#i was drawing on my tablet so i guess while i was looking at the tv i must have hit a button idk

[sysig]

Can’t, too busy flirting ♥ (Patreon)

[phantastragoria]

I wish the Switch version of the GotG game wasn't cloud storage only... I'm going on a trip for an undetermined amount of time and I'm going to miss the fools.

[thelaughingmerman]

drew a picture of my nine realms oc and the entire file somehow deleted before i could save it life is cruel

[thelittlestspider]

the minute i'm able to buy a drawing tablet that i can draw directly on the screen, i'm gonna go crazy stupid drawing all my ideas.

[catfishofoldin99colours]

hhrrrggghhhh it seems every time I have the motivation and energy to draw my tablet decides to start dying on me again :(

So I'm doing the slightly smarter thing and looking at investing in a new one and also a separate utility laptop for work/writing/gaming/anything that Isn't drawing which I've been meaning to do for a w h i l e

[owliellder]

The Finer Details

Post DI! Leon Kennedy x Painter fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

(Session 1, Session 2, Session 3, Session 4, Session 5, The Reveal)

Description: Leon realizes that retirement is in his best interest now that he's getting older. All of his accomplishments as an agent mean he's truly earned a painting to commemorate..

Warnings: Not Proofread, Age gap! (reader is anywhere between mid-late 20's and Leon is 40), Porn w/ Plot, Use of she/her pronouns, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Alcoholism, mentions of trauma/PTSD/depression, P in V smut (wrap it NEOW), Leon cries during sex 💔

Tags: Older Leon Kennedy, Younger afab!Reader, Leon is SAD but he is your muse, Crying, mentions of Leon masturbating, starts off with Dom! Leon and Sub! Reader, falls into switch territory because that man needs some serious TLC, Praise kink, Hickeys, Handjob, Nipple play, Oral sex (m! and f! receiving), and a heavy dose of Aftercare

Author Note: I'm actually thinking I might be doing one chapter every other night, but I would also like to draw on my comically large art tablet at some point this week, so I might skip a day or two.

Cross posted onto AO3

Session 2: Color Matching

You partially regret just agreeing to "tomorrow", seeing as this man decided that he wanted to show up at 4am.

It was the original time set for yesterday's session, and you guess he felt bad for being late, but god damn he texted you an hour earlier telling you he'd be there by 4am. Dragging yourself out of the comfort of your bed was difficult, but in the end it was worth it to draw such a stunner.

You had to get there before Leon did, so there you were; half awake, dressed in a pair of fuzzy pants and a loose t-shirt, and a small cup of tea in your right hand while the other fumbled with the keys to your little work room.

That was the greatest part about your job as a professional painter. You didn't have a dress code.

Though most days you did try to look your best, some days it was just easier to be comfortable. Besides, it's not like tons of people come and see you everyday, it was usually just one person at a time.

It was 3:47am by the time you'd gotten to your workspace and settled, sitting on one of the many floor pillows in the living area you put together away from the actual painting setup. The tea was warm, it was keeping you sleepy, but you couldn't stop taking small sips. It was in your hands, there wasn't much you could do to stop yourself.

You told Leon to just come on in when he arrived, not wanting to walk all the way back down just to lead him back up. The stiffness from sleep was still in parts of your body, so you knew it would be difficult to get up, even when he did finally stride through that door. He dressed nicely today, just what you needed him to do.

Wanting to relish in the dim yet warm lighting of your various lamps for as long as possible, you beckoned the man to come over and sit with you, which confused him slightly. He thought you would be ready to get started once he showed up, but he wasn't one to argue so early in the morning. Instead, he shrugged and slowly sauntered over to you, taking a seat on a floor pillow across from yours.

"Good morning." Leon grumbled quietly, his voice barely hiding the fact that he wasn't quite awake either. That rumble in his chest made your stomach flutter. "Good morning to you, too." You responded, closing your eyes for a moment to take another sip of your tea.

"When uh-" He cleared his throat, putting a fist up to his mouth as he did so. "When are we gonna get started?"

You furrowed your eyebrows, moving the cup away from your lips to stare at him. "I wasn't expecting to be up so early, so just give me a few more minutes to wake up and then we can turn my main lights on."

Leon sucked on his teeth as he thought, turning his head to look over out one of the windows as he rested his wrists on his knees. "Oh, yeah, sorry. Just wanted to make up for being late yesterday."

You laughed softly before letting out a quiet sigh, setting your tea down on the low coffee table sitting behind you.

"Don't worry about it, but also don't make me get up so early again, old man." You attempted to joke, immediately noticing the wince on his face at the nickname. To divert, you stood up and stretched, patting his shoulder as you walked by him. "Alright, let me pull my stuff out and then we can get started."

Leon followed you with his head, taking a few seconds before standing up himself, pressing his hands onto his knees to help get up from the floor pillow.

"I'm just going to be color matching your tones today. I won't do all of it since obviously lighting changes throughout the day, buuuut..." You trailed off, beginning to rummage through a drawer in one of your desks before pulling out handfuls of paint tubes. "I just need to pull out the basic colors I'll be using."

It was still pretty dim in the room which caused you to have to squint to see the names of the colors on the tubes. Leon found that partially amusing, his chuckle causing you to glare playfully over at him. "Something funny?"

"As funny as it is to watch you go cross-eyed looking at those," he smiled, gesturing with his thumb to the light switches near the door. "I feel like it'd be easier to just turn the lights on."

"My retinas will be fried if those get turned on-" You were cut off by your own shout when Leon took the liberty of turning the lights on himself, laughing as you quickly moved to cover your eyes.

He only had to squint for a second before his eyes adjusted. You, however, were not expecting the sudden change, so you got an eyeful of bright white light. Complete and utter agony that lasted for a full five seconds.

By the time you moved your hands away from your eyes, they were watering and you had to squint for awhile longer. "Give me a warning next time you decide you want to try and murder me like that." You said, wiping away the few stray tears you'd produced from the light sensitivity. "You might live in the light, but I don't!"

The man shook his head and crossed his arms, smile still plastered to his face as he slowly made his way over to the chair in front of your easel. "That's payback for calling me an old man."

You twisted your head around to the chair so you could give him an indignant look, catching a glance as he was putting his hands up in defense with a small "what?" before you turned to look down at the tubes of paint sitting next to your hands on top of the desk.

"Nothing, just wasn't expecting to work with a toddler, that's all.." You mumbled, smile creeping onto your face as you heard him click his tongue from behind you. "I was an old man not five minutes ago and now I'm a toddler?" Leon asked, voice peaking dramatically.

"Yes, you have quite the range, Mr. Kennedy." You began sifting through the various paints you'd pulled out, humming softly as you contemplated what route you wanted to take with them. Stick to primaries? Add secondaries? Should I just use every color I need? Hmmm..

Leon watched as you stared at the paint tubes you'd picked up, tilting his head to the side slightly to try and get a better look. He snapped his head back upright when you started to speak again. "I'm trying to decide whether or not to use a lot of different colors, or just stick to a minimum.."

It was almost as if you knew what he was wondering. "Uhh... what's the difference...?" The man questioned, raising an eyebrow as you turned around, seemingly having made your decision already.

"Using just the main 6 colors-" You turned around and were faced with his very confused stare, causing you to explain a little better. "The main colors you see in a rainbow."

He breathed out a quiet "ahh" at that. Okay, good. He knows his basics. Cute...

"I can mix just red, blue, and yellow at varying degrees to get any color I need. Adding green, purple, and orange will help even more." You pursed your lips, lightly tossing the paint tubes in your hands before setting them down away from the other tubes. "I need white also. Damn.."

"What's wrong with white?" Leon asked, leaning forward a bit to watch you dig in the drawer for a tube of white oil paint.

"Nothin'. Just forgot, is all. Trying to keep this as authentic as possible..." You mumble, quickly closing the drawer with a slam after pulling out the paint you were looking for.

Silently nodding his head in acknowledgment, Leon turned his focus to his surroundings again, admiring your choice in decor once more. He bought a nice decorative pillow for his couch yesterday after being here the first time.

You grabbed a few strips of thick white paper, running your thumb along its textured surface before setting them down. You told him to stay where he was as you set up a small art palette, little dollops of the paints sitting neatly in the circular grooves.

"I'm gonna make color swatches of your skin for myself." You spoke up as you suddenly turned and walked towards him, holding the palette in your left hand while holding the strips of paper and a small yet flat paintbrush in the right. "Also, I'll need to get a picture of you in the position you want, but I'll do that after all of-" you waved everything you're currently holding in a small circle. "-this."

Leon simply responded with an "oh, okay", his knee beginning to bounce as you quickly began to mix little bits of your paint together to get a simple pale skin tone down before you even attempted to match his.

As you worked, you were starting to grow nervous with the silence, and clearly the man in front of you was as well, given he had started to sweat slightly on his forehead. He wasn't nearly as conversational as the last two agents you painted.

"So.. you've earned yourself a portrait..." You smiled slightly, holding up the strip of paper you'd brushed your mixed paint on to see what colors to mix in next. "What'd you do to earn one?"

Leon hummed. It was hard to think about every mission he's gone on, all the horrors he bore witness to, the people he saved, the people he couldn't save, how it all started, and now the fact that he's done-

"Hey, woah, I'm sorry." The sound of your voice drew him away from his thoughts. "I didn't know that would be a.. sore subject for you." He blinked at you a few times, furrowing his eyebrows soon after. "What?"

You pulled the strip of paper away from his face, pulling your lips tight with a shrug of your shoulders at his response. "You suddenly looked mad. Like... really really mad. I thought you were gonna snap at me or-"

"No. It's just bittersweet, is all." Leon cut you off, waving his hand dismissively at you before nodding once down to the paint palette in your hand. "You can keep going."

You stayed frozen in your crouched position for a few seconds longer before continuing to swatch your paint. You kept silent, not wanting to seem like you were antagonizing him.

"I used to be just a cop." The man suddenly said, causing you to look up from where you were mixing your paints together. "Only for a single day, but I was a cop. Simple as can be."

You nodded, beckoning him to continue with a small smile, which he did. "I'm sure you've heard about some of that already though, since you worked with Claire not too long ago."

His comment caused you to let out a small "ohh" in sudden recognition, nodding your head again. "Yeah, that's right! She mentioned you on that, okay.."

Leon continued to talk about all of his missions vaguely, still having to keep confidentiality in mind. You let him drone on, having gotten his skin tone matched in a few different areas now. You stopped to scribble on the papers with the paint swatches, making sure to label where each tone came from on his face and hands.

You took note of how he circled back to his single day as a cop and to certain missions. His mention of saving the president's daughter had you immediately smiling. That was a straight ticket to earning his own portrait in that hall of the White House, he could've done just that his entire life and he still would've been seeing you at some point.

You focused on mixing your paint for a little while before noticing he had grown quiet, looking up to see him staring out the window, a faint orange glow from the sun rising highlighting his features. And his tears.

Growing concerned once again, you set down the paintbrush on the palette so you could place a gentle hand on his shoulder. It seemed he didn't notice that, too lost in his head to notice anything at this point.

"Hey..." You asked with a soft voice, your eyebrows furrowing with worry. "We don't have to talk about it anymore, you know..."

Finally, Leon looked back at you, eyes widening once he realized how watery his eyes were. He turned his head away so you didn't watch him wipe the tears that had fallen down his cheeks and use his sleeve to dry his eyes. It wasn't like him to be so easily bothered by this stuff.

"I just need one more color swatch and then you can go, okay? We can save the photo for another day." You gave the man a weak smile, one he didn't reciprocate. You understood.

He looked like he wanted to say something, but you filled in for him. "Seriously, it's no trouble at all. If you need more time then you need more time." Standing up from your crouched position, you left your half-finished color match swatch with the finished ones before walking over to set everything down on the desk.

You didn't want to crowd the poor man. That was probably the last thing he needed. Despite having only painted for a select few, you've learned to just step away from these retired agents when things would go awry. It was akin to a war veteran suffering from PTSD; they did almost have the same experiences as far as you could tell.

"I'm sorry."

Leon finally managed to say to you, his hands anxiously rubbing up and down on the tops of his thighs. Must be a nervous tick.

You angled yourself so you could see him while your body still faced the desk, smiling at him while your hands worked to neatly stack the strips of paper before clipping them together with a paper clip.

"There's absolutely no reason for you to apologize." You kept your smile as you responded to Leon, looking back down at your hands to make sure everything was put together properly. "You forget I strictly work with agents like yourself. From all the vague tellings, I know that the job is tough on you guys; body and mind."

It was weird having someone outside of the agency talk to him about this kind of stuff. It was weird for him to be bringing it up in the first place. Or, at least he felt like it was.

"Still, I should know better than to do that." Leon sighed, rubbing his hand along the side of his face before stroking his chin, scratching at the stubble growing.

"Know better than to do what? Let yourself process everything you've been through?" You spoke in almost a whisper. If your tone was any louder, you fear you'd come off as accusatory.

