was gonna happen, even books Steve had heard over and over before.

“Your new friend’s kinda dumb,” Tommy Hagen said, glaring at Billy, and Steve scowled.

“He’s smart! And he’s pretty, and he’s nice,” Steve hissed, and stomped away, and Tommy knocked into him every chance he got after that, spilling Steve’s paint and his glitter and his cheerios, but the teacher was a fairy, and she waved everything tidy, hovering about three inches off the floor in annoyance.

“Read me the next one,” Billy whispered, when Steve went to find out what he was doing by the bookshelf.

“...you can read, though,” Steve said, and Billy nodded, sitting next to him, and leaning his head on Steve’s shoulder.

“I was up early,” he mumbled, and Steve put an arm around him, and read him the story.

He turned back into himself—the Billy Steve was used to—after school, and Steve watched him, fascinated.

“What do you really look like?” he asked, and Billy shot him a frown, clenching his hands around the steering wheel.

“Uh, what does that...mean,” he asked, and Steve watched him, wondering if Billy’s shoulders hunched up when he was nervous because that’s what humans did, and Billy was copying, or whether that was what genies did, too.

“I just wondered,” Steve said, shrugging, and he looked away, trying to look uninterested. “You don’t have to tell me. Uh, recess is uh, fun, huh? Um, I like the tire swing. We should, uh, we should...make a snack. At home. Later.”

Billy laughed. “You’re such a good kid,” he said, grinning over, and Steve’s whole face reddened.

He nearly swallowed his tongue. “I—I’m normal,” he said, and Billy reached over and ruffled his hair.

“I dunno, kiddo, you seem pretty great to me.” Steve groaned, hiding his bewildered grin in his arms, and Billy was quiet for a long second, before saying “...it’s not like here, where I’m from. I can’t...be like I am there.”

“Oh,” said Steve, nodding a lot, because he had no idea what that meant.

“This is how I look here,” Billy said, smiling over. “There’s no big secret.”

“Ohhhh,” Steve said, nodding again, kind of disappointed, but considering the genie from Aladdin—the only genie he knew of. “It’s probably easier, having feet,” he offered, and Billy snickered.

“Yeah, yeah, it is.”

The real thing Steve wanted to ask seemed kind of...big, bigger than whether Billy was secretly blue. “Um,” he said, frowning down at his hands.

“...what’s up, bud?” Billy asked, raising his eyebrows, and Steve made a face.

“Uh, where did you...go? When my mom said you had to leave. Do you…”

“I told you, I took everything to the laundromat,” Billy said quickly, and Steve shook his head.

“No, I mean...where do you...live,” he whispered. “I thought...I thought you lived at my house. You never left before.”

“I’m okay, I’m fine,” Billy said quickly, and Steve bit his lips together, kind of hating his mom. “I just, y’know. I don’t sleep, exactly, I found a cafe—”

“That won’t work,” Steve said, feeling the weight of Billy being his, and setting his jaw. “I’ll...I’ll tell her I need you to make breakfast. I’ll make a big mess of the kitchen—”

“Don’t worry about me, kiddo,” Billy said, laughing. “It’s not like she made me go home.”

“It’d be nice if you did have a lamp,” Steve sighed. “With little stuff in it, you know, like Polly Pocket. You could go in there when you wanted to.” Billy started laughing, cackling so hard he pulled over and folded his arms on the steering wheel, and when he looked over, finally, Steve stuck his tongue out. “It’s not that funny,” he huffed.

Billy beamed at him, and ruffled his hair again, roughly, like he was trying to mess Steve’s hair up, and wiped his eyes. “You know what I can do,” he said, softly, leaning close, and Steve leaned towards him. The vinyl of his seat creaked.

“Why are we whispering?” he asked.

“I can change size,” Billy told him, grinning. “You want to build me somewhere to live, Stevie? With your LEGOs?”

“Ohhhh,” Steve gasped, staring at him. “Let’s go home right now,” he whispered back. “Do—do you want a castle? Or a—a death star,” he whispered through his fingers, his voice squeaking. “A ship?!”

“We can look at all the options,” Billy said seriously, and Steve stomped his feet on the floor of the car like drum beats, he was so excited.

He had homework when they got home, writing about his summer, and he groaned.

“You can do that while I fix dinner,” Billy said, like it didn’t even matter that Billy could be the right size to open the doors in Steve’s LEGO haunted mansion. It was hard to focus on his math worksheet for that and a lot of other reasons, like Steve got addition, it made sense, he didn’t need to think to remember what 2+3 was, and also Billy was cooking, and that was hard to ignore.

He was making mashed potatoes, and Steve was girding himself to eat them, watching Billy frown around the kitchen and then shove the potatoes in the blender, click it to make it go, and listen to it struggle. Billy turned it off again and glanced worriedly back at Steve, who pretended to be working very hard on his worksheet.

The fridge door opened, and Steve tried to watch surreptitiously—and sure enough, Billy had figured out that the blender needed liquid, and he was pouring Steve’s dad’s kombucha-cola into the blender with the potatoes.

Steve tried not to grimace, but then Billy sniffed it, made a face, and pushed two pickles into the mess, and he couldn’t help asking “Um, what do you eat?”

“What,” Billy hissed, turning to hide the blender from Steve with his body. “I eat—food. You’ve seen me!”

“You, uh, I think maybe you didn’t used to,” said Steve, watching the greyish-greenish color the mashed potatoes were turning with fascination. “So, um…”

“I’m not hurting anybody,” Billy said, hunching his shoulders like Steve might think maybe he did, and Steve scoffed, turning to a worksheet page on using ‘a’ or ‘an’ in sentences, which was even worse.

“I know you aren’t,” he told Billy, rolling his eyes, and Billy laughed, relaxing a little. “What d’you eat, though?”

“...I don’t…” Billy trailed off, grimacing. “I don’t eat like you do.”

