#if you take the ghosts away along with the theatre what are you left with

[mako-neexu]

it isnt uncommon for guda to be hunted of course. but the thought of all the friends they made (or shadows of them) be willing to kill them without batting an eye is...

[priestessame]

God's wrath

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Lieutenant Reader X Aizen Sosuke

Warnings: choking, oral (giving), AFAB reader, domification, cum play, public sex? Kinda-.- size difference, dirty talk, overstimulation, sexually frustrated reader lmao, slight manhandling. Aizen is a little mean at times.

Summary: It’s all a part of his plan… is it? (basically, reader rides Aizen on his throne)

 I might have written Aizen a little touch starved and clingy but god do I love breaking stoic men down.

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Aizen's fingers curled under your chin, tilting your face with heart-breaking gentleness. He was always gentle with you, ghost touches like you were made of glass. Like he actually cared about you.

You knew that was bullshit, no matter how he treated you, feigning love and care, you were a prisoner here as much as everyone else. Souske Aizen couldn't love, he was a monster.

But your breath still hitched as he pulled you close, despite your hatred for him you felt your heart falter at his beauty and power. That small voice begged you to believe that the God of heuco mundo was truly in love with you. But you couldn't let yourself succumb to it. Aizen knew exactly what you desired the most, and he was so generous, so willing to give it to you. To be the one that sits you on the throne and gives you a tiara.

You hated the unwanted shot of desire that ran down your spine as leaned in to whisper, lips brushing against your skin. "That Y/N, I entrust to Hinamori-kun." Your blood chilled as he said your name, "I'm afraid you're too good of a liar for that job."

Y/n pursed her lips, brushing his hand away. He withdrew himself instantly like you had been in control the entire time. You knew if you pushed him more, he'd let you go instead of hinamori, you could do whatever you wanted. It was all a part of his elaborate stage, making you believe that you were in control.

That's just how dangerous Aizen was, he had pulled the exact same stage for hinamori as well, and she had gotten so tangled up all willingly. And your biggest fault was thinking you weren't Hinamori, that you would never fall for his mind-games, that your mind-games were stronger. Well, the fact you were so ridiculously attracted to him wasn't helping.

You craved for his touch, soft and gentle. As he sat on his throne, sharp eyes pinned on you, a pure vision of power. You wanted to walk up and take your rightful place by his side. Sink into his lap as he played with your hair. You wanted so badly to just belong to him. And he saw through it. Aizen always did.

All he really did now was sit smug and wait. Wait until you would give in to your desire. After lacing together, the perfect theatre he just wanted to sit and watch you come to him. He had truly always been your perfect nemesis.

He walked along the long stretch of the courtroom, "Y/n-san, won't you join me for the Espada meeting today?" he mused, testing waters. You were honestly too exhausted, but you hadn't seen uliquora and Grimmjow for a long time. The meeting would be a short chance to catch up before they left again.

"I'll consider it." You stated, as Aizen took his seat on the throne.

'I'm glad." he replied, chin resting on his hand. He really was a vison of pure beauty up there. Seated like a lone god, so unattainable. But you could walk up there and take him.

You tried to press that thought down, but somehow it would just not leave. Why did he have to test you like this? sit there all so invitingly, idly brushing his palm against his thigh as if trying to pull you in even more.

Most of the time you would just scoff and turn away, pretending to not notice the throbbing need coursing through your body. But this time, it was like something inside you snapped. Instead of walking away, you found your anger rising. The nerve of him?! to think he could play you like that. You weren't some love-smitten girl that would choke over him.

Something shifted in his eyes as you strode towards him. You could tell how his mind scattered around to find some explanation. But that might be your only edge on him, your anger and unpredictability. You were the wild card to his temperance. The butterfly that flaps her wings at just that moment, somehow conjuring a storm that brings Gods to their knees.

The pain of desire burned through you, setting your skin on fire as you walked up to him. You enjoyed the slightest twitch in his reiatsu it was barely a flicker, but it was enough for you to know he was crumbling.

Aizen tried to ease on his throne, he was after all playing with pure fire. Hinamori was like luring a quaint rabbit; he had to show his vulnerability, desire to be held, and safety, and she had curled into him. It had all been boringly easy.

But with you... it was like taming a tigress. The slightest slip and he would be ash and bone. It had made it all just that much exciting. As you strode towards him, he knew somewhere he had won.

His entire plan was to bring forth your anger. To disarm you once you would come to smite him. So, when your fingers reached his jaw, the God of Heuco Mundo himself was taken aback.

He finally let his reaitsu flare, raising the hair on your arms. The entire courtroom flooded with waves and waves of his power, blanketing you completely. He cupped your face, pulling it closer to his.

"I am a patient man Y/N, but even my patience falters."

Your heart skipped a beat as his arm slipped around your waist, pulling you in his lap. Now you sat facing away, your back pressed against his chest. He sighed as he leaned in, resting his chin on your shoulder, his arms moved methodically, tracing feather-light touches across your bodice.

He nipped at your ear and you practically yelped. He chuckled, "And you have constantly tested it.”

He lifted you up, allowing you to move so that you could straddle him. When you were met with his gorgeous smug face before he pulled you into a kiss.

He kissed you with a desperation that you didn't expect. Your mouth moved against his languidly, his hand glided under your hair, angling your mouth against his. Your hands ran down his shoulders, half-lidded eyes fluttering at the intensity with which he explored your mouth.

You were losing yourself, your mind blanking with every passing moment. His touch down your sides was feather light, but his mouth on yours was aggressive and possessive. Hot and angry as he continued to mark you with his mouth.

when he pulled away, you felt breathless, warmth coiling between your legs. You were so small against him, he could easily just pin you down, like a butterfly. But the vortex of spiritual energy inside you, did make even the God of Hueuco Mundo cautious. He ran his fingers through your hair brushing them away from your face as you blushed furiously.

, how cute.

Aizen was always a patient man. But you really had worn it. He had known he desired you the moment he had set his eyes on you. Back as a shy yet promising trainee in the soul academy, he had brushed over you. Setting his mind on greater things at once. Everything in his life was under his absolute control, but he couldn't understand why you kept weaselling in.

He obsession only grew when you actually made it to the soul society, you had volunteered for squad 1 at once, quickly rising in ranks and his favour. Everything about you piqued his interest. Your spirit energy, your zanpakuto and its peculiar bankai form. but most of all your brazen disinterest in him. Right from the way you would worm yourself out of the room every time he entered, a quick excuse following your greeting whenever he met you in the hallway. Scrolls and scrolls of paperwork spilling from your hands are you hurried, not a second to spare. After all, kyokaru just dumped all his work on you.

His anger would only fester when he thought about that drunk. Even at night as he pumped his cock angrily all he could think about was of how maybe it was kyoraku that was having his way with you. The pink kimono slipping off his shoulders as he bent you, his beloved lieutenant over his desk.

He soon realised the one chip you held that titled the stakes. The one factor that sent arousal flooding his body every time he laid his eyes on you. For some Godforsaken reason you were the only soul reaper in the entire soul society that had powers that could even defy his zanpakuto. Not entirely of course. He could still manipulate 5 of your senses, but those damn eyes. They could cut through his strongest illusions and you weren't even fucking trying to.

The most abrasive thought was that it wasn't even something you could control, just a simple side effect of your zanpakuto. A person so easily given all the power they needed to tear up his plans

He knew he just had to own you.

He leaned back leisurely, hands falling at his sides. "Do it yourself then~" his eyes were still alluring, beckoning, and you reached for his bulged pressing against your thigh. Your hands approached it nimbly first. But you felt his cock twitch at your slightest touch. Your mouth went dry. He fucking wanted you, the proud, immovable God heuco mundo wanted you to please him just as much as you did. And God have you wanted to touch him for so long.

he smiled against your mouth as you continued to palm him through his clothes, fingers hungrily finding the blush knot around his waist. You could practically feel his smug smile as his fingers kneaded your ass then sliding up to feel you up more.

He deftly pulled the straps of the two-piece espada dress you were wearing, you yelped as the cold air hit your bare skin. He slipped his fingers under your dress, groping your body impatiently. He peeled the white fabric off your body, eyes raking over your bare torso, he pulled you towards him harshly, "I knew you were hiding such sluttly tits under that black kimono." he growled out, fingers digging into your mounds harshly.

You finally pulled his cock free from the bounds of his clothing. Your first thought was that it was surprisingly pretty, your second thought was how you were going to make it fit into your poor little cunt. It was pale like his skin, blurring into a rosy pink towards its bulbous head. A thick vein went along the side of the long shaft, you gulped, knowing all you wanted to do was drag your tongue along its length. Your fingers wrapped around his base thumb rubbing up the underside. You slipped down, kneeling before him now. You gave his tip a kittenish lick. Stroking the bottom as you pushed the tip into your mouth, rolling your tongue over the slit teasingly. You liked how he felt in your mouth, you tried to slide it deeper, but he grabbed the back of your head.

“That’s quite enough now,” he rasped out, pulling his cock out of your mouth, drawing out a thin rope of saliva and cum. He squeezed your cheeks, “I want to fill your cunt up with my cum, I don’t want to waste it in your mouth.”