"I get it. Really, I do." Leon groaned quietly at your words, causing you to click your tongue. You grabbed your swivel chair and scooted it over so you could sit in front of him, and when you did, you brought your legs up to sit criss-cross just like yesterday, only there wasn't a table separating the two of you. You looked solemn. He didn't like where this was going.

"The whole point of painting you a portrait is to honor you and your work as an agent, but it's not just about getting yourself painted." You leaned forward in your chair, elbows resting on your knees, all the while keeping your voice hushed and gentle. "Seeing the portrait once it's finished is going to be an incredibly emotional ordeal. It's a reminder that this is truly the end of an era for you, Mr. Kennedy..."

Your words were really starting to strike a chord for Leon. He hadn't given it much thought. He didn't want to give it any thought at all. All he thought was "I'm just going to get myself a nice fancy portrait and be done with it". He didn't even consider what the portrait of him would actually symbolize.

"Oh." Was all Leon could muster, letting his gaze fall into his lap where his hands now sat clasped together. If it weren't for the comfortable environment you had set up here, he probably would've bolted ages ago.

You let him think everything over for awhile, wanting to give him all the time in the world. Clearly he needed something, but he wasn't allowing himself any sort of leeway.

It took some courage building internally, but you decided to stand up, taking the one step closer to him before placing your hand on his shoulder once more. You squeezed it a bit, bringing his attention back to you as he lifted his head up.

You attempted to smile at him, moving your hand off his shoulder so you could hold your arms out slightly. This man needed a hug and you were more than willing to offer the leeway he wasn't granting himself.

Leon stood up rather quickly which surprised you, and startled you just a bit, before feeling his large arms tightly wrap around you. It was a little awkward since he had to bend a bit to hug you properly, but it worked out in his favor, and yours too, since he got a better opportunity to bury his face into the crook of your neck.

He sighed happily when he felt your arms slowly wrap around his chest, doing your best to squeeze him for that extra bit of comfort, even rubbing up and down on his back. It had been so long since he had a real hug. It felt good.

You let him hug you for as long as he needed, which was longer than expected, but definitely not unwelcome by any means. Though, his warm breath against your neck and the smell of his cologne was causing you to blush. That's really the last thing you needed him to see after being so vulnerable and open with you.

You felt him start to pull his head away, prompting you to pat his back gently as an end to the hug. Despite the fact that it was faint, it was clear to you that he was blushing when you were finally able to look up at him.

You wanted to remain calm for Leon, letting out your nervousness through a quiet cough. "I know we've only met up twice, but if you ever need a change in scenery, just know that my workspace here is always open to you. I'm always open to you, okay?"

Your words were making him feel weird. Something he hasn't felt in a long time was creeping up his chest. Your smell lingering on his coat wasn't helping, either.

"Yeah-.. yeah, okay." Leon huffed through his nose, reaching up to scratch at the stubble underneath his jawline as he averted his gaze to the floor.

The sun was fully up now, so you walked over to where the light switches were next to the door, flipping them off. All your other ambient lights could be turned off later. For now, you needed to focus on the man still standing in front of that maroon chair.

"You can stay if you feel you need to, but I just want you to relax." You said, looking over at him as you heard his footsteps slowly walk past you to the living space.

"I'll head out." Leon bent over and grabbed his motorcycle helmet from where he'd set it down on the rug near the floor pillows. He placed his on his head as he walked over to where you stood next to the door, not really wanting anyone to look at his tear-stricken and red face any longer.

Once he finished fiddling with his helmet, you reached out and took his hand in both of yours, patting the top of it softly. "Text me when you're ready to come back over."

You couldn't see Leon's face anymore since he'd put the visor down, but you could definitely see him nod his head. He opened the door and let himself out, touching the side of the doorframe as he rounded the sharp corner and walked down the stairs.

After closing the door behind him, you started walking around your workspace to turn off all the lamps and other ambient lighting, pausing to listen to the sound of his motorcycle start up and drive off.

[mactavishwritings]

Fresh Ink

Ghost x Tattoo Artist!Reader

fluff mainly. this may end up becoming multiple parts. I'm not sure yet

you become ghost’s artist and therapist in a way

tw: tattoo needles, retelling of injuries

part one | part two | part three | part four

Being the only tattoo shop within a 10 mile radius of a military base, you’ve seen it all. New recruits who just finished basic wanting to celebrate. Veterans wanting to honor their comrades. Drunk soldiers who’ve lost bets. Soldiers about to be shipped off on suicide missions wanting a way, some way, to be identified.

You’ve seen everything and you did your best to honor each story to the best of your ability. You’ve held the hands of soldiers who would go out and recommend your shop to others, telling them that you were safe and would honor them.

As you set up shop for the day, you looked over your appointment book. You mainly took appointments, but would sometimes take walk-ins. Today, you had a three appointments pretty spaced out so you decided to take a couple walk-ins. You posted on your shop’s social media accounts that you would talk two walk-in and started to sketch your first appointment’s tattoo.

You got pretty far into the tattoo when you heard the bell chime. “Hey, welcome to Dead Shot Ink. My name is (Y/N). How can I help you?” You looked up and saw a man standing in a balaclava mask. You raised an eye brow at him and looked him over. No ink.

“My friend said you tattoo?” A rough british voice came from under the mask and you nodded. “Yeah. The masks stays on, I'm guessing?” He nodded in return, tensing up.

“No worries. I do have a private room if you need it. What’s your name? I’m guessing you want to take one of the walk-ups?” You grabbed your appointment book. He nodded and pulled out his phone. “I'm Ghost. You did my friend, John Price, his tattoo a few months back and he recommended I check out your page. I’ve been meaning to make an appointment, but then I saw you’re talking walk-ins today…”

The name he gave you, John Price, sounded familiar. You nodded along to his words and guided him back to your room. You wrote his name down under your 11:00 spot and had him sit on your tattoo chair. It was a pretty small tattoo parlor since you had just opened, but you were trying to hire more artist.

“So, I do have an appointment coming in at 2. It’s about 11 now so that give us a little under 4 hours. What did you have in mind and where did you want it?” You sat down on your roller chair and grabbed your tablet.

"I'm not really sure. I know you do a lot of like soldier tattoos." Ghost said and he started picking at the skin on his thumb. You forward and gently placed your hand on top of his. "Let me grab something that may help." You stood and quickly walked back to the front of the shop. You grabbed your flash book and brought it back to Ghost.

"Here this may help you decide. What we can do is pick something you like and customize it to your story." You handed him your book and sat back down. Ghost slowly started flipping through the book before settling on a pair of dog tags. You nodded and started drawing.

Soon the stencil was on, dry, and you were ready to go. Ghost was laying back in the chair and you pulled your hair up. "Any particular music you want?" He looked at you for a moment before requesting whatever you wanted. You smiled before putting on (your fav artist). You pushed your sleeves up and got to work.

Every few minutes, you would check in with Ghost. You had your free hand was resting on his bicep since the dog tags were going on his inner forearm close to his elbow. You were on his side, listening and watching for any discomfort. You nodded along to the music and smiled at the tattoo. It was going good and Ghost seemed to like it.

After you finished, you wiped it down and had him look at it in the full body mirror. While you couldn't see his full face, you could see his eyes crinkle into a smile.

-

It had been about 5 months since you had first tattooed Ghost. He would come in every time you posted about taking a walk-in. You were slowly building a half-sleeve for him that was coming together very nicely. He would sometimes come in with new scars or injuries. Never on the side of your tattoos.

"How come you never get hurt on this side?" You asked casually, half way through the next piece. You were slowly getting him to talk to you. "I don't want to ruin your art." He answer oh so casually. You felt your heart skip and your face flushed. "It's art work. You put a lot of time and work into it." He looked down at the other pieces you had done.

"Makes sense." You nodded, your focus shifting back onto the tattoo. Your eyes shifted to the newest scar, "How'd that one happen? Am I going to be turning it into art soon?" You smiled up at him and he chuckled a little.

"Maybe. We'll see how this mission finishes out. I'm lucky I got these three days. This one was a knife fight. Got a little clumsy. You should see the other guy." He smiled. You felt proud that he was opening up to you. As a tattoo artist for soldiers, you had heard tons of mission stories. Ghost's stories were always intense, but told casually as if he had just gone to the grocery store.

"A knife fight? Seems intense. Looks like you won, though. You'll have to teach me." You smiled, dragging the needle down, making a straight line to finish the piece. "All done, Ghost! Go take a peek." You said, wiping away any excess ink.

"Simon...I'm Simon." He said as he walked towards the mirror, not facing you. You smiled and nodded. "Noted. Whatca think? This one pretty much finishes up the half-sleeve. After this, we could go up the arm for a full." You came up behind his hulking figure and showed him what you meant, moving his arm around.

Simon shivered at your touch. He looked over your hands, stained with dried tattoo ink. You arms were covered in your own tattoos. Your nails were painted black and pointed to the uncovered skin on his upper arm. You always worn dark colors, letting the attention fall on your tattoos. Your hair was pulled back and out of your face, but Ghost knew it was soft from the couple of times it touched his arms.

"I like it. I think after this mission we can complete it. Full sleeve sounds nice." Simon whispered, suddenly feeling the closeness between you two. "Thank you. Thank you for being so gentle with me." He looked up at you through the mirror and you nodded.

"Of course. You face so much hardship. You know my shop will always be open for you." You leaned your head against his shoulder and pulled back. "Let me get you wrapped up and you'll be all set." You grabbed your wrapping and wrapped up his fresh ink.

Months had gone by and you hadn't heard from Simon. You had finally gotten enough money to hire a receptionist and it made your life a million times easier. You walked into the shop and your receptionist greeted you warmly. "Morning (Y/N)!"

"Morning Emma! Can I see my book? I wanna see what I have over the next few days, got a client blowin' up my phone." You laughed as she handed you the book. "Oh! Speaking of, you had a call last night. Said you knew him and wanted to make an appointment so I book him for a couple weeks out. He said you would know what he wants. Sounds either crazy hot or crazy mean." Emma winked and you rolled your eyes. "He's booked for the 26th."

You flipped to that day and your smiled brightly. "He's the crazy hot."

Simon Riley.

-

part two?

[lunamaraproject]

LUNAMARA: Fragments [8]

👑

The old paper crinkles pleasantly under Felix’s fingers. For all he loves the sleek design of the tablets he usually teaches from, sometimes the tactile realness of paper is more enjoyable. Plus, when it comes to educating the princess, such luxurious materials are nigh on expected, so he can get away with requesting them.

“So this is you,” he explains as Elsie leans halfway over the desk, her hair spilling over her shoulders and nearly blocking his view.

“It doesn’t look like me,” she critiques with the honesty one can only expect from a girl barely 60. She grabs the nearest pencil and starts drawing hair and a dress onto the anatomical model.

“Okay, you fix it. Will you listen to my explanation while you fix it?”

“Mmhmm!”

She’s fairly good at multitasking, so he presses on. “When you eat manna, it goes down into your stomach here,” he both holds his hand on his belly, and taps on the diagram with his highlighter. Helpfully, she draws a star where he tapped. “Yes, there. Once it’s in your stomach, your body takes the manna, and breaks it down. What does it break it down into?”

“I dunno,” she says first, but he waits, until eventually she hedges a guess. “Maen?”

“Yes!” he grins brightly. “Maen is the energy that makes up all magic in the universe. It’s actually a shortening of ‘magical energy’, neat right?”

Elsie is too busy adding frills to the hem of her dress to actually agree with him about how interesting etymology is. A shame.

“Once the maen is in your body, it travels around it on the maen circuits. They run right next to your veins and nerves, and have special ‘pools’ all over, where the maen gathers. Can you draw more stars where I point?”

“Yeah,” she agrees, and he begins working around the body. First, travelling up the chest, then the neck, then the head. She has to draw the stars very small here, because there are so many points particularly on the face and skull. It looks like the figure sneezed on a constellation. “I can’t even see the eyes any more…”

“That’s okay, we’ll draw a bigger head in a minute so you can fit the stars in better,” Felix chuckles. “It’s important to know where the pools are, because they’re the places where maen exits the body when we use it to cast magic. Different kinds of magic use different pools on the body. So when I give you a kiss on your booboos, it’s not because I’m trying to eat you up!”

Elsie gives him a dry look. “I know that. I’m not 40.”

“I know you’re not!” he holds his hands up in surrender. “But I’ll always remember the time when I pretended to eat you, and you got really scared!”

“Well I don’t remember that at all,” she sniffs, then turns back to adding more details to her dress on the paper. “Are there pools on the hands?”

“Yes there are, very good! And also all up the arms here…”

It doesn’t take long to cover the rest of the figure in stars, on the front and the back side. Meanwhile, Elsie’s dress design is also coming along swimmingly.

“Did you get the idea for this dress from the present you got from the Naribians?” Felix asks.

“Yes, but I’m making it better with my own parts,” she says airily.

“You know, humans have maen circuits too!”

Now this finally gets her full attention. She looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “They do?”

“Yep! They’re veeeery thin and don’t get used much. Unlike starfolk, humanfolk can’t use their maen circuits by just thinking about it. So do other animals and plants, but even smaller, nearly not there at all.”