“Oh,” Steve nodded, watching his face hopefully, and then frowning at the worksheet. “Are you like a tree?”

“...sort...of,” Billy muttered, rubbing his face, and Steve realized Billy was turning red. “When I...make people...happy, it’s like...sun. For a...tree. In a...way.”

“You make me happy all the time,” Steve told him, and Billy made a face, turning redder, and Steve let himself look away from the worksheet, trying to remember whether ‘y’ was a vowel. He watched the wet, brownish-greeny-grey potatoes whirling soupily around in the blender. “I mean, except for sometimes when you won’t look up recipes online.”

“They’re impossible to fuck up,” Billy moaned, grabbing his phone, and frantically typing. “I can’t mess up mashed potatoes, Billy, nobody can mess up mashed potatoes—”

“Whoever said that didn’t know you’re not human,” Steve told him, “—because that’s, uh.”

Billy switched the blender off, sighing heavily as he stared at the slow bubbles rising through the muck. “...cereal?” he offered, defeatedly.

“Cereal is good,” Steve said, guessing that ‘an’ was correct and writing it in, and Billy groaned.

“How about I have Mr. Johnstone remember you when he’s taking his cookies out of the oven, and bring you some?” Billy asked, and Steve brightened.

“How come you can’t make me want to do my homework,” he huffed, and Billy paused, frowning over at him.

“Is that what you...want?” he asked.

“....no,” Steve said, because Billy’s eyes were smoking, a little, for the first time in months, and also it did sound kind of weird. “...have you...ever?”

“Ever what,” Billy said, staring at him, and starting to pour Steve’s milk on the counter, instead of into a bowl.

“Billy! Bowl!” Steve yelped, pointing, and Billy grabbed a bowl, fumbled it, and then dropped it, so it smashed all over the kitchen floor.

“Fuck,” he hissed, waving his hand, and the glass pieces all flew up to be a bowl again. Billy leaned back against the counter, his shoulders slumped, rubbing his face.

“...wow,” Steve whispered, because Billy rarely did anything obvious, it was always ‘Oh, no, Steve, you didn’t leave your new baseball cap at the zoo, I have it right here,’ or ‘Of course your dad will come out for dinner with you, kiddo,’ and then the wi-fi failed, and he did. “I just mean, um.”

“What,” Billy sighed.

“When I had the flu, did, uh, did you...make me sleep?” Steve asked, because he’d wondered about that one, waking up to his parent’s panicked faces in the hospital. “Until I felt better?”

“You told me to,” Billy said, watching his face. “You said.”

“...only if I asked,” Steve said, nodding slowly, and Billy nodded a couple times, faster.

“Only if you tell me to,” Billy nodded. “Mr. Johnstone always means to bring you cookies anyway, I’m just reminding him, is all—”

“How come you don’t use it to do the laundry, and...things,” Steve asked, since Billy was answering, and Billy laughed.

“I could,” he said, shrugging. “You need to know how to do it too, though, right? This way, we can do it together.”

“...did my mom…” Steve began, remembering the long-ago commercial, and making a face as he imagined Billy ordered to pour something over his own head. “...does my mom...have your...lamp? Is that...is that why you have to listen to me?” Billy opened his mouth, frowning, and Steve shook his head. “I-I know you said it’s not a lamp, but—”

“...I don’t have to do what your mom says,” Billy told him, cocking his head.

“...just me?” Steve asked, and Billy leaned back against the cupboards, crossing his arms.

“...yeeeah,” he said, warily, and Steve breathed a sigh of relief, nodding, and kicking his feet under his chair as he thought.

“Do…” he began, and trailed off, and Billy came over and sat down at the table, raising his eyebrows.

“Spit it out, kiddo.”

“...my magical people encyclopedia,” Steve started, then paused, trying to figure out how to continue. “...it, uh, it says to...it says not to..ask for things.”

“What did you want to ask for, Stevie?” Billy asked, with a long, contented sigh, folding his arms behind his head as he leaned back in his chair. He sat his feet on the chair next to Steve, grinning.

“No, no, I don’t—I don’t...want anything,” Steve said, and Billy sat his boots on the ground again.

“What’s wrong, buddy,” he asked, sitting up to reach across, and squeeze Steve’s hands. Billy’s hands were twice as big as Steve’s, and Steve always felt safe, when Billy held him, but he shut his eyes. “It—it says if you ask for things, there’s always a...price. It says—not money, but—it—it can go wrong, I might—forget someone, or they might...forget me, uh,” Steve paused, swallowing, as Billy’s hands on his went still. “Somebody wished for their dead son back, and he came back but he wasn’t alive, or...or she wished for treasure, but then she got arrested for stealing it…”

Billy smiled, a little, but not like anything was funny. “...oh,” he said, finally.

“It—the book said not to just...wish for things, if you didn’t know how you were...paying,” Steve mumbled.

“I’m not a monkey’s paw,” Billy growled, “—or a like, a fae lord, I’m not tricking you out of things you want, I’m not going to steal your memories, or your name, or anything—”

“Tommy doesn’t wanna be my friend anymore,” Steve said, his voice wobbling a little, because he hadn’t had a lot of people who really liked him, until Billy.

“Tommy’s a little shithead,” Billy muttered, but Steve talked over him.

“...if I have to...pay something to be friends with you,” Steve said, thinking about how his parents barely knew he was there, and whether they ever had, or whether he only remembered them that way, “—is—is that—”

“Shit, no,” Billy breathed, shoving away from the table and stomping over to lean against the sink again. “I didn’t—fuck, there’s nothing I can say, is there, I could have done anything, you can’t believe me—”

Steve blinked wide eyes at the words Billy was using, glancing up the hallway in case his mom or dad came around the corner. “Ssssh,” he whispered. “Sshh, I believe you! Don’t say the f-word, you’ll get in trouble!”