He pulled you up to straddle him again, fingers pressing into the damp spot on your underwear. He rubbed his thumb against your clothed cunt, as you whimpered under his touch. He pushed your panties to the side, to admire your puffy folds. Slender fingers slipping from all the slick because of embarrassingly wet you already were “I have barely touched you and you’re already so wet?” he asked.

You gulped down a snappy comment, hating how his humiliating words made your pussy squeeze in excitement.

He moved his hips to glide your folds along his cock. His tip rubbing against your clit, collecting your wetness, for you were pretty much gushing at his point. The simulation of your clit made your walls squelch sadly around nothing. You wanted him inside you.

"Not having second thoughts now are you lieutenant?" He asked

"I-I am not!" you retorted despite the obvious tremble; your fingers dug into his shoulders as you readied yourself. Balancing yourself on your knees before lowering down. His tip pressed into your entrance, that bastard did nothing to really help you. Other than flicking his tongue over your nipple. You felt the burn as his mushroom tip stretched you out, filling you up so full, you were already seeing stars. Your nails dug into his shoulders drawing blood as you tried to ease yourself onto his fat cock. But he was too big, and you could tell he was enjoying watching you struggle a little too much.

"Need help sweetheart?" he cooed out, you felt his hands grip our hips again,

"W-Wait-" you started but he pushed you down to his hilt. You screamed out as the sudden pleasure crashed into you. "t-too deep- I-

"I-Its I-inside, ungh~" you yelped out brokenly, the delicious stretch of his cock sending your mind reeling, your thoughts being consumed by just how fucking good his throbbing cock felt.

"Don't tell me this is your limit love? We haven't even started yet." he said, fingers digging into your soft mound. Your legs squirmed, walls still struggling to accommodate his thick cock. You whined as he rolled his thumb over your hardened nipple. 

Aizen's fingers ran over your stomach, palm pressing into the bulge as he bottomed into you. He fit inside your walls so fucking snug, stretching you out to your limit.

Your eyes glazed as he glided into you like hot butter. You could feel his shape as he fucked into you at a slow tantalizing pace, teasing, hypnotic. With each thrust he sent your mind reeling, fingers bruising on your hips. Your eyes pinned on how his cock disappeared inside you till the hilt, rubbing into pleasure spots you didn't even know existed. You squeezed your walls around him as he continued eliciting a low groan from him.

The burn of the stretch only added to the ecstasy, as you realised you were finally, fucking finally fucking the captain you had lusted over for years. You could tell how his eyes pinned on your breasts watching them bounce cutely with every thrust. He still was making a mockery out of you from this slow fucking, the unfaltering smirk of his face told you he knew you needed more friction but he also wanted you to beg and squirm to him for it.

But his breath still hitched as he called out your name, "Why what is it now y/n? you can tell me what you want~"

You looked up at him with doe eyes, pleasure blazing at your core, you wanted him to ruin you so badly. "H-harder." you slurred out, "P-please, go harder Captain."

The darkness in his eyes flickered as whatever restraint he had over him finally snapped. The corner of his mouth tugged into a smile as he stopped, grip on your hips loosening ever so slightly. You had a momentary realisation that you might have bitten off more than you could chew.

There was something venomous about the desire that pooled into his eyes. Something that went beyond carnal lust. He was going to fucking ruin you.

"Well then, let’s see how well you please your god."

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Your fingers clawed at his collar, nails scarping up his neck as he continued to thrust up, fucking into you with the same cruel pace. You were a bit of a fool to think you would win against him, weren't you? he wiped the drool off your face with his thumb, pulling you closer to taste your lips again. It felt as though he just couldn't get enough.

The way he brought you down on his cock, one hand curled around your neck and the other gripping your hip, he was in complete control. As always.

He fucked you like he wanted to break you, get you obsessed with the thought of him, ruin you completely for any other man. If any other idiot did dare try to eye what was his. He felt annoyed at how the courtroom was surprisingly empty still. It would have been so much more satisfying if he would have just taken you in front of everyone. The best part was, he knew you would beg him to do just that.

But the way your walls squeezed around his cock was just so delicious, such a pretty little cunt made just for him. He was going to mold this sweet thing to his shape, and get you addicted to his cock.

The way you were babbling already, told him just how fucked out you were. It felt like hours and hours of him just mercilessly pounding into you, too caught up in chasing his own high. Your thighs trembled from exhaustion, mind blanking from all the orgasms he has pulled for you up till now. A thick ring of his cum was forming around the base of his cock, as he sloppily fucked all he could offer back into your cunt.

The courtroom filled with the lewd sounds of his balls slapping against your ass, you were sure anyone walking past could easily hear, might even see you making a mess on his cock. But you were truly beyond caring at this point.

"ungh, ah- please~ S-Souske!" you shuddered out,

"Coming close again love?" he mused, he thrust his throbbing cock deeper into your cunt, making you yelp as the blunt tip pressed up against your cervix. "Go on~

You came hard, head rolling back with pleasure as Aizen continued to ride you through your high. The overstimulation sending tears streaming down your face. You felt him grow harder inside you grinning between kissing away your tears. "Ready to take me, sweetheart? " He growled out, his fingers curled around your throat. Your eyes widened as he squeezed hard, choking you as he pumped his cum deeper.

"I wonder what your beloved captain would have to say seeing you like this?" His voice grew raspier, words slurring as he chased his own high. He pressed his mouth to yours, sliding his tongue in hot open mouth kisses.

He growled out your name as he came, splashing hot cum inside your walls. His chest heaving as fingers on your neck loosened, sliding down to your hips again. Your head spun as you eased onto him.

You pressed your mouth against his, panting as he ran his fingers over your body, fingers sliding over the thin sheen of sweat, reaching to knead your breasts. You sighed sinking into his chest, and your eyes grew heavy from the exhaustion. You felt his low rumbling laugh bubbling in his chest.

"Aren't you just perfect for me love?"

You'll never be really able to tell if he's just using you or not, then again that's always been part of the thrill. Until you can make him go this feral, you could weasel your way around his mind, couldn’t you?

After all the God of Heuco mundo always got what he wanted.

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[daniigrimm-blog]

Can we just take a moment to simp about the newest album drop by Black Veil Brides, The Phantom Tomorrow, released October 29, 2021. I know, I know, I maybe should have wrote this post like two years ago but really I had a lot to do in the meantime and wanted to give it the true justice this piece of art really deserves. This release is the second album drop since the band's decision to part ways with former bassist Ashley Purdy, (the first basically being a re-master of their former masterpiece debut album "We Stitch These Wounds", now dubbed cleverly, "Re-Stitch These Wounds") and now this! Can I just say, WOW-wowie-wow-wow-wowzers! omg I am just BLOWN away by what has gone into this piece of art and I feel blessed to be born in a time where I got to truly experience its release. Just wow. Welcome to the band Lonny Eagleton, with a resounding, please please don't ever leave.

Tracklist:

The Phantom Tomorrow (Introduction)

Scarlet Cross

Born Again

Blackbird

Spectres (Interlude)

Torch

The Wicked One

Shadows Rise

Fields of Bone

Crimson Skies

Kill the Hero

Fall Eternal

Oh hey did you know that Black Veil Brides released a COMIC BOOK?! It apparently goes right along with this masterpiece of an album because WHY NOT? Siri, can you add "Buy The Phantom Tomorrow comic" to my to-do list? Hell yes. I bought Andy's Ghost of Ohio when it dropped so ya know ya girl is gonna hop this band wagon. And who wouldn't? With such an awesome story and a crazy ass cover like that? Name two people, I bet you cant. And if you can I don't believe you.

From the mouths of babes, as they say. And man is Andy a MAJOR babe. Anyhoo, I figured I would save ya'll a track-by-track personal breakdown because who can do it better than the guys themselves? Amirite? I will say this though, this album feels WHOLE. It feels full. It feels like a really well-rounded album. I'm not a musician myself, but I LOVE music, and I have been watching a lot of different bands grow and rise and it has been an absolutely AMAZING ride. But this band, what a well-rounded flushed out sound they have come to grow into as each individual has honed their craft or joined. And before any of you ask my personal favorite off this particular album is Torch. It's on my On Repeat on Spotify for a reason--but I digress...that brings me once again to Lonny.

Lonny Eagleton

Who is Lonny Eagleton you ask? Well, he's a sweet boy from Canada who joined the BVB family, and man does he fit RIGHT in. Well, his website Bio boasts he's a professional musician who has worked with multiple recognizable names in the industry, that he's done his fair share of arena/theatre based tours, and a plethora of other hidden talents all backed by a degree. I mean, that's impressive enough but man he is humble and sweet to boot! I don't think I am out of line when I say that the BVB family has scored big with this addition to the band--especially if the "The Phantom Tomorrow", and the latest ep drop (October 21, 2022) "The Mourning" are any proof of what is to come in the future.