“Ohhh…” she trails off, mulling this new information over. “Doesn’t it hurt?”

“No, it’s not like with us where it hurts them to not use magic every now and then. They can live their whole lives and never use it, and be perfectly healthy!”

She continues to chew on this new fact for another minute of silence, before suddenly saying. “But what if that’s why they die fast? Humans, and animals.”

Admittedly, Felix wasn’t expecting that. Leave it to kids to come up with unexpected questions. He’s struck silent for a moment, pondering this himself. Who knows, maybe that was the reason. He’s not educated enough to know for sure. But then, when he’s not even an adult himself, he’s not sure what people are expecting.

“You know what, I don’t know!” he finally says with a laugh. “Let’s make a note of it, so we can look it up later in the library or with one of the professors.”

“Okay,” she agrees, scribbling the note in the top corner of the paper. “It doesn’t make much sense that the plants like trees live almost as long as we do, but the humans don’t. Humans look almost just like us, but their ears are weird and small and their bodies are big and hairy.”

“Sure do!”

"Do you think if I tried I could grow hair on my face like them?"

"... Maybe one day, Elsie!"

🌗

More from LUNAMARA:

Fragments: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]

Comics: [Good Night] [Good Morning]

Art by Luka (http://nousanti.tumblr.com/) Story by Pidge (http://pidgestories.tumblr.com)

[ao3cassandraic]

Angels, demons, language, and culture: part 3

(Part 1 and Part 2 for those interested.)

"I play an ineffable game of my own devising. For everyone else, it’s like playing poker in a pitch dark room with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a dealer who won’t tell you the rules and who smiles all the time." --God, Good Omens

This is just. Creepy and awful and so, so wrong for a quasi-omnipotent being. Ugh. Good Omens!God is an abject horror.

But if you're one of the poker players at that table, what do you do? You try to figure out the rules and mark the cards, naturally. Especially if leaving the table only happens via swan dives into burning sulphur, or getting kicked out of the only home you've known into a hostile desert with lions in it. While pregnant, yet.

So, I did a Bat Mitzvah back in the day, as it happens, and my Torah portion was from Deuteronomy. Which is, as I am hardly the first to notice, chockablock full of rules. Good Omens definitely leveraged (rather than inventing) the idea of trying to figure out Her rules and codify them in writing! Note, however, that the Bible per Word of Gaiman is a human thing. Codifying divine rules? Therefore also a human thing, minus I suppose the Ten Commandments -- though I can certainly envision a Good Omens in which Moses was, um, not exactly telling the truth about the source of the tablets; we only really have his word for it.

Angels and demons, who have a low opinion of literacy and just generally don't seem to be very good at it, never did this. We see that Aziraphale, Before the Beginning, has intuitively figured a few rules out: don't question Her, don't comment on (much less critique) Her decisions or designs, don't ever ever piss Her off. The Starmaker hasn't gotten this far, tragically, and our Crowley remains confused throughout the show as to what rule he can possibly have broken that earned him the identity-changing torture She inflicted on him.

Fundamentally, Crowley doesn't want to -- perhaps can't -- believe that She is capricious and cruel. He thinks there are rules, "don't test to destruction" being a major one. We know he's wrong, however. She straight-up told us so, in the quote at the top of this post! Aziraphale, too, knows, though he buries this knowledge as deep under the words "ineffable" and "Great Plan" (there is no Great Plan, She told us so, it's all a game to Her) as he possibly can -- I think as a coping mechanism -- and does his best to avoid drawing Her attention again after the Sword Incident.

But we see angelic and demonic confusion about the rules of Her game again and again. It's at the root of Aziraphale's successful Great Plan/Ineffable Plan hairsplitting at the airbase. It's why Aziraphale has to (with Muriel's help) dig through the contract for Job, and why Gabriel and Michael can't even be arsed to, even revising Job's reward on the fly. They're guessing! They're guessing about the rules based on what they've seen of Her caprices! She likes sevens!

It's how Crowley rules-lawyers the demons into letting the Whickber Street tradespeople go. If there are actual rules of Heaven-Hell engagement -- and there may not be! Crowley's pulled plausible-sounding lies out of his arse before! -- I'll bet you anything you like practically nobody in Heaven or Hell has actually read them. (My top picks for rules-of-engagement authors, if those rules actually do exist, would be Satan and the Metatron.)

And it's why Uriel has to ask the Metatron, as unsure and afraid as Uriel has ever looked in the entire series, whether the remaining archangels have done something wrong. The Metatron's response refuses to clarify what's at issue -- he, like Her, won't tell anybody the rules. If I'm feeling extremely cynical, I think She and he refuse to explain the rules because they're more powerful if there's no rulebook that rank-and-file angels can use to contest them with.

It makes me so sad. The legions of Heaven would assuredly have followed Her rules, if they only knew what those rules were! Fanart of the just-fallen Starmaker routinely breaks my susceptible heart, not least because the commonest expressions on his face are agony, sorrow -- and confusion. It's just all so damn unfair.

Same with Job, and Peter Davison sells it beautifully. Poor Job assumes he must have broken Her rules somehow, and blames himself for not even knowing how. That's totally on Her, though! If Her rules aren't clear enough for righteous Job to be able to trust his own righteousness under a horrible test, that's Her fault, not his!

The closest that Heaven and Hell -- and humanity, for that matter -- have to Her rules is prophecy. I probably don't need to spill many pixels on how vague and confusing prophecy is, how often it's counterfeited, and how pointless it is to try to live your life by (or trying to avoid) true prophecies; prophecies will invariably gotcha you. Good Omens is hardly the first work of literature to point this out. (Try the story of Oedipus. That's a good one. Yeesh. Or, if we want to be all Biblical about it, Moses again.) Agnes Nutter may well be the only genuinely well-meaning prophet in the entire history of prophets! Even so, her book is incredibly bewildering! Generations of her descendants try to figure it out, and mostly they fail -- look at the annotations we see on Anathema's index cards.

So when @thundercrackfic asks me what Aziraphale gets out of books, my first (though not only) answer is "rules for living." Not just rules for living as safely as possible around Her, though -- rules for living among humans, too. I headcanon (and posited in "Endgame") that Aziraphale has been collecting human etiquette manuals as long as humans have been writing etiquette manuals. Codified rules, like the ones in Deuteronomy, likely help him feel more secure.

I think this is also why Muriel characterizes books as portable people. Muriel is trying their sweet adorable best to figure out the Earth rules on the fly, since nobody Upstairs told them (or indeed knows, the Metatron aside) what those rules are. They do have Aziraphale to help them along -- Aziraphale is so much better than Upstairs! he doesn't condescend or insult, he just gently instructs -- but Aziraphale can't teach full-time, he has other things on his plate. So Muriel the scrivener, one of the few angels who would have a clue about literacy due to the nature of their job, gravitates to books and discovers that they too can be gentle and compassionate teachers.

The final question outstanding is how well Aziraphale understands and assimilates human books, especially fiction, especially especially non-literal figures of speech. It's an excellent and complicated question, and I don't think I have The Answer to it, but I'll see what I can do.

[mako-neexu]

カドぐだ | 相棒 (partner)

“So this is the rumored ‘Gil-fes’, huh?” Kaodc heaved a heavy sigh as he tugged at his black shirt before clutching at the strap of the backpack he had in hand. “Oi, Fujimaru, where’s the venue for this...tournament?”

According to the archives, someone hosts this... martial arts tournament for the Servants using a Holy Grail. And that someone was either Emperor Nero or King Gilgamesh himself... like last year, and the couple years before.

But who knows who was going to host next year’s event!? 

Wait. Why is he thinking about the possibilities of an event like this in the future!?

Gudako hummed as she finished in tying her unlaced boots, “Well, Gil said it’s going to be at Madison Square Garden like last year. But for the rooms we booked in the nearest hotels? We have yet to find out!”

Her arm looped around his own and before he could react to it, they were off on the streets with his ever-reckless kouhai hollering like a maniac.

Please. Someone help him.

--

They ended up farming again throughout the whole ordeal, collecting hotdogs and fries as currency to exchange with Ishtar’s-former-consort-now-turned....golden sheep, Dumuzid. 

And he thought Fujimaru was describing the god as someone humanoid! Jeez! Did he really interpret that wrong!?

Even with all the craziness he can’t quite get used to yet, it was actually fun.

 And it even felt... a little normal since it felt as if it was the current timeline’s New York, just with some more colorful additions- and okay, he nearly got his face bashed by Spartacus for just getting shoved in front of him before getting declared as an oppressor for “standing” in his way.

So, on second thought, he wasn’t going to get used to this.

--

“Making Doujins!?”

“Yup!”

“Just to retrieve the Holy Grail and stop this time loop we’re stuck in!?”

“Uh-huh! So you better get your butt back to the drawing board, Kadoc-kun.” The way Gudako teased him with the honorific, and he felt faint about the situation.

They spent most of the week chilling and spent the last few days procrastinating. And somehow they discover along the way that time is repeating itself, with the reset being the day of judging the most popular doujin contest.

From across him Hinak- Yu Mei-ren seethes while glaring at her tablet, the pen she had on hand nearly cracking in her grasp, “If I don’t get back to Xiang Yu-sama within the week, I’ll blow this island up.”

Help.

--

“Fujimaru.”

“Yes, Kadoc-kun?”

Kadoc looks at the gothic, medieval castle, before reclining his head up to the large, upside-down pyramid, and the Himeji castle sitting on that same pyramid itself.

Kadoc blinks, and turns to look at the Master beside him, smiling as if this was something that could normally be seen in everday life.

“You know what? Nevermind.”

They were promptly turned into a wageslaves by the Amazonesdotcom CEO after that.

--

“Was it fun?” 

Fujimaru asks him as she lightly kicks on the pool’s waters, watching it ebb and flow beneath them.

Kadoc sips on a cocktail Moriarty had given him, before pursing his lips shit, “What? The entire thing with Las Vegas? Jeanne d’Arc’s talking-shark? Wait, actually, that’s 42nd of the most weirdest things I’ve seen in my list.”

She rests her head on his shoulder, no doubt now sleepy as they spend the last few days of their vacation in the comfort of the hotel.

“...Something like that.” She says, after a few moments.

The question was...weird. Fun was a concept he was still becoming familiar with. After all, all he’s ever known was to become a mage to survive a world that could kill you at a moment’s notice.

Even with the near-death experiences, and things that could easily break a normal person’s mind (he had only gotten so far by being a mage who had a decent amount of spells with him that maintained his reason and sense of self. Fujimaru had none and yet she was still smiling despite the fuckery happening almost every moment of the day.), he supposes that...

“-I guess it was ugh, crazy...” Kadoc mutters under his breath, a dust of pink decorating his cheeks.

Some Servants didn’t trust him, others were the opposite, many varied in their opinions on him but at least, all of them no longer deemed him hostile. As evidence by how he’s somehow alive and breathing right now. 

Fujimaru stirs, and they meet each others’ gazes. Her own was reflecting the stars above, a ghost of a smile spread across her lips, “Good crazy?”

He avoids her gaze and downs the last of his drink.

Her response was a chuckle. “I’ll take it that you don’t like the times whenever we rode on Drake’s ship or anything that involved motion sickness.”

Kadoc flicked her forehead, and while she yelped, there was no helping himself in pinching her cheek, “No shit Sherlock.”

“I am right behind you, Mr. Zemlupus.” 

The heart attack he got simultaneously made him scream before pushing him and Fujimaru to the pool to drown.

When they surfaced, they both glared at the laughing detective relaxing on the pool chaise. 

And seeing Ritsuka smirk deviously with a plan to prank the Holmes? 

Kadoc was in.

[forhappysake]

What Lurks Within, Pt. 6

Author's Note: I SWEAR all this is going to culminate into the plot twist of a lifetime (I'm sure some of you know what's coming already). I hope you're enjoying how descriptive these chapters are, though. :)

Content: When the media learns of another victim in the Denver case before the BAU, more questions about the legitimacy of the department and its employees come to fruition. One employee, the police chief, remains intent on keeping the BAU as far from the case as possible. The team discovers some (figurative) skeletons in his closet, which makes them all the more suspicious.

Warnings: Spencer x fem!reader, established relationship, hom!c!de, workplace conflict, mentions of drug dealing and drug use, brief mention of prison, mentions of domestic abuse, and mentions of violence resulting in hospitalization

The conference room got quiet once again. “Well,” Luke said, “we should still figure out who altered Whittendon’s files.” “That would be a major lead,” Rossi agreed. 

“I guess that means we should get to work again,” Luke said, taking a sip of coffee before scooting up to the table. Mumbles of agreement went up around the table. 

JJ spoke up, “We should continue working on geographical profiles, too. If we can get an area narrowed down, we might be able to find his hideout before we even know who he is.”

Luke nodded, acknowledging her statement. “Garcia sent more information about Graydon’s family to our tablets. Does anyone want to volunteer to team up and deep dive that information while the rest of us keep working on geo-profiles?”

I shrugged, “I can do it. I’ve never been one for the geos, anyway.” 

Spencer spoke, “I can join you.” 