“Who cares, right,” Billy hissed. “I can just make them forget it, right?!” He looked really upset, Steve registered, kind of relieved, even though he’d known Billy was his friend, really. Billy looked like he might cry, and Steve got up from the table, and went over to hug him around the waist.

Even if Billy had taken his friendship with Tommy in trade for wishes, or something worse, Steve thought, it’d probably be worth it. “...I didn’t mean…” he sighed. “I know you wouldn’t...on purpose.”

“What’s that mean, on purpose,” Billy asked, disentangling himself from Steve’s hug, but just to pick him up. Steve hugged him again, around the neck, and messed Billy’s hair up the way Billy always did Steve’s. Billy laughed softly.

“...you’d make sure I wanted to pay for the wish. You wouldn’t do anything that made me sad on purpose,” Steve said, sighing. “I know you wouldn’t.”

“...sad, no,” Billy told him, squeezing him harder. “Mad, maybe. You aren’t paying for wishes, kiddo. If you want Honey Grahams because I’m a shitty cook and I ruined lunch, I’m not going to steal your memories.”

“You wouldn’t take away somebody liking me,” Steve whispered, and Billy rocked him a little, sighing.

“Nope.”

“Mom and Dad never liked me, it wasn’t you,” Steve mumbled, and Billy froze. “You didn’t take that.”

“Oh, jesus, kidlet,” he said softly. “Of course they...do,” he said unconvincingly.

“They don’t,” Steve sighed. “But you do.”

“Yeah,” Billy told him, swaying Steve a little, and rubbing his back. “You’re my favorite.”

“Favorite what?” Steve asked, giggling, and Billy hrrrm’d.

“Favorite everything,” he whispered, lifting Steve way high up so he could put his hands on the ceiling, and swinging him around while Steve laughed.

Next Chapter!

#Harringrove #Demon!Billy #Summoner!Steve #Friendship #Kidfic #Billy ends up babysitting basically #They're friends

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ratsoh-writes · 2 years

Note

Personality: Playful, laid back, dynamic, practical, passive, introvert. Likes to tease, poke and joke around, can be chaotic and energetic if want to other then that then mostly chill. A curious chicken: likes to do many things out of curiosity but needs some motivation and stimulation and if safety isn’t guaranteed then I’ll back down right away. Is actually quite responsible when need to. Anxiety is guaranteed, if i spot any sign of negativity, hostility i will back pedal hard unless the person gives me the green card of “no worries lol” otherwise avoiding said person like a plague i go, at least until I’m comfortable again. Sometimes impatient and can zone out a lot.

Hobbies: All kinds of game as long as it’s interesting, occasionally draw or write, watching random stuff on youtube. Likes to info dive if something peaks my interest. Bantering with others especially friends. Can get bored easily so constantly crave new and interesting things and often jump from stuff to stuff so diversity in interest bbyyyy

Pet peeves: Baby talk, poking nose into personal businesses, being irrational and or obnoxious, look down on me

Deal breaker: Degrading, too clingy, nit pick things, short temper, boring, vagueness, no mutual respect. Too heavy on wanting kids

Value in life: Experience and Knowledge

There are so many unanswered things, to get to see how each things work and play their part in life is very fascinating. Getting to do research of my own with hands on experiments with things that is of my interest fills me with joy. Life is too short and there are many fun things you need to have a taste of at least once. Diverse skill set is a huge bonus that comes with

This shall gives u a hard time ehehehe

Not hard at all lol

I’m matching you with….

Sans!!! The sexy man himself!!

What draws sans to you is your curiosity. You have a love for learning and experiencing new things. That brings the passion back in his life. With you he never feels bored or lethargic

The fact that you can be chaotic but also limit yourself is a huge plus in your favor in getting with sans. He’s a prankster and loves a good joke, as long as it’s safe and legal of course! Pranks are meant to confuse, not hurt! The prank wars between you two are legendary

Sans default nickname is kid or kiddo. He even calls monsters who are clearly older kid. Drives people mad. The best way to train him out of it is to start calling him Dr. Wingdings (technically his work title). He’ll never call you kid after a day of that lol

Sans favorite types of dates are educational. He loves visiting museums, historical sites, or tours.

#matchups

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jonbernthalslut · 3 years

Text

some destiel and general spn headcanons for ya

dean listens to katy perry. one day he’s got teenage dream blasting in the kitchen while he’s cooking and he’s singing ‘put your hands on me in my skin tight jeans’ and cas just taps his shoulder and goes. ‘dean. you don’t wear skinny jeans.’

they don’t talk about crowley. not any of them. he was confusing and murderous and a little evil and for some reason they considered him family for a long time. they don’t talk about how he died for them but there’s a note in a drawer somewhere that just says ‘goodbye boys’ with a little heart

cas and deans wedding rings are simple. deans just a silver band and castiels a simple black one

claire and jack argue over who gets to be the flower girl

dean says he likes black coffee and forces himself to drink it most of the time out of necessity but cas and sam know he likes a lot of cream and sugar and cas makes it for him every morning

it takes longer this time for castiel to get out of the empty. almost an entire year to the day (and no there’s no stupid fucking rusty nail) but the only way he gets out this time is bargaining. he plays the only chip he’s got left, mortality. castiel goes home human. when the deal is struck the empty only says oke thing before sending him back. ‘you are never to return to this place’

cas gets an anti possession tattoo

jack is still god so they don’t see him as much but he comes home for birthdays and holidays and sometimes just when he misses his dads and uncle

when castiel comes back it resembles the last time a lot. he calls dean from the closest pay phone to the bunker after hitch hiking his way there and dean goes alone this time.

dean just puts his hands on castiels face and just soaks him in for a second. this time he doesn’t question that it’s him he just knows. he knows is his angel. ‘dean,’ castiel starts and dean just smiles and shushes him. ‘i love you too.’ is all dean says and he really always that he would be the one to kiss cas first but he was wrong. because his love being returned was the only thing cas needed and dean is being pulled in and kissed.