Now that brings me to "The Mourning" EP which I am also very late to mentioning (at least here!). It's four tracks of powerful music that speaks from and to the soul directly. Clearly what went into this was some powerful storytelling, some genius mastery, and some amazing skill-work. Dare I say, that the older these boys get--the more they manage to master their craft? But it's true. And being someone from the sidelines watching them grow, has been a most satisfying experience--man am I PROUD to be in this fandom. NOT TO MENTION the totally amazeballs producer they have, Erik Ron who handled this ep and the previous album before this. Way to rock out with that cock out Erik!

Tracklist:

Devil

Saviour II

The Revival

Better Angels

"How the fuck is one so evil left to just proceed? All the luck and how deceitful that idle minds can be." Lyrics from Devil really hit close to home some days, especially if you're currently living in America (and I am). It's clear from the tone set by the melody of the guitars when the track first open-fires on your eardrums for an eargasmic explosion of what can only be described as pure Black Veil Brides energy. Straight from the speakers to your soul, Andy Black truly has a way with words and the boys on strings (Jake, Jinxx, and Lonny) really know how to nail it home and build a mood to a harmonious climactic point before bringing it smoothly back down again. And may I say, that CC has really just been on fire these last few albums? He is really kicking some ass behind that kit and I think it's fair to give him a mention for it.

In softer tones Saviour II was second on the EP and set a more serious and tender vibe. A soul bearing ballad needs to be on every album right? At least that seems to be a theme for BVB that I personally hope never dies. They do amazing with a good somber heartfelt melody and these new lyrics that sort of offer different softer, more human side to the Saviour we as a fanbase were used to. The first being: "So hear my voice, Remind you not to bleed. I'm here." the message being a strong voice offering a shoulder to lean on here. A superhero almost. Whereas, the second, "So I'm trying my hardest to be what you made, Like a court jester, my smile won't fade. Giving it all, rising to fall to my grave. Answer the call, living in thrall-You're the one born to save." Is a tooootally different vibe. Like someone human just trying to make it through each day. So-so so good.

The Revival is the third track on the EP and it unfortunately didn't get a video but is still really cool and definitely worth a mention. It feels like Saviour II worked right up into this song. I'm sure they did that on purpose but I can hear/see a story playing out before my very eyes. Maybe my imagination is running a little high, but they have a habit of writing a whole ass story and following it up with a rock opera--so I am not sure because I looked all over for like a track-by-track breakdown and didn't find one (so if anyone has one and can link one to me that would be sugar and spice!) but nevertheless the instrumentals in this song are fire but from 2:19-2:35 it is just the best musical soup I have ever tasted. There I said it. I can say it. It is hot fire.

That brings me to the final track on the EP, Better Angels. I think instrumentally, and melodically, Better Angels may actually be personally my favorite track. Lyrically it is one of the coolest things I have ever heard. I came from a really strictly and very strangely repressed religious background and when I hear the stories told in these songs tied up in some sort of religious metaphor it really resonates and I know I am not the only one in the fanbase that is dealing with these issues. "Go back to hell with all your demons-leave me alone to find the pieces inside my mind. They came in to control my life. And all the devils devour- Your better angels devour." Whether it comes from a religious place or not, that is a pretty fire chorus, you have to admit. Not to mention the absolute MELTDOWN I have inside my head when the guitars (2:35-2:50) fuckin slap my dudes! I am telling you, if you haven't heard it already, please do--your life will be more complete because of it. It's one of the prettiest things I have ever heard ringing in my ears.

Really can't wait to see what Black Veil Brides has in store for us next! I mean between the comic-book, the album, and the ep, I'm already pretty stoked and I literally have no fuckin clue outside what Andy has mentioned in recent interviews! But I will be keeping my eye out! you bet!

Also before I go please enjoy this acoustic set I found on Youtube.

SUPPORT YA BOIS:

http://facebook.com/blackveilbrides

https://twitter.com/blackveilbrides

https://www.instagram.com/blackveilbrides/

[mintbubbletea606]

What Lies Behind the Mask (Chapter Three: The Taps)

 Kat was practically shaken awake by her mother the morning after she was introduced to Maria. The little girl had collapsed into bed after an extra lesson by Madame Giry. Though the woman had promised to bring along her young daughter, this did not make the lesson any easier. She had been vulnerable, no girls to hide behind as she continued with the different positions. Madame Giry, with a slightly satisfied nod of the head, had ended the session later than usual.

"Come, get up!" Louise tried as she pulled the thin sheets out of her daughter's hands. "Your papa just left to go to his work, and your practice is in an hour or so. Darling, you have to get up sometime." With a heavy sigh, the woman gave up and moved away to sit at the scratched table, picking up her thick book and rustling through the creamy white pages.

A few minutes passed before Kat groaned and pulled herself out of her bed. Quickly changing into her required outfit, she sat down at the table and let her mother braid her hair into two separate braids as Kat munched on her porridge. She took one last sip of her beverage before running out the door, bidding her mother goodbye.

---

Maria was curled up in a lavish chair as she listened to her mother pacing around the room. Adina's brown hair was frizzing out of her previously immaculate bun as she bit on her thumbnail. When Maria returned to their room in the afternoon, she was met with an empty room. The six-year-old girl had simply set aside a few pieces of bread that she had gotten from Madame Giry earlier and moved to read more from her book, thinking back to the rich chocolate that Kat--Maria was almost sure that was her name--had given her. Her mother had not returned until Maria was already asleep on the squeaky cot, swallowed up in the covers. The busy day ended with Adina only earning a total of five hours of rest, staying awake to ponder the whereabouts of this ghost of sorts.

As soon as morning rolled around, she had taken only one slice of bread for herself and made sure that Maria had eaten all of hers before helping her daughter into one of her more casual dresses. The mother had gripped her daughter's hand tightly as she pulled her down the hallways and into her usual office. Fifteen minutes had passed before a horrid tapping ensued, causing the woman's current frenzy to calm herself down.

Looking up at her mother finally, Maria offered to find Madame Giry for her, but Adina had merely waved off her suggestion and banged against the wall to stop the rapping. Still, they persisted and she sat down at her desk, running her fingers through her untamed hair.

"What on earth could be making those noises?" Adina muttered before glancing at the chequebook with a dark look in her eyes.

"Maybe the theatre is leaking like our old house? We could not sleep because of the noises."

"The theatre is well-made. Besides, it would have a different sound altogether. Maybe someone is doing it to calm their nerves...?" 

As much as the woman tried to soothe herself, the taps persisted. 

"Can't you ignore it?" Maria asked, tilting her head in confusion. Though the tapping had become quite an annoying nuisance, the child was still able to focus on reading. 

"No. I'm trying to work on something very important, and any background noise is going to scramble all of my thoughts." 

"You could work outside of your office...?" 

Adina let out a deep sigh before taking a look at herself in the mirror. When she could not smooth out her stray hairs, she turned on her heel and opened the door. Once she noticed that her daughter was trailing after her, she held up her hand to halt her. 

"I am going to calm down in the washroom. You can stay here and read your book. Do not mess with anything. I do not want to lose my job," Adina said as she moved into the hallway, closing the door behind her. 

She walked down the hallway, nearing the washroom. The sharp voice of Antoinette Giry caused the woman to freeze up. Though she knew that she should not eavesdrop, she opened the door slightly and pressed her ear into the space that she provided. 

"Why in the world would you need my help?" Antoinette asked, a noticeable edge to her voice. 

"I-I have a family to support, madame..." a young woman answered, her voice shaking slightly. 

"From my knowledge, you were an orphan when you arrived. You have no husband, either." 

"Please, Madame Giry. You don't understand." 

"Then explain it to me." 

"I'm sorry, but I cannot. I promised someone that I wouldn't mention them, and I will not break my promise." 

A tense silence followed her explanation, broken only by Antoinette's weary sigh. 

"I will help you this time. However, I will turn you in if I find you stealing any more food from the kitchens." 

"Thank you so much. You will not regret this, madame!" the woman exclaimed, her footsteps nearing the door. 

Adina immediately straightened up and opened the door, her eyes immediately moving to focus on the much smaller girl that stood before her. The girl's eyes widened, and she quickly moved to curtsy. 

"It's a pleasure to meet you, madam!" she got out before scurrying out of the washroom.  

"Why was she in such a hurry?" Adina asked, faking her confusion. The woman watched as Antoinette's eyes followed the retreating girl. 

"A lot of the girls like to gossip about me, and she must have been on the receiving end." 

Ah, she's vouching for the girl, Adina observed as she moved to glance over her shoulder. Instead of getting a glimpse of the girl, she was met with an empty hallway. What? There's no possible way that the girl walked away so fast. It's almost like she's a ghost, but that's ridiculous. 

"You don't seem very scary to me," Adina commented as she turned her gaze back onto the woman, who was dressed in her usual black attire. 

"You might be the only person that thinks that, Madame Dupont." 

"Please don't refer to me as that. I refuse to be a part of the Dupont family. I'm Madame Monet." 

"It would certainly give you an upper hand if your peers knew that you were from the Dupont family. If you didn't know, they are highly respected in the arts-" 

"I am well aware of that fact, but I am not interested. Thank you for the concern." 

"I did not mean to offend you," Antoinette responded as her sharp eyes surveyed Adina's expression. 

"You did not offend me in the slightest." 