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Spencer, you’re the best geo-profiler we have. I’d encourage anyone else to volunteer so that brainiac can work on the maps.” I played with the hem of my skirt as the rubbing of the fabric irritated the mild burn below. Spencer eyed my hands, noting my discomfort. 

“I’ll work with you,” Matt offered. I smiled at him, standing to go sit next to him. Spencer seemed faintly hurt by my denial of his offer, but surely he’d understood. As I sat next to Matt, I offered him a sympathetic smile. JJ stood from her chair next, “I’ll work with Spence on the geographical profiles. What are you two going to do?” She looked at Rossi and Luke, who had yet to move from the table. 

“I guess we’ll-” Luke began to speak as Emily burst into the room, cutting him off. “Whittendon just called me from his car. An eleventh victim has been found,” she said, holding open the conference room door and gesturing for us to come into the main office. As we all rose and filed out into the bullpen, I noticed televisions running on either side of the room. 

A reporter’s voice rang through the office: Another body has been found in the Denver area today after ten other victims were left scattered throughout parks in the city. This victim, 38 year-old Colton Bayard, was left beaten and slashed in Williams Park, ten miles from where last night’s victim was found in Ashwood Park.”

“How did the news channel get all that information before we did?” I asked. 

Spencer shook his head. “There’s a leak in this office.”

Almost in response, the door to the precinct burst open and Detective Whittendon stormed in the room. I watched as he went behind the secretary’s desk, shooed her out of her chair, and used it to step up onto her desk. “Ladies and gentlemen,” Whittendon shouted into the office, drawing everyone’s attention away from the television to the man standing on the front desk, “this office is officially on lockdown until I find out who is fucking with my investigation.” Murmurs went up around the office as the thirty employees crowded in the main room exchanged nervous glances. Richie’s meek voice spoke from the crowd of employees surrounding the television. “What does that mean, sir?” he asked. “That means,” Whittendon said, “nobody is leaving until I have a prime suspect in the interrogation room.” 

Hollers of “you can’t do that” and “get out of here” were heard from around the office. Whittendon stomped his foot on the desk. “I said what I said. If anyone tries to leave this office without consulting with me first, you will be detained for obstructing a criminal investigation.” With that, the detective climbed down from the office desk and planted an empty chair firmly at the precinct’s entrance, plopping himself down in the seat and folding his arms. “Oh my,” Emily said. Suddenly, a door on the far side of the room swung open. A burly man with a shaved head and dark eyes stumbled out into the main office. The employees got silent. 

“What the hell are you doing, Ryan?” The man’s gruff voice permeated the silence. Whittendon looked over at the man, a forming scoff visible on his lips. 

“Who is that?” I murmured to our group. Emily turned to utter a response when Whittendon spoke again, rising from his chair. 

The detective approached the larger man, standing nearly chest to chest with him. “Chief, with all due respect, I’m running this office the way somebody should have been from the start of this investigation.”

“Nevermind.” I whispered, intrigued to see how this argument might play out. 

The burly man shook his head and looked at the office ceiling. “God help me,” he murmured. “Ryan, you have no authority to force these people to stay here.” 

“You’re right, I don’t. But you do. You should’ve been handling a department lockdown since Agent Prentiss discovered someone was dicking with my files.” Whittendon waved a frustrated hand towards Emily who stood at the front of our team. She raised her eyebrows when the police chief turned to look at her, shrugging as if to say ‘he isn’t wrong.’ 

The police chief sighed, “Ryan, you’re being irrational. These FBI-ers just got here this morning, and you’re letting them turn this department into an episode of NCIS. Nobody in here is sabotaging your investigation but yourself.” 

I couldn’t help but tilt my head at the statement. Semi-shocked expressions flickered across the team’s faces as we all took the statement as a personal dig. I turned to Spencer, who stood close behind me. He looked down at me, eyebrows raised, hand fidgeting in his pocket as he tried to decipher the motives of each man in the argument before us. 

An exasperated groan drew my attention back to the two men. “You can’t be serious,” Whittendon shouted. “Listen, Chief. I’ve tried to be respectful. I’ve done my best and I’ve stayed in line. It’s time for somebody to take action here. That’s why I called the BAU in to begin with.” Graydon wasn’t even the one to invite us in? Interesting. 

“Look, Ryan. Cool it. Go to your crime scene and do detective work. It’s time to stop with the theatrics,” the chief looked at us before turning back to Whittendon, “and start solving problems. If you can’t do it, I’ll put Andrews on the case.” With that, the police chief turned from Whittendon, offering us a small and insincere nod before walking back into his office, slamming the door behind him. 

Whittendon ran a hand over his face, sitting back down in the office chair he had placed by the precinct door. Emily approached him cautiously. “Is he always such a joy?” she asked. 

The detective let out a sour laugh. “I’ve never really loved his leadership style, but I’ve also never had this much of a problem with him until now.” He leaned back, anxiously running his hands over his shirt and straightening his tie. “The whole desk bit… that was a bit embarrassing, in hindsight”

Emily smiled thoughtfully. “We all do things we’re not proud of when we’re stressed,” she said gently. Whittendon frowned, blankly staring at a wall across the room. “Have you been to the newest crime scene yet?” The detective snapped back to reality with a shake of his head. 

“No. That’s why I don’t understand why the news teams knew about it before I did. It makes everything so much harder…” he trailed off, running a hand over his face in frustration once more. 

“Why don’t you and I go check it out together?” she offered. I felt Luke push his way towards the front of our group which was still gathered by the conference room door. 

“Boss, if you don’t mind, I think I’d like to come along.” Luke said. He reached a hand out to Whittendon, offering him the formal introduction he hadn’t at the diner. “Agent Luke Alvez.” Whittendon shook his hand in response, slowly rising from the chair. Emily turned back to our group. “Dave, can you handle things here?” Rossi gave her a thumbs up and she nodded in response. Whittendon opened the precinct door allowing Emily and Luke to lead the way before following behind him. 

“Well,” Rossi spoke first, “since that’s over, where were we?”

“Right,” I said. “Matt, we’re on the Graydon files. JJ and Spencer are on geos.” I turned to the conference room, returning to my initial seat. Matt and I opened our tablets, eager to begin wading through files as Spencer and JJ turned their attention to a large map in the corner of the room. 

“Alright,” Matt said, “how do you want to do this?” I paused for a moment, leaning back in my chair and squinting in thought. 

A simple solution hit me as I opened Garcia’s email. “Well, Graydon’s got two children. By the looks of this email, Garcia found dirt on both of them. You look into his daughter, I’ll look into his son.” 

Matt nodded. “Sounds good, boss.” “Well, I have been here longer than you,” I mumbled playfully. Matt smiled before turning his attention to the files in front of him. 

I opened up the email attachment labeled “Phillip_Graydon.pdf” and watched as at least a hundred pages loaded on my tablet screen. “Garcia’s been busy,” I said. 

Matt exhaled in agreement. I could see him flipping through a similar number of pages. “So have the Graydon kids, by the look of it. His daughter, Mira, was arrested last year for dealing heroin.”

I winced a bit. “How old is she?” I asked. 

Matt shook his head in disbelief, “Only twenty.” He continued scanning the files, I watched as he opened a link attached to one, which opened a personal Facebook page. Scooting closer to him, I could see the lack of information on Mira’s page. 

Her profile photo of a healthy, smiling teen had to be at least five years old compared to the latest mugshot attached to her file. Matt pulled up her mugshot next to her profile picture to compare. “She’s barely recognizable.” Her hair had thinned, her eyes were heavy with dark bags, and her teeth were more jagged. 

“She’s had to have been struggling for awhile,” I said. “I wonder if the Graydons have tried to get her help.” Matt returned to the initial pdf and scrolled through pages once more. 

“They must have once. Here’s her paperwork from an inpatient rehab facility.” He zoomed in on the file, scanning the paperwork. 

“How old was she when she went?” I asked. 

He looked up, running the numbers in his head. “Seventeen.” 

“So, she’s been living this way for a while.” I said. Matt nodded. 

“She didn’t stay at the facility long. When she turned eighteen she checked herself out. Besides her occasional arrests, it looks like she’s become a ghost,” he added. 

“What about the son?” he wondered aloud, leaning towards me and peering at my tablet which I had discarded on the conference room table. I picked it up once again, scrolling and scanning.

“Nothing here really seems out of character for a young boy,” I said. “Underaged alcohol consumption when he was sixteen… a couple run-ins with the law for trespassing…” I continued to scan the documents. A particular paper caught my eye. “Wait,” I said, “I might have something here.”

I scanned the file once more before speaking. “It says here that Phillip was hospitalized on five separate occasions,” I said aloud. 

Matt raised an eyebrow and tilted his head in curiosity. He leaned in again, trying to examine the page. “Does it say why?”  he asked. 

I scrolled through the paperwork, looking for his reason for admission. “At age five, he was hospitalized for a broken arm… At age seven, he was hospitalized again for a broken foot.” 

Matt shrugged, “Take it from someone who has five kids, they’re always getting themselves into those kinds of crazy situations.” 

I shook my head. “No, listen,” I mumbled, deep in thought as I drew his attention back to the file. “He was brought in for numerous, ‘suspicious’ burns at age eleven.” I emphasized the word with air quotes. Matt raised an eyebrow. “I’m not finished. At age fourteen, he was brought in for two broken fingers. When the doctor asked his mother how it happened, she said he fell down the stairs.” 

“Jesus,” Matt whispered. 

“Most recently, at age seventeen, he was brought in for pain while breathing. When he was examined, the report says they discovered bruising on both sides of his neck. He had at least two broken ribs that doctors thought were caused by a blunt object. This says the hospital informed child services this time, but-” I shook my head as Matt finished my thought for me. 

“Let me guess, he turned eighteen and moved out immediately.” I nodded quickly and Matt shook his head. “Who brought him to the hospital on those occasions?” he asked. 

I looked up at him, “The mother, of course.” I looked at the picture of the young man attached to the file. It was a school picture. The smile was forced, the hair too evenly combed, and the boy wore a turtleneck that nearly covered his ears. How could nobody have seen this? 

“So Graydon’s not only an abusive spouse, but an abusive father,” Matt stated. 

I set my tablet on the table, tapping my fingers against the cool wood surface. “How could he have gotten away with all of these things for so long?” I asked.

“Chief Graydon’s got connections most people don’t,” Matt said. I nodded. It all made sense to me. “Where’s Phillip at now?” Matt asked. 

I scrolled to the end of the document, looking for a final address to find none listed. “That’s odd. Garcia didn’t list an address for him.”

“If he moved out as soon as he turned eighteen in an attempt to escape his father’s abuse, he may not have had any money to get a place. Phillip could have seen homelessness as a better alternative than staying in that house.” I hummed in agreement as Matt closed his tablet and rested it on the table next to mine. 

“Where do we go from here?” I asked. 

Matt pondered for a moment. He took a deep breath and rolled his neck. “We should let Emily know about all of this when she gets back,” I nodded. “Until then,” he added, “you should call Garcia and tell her to get in contact with local homeless shelters. Have her ask if anyone’s seen a boy matching Phillip’s description.”

I rose from my chair and walked to the corner of the conference room, allowing myself distance from Spencer and JJ as they talked in hushed voices over the map on the wall. My phone rang twice before a voice sung out over the other line, “Well, hello, young one. I haven’t heard from you in awhile!” 

I giggled quietly, using my hand to stifle my laugh. Penelope and I had developed quite the friendship during my short time with the team. We both loved fun clothing, cute knick knacks, and we really loved nights out. When Spencer was in prison, she had been my rock through the whole thing. It was a friendship match made in heaven. 

I snapped back to reality and tried to think of a witty response. “You know how things are, Pen. People commit murder, we have to go save the world, yada yada.” A small crossed my face again.

I could feel her eyes rolling on the other end of the phone. “Have you ever heard that pride cometh before a fall?” she asked playfully. 

“Something like that, which is why I’m humble enough to know when I need the help of a computer wizard like you.” I responded. 

She gasped. “Well in that case, your wish is my command. What do you need?” 

“Matt wanted me to ask if you’d be willing to make some calls to local homeless shelters. Offer them Phillip Graydon’s description and see if they’ve recently encountered anyone fitting the type.”

“Uh-huh,” she said. I could hear her typing on her keyboard through the phone. “Anything else?” she asked. 

“No ma’am,” I answered. “Thanks, Pen. I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“Awh,” she said, “I don’t know what you’d do without me either.” With that, her end of the line went dead. I couldn’t help but smile at her confidence and well-timed sarcasm. 

I walked back to where Matt still sat at the table, examining the progress the other duo were making on the geographical profile. “Are you two getting anywhere?” Matt asked. 

Spencer stepped back from the map, examining it in full view. “If you squint, I think there’s a pattern to be seen,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “Considering where the last victim was found, I think we can deduce his hide-out is somewhere in this area.” He pointed to an area between the recent dump sites.

JJ sighed, “That’s not a lot to go on, Spence. That’s about seventeen neighborhoods.” Spencer winced a bit at the statistic, and nodded in somber recognition of the odds. 