they stop hunting. they help train some new recruits and they come when claire or jody calls them but they stop.

sam wears a man bun when he works out don’t let him lie to u he does it

jack slips a few months before he becomes god and calls dean dad and dean just freezes for a second. it’s just them in the kitchen and jack has a bowl of cereal but he’s too tired to get the milk so he goes ‘dad can you give me the milk?’ and dean freezes for a second and gets the milk and pours it and kisses his hair. ‘thank you’ ‘anytime kiddo’

cas likes to steal deans t shirts. like. it’s all he wears when he gets back and dean even buys him new ones and cas jus goes ‘i like yours better’

when sam sees castiel and dean walk into the bunker after cas comes back he doesn’t even notice they’re holding hands. well. he does but it just seems so natural he doesn’t blink twice and just pulls cas into a hug ‘good to have you back man’

claire likes to come over with kaia and alex and jody sometimes and have big slumber parties with her weird kind of dads

castiel watches crime shows and literally always figures out who the killer is before the cops do and dean finds it so funny

castiel has scars on his back where his wings wouldve joined his vessel and they hurt like a bitch so dean just rubs aspercreme on them and gives him ibuprofen and cuddles with him till he feels better

the trench coat is really just a beloved memory hanging in castiels closet

when cas first came back they didn’t share a room immediately instead castiel moves in across the hall but he finds its reallt hard to sleep alone so he just ventured to deans room and hears him snoring aand just gets in bed

dean calls castiel angel, darling, baby, babe and a million other pet names

castiel trting to prank sam on april fools is like. literally so dumb he draws the shittiest possible clown on a napkin and gives it to sam in an envelope and sam jumps anyways and dean DIES laughing

cas watched broke back mountain

cas brings in any and every stray animal he can possibly find and he doesn’t even mean to find them they just come up to him

rowena sends weird little gifts on the boys birthdays and literally who does she know their birthdays

she sends a letter on the anniversary of crowleys death. it says ‘thank you for taking care of my ferguson. he loved you boys and you gave him the family i never could. much love my boys. stay safe.’ with a little heart

castiel heads the john winchester hate squad

eileen and sam get married and they have this big sweet white wedding and move into this big house and have two kids and absolutely don’t name any of them dean

one day jody is on a case and a vampire kills the parents of this little baby girl and she just. cant fathom putting this poor girl into the foster system so she reports the baby dead and drives to the bunker

dean opens the door with sleep ruffled hair and sleep pants with one leg hiked up because it’s three in the goddamn morning and why does jody have a baby

dean doesn’t want to at first. he never saw himself as a dad but jack changed that. thing is he doesn’t know what to do with a baby. but cas gives him that look he gives him when he finds a stray and now they have five cats and three dogs so he knows how this will go

they name her charlie and buy about a million parenting books that only cas reads and spoil her rotten

#this got out of hand #destiel #spn #deancas

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geniusgub · 4 years

Text

north//chapter five

new chapter time!! let me know if you want to be added onto the taglist. enjoy and don’t forget to leave your feedback!

also this chapter is dedicated to @babybobbybones because Ruby is always so supportive of my writing and they are always willing to give me honest opinions on my writing and my moodboards so thank u sm!!!!! love u fishy!! dis is for u!

genre: fluff

pairing: season nine spencer x female oc

warnings: none

word count: 5.6k

AMELIA

I fall onto the floor of my studio, leaning my head against the wall and staring up at the easel, a half-painted canvas propped up on it. I scrunch up my nose, tilting my head back and forth to try and find the beauty in the ugly flowers I’ve just painted. I sit up on my knees and reach my brush forward, adding just a few more strokes to the canvas, but my brush happens to be too saturated with water and the paint just drips down to the bottom of the canvas, ruining the entire painting. Whatever, I didn’t like it anyway.

I throw my brush into the water and sit back down against the wall, letting my eyes wander out the window to my left. My eyes dart between the window and the canvas and I wonder whether I should start over on a new canvas or throw in the towel for the day. Before I can either stand to get my keys and leave or stand to retrieve a new canvas, my phone starts ringing beside me. The name Mike flashes across my screen, so I lunge to answer.

"Hi, there!” I quip, and before Mike can even speak, I hear squeaks and screams of children in the background. The sound makes me grin.

"Hey, Lia. How's it going over in Virginia?" He nearly has to shout over the kids around him.

"It's-" my eyes wander back out the window and to the Starbucks across the street. A couple walks out the door just at that moment, clutching cups of steaming liquid and giggling with each other. My smile only grows and my mind wanders off to Spencer and what he might be doing right now while I’m trying to work, "it's pretty amazing, actually. I'm, um, yeah, it's great, Mike,"

"That's,” he pauses, “great, but there’s something else in your voice. What's happening in Virginia? Anything I need to know about?" Mike's voice is teasing, as he always is.

"Maybe," I respond in the same mischievous tone he gives me, my cheeks turning pink. I don’t give Mike another chance to question what is going so well in Virginia, and I just keep talking about the guy that has been on my mind every second since I first laid my eyes on him. "I've, um, I met a guy and I really like him and-"

"Whoa, whoa, you've got a boyfriend? Have we entered a parallel universe? Is this even you on the phone? Whoever is talking to me on the phone- who are you and what have you done with Amelia Stark?”

"I know, I know," I giggle, and I start to kick my feet like an excited child. "I met him at this cafe, and I swear, Mike, you'd love him. He's insanely smart and he's so sweet and he's such a gentleman. And get this, if you're not convinced then this will convince you- he’s an FBI agent."

"Amelia Stark. You're dating an FBI agent?"