"With that, I will be going." Antoinette dipped her head before quickly moving out of the washroom. 

Adina watched her leave before moving in front of the mirror, hands moving to turn on the faucet. She froze up when she heard light tapping once again. 

"Not again..." Adina murmured as she looked at the window to see if anyone was tapping against the window. However, there was no one there. The woman only grew even more perplexed when she realized that the tapping seemed to be coming from behind the mirror. When she leaned closer to inspect the mirror, she noticed that there seemed to be something red filling the sink. Adina's eyes glanced back down to realize that dark red liquid was dripping from the faucet. Blood... 

The woman whipped around and quickly raced towards her office, wrenching open the door to her office. She had to make sure that her daughter was okay. Instead of being greeted by her child, she was met with an empty office and silence.  

[sinceileftyoublog]

Dawes & Bahamas Live Stream Review: 11/15, Mandolin

Photo by Ward & Kweskin

BY JORDAN MAINZER

On their latest album Misadventures of Doomscroller (Rounder), Dawes finally stepped out of their comfort zone. With longtime collaborator Jonathan Wilson in the producer’s chair, the Los Angeles band ditched their trademark Laurel Canyon-inspired sound for longer, more experimental rock songs. Fittingly, they tackled everything from age-old tales of political control in a world of tyrants to new school themes of social media addiction. The proggy nature of the music fit the concept-heavy lyrics.

As if the about-face of Doomscroller wasn’t enough, Dawes decided to further shake things up with their recent tour with Bahamas, the project of Canadian singer-songwriter Afie Jurvanen. Throughout September, the two acts backed each other, even singing each other’s songs. Last Tuesday via Mandolin, they presented a stream of their concert from the Englert Theatre in Iowa City. At first, even older Dawes songs, stretched out to languid jam sessions, presented a clear contrast to Bahamas’ efficient pop. Jurvanen’s songs represented a welcome change of pace between ripping, tempo-changing Dawes tunes like “Someone Else’s Cafe / Doomscroller Tries to Relax” and “Most People”. Still, they contributed to each other. Jurvanen’s thrilling guitar solos bolstered Taylor Goldsmith’s urgent vocals, Lee Pardini’s smooth keyboards, and Griffin Goldsmith’s unexpectedly stadium-sized drums. On Bahamas songs like “Own Alone” or the snappy funk of “All The Time”, the Dawes folks offered up strong instrumental and vocal harmonies, guitars in sync before Jurvanen unveiled his terrifically prickly lines.

What was perhaps even more notable, though, was the difference in sentiment between the songs of the two acts. Take a Doomscroller song like “Everything Is Permanent”, introduced by Taylor as “our collective brains melting together.” A choogle with a mid-song breakdown and proggy keyboard solo, dipping to silence and elevating back, it ends with the refrain, “Did you really need to cry or be seen crying?” It’s a lukewarm take on social media performance, some Steely Dan cynicism for the modern age to go along with Taylor’s Becker-esque guitars. It couldn’t be farther in mood than Bahamas’ “Way With Words”, a smooth soulful keyboard-heavy tune with a heart of gold, or “Opening Act (The Shooby Dooby Song)”, wherein Jurvanen reflects on all the time he spent opening for other bands and learning from his own mistakes. (For what it’s worth, Doomscroller’s “playing in the band” song “Ghost in the Machine”, which Dawes didn’t perform, could be “Opening Act”’s sibling.) During “Opening Act”, Jurvanen goofily ad-libbed a semi-introduction to Dawes, “Taylor on my left and Trevor [Menear] on my right / I just remember to put away all the Fenders and just let Lee loose.” Real jam band lore should someone have been taping.

At a certain point towards the end of the concert--probably Bahamas’ “Trick To Happy”--I couldn’t help but think that as much as I enjoyed how much each band bolstered the other’s songs, that even if you were dropped in not knowing either one prior, and even if they weren’t alternating, you’d be able to tell whose song was whose. Ingeniously, however, and intentional or not, they then played two songs in a row that bucked the trend. Dawes’ “Roll With The Punches” sported a Bahamas-like strut, while Bahamas’ gentle “Lost in the Light” embodied the scratchiness of the earliest Dawes records. And their encore performance of Bahamas’ “Stronger Than That” personified both bands, Jurvanen’s inherent hopefulness combined with Dawes’ skyward melodies. All in all, it was the third time Dawes surprised me this year. Perhaps only a fool would say this, but Dawes’ concert with Bahamas exemplified a band in their second decade of existence growing as much as ever.

[caitimetravels]

she’s insignificant

chapter 1: we only see each other at weddings and funerals

the umbrella academy x (fem) reader

disclaimer: i do not own the plot/storyline of the netflix tv series and i do not own the umbrella academy characters. 

warnings: mentions of death (rip reggie), mentions of overdosing

masterlist

we start our story in a lonely house. it was never quite the normal childhood house for the family that occupied it but it was definitely more lively than it was at the moment. she missed that. the house felt too big, too quiet. 

most people get the chance to move out when they grow up and that’s what the children of this house did. they weren’t comfortable in this house. she thought it was unfair. she never got the chance to grow up. she was stuck, trapped in the stupid house she could barely call home. maybe she could have had a wonderful life. met a nice man or woman, started a family. 

he stripped that life from her. tore it out of her grasp and toyed with her again. she was so sick of this life, she wanted an escape. 

she hated him. so why? 

why wasn’t she happy he was gone?

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october 1st, 1989.

on the 12th hour of this day 43 women around the world gave birth. this was unusual only in the fact that none of these women had been pregnant when the day began.

sir reginald hargreeves. eccentric billionaire and adventurer. he resolved to locate and adopt as many of the children as possible.

he got eight of them.

number 1 “luther”

the abnormally buff man steps out onto the moon, bouncing along to put his trash in the pile made before. he stares out at earth with a sad look. a beep on his arm breaks him out of his thoughts. he flips the material off his wrist, taking a look at the transmission sent to him.

number 2 “diego”

a masked man hurls the attacker into the wall, taking him out. he steps around the corner to help a scared family. “you’re family’s safe now” he goes to walk away, pausing at the tv. the news plays in front of him, stopping him short.

number 3 “allison”

a beautiful woman with curly highlighted hair steps onto the red carpet in an equally stunning red dress. she smiles and poses for the many cameras pointed her way. several reporters call out her name. it is then that one is whispered something. suddenly the questions change, they become more personal, asking about her father. a woman walks out and whispers something into her ear. her expression changes and they quickly walk away.

number 4 “klaus”

a man with short messy black hair jumps off a bed, saying his goodbyes to several other men in the room. he collects his things from a man through a window. he’s chucked a coin and he smiles giddily, looking rather happy to be out. immediately he goes back to buy drugs, consequently overdosing. he wakes up in an ambulance having been resuscitated. he notices the news, frowning.

number 7 “vanya”

the violinist beautifully playing to the empty theatre stops, taking deep breaths to calm herself down. she leaves, wandering down the street when she notices the news on a tv showing through the window. she whispers one word to herself, in disbelief. 

“dad..”

number 8 “y/n”

the h/c haired girl sat in an all too large library reading an anton chekhov play. she looks up at a small knock on the door. a chimpanzee dressed in a suit stands solemnly in the doorway. she raises and eyebrow, confused by his behaviour. he speaks softly, informing the girl of what her siblings were currently learning all over the city.

“oh..”

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

number eight. the demon. 

the same h/c girl stands in a line with her 7 other siblings. a younger vanya is asked to leave. they all avoid looking at her. she was different.. at least that’s what their father told them. eight didn’t understand it. she was different too and no one asked her to leave. 

as usual eight is pulled away from her siblings as they train together. she is taken to a separate room, one built for her. it’s plain and white, much like a cell in a mental asylum.. or at least what she imagined a mental asylum to look like from what she had read in stories.

she hates this room but she hides her emotions just like her father taught her to. 

“don’t let them control you, number eight” he scolded, “you should be in control”

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

the doors to the academy are slowly pushed open. vanya steps into the house, taking in how big the house was. it had been around 13 years since she’d been here. she took small steps through the large room, looking up at the chandelier. she turned towards the parlour where her mother sat by the fire. 

“hey mom” she called out softly. she received no answer. 

“she probably won’t answer” a new voice called out and vanya stepped further into the parlour to see her h/c haired sibling. she sat atop the bar, reading a book and not sparing her a glance. “she’s been lonely ever since you all left.. gone a bit weird i guess” 

vanya’s mouth fell open. how was she the same age? y/n hadn’t aged a day since they left. she was still in her 16 year old body. at her sister’s silence the h/c finally looked up.

“what?” she raised an eyebrow, “you look like you’ve seen a ghost” 

“vanya?” a voice sounded out from the stairs. the brown haired woman turned now spotting their other sister, allison. “you’re actually here..” she huffed, surprised but not at all disappointed.

“hey allison” vanya greeted carefully.

“hey sis” allison’s voice was soft as she walked over, offering a hug. their moment was ruined by diego.

“hah” he scoffed, “what is she doing here? you don’t belong here. not after what you did” he didn’t even look over at them, making his way towards the stairs.