“It is, but it’s a start,” I said, trying to offer some encouragement. “That’s more than we knew before. Good job, you two.” I put on a big smile, offering them a genuine thumbs-up. Spencer walked over to my side of the table, offering me a quick kiss on the head.

JJ smiled. “Thanks, Y/N. What did you guys find out?”

“We think Graydon’s been abusing his wife and kids for two decades. His daughter’s been in and out of jail and his son is likely bouncing around homeless shelters. I have no idea how it could be connected to what’s happening in this office, but Matt and I both think it’s something we should look into.” I looked to Matt, who nodded in agreement. 

She shrugged, “If you two think it’s worth looking into, then so do I. I know Emily’s not here, but if you let Rossi know what you’ve found, he might let you get a hold of Graydon’s wife for an interview.” 

Matt rose from the table. “I think that sounds like a good plan. Come on, Y/N, let’s go find Rossi.”

To be continued...

[fandomsandassortedgoods]

i need your thoughts on ts5 STAT, i like your account and posts on prideyear so id love to here your opinions on the current info we have atm.

Oh well I’m flattered asghgdhj I had some thoughts saved I was gonna post sometime, so I’ll finish it off and put it here.

Guess I'm one of the few people that don't find toys vs electronics an inherently cringe premise, I trust Pixar enough not to have the message just be IPAD BAD (though given Wall-E maybe I shouldn’t lmao), there are legitimate issues concerning children and screen use that can be explored, and how that affects how kids play with actual toys is interesting to me.

My issue is more with the time period. Were "tablet kids” even a big thing by like 2007-2009 (giving a range here on the years TS3-4 seem to take place in)? Bonnie could be older (though she doesn't look it), but even then that seems early for kids with tablets to be a major thing yet. It just feels like too modern an issue for what should be just before the 2010s. But maybe that's just drawing from my experience and tablet kids were a problem by then?

Also a bunch of defective Buzzes is... potentially interesting in concept, but by now I feel the "delusional Buzz" schtick has gotten very, very tired. It's fine to repurpose ideas that got left on the cutting room floor, but again? Really? You can't even use the excuse of "well every movie has a delusional Buzz moment so this one must have too" because there was no delusional Buzz in 4. The concept worked in 1 because well that was the plot of the movie and wasn’t done before. In 2 it worked because it a) was a funny callback to the first movie that played on the humour of how Buzz used to be compared to how he was now and b) didn't interfere with the main story so much, as in, didn't bloat up the story with unnecessary detail or ruin the more emotional scenes. In 3, it worked because it was once again a subversion on the concept: while delusional Buzz was played for laughs before, here we are shown a darker side to it, with someone being able to turn your friend against you just like that and losing yourself with the flip of a switch (ofc it still had some laughs because it's Pixar, but ykwim).

In 5, what will the fresh twist be? I really can't tell. It feels like they've done what they can with the concept and they should just let it go now like they did in 4. How many times can the characters say “not again” before the audience is thinking the same thing?

As for showing Woody back with the gang and the lack of a Bo Peep mention of all, that’s probably the most interesting part for me personally. Bonnie doesn’t seem much older, if that’s who’s under the sheet in that picture—how much time has passed since the ending of 4? How long are Bonnie’s remaining toys separated from Woody before he returns? How do they meet up again? That was a travelling fair, it’s unlikely they would be seeing each other again any time soon. Did Woody/the toys deliberately seek each other out, or is this a happy coincidence? Are they working together towards a common goal and that’s it, or will Woody be returning to Bonnie’s room for good? I’ve got a lot of questions here.

If it isn’t Bonnie under the blanket, that drastically changes things. Is this set decades ahead with a grown-up Bonnie’s kid? Or perhaps in this future, Bonnie returned her toys to Andy, and this is Andy’s child instead? (Though the presence of Forky calls that into question, unless she just threw him in as a gift because she doesn’t gaf about this spork anymore lmao). If it’s Bonnie’s kid and we know for a fact that Andy will be in the movie again, what if Bonnie’s kid befriends Andy’s kid, and that’s how his old toys eventually find their way back to him (I feel Bonnie would at least offer Andy the toys back first, but who knows)? At any rate, I’m putting heavy money on the ending being the toys returning to Andy and being passed down to his children, maybe with this new kid imitating the opening of 1 as he plays with Woody just like Andy did.

I’ve joked before about 5 opening with 4 just being a dream and they retcon the whole movie away, but these new details make that reality seem a little less insane lmao

and okay but the REAL question is: what does the 6+ hour ts4 reviewer think about all this?

[icaruskeyartist]

Once again, this is @pillowspace's AU that I'm kinda going AWOL with. I just want to make something a little more cheerful after leaving Y/N struggling to get home last night.

Clone AU is being a bit prickly, but I think that's mostly cause I want to draw for it rn and I'm still in the throes of color separations whenever I have a spare moment on my tablet. But that'll be done soonish I think? By the end of the week for sure because I need to start making my mylar sheets soon.

Time Loop whump fic will likely be pecked away at throughout the day to deal with school stress. This is just a quick palette cleanser since to me HD Y/N is a bit in the middle personality-wise.

TL is a lot more extraverted and kind, and Clone is the one most likely to cause the DCA to experience the first animatronic heart attack if they ever spoke because every other word would be fuck. HD is one of those people who recognizes the struggle they're in, but they can also find the good moments and appreciate them all the more while giving the bird to everything making life actively harder for them and their little brother.

"You sure you're fine." Gretchen sounds doubtful, but you smile and keep working.

"Positive. Look, nothing really happened in the grand scheme of things, right? I'm not hurt."

"Your hand is bruised, and you had to cancel your cards," Gretchen says, and to prove a point, she grabs your hand.

You flinch, pulling back. "I made it home in one piece and nothing really valuable got stolen," you reply archly, shoving the last of the books towards your friend. "Go put these away. I need to check the computer room to make sure no one needs help."

"This conversation isn't over," Gretchen warns, even as she pushes the cart away. The library is fairly quiet at this point in the day, early in the afternoon, before school is let out and you all get inundated with kids and teens looking to kill a couple hours before their parents get home. It's the perfect time to make sure everything is clean and ready for kids to play.

The computer room is actually pretty quiet, though there is one brightly colored splotch of a person in the corner. You can hear them tapping slowly at the keyboard as you check each computer, wiping things down and logging out of a couple accounts. Eventually, you've made it to the corner with the stranger, struck by just how tall they are.

"Is everything all right?" you ask brightly.

"O-oh!" The stranger is clearly startled, so you take an extra step back, just for safety. "Yes, sorry. I think we, I, signed up for an hour? Has time. passed that fast?"

"No, sorry. There's a timer in the corner, here." You tap at the monitor helpfully. "I didn't mean to confuse you. I just wanted to know if you needed any help."

The stranger doesn't reply, instead fidgeting with what you're guessing is a scarf around their face. "Is your hand okay?" They ask, and you quickly withdraw it, tucking it close to your chest. "I don't mean to pry. It just looks painful."

"Ah, well." You grimace, remembering that Gretchen is going to be on you the moment she's done with her returns. It's easier to hide in the computer room, and besides, what's the likelihood this stranger will talk to her? You decide to sit, still achey from last night and exhausted from a lack of sleep. "I was mugged last night."

"You were what?" The horror in their voice is less grating than it was with your friend, and when you smile, it just feels tired, not forced. "You can't possibly be okay after that!"

"I kind of have to be. It's making some of my duties today a little harder though. I can't exactly balance heavy boxes with this hand, and my coworkers are sweet, but if I don't do my work, I think they're going to send me home." You curl and uncurl your hand slowly, biting the inside of your cheek to keep from grimacing. "And I need the money, so. Here we are, you know?"

"Here we are," they agree, a bit distractedly. They pecked at the computer a little longer, apparently thinking as they suddenly turn back to you. "I can help you move those boxes. I-if you'd like I mean."

"Oh?" You pause, thinking. "Oh, uh. Sure! If you're sure that is. I --- yeah, it'd be really helpful, but you don't have to. You signed up for the computer and oh fuck, I've just started spilling my guts out to you."

They flinch when you curse, muttering something in the middle of your rambling before holding up one gloved (gloves indoors?) hand. "It's all right. We, I, like to help. Just point us in the right direction."

"Okay," you saw, drawing the word out until it's more a sound than a word. "You can help this time. But I'm going to have to do something in return."

"That's not really---"

"Nuh uh," you interrupt, wagging a finger (from the unbruised hand), in front of their face. "Fair's fair, and if you're helping me, I'm helping you. Consider this a rain check."

"Fine," they say, turning to log out of the computer. When they stand, you feel very, very small. "Lead the way, Mx. Librarian."

"That's Librarian Clerk to you," you say, a little teasingly. You do take point, walking through the library to where you and Gretchen had packed away the Halloween decorations. "And what do I call you?"

"Sun," they say, and they take the first of three boxes without so much as a grunt of exertion. Tall and strong. If you were a lesser person, you would be jealous. Maybe you are anyway.

"Sun," you repeat, and it's an unusual name for this unusual not-quite-a-stranger. You lead them towards the back, fiddling with your keys to find the one for the storage closet. "It's very nice to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too."

[dokidokiliteraturegirls]

Important announcement, everyone... I'll be opening up a Patreon~!

I honestly thought I'd never make a post like this, but I guess you never know what life throws at you! And lately I've fallen on some hardship ^^;; you see, back in December I lost my job due to reduction of personnel. I didn't want to say anything about it for some time because I don't really talk about my personal life in public, and it was a bit of a dour topic to bring up during Christmas/New Year's. Don't worry about me btw, I'll be fine! But it'd be nice to have some extra income to help me get back on my feet while I look for a new job. As such, I've opened a Patreon page, for people who'd like to support me 💖

Now, I don't wanna make this post a house built on walls of text, but there's some stuff I really really wanna make clear!

1. Don't worry, the comic is not in jeopardy. Of course it'd be nice to have the extra money to buy a better drawing tablet before the one I'm using breaks down, but I'll finish Feel Less even if I have to draw the panels with a ballpoint pen on a napkin. So don't feel like if you don't support me the comic will end without a conclusion, okay?

2. I won't put my content behind a paywall. I've seen a lot of other webcomic artists offer bigger input opportunities and early chapter releases for paying patrons, but I don't think that'll work for Feel Less, since the story depends on everyone playing together and I don't like giving spoilers to select people. But I do want to make becoming a Patron worth your while though! So what you'll get is behind-the-scenes content, the chance to vote for what we play next on stream, a shoutout on the blog including a portrait of your choosing, and monthly commissions!

3. I don't want to make any of you feel like you owe me. This is something I really wanna stress. I know not everyone is in a financial position to support online creators they like, and I want you to know that that's okay!! You don't owe me anything. Just you being here reading and enjoying what I make is more than I could ask for 💖 If you can support me, that's super appreciated, but if you can't, don't feel like you're obligated~

Finally, if you want to support me in ways other than financially, I also have a twitch and youtube channel, so consider checking them out~ ^^ They're largely unrelated to the comic, but if you like my sense of humour and vibes, chances are you'll enjoy those too~

Thank you for your time! Remember that Feel Less is still scheduled to return on January 7th, and together, let's make 2024 the best year we've had yet~!! 🥰

-Yui 💖

[dreamsofminnie]

“Ethereal Paintings”

14~ Be my muse co-artist☂️ | Word Count-> 1,465

Scaramouche x Reader Smau

Scaramouche has only ever been nervous and worried about two things in his life, one was his mothers approval and receiving love when he was younger. The second was when he started his rise to becoming happier, if he truly deserved the friends he now holds dear.

So this kind of useless bustling of nerves irritated his skin scorching pink neck up. He could tell himself that it was merely a meet-up to talk from one artist to the other.

Except he was dreading his fake facade of an artist title.

He was no artist. He was a coward who wanted the approval of one. With nothing but a computer screen to show.

Scaramouche eyed the clock hands tick as his restlessness increased with it. He ruffled a hand through his hair now anxiously biting his fingernails.

If he kept up with this any longer he would very much back out like the moron he is.

The button ringed from the inside of the studio echoing as anticipated steps clack more sensible towards the door between them. It swung open and your face greets him with a smile.

Scaramouche likes how easily your smile comes, but also hates how melty he feels towards you when it hasn't even been a whole 2 months since you both met.

“Glad you can make it Scara! Welcome to my studio” You wave him in quickly while the door closed shut and you ran back to the large empty canvas stand.

He hms at the loft-like studio. The opposite wall of the front door was fully windowed providing lots of natural light perfect for an artist. The second floor wasn't visible to where he stood since it was overhead, but he could imagine that's where your prized works were and maybe even a rest area where you could sleep in. The studio probably seemed very minimalistic when you first entered, but now the walls and floor have been coated in beautiful color splashes of paint.

Scara was in fact very impressed and in awe with how an artist like you worked, how your art studio is so bright and gorgeous. Truly a manifestation of creativity soaring past its limit.

When your friends told him that you dabbled in every art they weren’t lying.