"More specifically, he works for the BAU," Again, I let out a dramatic sigh and fall onto my back on the floor, letting myself be pulled into another lovesick daydream. I let my mind wander off to Spencer’s smile and his laugh and his warm touch and how utterly beautiful he makes me feel whenever we are together. "I just- I know I don't really date but-"

"Telling me you don't date is the understatement of the century. You’re not a commitment girl, and you’re a one night stand girl. You've never answered my calls and told me that things in Virginia are amazing and great and you've definitely never told me that you have a boyfriend, much less a boyfriend that works for the BAU,"

"There's just something about him! He's so different from any guy I've ever met before. I never wanted him to just be a one night stand or some guy that I hang out with for a few weeks and then forget about. Spencer is just amazing- he's so gentle with me, and he indulges in the things I like instead of always forcing the things he likes on me, and he always makes an effort to see me even though he's insanely busy,"

"Wow," Mike scoffs out a laugh. "I don't even know what to say. I'm glad you found someone who you like this much. I'm not even gonna bring up the capital L word because I know you're scared of it, but I have a nasty feeling that you might be bringing up the scary L word soon. And I'm even more glad that you've found an FBI agent with a gun who can protect you,"

"Oh my gosh," I shake my head at him, rolling my eyes into the back of my head. "I've never seen his gun, actually,"

"Good. You tell him to keep his gun away from you for quite a while, especially since you’re telling me he won’t be one of your one night stands. Both of his guns, if you know what I mean,"

My jaw nearly hits the floor at Mike’s remark, and before I can even respond, he bursts into a fit of laughter. "I- oh my god, you did not just say that,”

He chokes on his laughs as he keeps talking. "I'm only messing with you, but not really. Form emotional connections before you jump into bed. That’s what I did with Wendy and look at how long we’ve been together,”

I wrack my brain for any kind of number, but I come up empty. “How long have you guys been together?”

“Too long,” he deadpans.

“Hey! I hope Wendy isn’t home right now because she would have your head on a stake if she heard you say that,”

“She’s at work right now but she left me alone with all the little monsters. Listen, just make sure you use-"

"A condom! I got it, Mikey. I’m a responsible adult, contrary to popular belief. Can we stop talking about this? Let me talk to the kids! I’ll tell them to stop screaming,” I sit up again and my grimace from the slightly NSFW conversation turns into a wide smile, the giddiness bubbling in my stomach.

"Hey, kiddos! Gather around! Your favorite grown-up person is on the phone!" Mike shouts over the hoard of children in his house, and their shouts get closer and closer to his phone until their voices are blaring through the speaker of my phone.

"Amelia! Amelia! Amelia!"

"Hi, my loves!" I exclaim, "how's everything with Mike and Wendy?"

"Come home, Lia! We miss you!" Reese cries out, stumbling over her words in a way that makes my heart swell.

"You didn't come home for Christmas and we missed you so much!" Tyler squeaky voice adds.

"I know, I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to come home for Christmas, and I missed you guys so much too. But I’m sure Mike and Wendy made Christmas really special for everyone, didn’t they? I'm gonna try to come home soon but I can't promise anything. I have lots of pictures of you all and I think about you every day. I'll draw and I'll paint lots of new things and I'll send them home to you. Does that sound good?" They all shout confirmations back at me, and I manage to pick out a few requests for things like dogs and cats and flowers, and that request makes me remember the failed painting right in front of me. "Great. I'm sitting in my studio right now so I'll get working on those. If y’all have any more requests then tell Mike and he’ll tell me. I love you all, okay? I miss you guys so much,"

The kids all shout goodbyes at me before there's rustling on the other line. "Alright, it's just me now," Mike says.

"I actually plan on sending you guys art, partly because I want to and partly as an apology for not coming home for the holidays. Let me know if you need anything new for the walls, whether it’s at home or at the police station. Need a new piece for your office, Sheriff?" I tease, pushing myself off the floor for the first time in almost two hours, grabbing a stack of new canvases.

"We could always use more of your artwork, sweetheart, you know that. Call more, okay? I know it's hard, but we clearly all love hearing from you. And I wanna hear more about this profiling boyfriend of yours. Maybe I'll look up his file in the FBI database,"

"You don't have access to that database, you’re not a federal agent. Just google his name. I gotta get started on these paintings. I’ll call soon.”

“Wait! I only know his first name! What’s his-”

“Oops, that sucks. Tough luck. Gotta go,” I finally get the chance to throw his teasing right back in his face, a grin coming to my face as he groans dramatically. “Love you, Mikey!”

"Love you, kid. Stay safe,"

"You too. Don't get shot,"

"I won't."

///

SPENCER

///

My fingers drum against the book on my lap as I listen to dial tones over and over, waiting anxiously for an answer. Maybe today is a bad day and we don’t get to talk today, and that’s okay. There’s always tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that. But I was just hoping for a nice conversation today, and every time another dial tone rings in my ear, it’s like another stab to the chest.

“Spencer?”

I perk up at the answer, grinning and setting my book onto the coffee table in front of me."Hi, Mom,"

"Spencer, I've been waiting for you to call me for weeks! You can’t ignore me for that long! You can’t leave your poor, old mother in the wind like that!”

I chuckle at her, happy that today seems to be a good day and she’s even capable of joking around. "Sorry, Mom. I've been really busy with work lately, but I wasn’t ignoring you. How was Christmas? I'm sorry I couldn't make it out,"

"It was good, Spencer. I would've preferred to spend it with you, but I enjoyed it," Mom tells me. "We watched movies and made gingerbread houses and some of the nurses got us gifts,"

"That sounds wonderful,"

"So tell me how you've been, honey. You know I hate talking about me and this dreadful place. I'd much rather hear about you,"

My eyes wander over to the coffee table in front of me, or more specifically the scarf that Amelia had left here when stayed over. It must have slipped off of her head when we were sleeping and fell under the couch, and when she rushed out so I could get going, she didn’t realize she wasn’t wearing it anymore. I hadn't gotten a chance to return it because I got whisked away on a case and I haven't been able to see Amelia yet. I reach for it, feeling the soft silk between my fingers. "Um, it's- huh, it's actually pretty great over here,"

"That's wonderful to hear! What's so great about it?" Mom doesn't get much entertainment in her facility and her main contact comes through me. I'm always open to telling her everything and I try to write her at least one letter every day so she can have something to read if I can’t call her, but I was so hell-bent on keeping Amelia a secret. I thought that maybe if I kept her a secret from everyone, then I'd be taking one more precaution at shielding her from my world, but I know that's useless. It's not worth it to keep Amelia a secret and to lie about the source of my happiness, at least not from my mother.