“you’re seriously going to do this today?” allison asked in disbelief but diego only ignored her. “hmph, way to dress for the occasion by the way”

“at least i’m wearing black” he shot back, disappearing up the staircase.

“don’t mind him” the two girls turned towards y/n who now had her book tucked under her arm. “he’s just grumpy he had to come back”

“you know what.. no, um.. maybe he’s right” vanya shook her head, ready to leave. “i shouldn’t-”

“forget it” y/n stopped her, “he doesn’t matter.. i’m glad you came, all of you. even if you don’t want to be here.. i- i want you here” 

“i’m glad you’re here too” allison nodded, agreeing. y/n gave them a soft, small smile before moving away. the two older women shared a look as she disappeared. she had been lonely..

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

vanya stood near the bookcases, looking over the old umbrella academy comic books and articles. she looked through the books until she came across her own. gently pulling it from the shelf she eyed it over, hopeful. there were creases in the fold. she opened the cover, revealing her note to her father. 

pogo interrupted her, clearing his throat. she smiled, crossing the room to embrace him. he noticed the book she was holding.

“do you know um.. did he ever read it?” she seemed unsure, not wanting to know the answer she expected. slowly, pogo sighed,

“not that i’m aware of” he shook his head, “i’m afraid those creases are from ms y/n. she loved reading it when you first released it”

they both glanced over at the painting of number five. 

“how long has it been since five disappeared?” vanya asked, 

“it’s been 16 years-” pogo was interrupted.

“4 months and 14 days” they both turned to see y/n entering. she either didn’t notice or ignored their stares, moving across the room to grab a new book. 

“did you.. did you ever find him?” vanya breathed, waiting in suspense for the answer. y/n finally looked at them now, pausing. she had always told her father that she didn’t, that she couldn’t but maybe just maybe she did.

“..yeah”

[insomniac-dot-ink]

Headlights Girl

Genre: Urban fantasy + wlw romance

Words: approx. 8k

Summary: The story of a girl with headlamps for eyes and the moth-girl she meets along the way.

My book 🌸 Ko-fi  🌸 Patreon

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Most humans carry the night with them. Even during daylight hours, they can shut out the sun, turn off the light, recede into themselves and into that soft secret place behind their eyes.

Did you know certain animals don’t have eyelids? Gecko’s have nothing between them and the violent sun which wishes to cook the colors of their world. They have to use their tongue. Dust and sand and rain, can you imagine? I was obsessed with lizards as a kid.

I stacked up books on snakes and lizards and skinks. I traced the way that sand snakes crested across the dunes, sideways and wrong. I put glue on the pads of my hand and tried to climb the walls of my room— I didn’t even get one handhold up. I went to the zoo and peered into their cages, up on my tiptoes, trying not to smudge the glass or breath too hard. I tried make out their triangle heads and slow tongue-flicks, but they each shrank away deep into nooks and crannies of their cages. Most things do when I look at them.

Most humans carry the night with them, right there behind their eyelids is an entire world of darkness. I have something else inside me, not quite, not soft, not secret. They called me “headlights girl” in the newspapers.

There were even stranger kids born in the Age of Spirits. I checked. Every morning of fifth grade, I scanned the papers for mentions of “oddities” growing into anomalies.

A boy who could breath fire. A girl with leaves sprouting from her head. A kid with antennae that could taste the wind. There are stranger things than me in the age of beasts and magic. My father called it the “Epoch of Bastards,” sons and daughters of flickering fire elementals and wind ghosts who seduced half-asleep ladies from their beds.

He didn’t look at me much growing up. And I knew what he meant. I knew what he was getting at by calling it the Epoch of Bastards. Growing up, I played in my little puddle of carpet on the floor as he blustered in and out of rooms like gale force winds. He’d be looking for his keys or a left shoe or wallet since he was going out, out, out. I think I missed him at first, in the way you miss strangers you’ve never met.

Later, still on my puddle of carpet, still on my island, I would glare at him with that sour, acid taste in the back of my throat. Acrid, smoky, I would barely blink as he passed; he’d jump when he turned too quickly and accidentally fell into my path. Later still, I would begin to wish they were both like that—blustery and calling people names, gone more often than not.

It sometimes felt better than hearing my mom weep to herself on the couch. I wish she’d do it in her room or outside or anywhere else than that theatrical sobbing in the middle of the house, a naked heartbeat to the place. She spoke to her friends on the phone in that same watery voice, handkerchief in hand and sniffling, she spoke to them more than me.

What else am I supposed to do? This isn’t how it was supposed to be. She’d wail, just a bit, and then find a new thing to wail over. They could barely afford to send me to That School. They could barely afford the special doctor’s appointments for my eyes. They barely knew what to do with me.

Sometimes, I wanted to shout right back: It’s not like I didn’t want to be here either!

But she wasn’t talking to me. 

School wasn’t much better. We weren’t the same, not really. None of us were the same age or had the same affliction. Plus, most everyone else stayed in dorms where they bonded with secrets and whispers and hiding from matrons. It wasn’t the same.

They called me The Lighthouse and Car Face and Nightlight. Sometimes they’d give me a few bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face. I did it. They’d laugh and reassure me I was as ugly as you’d think. Or beautiful. Or perfectly average-looking or I had a pig-nose or unibrow. I’d never seen anything but the blinding light of my own eyes in the mirror so I could never contradict them.

A boy with antlers handed me a twenty for a kiss in the 6th grade. I closed my eyes for that too. It was chapped and dry and he ran away with a screaming laugh afterward. There are stranger kids than me, I reminded myself. So why do I feel so much stranger than the rest of them?

I was 16 when I heel-toed my way down the stairs toward the front door. A duffel bag slung over my shoulder stuffed with loose clothes, change, a bath towel, three books with broken spines, all the tampons in the house, and a Swiss-army knife.

I hoped to stuff as many cheddar-cheese sandwiches in my sack as possible before the midnight bus came, but he was at the kitchen table. I don’t think either of us expected it, like running into your teacher at the mart and you’re both buying the same brand of toilet cleaner. There was a beer in front of his idle hands and he still wore his rumpled work shirt. He glanced at the bag on my shoulder for a long minute.

Finally, he sighed like I cut him off in traffic.

“Gimme a moment.”

My father leafed through a wad of cash he kept in a safe. He handed me almost three hundred bucks and we nodded at each other. At the time, I thought there was a kind of satisfaction to that nod, an endnote.

I was out the door before the midnight bus arrived.

Only three people were at the terminal. None of them looked at me with my pack and my knife stuffed in one hand and my eyes glowing. They did look at the glow, but not for long.

Remote and empty like maybe the world had ended and the last bits of if were nothing but strangers not making eye contact.

Finally, I watched the headlights of the midnight bus approach through dense summer night. I was struck by the thought that it was like looking at like, the glow of my eyes against its eyes. Can a bus be your father? Can your father be a man after all this time? Will your mother come looking for you?

I got on the bus and kicked my feet up against the seat in front of me. Scrunched into a ball, crossed my arms over my chest, and watched the trees turn into flickering bodies of shadow with each passing mile. ------------- My feet moved like tides. They tossed me against nameless city streets and toward empty forested slices of land. I stumbled into the painted deserts toward the west. I dipped my toes into the neon districts of the east with lights brighter than my own. I slept on benches and in kid’s treehouses and hunched my shoulders against brick walls of back alleys.

No one touched me. Maybe they’d approach now and then, but I’d open my eyes and they’d see nothing but heaven or devils or an absent lightning-God father that would smite them. I was the daughter of spirits after all.

I found my way to the ocean; beaches where other stragglers gathered and it was easy to stretch out on empty pieces of warm sand. I didn’t talk much by then, I didn’t like to; people stared whether I was speaking or screaming and clamping down on my jaw so hard it ached. Sometimes I get yelled at: Turn that off! No phone lights in here. You’re blinding me, bitch!

I’d never seen a movie in any theatres, but I could imagine what it’s like.

It was crowded, but I liked that ocean city, despite myself. It had pale buildings built into cliffs, narrow winding sidewalks where cars couldn’t fit, reckless bikers, and crushed seashell parking lots. I liked the tang of salt in the air and the way my hair crinkled from the ocean water as it sun-dried. I camp out on beaches and bummed cigarettes and hotdogs off strangers. I was good at taking care of myself once I got into a rhythm.

I had a tent by then and even an enormous sun umbrella to keep any prying eyes away. I still liked to sleep under the stars most nights though.

I often dreamed of sinking to the bottom of the ocean. I dreamed of descending on pointed ballerina-feet to the silted black bottom. I’d be weighted down through the cold and the silence to where no human being had ever been. I’d open my eyes there, open them all the way, lightning-bright, and unflinching. In my dreams, the salt didn’t even sting. I lit up the world, the whole untouched world of whales and fish and terror and maybe I’d do something good then. Maybe I’d do something good and bring the sun to places that had forgotten it. 

I hated those dreams.

I met Mags on the beach after one of those dreams. Mags had one eye and twelve teeth and carried around nothing but string and scissors everywhere. She smelled like seawater and burning kelp, dank and crusted over. Her clothes were neat despite her leather-cracked skin and arms and neck covered in tattoos of shipwrecks. We ran into each other at some bum gathering and she cackled and pulled me aside.