White tarps laid out of the floors underneath the several canvases stands you had plus a large standing table you held a pc and drawing tablet on. The table held many other art mediums for your disposal.

You were shifting stuff around, hobbling the canvas stand and a few stools as well as more materials for paint and other materials.

“Scara, what medium would you like to try out here? I have every art imaginable” Busy looking through the shelves of art supplies, you couldn’t notice his subtle fear in his stiff movements.

“...Acrylic paint i guess.” He peered at your metal drying rack and saw the recent acrylic painting and choose that as his safe option.

You turn to him with a grin holding them up in a woven bucket, “That’s my preferred medium too”

He gave a slight sigh of relief.

Moving around to place the three stools, one stool for each of your canvases and the third stool for the basket of paint. Gesturing him to sit you gave him his painting palette tray, water cup if he so needed, as well as his brushes and palette knife.

“Let’s just have some fun painting whatever comes to mind, yeah? Whatever you feel like right now. Art therapy time if you will.” You laugh in joy, having a new art friend who would paint with you was nice in its own right.

He nods quietly enjoying your sunshine and the un-desired purpose in this painting.

As he squeezes the needed paint onto his paint tray his ability to color coordinate fails him. A murky purple was made instead of his wanted light pink.

His face narrows and scrunches up as the scraping of his palette knife grinds harder against the wooden tray.

Your iridescent laughter seems to erupt into the room and it draws Scaramouche’s attention away from his threatening stare down with his paint.

“Aren't you an artist?? Hahaa, are you not skilled in the painting area mouchie?”

He jolted at your unintended nickname where both you turned away to collect yourselves for a second. “Well— …yeah, but, i’m still not good.” He cleared his throat to feint embarrassment when he really was swimming in his own remorse.

“What color do you need then? I can make them for you.” He peered at your palette which consisted of pretty pastels. He didn’t want you to mix fresh new paint for his pathetic ass.

“I can just use some of yours. I wanted a small canvas anyways.” You nodded as he scraped some of your hefty mixed paint onto his tray. You got started on applying paint to the blank canvas and he followed along.

Chimes of piano music fill the room from your ongoing playlist playing on your computer. It was rather peaceful.

One of the rare moments Scara can feel at peace.

“If you don’t mind my idle chatter—having a nice chat while drawing is nice to me.” You put down the paintbrush for a second to look at Scaramouche.

“—would you like to hear the story about my parents? It’s one where thinking about it always fuels my art drive and how I'm so immersed in drawing all 99% of the time” His attention is pointed at you in obvious interest. Your fingers pick up the paintbrush and continue light strokes of paint, a bit abashed at his sudden attention to you. Starting off your story, Scaramouche attempts to multitask but finds himself staring off at you instead of his canvas.

“My mother was and IS an artist, my father was just a politician who loved good debates. Y’know like those old aged stuck-up political men.” Chuckles emerged from both sides.

“Father had strong feelings towards art since he thought it was but pointless. He couldn't find the meanings of art. So when he and mother met for the first time they butted heads a lot in debates. Father was that one stubborn lawyer man.”

“Their arguments were real heated and well put out points were favored on my moms side. When mom got an offer for a large project that caused her presence to be in Sumeru, dad was a little empty without the debate over art and how useless it is. He grew so used to the debates every week when he was able to see her working as they bumped heads. But he was too stubborn and high on his horse to even ask one of her friends when would she come back.”

“Years passed, like a good 3 years, and she came back to Inazuma as well as many of her paintings to show off her success. When they met again at a politically invested museum he saw mom again after weeks of her return. He saw her showcasing her works with the most grandiose and genuinely happy-in-life smile. Compared to her lesser smiles when she wasn’t profound in the arts.”

“It was then where he fell in love with mother. Her strong will for her crafts, her hands that hide all her calluses from hours of work. And the smallest detail on the piece even caught a mile away, he fell for it all. He told her of his admiration, though awkward with being in touch with his emotions, she was glad she got through to him finally. Mother always admired his stance of his opposing opinion, it was the big push for her to compose such a grand choice of risking a lot for art which gave her no stable income. Without him, her hopes to prove to the world that art is needed, she would have stayed hidden as ‘one of those disgraceful artists with no real job.”

“When they got married she taught him how to paint and they were so much in love. Still the debater, he challenges her to art history and how he knows the most about her large contribution to opening up the art world. The amount of times i asked them to repeat the story to me, haha i think I might have high standards now.”

“Enemies to lovers…”

“Hm? I don't know, having an enemy is kinda.. clique, no? And i honestly don’t think i can ever date an enemy i hate.”

Scaramouche shrugs as he attempts to brush up his awful attempt of a painting. “I don’t think I would be able to bear an enemy either.”

You smile and got up brushing your apron. “I have a bunch of snacks in my pantry. Let me fetch them.”

Previous | Masterlist | Next

Synopsis{2}-> Many study dates and flirting over weeks drew you both close. Awkwardness still drew a line between you both but it was enough for a start. Admiring him from the sidelines wasn't enough, however, pieces of the false facade start to shred; and fate has ways of twisting your heartstrings — Is he really– …

We love parents in love🫶and y/n following in their footsteps🤭

The plot is finally moving🥹🥳

Un-Ooc(ing) scara when the plot thickens

//Taglist//

@akagism2 @pokidot @feiherp @kyouzki @rmiyuki @infe-risk0 @sakurapeach @bluebelony @kichiyoshi @mikctp @kur44pika @cupids-chamber @crucnhice @neigesprincess @scaramoo @gojoandelsalovechilde @childeslegstrap @sakiimeo @d4y-dr3am3r @m3gitsune @scarletttcroww @sashiette @beriiov @rizakari @xiaossocksniffer @lxry-chxn @bryai003 @eunchaeluvr @goj0h

[heyidkyay]

I guess I’ll take this pain, instead of your name |

Part Twenty-Two

Butterflies, summertime, all belong to your creation!

A/n: HII:) The whole band is finally in Spain and I'm really hoping that everyone enjoys this chapter, it took a while to piece together, had to look back at old parts too many times to count, but there's finally some well deserved cuteness and fluff in here! I think this has one of my favourite G and Birdie encounters yet... Anyway, hope you like it x

Summary: In life, things changed. The boys you'd once grown up with were men now, and famous ones at that. The type that toured the world and had millions of adoring fans.

The five of you shared a shit ton of history. But you also shared a lot of mixed emotions for one of them in particular, a certain drummer.

Warnings: TOO MANY EMOTIONS, little bit of dark humour I hope no one takes offence to, mentions of anxiety and inner struggles, touches on a bad relationship with a parent(/family), BUT there finally is some fluff!!

Masterlist

--

Outside, it was warm and lovely, but inside the villa… it was anything but.

Since I’d gotten home the previous afternoon, with even more medication strapped under my belt and a freshly printed release form in hand, the atmosphere had been tense.

George was staying with us- that was probably the quickest way to explain things.

What with the whole band coming to Tenerife and a villa far too big for just two people, it only made sense for all the boys to crash there too. Plus, Matty had made the argument about them making use of the space to work on their album, knowing full-well I still felt guilty about the whole ordeal. 

It had been cruel, but it’d worked, and so I’d come home from the hospital to find George’s suitcase in the room one over from mine and a ginormous pair of shoes in the entryway.

The latter had stilled me in place when I’d first spotted them, bringing back one too memories as I’d stumbled in through the front door. Matty’s excited chatter had been the only thing to draw me back to the present, as he’d called out to George, who’d made himself quite at home on the settee, whilst simultaneously planning things with Hann, who was on the phone.

I’d gone straight to bed after that, feigning exhaustion, which Matty had believed but George had raised an eyebrow to. He’d known better than to question it though, especially with the thin ice he was currently treading on, but I’d felt his eyes follow me all the way up the stairs.

Today was a new day though. I’d woken up, showered, made myself a light breakfast (doctors orders), which had gone down quite well with the new anti-sickness tablets they had me taking, as well as the stronger dose of pain relief I'd been given. I was ready for anything it could throw at me. 

Matty had barrelled down the stairs not long after though, talking a mile a minute about flights and times and some other nonsense I hadn't been able to make out. I’d actually had to ask George what he’d been going on about when the giant had rolled in from the patio outside.

He hadn’t looked like he’d slept much, but it’d been hard to tell from behind the big black sunnies he wore. And I’d bit my tongue to keep from asking just how long exactly he’d been out there, whether or not he’d avoided coming back in once he’d spotted me downstairs at the kitchen counter. 

Turned out though, both Ross and Hann were already at Heathrow airport and boarding a direct flight to Spain. Hann had just texted Matty saying that they’d be landing in the next couple hours, or so he hoped. 

Which is what ultimately led to me waiting on the front-step of the villa like an excited little kid, waiting for the two to pull up, but also using it as an avid excuse to avoid George further. 

It wasn’t long before the sound of tires had my head lifting just in time to spot a sleek car coming to a slow stop at the curb. I grinned at the first man who emerged from the backseat of the cab and hurried my way down to meet them.

“Wahey! Look who it is!” Ross exclaimed with a big grin once he spotted me, hair brushing against the length of his shoulders whilst his squinted eyes, hidden behind brown lenses, took me in. He opened his arms out wide as I approached and was gentle with me when I leapt into them, chuckling as he spun the two of us around.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here!” I breathed into his neck, unable to dampen my sudden rush of happiness.

I squeezed him once more before he finally dropped me down onto the balls of my bare feet. The pavement was warm beneath them, but not hot enough to have me prancing about like a prat trying to avoid burning the soles. Matty had learnt that lesson the hard way our second day here, when he’d made the mistake of going out to pick up a takeaway with no shoes on.

“Couldn’t let the three of you have all the fun now, could we?” My head darted away from Ross and quickly over in the direction of the boot, just in time to see Hann rounding it.

“Adam!” I was quick to rope him into a giant hug too, asking after Carly and about the things I’d missed back home just as Matty and George sauntered their way down the drive.

“Fuckin’ hell.” Ross whistled once Matty had slipped the cab driver a few euros and the car had begun to pull away. I glanced over in time to find him staring up at the house. “You said it was big, but this is maddening.”

Matty snorted whilst I sidled up next to the bearded bassist, his reaction had been similar to that of mine. “Thought you’d be used to this sort of thing now. What with being in a big band and having Matthew here as your frontman, the diva.”

The rest of the guys chuckled when Matty swatted at my arm, but I merely shrugged him off before I made my way over to where a lone suitcase stood. I’d just been about to grasp at the handle when, almost on command, all four men cried out causing me to jump away from the thing with my hands surrendered.

My eyes were wide when I turned back to them, “What the fuck! Is there a bomb or summat in there?”

“No,” Hann dragged out around an airy chuckle, skirting by me to grab it instead, I frowned when none of the guys made the slightest huff at the action. “It’s alright I’ll get it.”

My brow only furrowed further when I made a grab for one of the duffles that had been left on the curb, before it was hastily swept up by a smiling Matty. I chewed at the insides of my cheeks to keep from screaming.

“I’m not going to break, you know?” I told the four of them sternly, looking each one of them in the eye. “I can carry a fucking bag inside.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to.” Matty retorted, grinning like that had been the right thing to say to me just then.

My chest rose with my next irritated breath, but Ross was there wrapping an arm around my shoulders before I could release it. 

“Alright! Show me this pool then, hey? Haven’t stopped thinking about it since you first showed me, practically dreamt I was swimming in it on the flight over.” He told me, leading us further away, and reluctantly I allowed it, muttering under my breath whilst the rest of them debated amongst themselves on how to lug the bags in without Ross’s help.

This was going to be long trip.

—

“What’s with the evil eye?”

I jumped slightly at the sound of Ross’s voice, glancing up at him when he came to stand just over my shoulder, my brow pinched. 

“Do you always have to eat apples like that?” I questioned him, wrinkling my nose as I swiped my upper arm free from a mixture of fruit juice and Ross slobber, “Right over me too.”

Ross grinned, uncaring. “And what’s wrong with the way I eat apples?”

“Horses are more civilised.” I rebuked and he snorted in turn.

“But you wouldn’t change me for the world though.” Ross replied with a sarky smile, wrapping one arm over my shoulder and around my collar, “Just like I wouldn’t change you bein’ a moody mare.”

I pursed my lips but didn’t shove him away. “I’m not moody, just hot.”

Ross hummed and I knew that he knew I was lying- although, it was growing warmer and warmer the more minutes that passed.

“So that glare you’ve got going on is just for the heat, yeah? Not the twat sat over there in that deck chair?”

I’d been made. With a heavy sigh I crossed my arms over my chest and fought against the petulant pout that wanted to overtake my features.

“He’s sat right under my tree, Ross!” I groaned, sounding like a toddler on the verge of a tantrum. The bassist laughed and I allowed my body to melt further into his embrace, letting him hold me up.

“Sort of recognise it now you’ve said.” He murmured, then I felt him shrug, “Just go and tell him to piss off if you want it back.”

I pulled a face.

“What, why not?” Ross chuckled down at me, I ignored the loud chomp he made just above my head.

“I’m avoiding him.” I told him simply.

“Oh really? How’s that going for you then?” He asked sarcastically. 