"Well," I look down at the scarf and picture the way Amelia uses the square of fabric to tie back her unruly curls and the way she always seems to look like an angel, "I've met a girl,"

"I’m sure you meet many girls, Spencer. You’re going to have to be a little more specific than that.”

"Her name is Amelia and she's an artist and I swear, Mom, she's the most beautiful girl I've ever seen in my life. We met at the cafe where I get coffee before work and we got coffee together every day that I was home from a case for two months and we spent Christmas together. I just,” I fully expect my mom to cut me off and start rambling about Amelia and how I should pursue a relationship with her if she is making me this happy, but she doesn’t say anything and it forces me to have to finish a sentence I don’t want to say, “she's the first girl I've liked this much since, you know, since Maeve, and I knew I liked her right away and that’s just- it’s really scary,"

"Spencer, it sounds to me like you might even love her," Mom's voice softens. "I'm not going to try and tell you what you’re feeling, but like I always tell you, a mother knows. I'm happy for you, I really am. You deserve to be happy and have someone in your life to look after you and make sure you're healthy and take care of you. Did you ask her to be your girlfriend?"

"Yeah, last week. But we've known each other for almost three months and every time I look at her, I just feel so, I don’t really know. Whenever I get to see her, I never want to leave when I have to and-" I lay down on the couch and throw my head onto a pillow, the scarf resting right in front of my face. "Maybe I do love her. That's so scary though. I haven't known her for long at all. Can you fall in love with someone after three months?"

"When you first meet someone, you get a first impression, right? Sometimes you can be put off, or you can be instantly intimated by someone, or be intrigued, and so on. Love is a feeling, right? It’s a feeling in the same way that fear and intrigue are. Who’s to say you can’t feel love when you first meet someone? Who's to say you can't fall in love with someone in that same amount of time that someone can scare you? Love is complex and, yes, it’s scary and you've been scorned by it in the past, but don't let that get in the way of this good thing you've got with this Amelia girl,"

"I've never thought of love like that before."

Mom laughs gently. "Like I said. A mother knows," she pauses. "Oh, Spencer, I've gotta go. The nurses need me."

"That's fine," I breathe out a sigh, pushing myself up to a sitting position and pulling the scarf into my lap again. "Thanks for the talk. It was really helpful. I love you, Mom,"

"I love you too, Spencer," Mom says before hanging up, leaving me alone yet again in my apartment.

I push myself to my feet, leaving the scarf on the coffee table, making my way into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee for myself. I lean over the counter and check my watch, counting down the seconds until Amelia is set to show up at my door. And as if the universe is answering my silent prayer, there's a soft knock on the door just a millisecond later. I leave my coffee on the counter and rush to let her in, throwing the door open.

Amelia is standing there, looking as beautiful as ever, wearing a white dress and her black peacoat, camera hanging around her neck and one strap from her backpack draped over her shoulder. She’s beaming at me, almost emitting rays of sunshine from her body, shuffling her way through the door and throwing her arms around my neck in a tight hug. It nearly takes me by surprise, but if I’ve learned anything about Amelia by now, it’s that she’s affectionate and she loves to hug, and I can’t seem to find a single fault in that. I whisper a greeting in her ear, reaching around Amelia’s waist to shut the door, keeping out the cold air that blows inside from the hallway.

"Hi, dove," she chirps, sinking down on her heels when we pull away from the hug.

I cock my head to the side like a puppy, trying to hide my confusion but I’m positive it’s evident on my face. "Dove?"

"It’s just a pet name. Do you not like it? I could call you something else, or I could just stick to your name if that’s-”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Amelia unravels her arms from around my neck and shrugs off her backpack, hanging it right beside my jacket, then crouches down to take off her shoes. “I like it, actually.”

“Noted,” Amelia jumps back up to her feet, now noticeably shorter without her heels, and gives me a cheesy smile. She opens her mouth to say something else but her mouth snaps shut when her eyes travel downwards just a bit. “Spencer, you’re still in your work clothes.”

“Oh,” I follow her line of sight and look down at my trousers, button-up, cardigan, and tie, my gun holster on my hip (but my gun is locked away in a hidden place) and my credentials in my pocket, “yeah, sorry about that. After I got home, I was on the phone with my mom for a bit and I just didn’t get a chance to change yet.”

Amelia’s lips settle into a pout as she follows into the kitchen. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your phone call.”

“You didn’t, don’t worry. Do you want a cup of tea? Anything to drink or eat or-”

“I do but why don’t you go change? I can handle a cup of tea by myself. Put on something other than a dress shirt and a tie. Be comfortable,” she breezes right past me and reaches into the cupboard for a mug, already grabbing the kettle and filling it with water. I just watch her for a moment, slowly unclipping my watch from my wrist and watching the way her white dress slides across her legs with every tiny movement. But she doesn’t turn around again to check on my location and just looks between the box of Earl Grey tea and camomile tea, mulling over which to indulge in tonight. So I leave Amelia to her seemingly challenging decision and hurry off to my bedroom, ridding myself of the work clothes I’ve been wearing for almost thirty hours. I change into plaid pajama pants and a sweatshirt, only glancing in the mirror for a split second to check if my hair is an absolute mess before returning to Amelia.

She’s leaning against the counter with her mug in one hand and her camera in the other, and when I re-enter the room, she looks up at me and grins at the sight of my more relaxed state. “You look cozy. Guess I should have worn my pajamas today.”