“What’s your name?” Her voice was old creaking wood. I didn’t answer. “I could give you one.” She offered with a grin that was more empty space than anything.

“Nana.” I gritted out. “You want something?”

“Not sure. What do you want, kid?”

I glared openly, my beam of light slanting. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come here.”

I didn’t know why I was chosen.

Mags liked me more than I deserved. I pocketed her last pair of socks when she wasn’t looking. She never mentioned it and dragged me down to the community showers to get clean with soap and shampoo. She took me to the soup and salad restaurant for something that wasn’t burnt or freeze-dried or from a convenience store. She cackled, she spat when she talked, people shot her looks as well.

I thought she was normal, not touched by the spirits, but she liked me more than most people and I didn’t know why.

“You like art, kid?”

I snorted. “No.”

“Why not? You broken?” Yeah. Probably.

“How am I supposed to know?” I snapped back.

“Lippy squirt. Come on, I’ll show you something worth your forked tongue.”

She heated the needle before she used it, red hot and untouchable. She dipped it into deep black inks, only black and sometimes red, she called them the only colors that matter. She shows me how to prick the skin and clean it. She showed me how to slowly, painstakingly etch images. I wasn’t sure I liked it, there was something so permanent and intentional about the act.

I watched her lessons though: stick and poke to her right foot, all over those fine little bones that must hurt, in and out, a little bloody.

It took her six hours to make a tiny shipwreck right above her big toe. It was a narrow schooner going under and I was the only witness. She made the waves come to life and crash against its sides and sometimes I forgot to blink. She didn’t seem to mind.

She washed another needle. She heated it red-hot. She dipped it in ink and handed it to me.

I still wasn’t sure I liked the permanence of it, but I told myself I was bored and it was something to do. I decided quickly I did like the bite of it, I liked the focus it took, and the ability to pull something from nothing.

I practiced all over my thighs first, there was enough meat there and it was easy enough to reach: a lizard design that looked like nothing but squiggles, a TV set playing static, a tiny smudged skink with its tongue out. I practiced designs in the sand and then on paper when Mags splurged on pen and paper.

Mags took me to the museum on Sundays. They were always free on Sundays.

Something stirred in my chest, even as the guards yelled at us about how flash photography wasn’t allowed in the museum. Even as I was shooed out of exhibits for ruining the paint. Still, an ache so old it rotted roared to life in my chest.

I stabbed in and out, gentle, a collection of stars right above my right knee. A winding sand snake on my wrist, and then finally, something good, something that gave people pause and reason to stare. I made it in the mirror: a ghost on my collarbone. Shadowed and intricate and yet simple, I put a ghost right above my collarbone and it bleeds more than any of the others.

That was a good year or so; one of the best I could remember.

I didn’t want to leave the ocean city though and Mags said she had to keep moving. She had places to be. She gave me a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

“You're a gem, kid. You’ll knock ‘em all to the pavement.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “You’ll be back?”

She cackled. “Wouldn’t miss it. You know me.” She winked as she turns to the bus, my second father. “You think I’ll miss your great becoming, kid? I’ll be back.”

I wanted to make her pinky-promise like I was a kid again begging one of the others to tell me if I’m beautiful when I close my eyes. I couldn’t do that; I waved as she tottered up the steps of the bus and was taken away with the tides of her own feet.

A had a moment of thinking it was the end then; I was ready to get back to my real normal. I was ready to disappear again. But even shipwrecks with no witnesses leave things left to be found.

------------ I got an apprenticeship. Technically, Mags talked them into it and I just followed up when I had nothing better to do.

I didn’t think I’d like it much, but couch surfing and camping out was the pastime of the especially young. And I’d lost my giant umbrella.

It was a small shop that smelled like bleach and dried flowers. A tattoo parlor in one of the steep arts districts neighbored by food trucks and beaded necklace shops.

Penguin Davies and Bitch-Annie ran it together. Davies walked like he’d never encountered land before, and Bitch-Annie had a throw-pillow embroidered with “If you don’t have anything nice to say then come sit next to me.”

Davies was covered in nothing but birds and dizzying M. C. Escher house-designs up and down his chest and arms. Bitch-Annie had topless mermaids and pinup girls across her shoulders and legs. She’d been asked to leave a number of stores before the children started staring or thinking thoughts.

Neither of them had ever met someone like me. It was not that type of town. I rankled at most their questions, a cat meeting a steel brush. Where are you from? What’s your family name? What kind of school did you go to? Is your sight better than other people you think?

I brushed off anything more personal than my favorite type of soda. Bitch-Annie called me “Shadow” probably as a joke, probably. Davies said I must be possessed by the ghost of some dead star: a blackhole that takes everything in and lets nothing out.

Neither of them let me touch a needle in those first six months. They had me practice on pig skin and trace designs and stand by their shoulders as they worked. I felt like a dental assistant except I was the hanging light shining into open mouths instead of anything with a pulse. I stood at their shoulder as they drew thick lines and thin dots and made hearts and wolves and names of dead lovers come to life.

They asked me to stand still and stop wiggling the light. I almost walked out several to find a new cliff to crash against, almost. 

No one had ever expected anything of me before. They never expected me to show up somewhere or do something well. No one really cared if I went to school or if I did my homework, if I dressed well or went to bed on time. And no one kept any tabs on me at all after I took that first bus. That’s how I liked it.

I should’ve left, tattooing didn’t mean anything to me, not really. But Bitch-Annie stomped up to my attic-apartment one morning and threw pants at me.

“Get up, Shadow,” she barked. She was sterner than Mags, no hint of humor in her eyes. “I told you 9am so I expect 9am.”

“The fuck!?” I was eloquent in the mornings.

“Pants, shirt, shoes, and bra if you don’t want that desk idiot staring at something other than your eyes all day.”

“Are you serious?”

“Serious as a root canal. Mags swore up and down about what you. Let’s see some of that, up, up!”

I grumbled. I put on everything but the bra. No one ever expected me to be anywhere before and 9am shouldn’t have even been a concept much less a real thing. I told myself I hated it. I’d leave the next week. Or maybe the week after that or in just one more month. I kept a bus ticket under my pillow but every time the date arrived I shrugged and made myself busy.

There’d be no harm in having a savings too and seeing what all the fuss was about with having a dishwasher and a kitchen.

I wasn’t an artist of course. I didn’t understand what everyone else was seeing when they looked at the “old masters” paintings of water or war or lovers pulled apart. I didn’t feel anything in front of stain-glass windows in churches or mosaics on walls. Maybe there really was something wrong with me, my eyes. I didn’t let up though. I put on pants for it after all.

Penguin Davies hovered by my shoulder when I made my first real design.

“Mm.” He rumbled deep in his chest. He’d gone grey at an early age, had tired eyes and quick hands. The desk kid said he’d been in medical school once, a surgeon. It was hard to tell. Davies muttered a lot, stared off into space too much, and laughed like it was always a painful surprise

“Perfectionist,” he muttered at me as I start over on a crappy unicorn design. “That line was barely off. You’re being a perfectionist, Nana.”

I scowled over my shoulder and let the full weight of my light hit him across the face. “Got a problem with it?” I challenged. He chuckled darkly. His grin was crooked like a broken door handle. I tried to hide my work from him with my shoulder. “It’s not done yet.”

“It’s late.” The rest of the street was dark. I knew that.

“I said I’m not done yet! You can go home.”

“Hmm.” He scratched his grey beard.

“What?”

“Look at you. You know who makes the best artists, Nana?” He was always a bit of a philosopher. Maybe he used to study that before medicine.

“Yeah, yeah, shut up. I’m working on it.”

He gave my shoulder a light push. “The ones that don’t quit.”

They let me touch a needle gun after that. I told myself I’d only sign my new apartment lease as an experiment. I didn’t have to actually stay. I’d just run from the ink on paper and hope no one chased after girls with eyes that glow.

I didn’t break my lease. I drew suns and moons, trees and fireflies, hunks in speedos on tipsy college girls who swore they were sober and erotic vampires on the chests of men getting their first divorce. I had to give two refunds for a duck that turned out lopsided and a tattoo of someone’s dog which I swore really was that ugly to begin with.

There was one at the end of that next year though, another college girl with perfectly white piano-key teeth. She asked for a stick and poke, that was what I was best at anyway, she asked for a butterfly. Butterflies were easy, I could do the little ones in my sleep. She wanted one all across her back, she said I could make it look however I wanted. So I did. Wings like fringed shawls and straight heavy lines combined with wispy swirling ones. It was dark, black ink with red highlights and gray shadows under each wing to give it movement and flight.

I hid my smile when I finished and showed her the results in the mirror. She went to my bosses and jumped up and down. She pointed and babbled, ohmyspirits, the best thing I’ve ever seen! Fuck. I should pay you double! Where did you get this girl? 

I held myself perfectly still and studied the ceiling until my eyes dried out.

I took the long way home that night. I stopped once, at the corner where the midnight bus arrived, and watched the the passengers trudge off. I didn’t expect to see Mags again so soon, not really, but sometimes I wanted to show her: Hey, maybe your work wasn’t all wasted. Maybe I did start to become.