It was my turn then to shrug, which was a hard task considering I was still cocooned in his arms. “How’d you think.”

Ross snorted softly, “Ten days, muggins. Ten days and you’ll be home free.”

I groaned again, slumping as I felt my head fall back and eyes close. “Isn’t it bad enough me feeling so crap? What did I do to deserve this much karma?”

“Definitely a serial killer in another life.”

I frowned at the quick answer Ross gave and lifted my chin up to better see him. “You had that on hand.”

He gave me a lopsided grin, “It’s that smile you get when someone’s pissed you off.”

I laughed, knowing what he meant, and relaxed again. 

We paused there for a moment, basking in the peace, before Ross went to speak again, his voice softer than it had been. “You in much pain then?”

I inhaled slowly, already regretting having brought up that I felt crap. “Just all these pills.”

His arm tightened its hold so that his free hand could squeeze my bicep. “Don’t have to pretend with me, yeah? If shit gets too much, let me know.”

I wanted to roll my eyes, thinking about how the rest of the guys had begun walking on eggshells around me again, but his offer was too sincere. “Really I’m okay.” I assured him instead, then tried for another laugh, “Just want me tree back.”

He did chuckle and I squirmed slightly when he knocked his chin into the side of my head, tickling my ear.

“Well then, let’s go piss G off.” He decided, loosening his hold to drag me off towards the garden. “If we try hard enough, maybe he’ll just sod off and we won’t have to say a word to him.”

“Fingers crossed.” I laughed.

—

By early evening Ross and Hann’s first day here, we were all getting ready to walk ourselves into town, the guys having decided amongst themselves that they wanted to go out for dinner and see the sights after we’d been cooped up all day.

I’d thrown on a strappy midi dress, something that hid a lot of skin but still kept me cool, and paired it with a pair of light samba’s to match. I was just tying the laces on them, perched on the bottom step of the staircase and listening to everyone else rush about getting ready, when someone trailed down behind me.

I knew it was him without looking, immediately having recognised the falls of his feet, but the hesitant pause about midway had also been a dead giveaway. 

It made sense that it’d be him though. The two of us had always been the first ones ready, it’d been an ongoing thing for years now, and typically we’d make proper use of the time we got alone together before the chaos truly started. 

I fought the urge to reminisce on shared kisses and quiet whispers in crowded hallways as I slid over a tad to accommodate him, figuring he’d just slip by me and wait in the lounge for the rest of them. But it was just as I’d finished tying my first shoe that he sat down beside me. 

Immediately I stilled at the gesture, but that was the only response I gave his unanticipated presence, swallowing down whatever confusion I felt before I tugged at my remaining lace.

Breathing shallow, I could see his fingers tapping away aimlessly against the side of his knee next to me, just out of the corner of my eye. Most believed that the tic related to his job as a drummer, tap tap tap, and in a way I suppose it did, but those who knew him, knew better. Drumming was just something George could always revert back to, something he found solace in, it gave him a moments peace in the mayhem his mind created. That tapping was a nervous habit sure, although other times it helped him to keep track of his countless thoughts.

I tried not to glance over at him, even as I struggled with my right shoelace- you’d have thought I’d have figured out how to tie them with a cast on by now, but no. It was still a task and a half. 

I grew frustrated easily, muttering under my breath when the aglet got caught again on the plastic which encased my palm. “Fucking can’t wait to get you off.”

George’s loud and obnoxious snort made me jump, which inevitably caused me to fumble with the lace. I shot him a heated glare at the fact that I'd have to start over again. 

“What’s so funny?”

Looking at him now, even in the dim entryway light, I could finally see everything I’d been missing out on from the distance I’d created between us. The moles that dotted this side of his face, the faint stubble which now lined his jaw and chin, the squinting of his eyes as he struggled to dampen his growing amusement.

“Nothing.” He replied, though it was said around a huffy chuckle that he hadn’t meant to let escape. I raised a brow in retort and he relented quicker than I was used to. Normally he loved to bicker with me, really got a kick out of it. “Just, what you said innit.”

My forehead furrowed and I thought back to the words I’d said, before it finally hit me. I couldn’t help the reluctant laugh that bubbled from my lips, but I rolled my eyes at him with a minute smile. “Yeah well, you should be so lucky.”

He hummed softly and I had to look away then, instead choosing to focus back on my shoe. Two loops were typically easier than one these days and, if I didn’t fumble with the left lace too much, I could usually just adjust the tightness it once I’d finally tucked it through. 

I bit back an unearthly grunt when it slipped through my fingers again, far past the road of regret for having not just thrown on a pair of sandals.

“Here, let me.” I heard George say and before I knew what was happening, he’d gently taken hold of my ankle and pulled it up over his knee. 

I was quick to hold down the end of my dress, not wanting it to ride up, and swallowed past the lump which had rapidly formed in the back of my throat at the action. We weren’t meant to be talking, he wasn’t even supposed to be here, let alone tying my laces for me! 

I inhaled sharply at the feel of his thumb pressing against my skin. 

“I could do it myself.” I muttered to him quietly. He nodded, deft fingers fast as they wrapped themselves around a laced loop and tugged, tying a perfect bow.

“I know.” He replied just as softly, then peered over at me, and I wondered, briefly, what he saw.

A loud thump directly above us had us both startling out of whatever staring contest we’d lost ourselves in and I was quick to take back my leg, resettling myself in the position I’d taken earlier, actively avoiding meeting his eye. “Thanks.”

George coughed lightly but didn’t make the effort to move away like I thought he would. I fiddled with the straps of my dress for a moment, and it was then that my eyes seemed to make their way back over to him on their own accord.

He was dressed nicely, I noted. Clad in a light linen shirt, a contrast to all the black I’d seen him in lately, and a pair of washed blue jeans. I had to stop myself from reaching out towards him when my gaze finally caught the butterfly that had been embroidered into the thigh. It was bright, pretty. 

“I like the jeans.” I found myself stating, and although I kept my head trained towards the floor, I felt his gaze skitter over towards me.

“Got them last tour.” He murmured, fingernail picking at a stitch on top of the butterfly’s left wing. “Weird though, ’cause I thought of you when I first saw ‘em.”

Internally I screamed to myself. Why did he have to go and add that detail?

Then mindlessly my hand came to a rest on the right side of my ribcage, where we both knew a tiny butterfly tattoo was hidden away. Only now it was framed by scars, none of which he’d seen. 

“Oi, Hann where did you say my roll-on was again?” Came Matty’s loud shout from the landing just above us and I peered up to find him dangling over the banister, as though he figured it would further his voice the closer he got to the opposing door.

“In the bathroom cabinet!” Adam responded, far enough away that I strained to even hear it.

“The fuck you put it in there for?” Muttered Matty, exhaling a heavy huff as he started to push himself off of the banister, but that was when he caught sight of the two of us down below. He shot George and I the cheekiest smirk. “‘Ello, what’s all this then? Do I smell reconciliation in the air?”

I rolled my eyes, but my left ear had started ringing just after his hello and the sound of his voice quickly became muted. With a wince, I raised a hand and pressed a finger to the outer shell, something that typically helped dull the incessant sound.

Peering back up, I saw that Matty was no longer there and so I looked to George to see if I could read much of his expression, determine whether or not the curly haired twat had made the situation we were in any more uncomfortable.

But when I did, George was already looking back at me, hooded eyes trained on the hand I held against my ear, as well as my undeniable grimace. 

“What’s wrong?” He asked and I made it out, only just, by focusing on his lips.

“Ringing.” I said and realised I’d spoken a bit too loudly when his head jerked back a tad, apparently having caught him off guard. “Sorry, just- don’t worry, it’ll go in a sec.”

George’s worried eyes darted between mine when he nodded, and my face grew warm at the thought of him having to witness me like this. I went to stand, an excuse about needing some air already on the tip of my tongue, before he caught me. I glanced down to where his fingers gently brushed against the skin of my arm.

“What do you need?”

I blinked, surprised by the question.

I went to shake my head, wave him off, but his face turned imploring. “Come on, just tell me.”

The ringing felt like a tidal wave had just been funnelled through my ear canal and the sharp pain, which usually accompanied it, shot down my jaw. I didn’t care for the fact that it was George stood there anymore, or how his persona had shifted so quickly when he’d seen the distress I was suddenly in. So I let him help. I let him in.

“Pain relief.” I told him through gritted teeth. “Kitchen side.”

He dipped his head once, squeezed my elbow, then hurried off.

I, in turn, simply slumped against the staircase. Damning every deity there might’ve been for the position they’d put me in.

“Fucks sake.”

—

George had been shooting me looks all evening long. I couldn’t tell if they were of concern or question, but they were hard to ignore and even harder to avoid. 

I hadn’t mentioned the ringing I’d felt to anyone and he’d followed suit, which was something I’d much appreciated, and the whole thing had died down by the time we’d made it out the door. Though, I was still wary.

The five of us had crowded ourselves around a wooden table on the deck of a Grillhouse that sat a stretch away from the sand, it hadn’t been the first restaurant we’d passed by but was on the first street we’d wandered down. The weather was warm enough to sit out the front too, under a gazebo littered with a string of yellow fairy-lights and a long lit fire-pit. 

After settling in, we’d mainly just ordered both cold and hot tapas to pass around and share, and the guys had gotten a couple of pitchers for the table, which I’d stayed clear of. Matty, on the other hand, had folded like a deck of cards and claimed that ‘our little trip’ had ended almost three hours ago now. I’d shaken my head and laughed outwardly, stating that he’d failed to stay sober the second he’d chosen to have those glasses of cava two nights prior.

It had been nice though, sat around laughing and talking with them all. We hadn’t done something like it since my birthday dinner at Matty’s house all those weeks ago, and even then it’d been almost a year and a half before that. George and I were to blame for it, I knew that, but it was just so lovely being there with the four of them that I couldn’t bring myself to point fingers or blame. I just wanted to enjoy my time with them, not knowing how many more moments we’d get to do it again.

Ross throwing his napkin onto the table had sounded the end of dinner bell and so we’d paid and left the owner with a hefty tip for having put up with all our antics and rowdy party. Then started our walk back through the town.

“Oh, we’re so going in there!” Matty piped up the second he spotted a nightclub ahead and the lads were been quick to surrender, not that they’d put up much of a fight, most of them down to grab a couple more drinks and listen to some music. Knowing Matty and Ross they’d probably be looking for someone to take home too. 

I didn’t want to dampen the night, but I knew if I stayed with them I’d only ruin their fun. Plus, my head and ears wouldn’t thank me for it later.

So I begged off. “You know what, I’m gonna head back to the house, I’m knackered after all that food.” I laughed lightly, pressing a hand to my stomach. 

Hann and Ross were quick with their offers to join me, the latter already making plans to curl up on the sofa with a film on the giant tele, but then Matty started claiming that he’d walk me back to the villa and rejoin the lot of them later, which the other two had looked sort of okay with. But I’d hastily waved away each of their plans, not wanting to be a burden.

“No, you lot have fun. Enjoy Spain for me, yeah?” I grinned broadly, “I can grab a cab. I’m only gonna head straight to bed anyway.”

“But-” Both Ross and Matty attempted, I just shook my head.

“Honestly. I’ll be fine. More concerned about you idiots.”

The lot of them didn’t look too fond over the idea of me leaving on my own, but then George pocketed the phone he’d been so focused on during our walk over and stepped over the line of divide I’d made.

“I’m gonna go back too. Can’t be fucked with all the people, heads banging after those shots we had too.” He told them, surprising not only me but the rest of the boys as well.

“You sure, man?” Matty quizzed, brown eyes darting suspiciously over to where I stood for a split second.

George nodded at him, humming. “‘Course. Plus, I think we’ve already been made.”

We all followed the direction he’d jutted his chin in and spotted a trio of girls who’d just stumbled their way out of the club, one with their mobile already out, the other two giggling as they gawped at our group. 

Almost immediately I felt uncomfortable knowing that their eyes were on us. Which was new for me where fans were concerned. I frowned at the feeling, but then George was saying something in reply to Hann and the other three were parting ways from us, leaving George to turn and silently nod his head down the street at me.

I stepped over to join him, ignoring the becking calls I heard from behind us as we trailed back the way we’d came.

Once the shouts had finally died out and there weren’t too many large drunken groups swanning about, I had to fight to keep myself from questioning George on just what his motives had been when he’d offered to accompany me back to the house.

Albeit saying that, just because I was biting my tongue, didn’t mean that George had gotten the same memo. I looked over to him when I heard him speak.

“Want one?” He asked, and my gaze flitted down towards the Spanish pack of Camel’s he’d extended out towards me.

I wasn’t really supposed to be smoking, they’d said it would affect the healing process even weeks after surgery. And so I hadn’t touched one since the accident. Even Matty had avoided smoking around me, went to the struggle of changing clothes too whenever he’d gone through a couple whilst having been out. It’d been hard, to stop so abruptly. Even though I hadn’t been the world’s heaviest smoker, being told not to do something only made me crave it ten times harder.

So I stared down at the pack for more than a reasonable amount of time, enough to make George pause and question his offer.