I go and lean against the counter beside her, picking up my cup of coffee and looking over her shoulder at the pictures she is flipping through on her camera. At first, most of the pictures are of a redhead I’ve never seen before, posed in a park and modeling for the camera. Then the pictures turn to the sights I see every day and I conclude they must be pictures that Amelia took this morning or on her way here. “These are really good.”

“Oh, thanks,” Amelia’s cheeks turn pink at the compliment as she tosses the camera aside, clutching her cup of tea instead.

“I’d love to see more of your art sometime. I haven’t seen that much but the things that I have seen, I really loved.”

“Maybe one day, when you’re available, you can come to my studio. It’s just a couple of blocks away. I’d love for you to come and see some of what I do when you’re gone,” her head falls onto my shoulder and she scoots closer to me, her arm slowly moving around my waist, pulling me even closer to her. “It’s what I did all day. But speaking of all day, how was your day? How was the case?”

We move into the living room and get under a blanket as I give Amelia vague details about the case we solved this past week. She sits just as close to me as she was in the kitchen and tucks her feet under my legs to warm herself up, and once I’ve decided I’ve told her enough about the serial killer that we captured last night, she starts telling me about her last few days and how she went out to see a bad movie with her group of friends. She keeps moving closer and closer as the sun gets lower and lower and soon enough, Amelia is laying over my lap and my hands are in her hair, brushing the strands out of her face. I can confidently say that it’s the most relaxed and the most comfortable I’ve been this past week, and maybe even in the last few months. Every time Amelia is around and we get to just sit and talk, it’s a breath of fresh air. I don’t get to do this enough. I look up at the clock after being on the couch for a long time, seeing that it’s almost midnight. Thank god I don’t have to work tomorrow.

“Hey,” Amelia hums and looks up at me, her head in my lap and the blanket wrapped mostly around her, “it’s late. Do you want anything to eat?”

She hums once more, sitting up and keeping the blanket pulled up to her chest, her eyelids fluttering like a child fighting off sleep. “Yeah. I could really go for some ice cream. Do you have any?”

��I do, actually. But just chocolate, I think,” I stand from the couch and hold my hands out to Amelia, lugging her off the couch when she puts her hands in mine. She follows me one more time into the kitchen and pulls out bowls and spoons while I grab the gallon of ice cream from the freezer.

“So,” Amelia draws the word out, bumping her hip with mine when she reaches over me for a bowl, “will you tell me about your BAU team? I know their names, but they’re your best friends and basically your second family so I wanna know about them.”

“Oh, really? What do you wanna know?” She grins as I slide the chocolate syrup over to her and she quickly steals it to drizzle it all over her bowl of ice cream.

“Mm,” she hums, far too concentrated on her ice cream at first to give me a proper answer. But when she finishes with the syrup and hands it back to me, she hastily grabs spoons from the drawer and returns her full attention to the conversation, “just about your history with them. I’m not sure, whatever you wanna tell. Whatever’s important.”

We retake our seats on the couch, both of us now evenly draped in the blanket with our ice cream bowls in our hands. Amelia slings her legs over my lap and scoots as close to me as she can get, pressing her cheek to my shoulder. Despite wearing pajama pants, I can feel Amelia’s thighs, exposed by her dress, pressed against mine and it takes my breath away for a moment. I have to shift my position in the slightest so Amelia isn’t too on top of me, and once I’ve moved and I’m more comfortable, I start to let my mind race over what I could tell her.

“Well, Morgan is one of my best friends and he was one of the first people I met when I started working at the BAU. He’s loud sometimes and a little overwhelming but he’s always there for me. For example, during a case, I got anthrax poisoning and-”

Amelia nearly drops her bowl at this revelation and she reaches for my arm, squeezing tighter than ever before. “I’m sorry, what? Did I hear you correctly? Anthrax poisoning? And you’re still alive?” She practically throws her bowl onto the coffee table, quicking whipping around and grabbing my cheeks, pulling my face closer to hers until our noses are touching. “Am I speaking to a robot right now?”

My eyes practically roll into the back of my head. “A robot? Amelia, I can’t even use my DVD player. What makes you think I’m a robot, which is essentially a being made completely of technology?”

Amelia narrows her eyes at me, dragging her thumbs down to my jawline. She looks away for just a moment to eye the DVD player and then returns to me, just as close as she was two seconds ago. “Why do you have that thing if you don’t know how to use it?”

“It was a gift from JJ,” my lips brush against Amelia’s as I speak and even though we’ve kissed a million times by now, the feeling of our lips touching still makes the butterflies in my stomach act up. But her lips taste like chocolate and I can’t help it when I pull her closer and into a kiss. Now, it’s almost like it’s second nature to want to be constantly touching Amelia and kissing Amelia and just being around Amelia all the time.

Amelia abruptly pulls away from our kiss and lets out a loud yawn, her hand flying up to cover her mouth. “Sorry, sorry. It’s impossible to hold back a yawn while kissing.”

“It’s okay, it’s fine,” I wave my hand at her casually, and when she rubs her hands over her eyes and then pushes her hair back, my heart seems to pound just a little bit faster. She’s a little bit bleary as she inhales sharply, falling forward and pressing her temple against my shoulder. “Hey, it’s really late. I can tell you about my coworkers another day. Do you wanna get to sleep?”

“No,” she shakes her head but her body language strongly contrasts her words as she lets herself melt further into my embrace, “I don’t wanna leave you. I missed you a lot today.”

Okay, Spencer. Being bold with Amelia has yet to fail me so why should it now? Just ask her if she wants to spend the night for the first time. It’s with innocent intentions, anyway. No funny business. Just a couple sleeping in the same bed- what’s wrong with that? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. So just ask. Ask! It’s one night and I’ve recently cleaned my bedroom and washed the sheets so everything should be fine for a girl to sleep over. Sleep over? You’re not a ten year old, Spencer. Don’t ask her if she wants to sleep over like you’re a group of girls planning on eating candy and watching movies until three in the morning on the living room floor. Is that what girls do at sleepovers? I don’t even know. Nope, don’t get sidetracked. Just ask.