---------------- “I’m getting you chocolate.” Annie spat, her thick arms flexing as she cleaned off the spotless counter. “I’m getting you fucking chocolate, Shadow, ‘less you tell me what flavor you actually like.”

I hung at the back of the shop next to the narrow window that faced the road. I let the sun warm my face in thick strips and watched the bicycles pass. “It’s not my birthday.”

“Tell us what your actual birthday is then, you sugar-toasted tart.”

I shrugged. “Not today.”

“Well happy fucking birthday. You’re turning two. You came to work for us two years ago today, washed up from the beach like a deranged feral cat, so this is your birthday now.”

I rolled my eyes which served to look like a flashlight given a shake. Annie spent another minute splashing disinfectant on anything that might have had even a passing conversation with a germ.

“You talk to Birdie?” She asked, but mischievously this time. I responded by setting my mouth in a hard line. “You’re turning twenty-something and you’re not even talking to Birdie, are ya?”

“I’m not telling you what I’m turning. It’s still not my birthday.” I dodged inelegantly.

“Birdie will give you a proper go-around. Even shadows like you must need a little rub now and then.”

“Go dunk your head, Annie.” I huffed.

“Afraid you’ll blind her in bed?”

I turned with a snarl. “I’ll start with you.”

“I’ve seen you flipping through those poetry books, every word about hands or mouths or rosebuds.” She gave me flat a once-over. “You’ve got a sweet tooth in you.”

I dragged myself over to the desk to snarl at her some more, but Annie was already putting her hand up and going toward the backroom.

“I’m getting you a chocolate cake either way.”

There must have been a proper way to get her to never look at my little leather poetry books again, the ones with watermarked pages, the spines broken-in, and words that oozed. No one had to know that I could read, much less that I read that.

The door dinged instead.

“Excuse me.” She walked in. Her. “Is someone, um, named Nana here?” I turned before I could stop myself. That was still my name. And it was still my work.

Twenty-something, curtains of straight black hair falling in her face, pinched nose, thin energetic lips, shorts that gave way to milk-dipped legs that never seemed to end. A slight girl in a university t-shirt. College kids came in often during their breaks, but this one was a bit different. My eyes dragged up and fish-hooked there.

Feathered tendrils sprouted from her head and reached toward the ceiling. Long and searching, a pearly green color that reminded you of leaves or plumage.

I knew within a moment where I’d heard of this: Antennae Girl. The newspapers ran our stories close together along with the boy that breathed fire and the girl with roots growing from her head. We were all born in the same year during the epoch of monsters and bastards.

I think she recognized me too.

We stopped like heartbeats seizing up before the ambulance could make it. A confused, unnatural silence. I glanced at the door and considered making a run for it.

She cleared her throat first.

“Someone said that Misty’s butterfly tattoo came from here?” She blinked once and I noticed how her feathered antennae seemed to twitch. I averted my eyes so I wouldn’t blind her. She took a step forward. “So are you . . . Nana?”

The door was right there.

“What do you want?” I had been spending too much time with Bitch-Annie.

“A tattoo?”

“What kind?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“Then why are you here?” I grunted. Footsteps came in from the back room. I was examining the smudged off-white tiles of the floor one by one.

“I wanted to . . . hey, you can look up if you want.” She said, curiously, softly. I didn’t look up. “I’m still figuring out the design.” She trudged on ahead.

“Fine.” I pivoted away. “But we’re busy. Come back later.”

A hand slapped across my shoulder. “This is Nana.” Annie stopped me from leaving. “Don’t let her eyes fool ya, it’s her personality that’s actually the problem. You saw her butterfly you said?”

“Yes!” She gushed. “It was gorgeous.”

“It was fine,” I corrected.

“It’s her birthday today.” Annie shared because she could and because she was a failed evil villain still trying to get her kicks in.

“Oh cool, happy Birthday.” A deep pause followed that could fill oceans. “You can look up. I don’t mind.” She repeated.

I opened my eyes wide and lifted my chin in one jerky motion. A beam of fluorescent headlights hit her across the face. “Is this what you want?” Venom dripped from my lips. This was why I tried not to talk too much.

The young woman squinted for a moment before covering her eyes and nodding. “I read about you,” she stated as if it was nothing. “I’m turning twenty-two this year . . . so I guess, you are too?”

“What?!” Delight filled Annie’s entire expression. “Hot damn! Twenty-two?” I groaned deeply. “Hey, you, girlie,” she addressed antennae-girl, “you want to come out for drinks tonight?”

I tried to protest as quickly as possible, but somehow didn’t summon the words quickly enough.

“Sure.” She agreed. ----------------------

The night was humid and clung to us like a second skin. I wandered through the hilly streets with Penguin Davies wobbling beside me. The desk kid—Daft Jeff, said Davies had some inner-ear problem that made it hard for him to keep his balance. Annie said he just didn’t belong on land— he couldn’t walk straight unless something was tilting and rolling under his feet.

Davies made his way up the hill, faltering and missing the musical beats of it. He refused to let me steady him and I refused to have him sing to me. It was apparently my birthday.

“Someone saw your design.” He noted on the downhill.

“Yeah. Some college girl.” I grumbled.

“What’d you think?” He asked in his usual mysterious way.

“She just wants a good look.” I returned in a neutral tone. “She read about me in the paper. All she wants to do is look.”

“She saw your design.” He paused. “And Jeff said she was like you.”

I blinked hard so the path ahead was eaten by shadow and Davies stumbled. “Not all of us have to be friends . . .” I said sourly and didn’t fill in the rest. “I’ve met kids with antlers and frog-hands before. I doesn’t mean anything.”

“Any of them come visit?”

“They’re smart enough not to.” I snark. “But the ones who manage to be pretty don’t have the brains to stay away.”

“Mm.” He made a soft sound. “What kind of tattoo do you think she’ll get?”

“How should I know? A heart or anchor or something dumb like that.” I walked on ahead. “Maybe I’ll give her a quote from some dead poet.”

“You like poetry.”

I huff dramatically, “Not what I mean. Girls like her don’t like my type of poetry, you know I’m saying.”

“What kind of girls?” Davies was patient. I hated that about him.

I stopped at the corner to let him catch up. “Don’t play dumb. Hot ones, college ones, getting a degree in money or music. They don’t watch over their shoulders enough or know when to stay away.” I scuffed my shoe on the ground. “Whatever.”

Davies was still thinking. I considered pushing him over. He finally spoke up again as we approach the bar, “That sea witch ever show up again?”

“Mags?” I snorted. “No. Why?”

“Cause I’m sure she’d like to see this.”

I didn’t say anything else as we reached the doorway. -------------------- The bar was loud. More people than I liked came to my “party.” I should have seen it coming. If the cliff city liked one thing it was an excuse to drink.

I crammed myself up against the bar and ordered a gin and tonic before the rest of the night crowd could arrive. Birdy was holding court at a corner table and waving at me. “There she is! Someone put a blanket over Nana, lights out, party up!”

Her puns usually left something to be desired. She sang “Blinded by the Light” every time she saw me for half a year.

I drank half my gin and tonic in the first gulp as a new stream of townies burst in. They arrived to buy me birthday beers and shout their opinions on the shitty new chain restaurant on 3rd street. I was almost tasting the bottom of my second glass when someone tapped on my shoulder.

I barely looked over.

The girl with sheets of black hair and a practiced-appearance stood before me—like she was at dress rehearsal and expected everyone else to know the lines as well. She carried a baby-blue bike helmet in one hand, and I noted there were two hand-drilled holes in the top.

“You.” I was tempted to shake her hand like I might make this a transactional hello and goodbye in short order.

“Hey.” She smiled, hesitant, like maybe the food on the fork might be too hot. “Nana, right?”

“Yep.” I sighed the word real long and heavy. “Listen, I really can’t give you a tattoo if you don’t know what you want.”

“No, no, I get it. But I want you to know . . . I didn’t know it was you.”

“Uh, okay. Though I’m pretty hard to miss over here.” I was looking at the dirty wine bottles stacked near the ceiling. Her antennae hang over both of us like fern fronds.

“No. I mean, when I saw the butterfly. That’s when I wanted to come here. Not after.”

“After what?” I was gonna make her say it.

“After I found that it was, well, you know, Headlights Girl.”

“Mm.” I was spending too much time with Davies. “You want something to drink?”

She sighed as well, real long and heavy. “Sure.” She took the seat next to me. “I’m Park by the way.”

“Park.” I rolled the name around in my mouth. “And you already know me.”

“I don’t think I do.” She laughed, sharp and bristly like something you can get cut on. “And I’ll have a beer. . . but only once you look up. Come on, I’m not like that.” I looked up. Her face was bright, round like the moon, her grin was sneaky and unearned. “There we go.”

She waved over the bartender Kipp and ordered her dark beer.

“It’s not really my birthday.” I informed her, dumbly. Every word felt dumb and clumsy all at once.

“Why not?” She was teasing. I knew that.

“That’s not how birthdays work.” I informed and wished I could backtrack into hostility again.