“You can say no.”

I blinked and glanced up at his face, to the cigarette dangling from his bottom lip, then back down.

I didn’t want to say no, especially with the way my skin was still crawling from the few lingering looks the band typically garnered, but I couldn’t bring myself to actually do it.

So now we were at an odd sort of standstill. The two us stopped in the middle of a quiet little street, only lamps to light the way. He stood directly beneath one, gaze trained on me. My own flickered away from the pack and down to the slight movement his right hand made, where he’d just pulled something from his back pocket.

“Are you even allowed?” George asked me after a while and I wanted to shed an actual tear when he tucked the Camel’s back into his jeans to cradle a hand around the fag he had in his mouth. 

I went to nod but hesitated, unsure, then felt my head tilt sideways when I caught a glimpse of the shiny metal he held, it glinted under the light of the streetlamp.

“Why do you still have that?” I questioned him as he proceeded to light his cigarette, then watched when he lowered the lighter to peer down at it.

“Why wouldn’t I?”

What was with all these questions? Why could neither one of us just give the other a straight answer?

“‘Cause I gave it to you.” I replied, voice quiet as I took in the familiar smell of smoke that released from his parted lips.

“Exactly.” George said, flicking the old lighter over in his palm a few more times, eyes drifting up towards me again.

“You kept it because I gave it to you?” I asked for clarification, brows knitting together.

He looked back at me as though he thought I was stupid for even asking, then shrugged. “It was your dad’s. It meant something to him, then it meant something to you. Now it means something to me.”

I swallowed thickly. He was the most bewildering person I knew. Even when I felt like I had him figured out, he’d toss a spanner into the works. 

“Can I?”

His forehead pinched at my question, then he held the lighter out towards me. I just shook my head, I knew that lighter better than the back of my own hand, having carried it around with me for more than half a decade. I didn’t need it, nor did I want it. I’d gifted it to him and, as much as he’d hurt me, I still loved him. Always would. He was George.

“No,” I said and then gestured to his mouth. His eyebrows lifted but was quick to dip his head at the ask, taking the cigarette from between his lips to hold out towards me. I took it cautiously and held it between my fingertips for a second, “Sort of like riding a bike, ain’t it?”

George started to cough when the smoke he’d just inhaled got caught in the back of his throat as he laughed. “Sort of.” He chuckled, still coughing away as he slapped a hand against his chest, “Fuckin’ hell, Birdie.”

I couldn’t help the grin I wore as I watched on, then started to walk again, pressing the end of the cigarette to my lips. I only inhaled a small amount and savoured the strange but familiar taste, glancing back over my shoulder to blow a trail of smoke at George who’d quickly caught up with his long legs.

I took another drag, a bigger one this time, and let my eyes fall close at the release it gave me before I made myself pass it back to him.

“Much easier than riding a bike.” I deemed, smiling around a ring of smoke and looking over at him when he chuckled again.

“Probably.” George reasoned, staring down at the pink embering flame. “So, why’re you really headed back then?”

“Could ask you the same.” I quipped in retort, watching my feet trail over broken cobblestones. 

George hummed, was quiet for a minute, then tried again, “Alright, how’s this then, I ask you a question, you answer, you ask me a question, I answer. You only get to skip one.”

I narrowed my eyes in thought. This could be just what I’d been hoping for all those weeks ago, back at George’s, but I wondered if I even wanted to know now. If I was better not.

With a shrug, I levelled him with a look. “Any other rules?”

“Have to tell the truth.”

“Obviously.” 

He pursed his lips at my interruption but carried on like I hadn’t spoken. “And the questions end the second we reach the house.”

I thought it over and supposed that was fair. It wasn’t much of a walk back, but there’d be enough time to get a couple good questions in.

“Alright. Who goes first?”

George took another drag, hummed, then gestured towards me. “Ladies first and all that.”

Ever the gentleman. 

I huffed a tiny chuckle, then said, “Fine, favourite colour?” George gave me a bewildered look, as if to say really? And so I shrugged at him, smiling. “Figured we’d start off easy.”

His eyes trailed between my own. “Green.”

I nodded. It’d had always been green, so I guess it was nice to know that at least that hadn’t changed.

“Did you really fancy Andy Lough in year eleven?”

His question caught me so off guard that I released an ugly snort. 

“Oh yeah,” I exaggerated, “All those muscles and the fact that he only ever talked about rugby, proper got me going.”

“Can’t lie, remember.” George grinned at me and so I rolled my eyes, wearing a small smile of my own. 

“I was teasing, Daniel.” I replied with a drawn out sigh, “But fine, no I didn’t.”

He hummed. “Knew it.”

I shook my head at him, then remembered it was my go. “Erm, so did you ever make up with your mum?”

His attention darted towards me at that, like a rubber band snapping back into place. 

“Okay, so I guess we’re easing away from easy now…”

I almost wanted to apologise but didn’t, he had a skip. If he wanted to, he could not answer. And besides, I was curious. Had been since I’d brought her up at his the night of the accident. 

George’s mum was very much a sensitive topic, and although she’d always liked me, I’d struggled to form much of a connection to her, or any of George’s immediate family for that matter. He hardly ever saw them, never even spoke much about them either, but when he did, it was only in a fits of irritation, or anger.

George was quiet for a few steps and for a moment I really believed that he was going to use his skip. But then he cleared his throat lightly, “We did and we didn’t.”

I glanced over at him, curious, but found him staring out at the dark blue that had stained the sky just over the hill.

“She couldn’t get over me being away so much. Having my name in the papers and online. She hated it, said it made her look bad.” He divulged and took another long drag, “When we argued over it, that last time, she said some shit. It was hard to hear. And my dad, he didn’t say a word about it. Just let her get away with it. We’ve spoken since but haven’t really seen each other.”

“What about Christmas?” I couldn’t help but ask him. 

George turned to me with a convincing enough smirk then. “My go, remember?”

"What do you mean, wasn't that your question?” I smart-mouthed, but he was always quick on the uptake.

“Ah, and now it’s just come back to me.”

I shook my head and chuckled. “Go on then.”

“That doctor,” He begun and already I wanted to groan. Really? He’d waste a question on something as awkward as this? It would seem so because he really did. “What’s up with you and him?”

I wrapped my arms around myself, mostly to ward off the nippy air that had crept up on us, but perhaps as a precautionary measure too, already feeling a spike in my anxiety.

“We met before he was my doctor.” I revealed, aiming for nonchalance, “We bumped into each other whilst I’d been waiting for Matty. He was nice, we spoke for a while. But the next time I saw him was when I ended up in hospital. Didn’t even know he was a doctor ’til then.”

“So you’re not seeing him?” George asked and I raised an eyebrow at his cheek to even try.

“One, that’s none of your business. Two, it’s my go, remember?” I smirked as I repeated his words back to him. He relented easily enough. “Okay. Um, why’d you lie about LA when we split?”

The cigarette we’d shared had since burnt down to a stub and I watched on as George kicked the butt away with his foot, hands tucking themselves into the back pockets of his jeans.

“I don’t know really.” And he shrugged as best he could with the way he’d restrained himself, staring off again. “First thing that came to mind I ‘spose and, I don’t know, sounded like the best idea at the time. LA, I could work, keep my mind off things, party and just forget.”

I swallowed thickly. Forget what? I wanted to ask, but it wasn’t my turn.

“Ended up ‘round Ross’s didn’t I?” George went on, “Camped out there for weeks. Was a proper cunt to me about it, too. Switched off the hot water whenever he was home and I was in the shower. Made me take the bins out and wash his shit-stained pants. Pretty sure he even combed his beard with my toothbrush too, though he never did admit it.”

I snorted, unable to help the path my mind strayed to, “Could’ve just as easily been his pubes.”

The grimace that morphed George’s entire face had me howling with laughter. 

“Why’d you have to go and say that!” He cried and I struggled to breathe a tad, ended up almost stumbling into him as we continued walking, but I caught the crook of his elbow just before I could. 

He was still looking a little queasy at the thought, though he was chuckling away now as well.

I couldn’t help myself. “I’m sorry, I am. But knowing Ross…”

“Yeah, yeah.” George was quick to bat my comment away, obviously not wanting to think about it much more than he already had. He untucked his hand from his pocket then and neither one of us said a thing about it when we silently decided to keep our arms linked. “Fucking hell, really do not want to be thinking about my tongue having been anywhere near-”

He cut himself off with a gagging sort of sound and I was grinning so hard it’d started to hurt.

“Awh! I bet Ross looks after all his downstairs bits though, you know, seeing how perfectly well-kept his beard is.”

“Birdie, please.” George all but begged, wincing at my words, “Change the subject.”

I eased up. “Fine, but only because I’m so lovely.”

He scoffed, “Yeah and someday I’ll win a BAFTA.”

“Oi, you could.” I defended with a faint slap to his bicep. “You’ve got the face for it. Could see you in loads of films.”

“Oh yeah?” George smirked, fishing for another compliment, I figured. “Playing what?”

“Stroke victim or summat.”

He gaped and then glared at me, but smiled when I laughed.

“I’m just joking, G. Christ, don’t go taking my head off.” George was silent for a second and I peered up to find him already watching me. I furrowed my brow. “What?”

“Just, ’s been a while since you last called me that.” He murmured and I felt my chest tighten at the expression he wore. 

G. It’d been the name I’d dubbed him with way back when, something which had caught on quick… Those 1975 boys were a bunch of thieves, I tell you, they'd even pinched their own band name. 

I shrugged a shoulder at him, trying to act like it’d been nothing more than a slip. “You gonna go then? Pretty sure it’s your turn.”

“Right.” George remembered, the glint in his eye gone now as he turned to look ahead. “Um, alright, why’d you really want to leave tonight then?”

“Oh,” I was honestly surprised that he’d even remembered the question that’d started this whole charade off, let alone realise that he actually cared to know. I licked at my lower lip and then took a deep breath. “Truth?” I exhaled, the word falling from my mouth before I could stop myself, trailing out into the wind.

He nodded.

“Alright, so since the um,” I struggled to find another word for it, but realised that there probably weren’t many. “After the accident…” 

I felt George tense beside me but decided to continue on anyway. He had asked and I was yet to utilise my skip. 

“Basically I’ve had a lot of trouble with my head, migraines and all that. I hit it pretty hard the first time around, they reckoned I must’ve flown at least a couple of feet-”

“I know.”

My breath hitched at his quiet comment and I attempted to keep my cool, to carry on like he hadn’t said a word, like he hadn’t just said that.

“I, yeah, right well, when I hit it, it did a bit more damage than they first realised. The impact perforated my eardrum or something of the like. Could hardly hear out of the left side for ages after I woke up, kept buzzing and ringing, sounded like it did when you’d hold a seashell up to your ear at the beach when you were a kid, only worse.”

“And now?” He prompted, our feet moving like clockwork. Left and then right, again and again.

“Just happens whenever now. Struggle to hear out of it properly most of the time, but the doctors say it could heal. I dunno about that though.”

“Why not?”

I sighed quietly, mostly to myself, hand still gripping at his arm. “Not sure, the pain I guess. And the fact that it hasn’t eased up since.”

George hummed and surprised me when he laid his hand over my own, fingers longer than mine, hiding them beneath his. “Is that what happened, you know, earlier?”

With a nod I found myself replying easily, “Yeah. After I fainted, they’ve been ringing more and more frequently. Louder now too. Alvaro says is post-concussion syndrome, that I’ll just have to suffer through until it heals on its own.”

I shrugged the shoulder not pressed against George’s side.

“Could be worse, I ‘spose.” 

And George, he squeezed my hand tightly, tight enough to whiten the skin of his knuckles whilst he just nodded in retort. He kept quiet for a long while after.

It was just as the familiar hill, the villa hid behind, came into view that he spoke up again.

“Reckon we’ve got time for one more question. Your go, ain’t it?”

I glanced up at him, it was late and the stars were out, being stood there with him brought back a lot of emotions. Memories of us in Denise’s back garden, on the curb outside my house when I’d locked us out, in the backseat of his tiny Corsa, curled up on the grassy fields behind the school...

"Instead of a question, can I have a promise?”

“Isn’t that a question in itself?” He teased, but must’ve seen the look on my face because he was quickly nodding, “Yeah, you can have a promise, Birdie.”

It was an effort to tear my gaze away from his, but I couldn’t just ask and risk seeing his reaction if it went wrong. 

We’d long since stopped walking, so I took a deep breath and felt his hand squeeze mine again. “Can you just promise me that tomorrow, when you’re sober and had time to sleep on it, that you’ll finally consider telling me everything?”

His breath hitched at my words and I forced my eyes to find the floor.

“And when I say everything, George, I really mean it. Even the stuff that hurts. Especially the stuff that hurts.”

George didn’t reply straight away. Actually I’m not sure how much time passed before I felt his fingertips skim the skin of my jaw, drawing my gaze back.

He looked so serious when my eyes found his and for a moment everything fell away. The resentment I held, the struggle to heal, the cold that had long since wrapped its way around my fragile heart.

“I can make that promise.”

Part Twenty-Three>