“Lia?” She hums in response, not even lifting her head from its spot on my shoulder. I’m used to her being boisterous and loud and positive when I’m anxious so I guess I’ll have to muster up enough courage to ask without her encouragement. “It’s really late already and, well, I don’t know what you’re doing tomorrow but would you wanna stay the night? It’s just- it’s past midnight and, you know, 40% of all fatal car accidents happen at night. 60% of adults have driven while drowsy and 37% of adults have fallen asleep at the wheel. I-“ I let out a breath, my chest deflating at her overall silence. “You don’t have to stay over and I could drive you home so you don’t have to drive but, you know, I would just like to know you’re safe.”

I pause once more and wait for some confirmation or rejection from Amelia, but all I’m met with is quiet breaths across my chest. I duck my head down and find Amelia fast asleep on my shoulder and one of the straps of her dress falling down her arm from the odd angle she’s laying at. Of course, what else would happen? I go on a nervous rant and Amelia sleeps through it.

“Hey, hey, Amelia?” I card my fingers through her hair and luckily, it’s enough to rouse her from her quick nap, and she lifts her head from my shoulder, eyes half-lidded. “Did you hear what I said?”

“No, I’m sorry, I didn’t. I’m really tired.”

“Yeah, that’s what I was talking about. Do you want to stay the night? I gave you a bunch of statistics on car accidents at night but I’m sure you’ll fall asleep again if I repeat them.”

Amelia lets out a small laugh, pushing herself to a sitting position and rubbing her eyes yet again. “Could you lend me some clothes? Sleeping in a dress is not really my vibe.”

“Sure, I can give you some clothes. But let’s go to bed before you fall asleep again,” I grab onto Amelia’s hands and pull her off the couch, leading my half-asleep girlfriend to my bedroom. She waits patiently as I open my closet and reach for a pair of sweats, handing her sweatpants and a hoodie from Caltech. “Here. I’m gonna go clean up the ice cream while you change.”

“Thank you,” Amelia lays a kiss on my cheek before I can leave, and the tingling on my skin persists even when I get into the living room and clean up our ice cream bowls, putting them into the dishwasher.

I suppose that after tonight, there will be plenty of nights spent together. I won’t lie and say that sleeping in the same bed as Amelia isn’t a bit scary. I don’t know what kind of sleeper I am. Will I steal all the blankets and leave her freezing all night? Will I kick her relentlessly and leave dark bruises all over her pale skin? Will she just plainly hate sleeping with me and thus would begin the end of our relationship?

“Spencer,” Amelia’s voice rips me out of my anxious spiral, and when I turn to look at her, my breath is knocked completely out of my chest. Amelia wearing my clothes is quite a gorgeous sight, even if they’re hanging off her body and pooling around her feet. Her hair is up and her face is washed of any makeup and she just looks wildly beautiful. She pops her head into the kitchen and gives me a tired smile, maybe the millionth of the night. “Do you need help with anything?”

I shove my bowl into the dishwasher and then slam it closed, shaking my head at her. “No, I’m good. Let’s just go to bed.” I shut off the kitchen light and swing my arm around Amelia’s waist, bringing her back towards my bedroom and shutting the door behind us.

I watch with wide eyes and a stupid smile as Amelia crawls onto the bed, but right when she gets onto her knees, she pauses and looks over her shoulder at me. “Is there a side of the bed that you prefer?”

My eyes dart between Amelia and the pillows on the bed. Is there a side I prefer? I wouldn’t know. “I don’t think so. I mean, honestly, I’ve never slept in the same bed as anyone before,”

“Me either,” Amelia pouts, her eyes locked on mine as she debates which side to choose. “Well, we’re technically already on different sides of the bed.” She gestures to her place on the right side and me on the left side. I just shrug in response to her suggestion. It’s not a big deal to me whatsoever, just as long as Amelia is comfortable and she doesn’t wind up hating me after tonight.

Amelia, completely exhausted, flops onto her stomach on top of the duvet, wiggling up just a little bit further until she can rest her head on the pillow. I shut off the lights and then crawl into the bed, on my predetermined side, tugging the duvet from under Amelia so she can join me under it. And as soon as she’s under the duvet, Amelia rolls over and curls up beside me, laying her head on my chest and slinging her arm over my stomach. “Thank you for letting me stay over,” she whispers, craning her head to kiss my cheek. “Goodnight.”

The feeling of laying in a bed with another person, especially a person who I feel so strongly about, is such a warm feeling. I’m sure I’ll literally be warm soon, what with Amelia on top of me and a duvet covering my legs. But my chest feels tight and I can’t wipe off the smile on my face, no matter how hard I try. I just beam, knowing that Amelia will be beside me all night.

So I sink further into the duvet and tug Amelia as close as I possibly can, receiving a small snicker from her. But she doesn’t seem to mind the closeness since she curls into me even more and then presses another kiss to the center of my chest. Maybe she can feel my pounding heart under her lips. Her affection comforts me enough to allow me to close my eyes and force out a goodnight, drifting off to sleep with Amelia in my arms.

TAGLIST

@babybobbybones @thematthewgraygube @anepiphany @goldenalvez @reidscardigan @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto @stxrryspencer @rxseinbloom @penelopecult @nastyhar @whollytaciturn @thegingerfairchild @matthewreid @shrimpyblog @garcias-batcave @anamelessfacelessnerd @gublergirls @wonderlandhatter @matthewgublerswife

(I’m pretty sure I messed up this taglist so if you weren’t tagged and you should be OR you’re tagged and you don’t want to be, then lmk and I’ll make the appropriate change)

#nikos north fic #spencer reid #criminal minds #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic

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