“Oh darn,” she winked. “And here I was about to make it my birthday too.”

“Uh, well,” I really should have left when I had the chance. “It’s not too late?”

“That’s the spirit!” She laughed, fuller this time and rounded. I looked her straight in the face and then quickly looked away again. Her grin was aimed at me, somehow, and seemed to reach high cupboards inside me you usually needed a stool for.

“Park,” I repeated the name and shifted in place. “So did you go to Haveryards or Simmons?” There were only two schools in the country for spirit bastards like us. Haveryards was close enough for me to get bussed to—an hour one way and then an hour home.

“Neither. I went to public and then Bakerville Uni.” She rapped on the counter. “Hey, you want another gin and tonic? Or I’ll mix you up something.” Her eyes flickered over everything. “I bartended my way through college so I can make a mean margarita.”

“Oh, Bakerville U., yeah. That ones close.” I stuttered a bit. She was leaning across the counter and trying to get Kipp’s attention a second time. My words were feeling dumber and dumber by the moment, perhaps losing all shape and meaning altogether. “That’s where you went?”

“How’d you guess?” She said playfully and pointed to her t-shirt. She finally got the bartender over. “Right, you want something hard? Vodka maybe? A mule?”

I scratched my chin. “ . . . I don’t care. I’m easy.”

She rolled her eyes and I knew she must feel me staring. “I can’t imagine shopping for you for today then.” She snickered and climbed over the counter. “Happy birthday, how about one chocolate mule for a free tattoo?”

“You wish.” I made a face. “You don’t even know what you want.”

“And you do?” She was still grinning, somehow. “I’ve decided I’m making you the equivalent of all the soda flavors mixed together at once. Close your eyes.”

I closed my eyes and I tried to turn off my thoughts. It was bright as knives inside my skull; I carry the daytime with me. Panic threatened to rise up (for no reason of course), but a soft hand brushed against mine, soft like sheets in fancy hotels and flower petals. I peaked and Park slid a full murky glass toward me.

“Drink up.”

It was sweet. It wasn’t even my birthday. I didn’t care. She called it a chocolate-mule-Park Special and maybe chocolate really was my favorite flavor. -------------- Park started coming around. She rode a sky-blue bike with a white basket and rusting hinges. I couldn’t imagine doing all the hills in the city without any gears, but she managed. She said she was figuring things out after graduating. She said she liked it here.

I grumbled when she came by. I complained like Annie when Wicker the cat visited: Get that thing away from me. I hate that. Smells awful. I’ve got allergies. Put that away, it’ll kill me.

I never said anything when Annie left fish heads out and bowls of milk of course.

Park smelled like sunscreen and breath mints. She had strong opinions on everything from street paving techniques to which sun hats went with which dresses. She invited me on walks. She invited me to help her change a flat tire. She invited me to the corner shop to help her pick out bottle can openers.

I said no. Sometimes I said no. I started to say yes.

“Look at this,” she liked to show me things. She liked to show me pictures of squirrels on her phone and weird pieces of glass she found. She liked to point out new restaurants (that I’d already been to) and play videos of funny traffic jams.

This time she held up a seashell. It was rounded and flat with a swirl in the center.

“I’m looking.” I said carefully.

“Watch how it catches light.” I shun my eyes on it and she moved it back and forth. There were bits of silver veins caught in the cracks of it.

“There’s tons of those.” At this point, I had valiantly refused to be impressed by even her cutest squirrel pictures.

“Ugh.” She pouted. “Are you kidding? I spent all morning looking for this.”

“They're right by the surf. I could find you five bigger ones than this before sunset.”

“Alright, hot-shot.” She jut her chin out and jabbed my shoulder. “Prove it.”

I said yes to that one. I left right after my shift ended with the sun setting in the waters like a stabbed orange bleeding out. I met Park by the parking lot with drooping palms trees lining the sides and lost flipflops everywhere.

“This is where you went wrong.” I announced. I couldn’t help it. “This is the tourist beach. You have to go somewhere real.”

“Alright, alright. You’ve already established you’re the hot-shot here. Lead the way.”

She followed me. I ignored how she lingered by my side. I ignored how her hand wrapped around my arm as she stopped us to look at a tiny horseshoe crab. Her hand was soft, like velvet, soft enough to smother something in my chest.

I found two seashells with streaks of silver and rainbow through them, both bigger than my palm. The sun was a flat line on the horizon before I could find a third and Park hooted.

“You said before sunset! It’s sunset, baby, pay up.” She called. “And you were so sure you were a better seashell hunter than me.” She tsked.

I scanned the ground more quickly. “It’s barely nighttime.” I pointed to the sky. “And I can keep looking. I have the built-in equipment for it.”

“Oh I know.” She planted herself on the soggy crusted sand and sat down in a heap. “But can you find why kids love the taste of not doing that? Take it easy. Take a seat.”

“So pushy.”

“You know me.” It was fond. It had only been a few months, but there was something fond there.

I ran a hand through my short choppy curls. “Fine.” I sat next to her, not too close. “It’s your loss.” We both looked out at the gently lapping waves, foaming and anemic. She let a long breath of air and for a moment I considered brushing her hair back. It was always in her face.

It was a quiet moment, bottled, and pitching toward something. Like the the moment where you miss a step on the stairs and the certainty of the fall was right there.

I was the one that scooted a little closer.

“I’m considering getting a storm cloud,” she commented off-handedly. “Can you do storm clouds?”

I made a sound of consideration. “Sure.” I glanced toward the opposite corner of the night sky. “I think I’ve seen one of those before. Big puffy wet things?”

“Kinda fluffy? You’re getting there.”

“I’ll see what I can do.” I’m smiling, which is alright since there’s no way she could see it. She’s silent for another moment longer.

“Or would you make fun of me if I got something like a butterfly? Like your other one.”

“A storm cloud butterfly?”

“No. The cloud would it’s own thing.” She chewed on her bottom lip, ragged and chapped. “I mean, I’ve been doodling some ideas. And tattoos should be personal, right? So I thought a storm cloud might be fitting. Kids used to pay me a couple dollars to predict the weather. It could be a memorial to childhood entrepreneurial spirit.”

I watched her speak and something beat inside my chest like a second animal. I wanted to be closer. I wanted to feel velvet again.

“Why?” I rasped after a moment.

“Uh, why did they pay me? It’s just something I can do. Whenever it's going to rain or storm or be sunny out. I dunno, I don’t know why the rest of you can’t sense it.”

“And you didn’t become a meteorologist?” I smiled a bit bitterly.

She made an indignant noise. “And you didn’t become a professional lighthouse?”

I choked on a laugh. “Not yet.” A quiet consumed us from both sides, I made sure my light didn’t crash into her. I made sure to look at anything but her. She’d have to squint if I did and cover her eyes and I’d be there, ready to run her over.

“Kids in my class paid me too.” I barely realized I started speaking. “They slipped me a couple bucks to close my eyes so they could see my face.”

“You got money for that?”

“There wasn’t always much to do. Teachers were quitting all the time and sometimes it was just the TV. I dunno, they paid me. Then they’d giggle and run away afterward.” My voice sounded automated like the announcer at an airport, informing travelers their flight was canceled. “They always said I had a pig nose or a unibrow or looked like the lead singer of that Minx girl band-- super hot, but you know, it didn’t matter.” The laugh that escaped was high, girlish in a grotesque way. “Since, you know, no one would ever see it.”

“Kids are fucked up.” Park contributed simply.

“Adults are too.” I sniffed. “Everyone wants a light show.”

“Oh.” She said slowly. “Is it . . . is it bad I wanted to meet you then? I mean, I wanted to see the art first, but I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a factor.”

“No.” I said quickly. I lit up my own lap and empty hands. “Does it matter?”

“I never went to those schools,” she said hesitantly. “My parents fought them, said the schools were unfit. They shouldn’t be able to force us there. And that I wasn’t even dangerous since,” she gestured helplessly upward, “I just have these. So then, well, I never really met anyone else like me.”

“I mean, everyone’s different. It’s not . . . a big deal.”

“You’d think so,” she commented sardonically.

I folded up into myself like a complex origami piece. “Yeah, well, sometimes I wish I was dangerous. Actually dangerous.”

She giggled. “Didn’t you just say everyone’s different? I’d say everyone’s dangerous too. Just gotta find the niche.”

“Oh yeah,” I dared to turn toward her. “What’s yours then?”

“My danger niche? Hmm.” She was leaning now, pitching forward like a wave come to drown me. “I do have a few tricks up my sleeve I’ll admit.”

“You have a pair of wings hidden away?” I stopped breathing as her hand lifted up, strange and all at once. I wasn’t ready.

“Here.” Her skin was against mine. She cupped my cheek with one velvet-hand. It was heated cashmere, tiny feather-light hairs on her palm. “Feelers.” She whispered with a hesitancy there.

“Ah,” I was indulgent. I closed my eyes. I leaned in. “And you want to put a needle over these?” I put my hand over hers, loosely, so she could pull away if she wanted to. Tiny hairs pulsed there with some kind of life all their own. 

“I wanted . . .” She paused and I peaked open my eyes. I could see every detail of her face, illuminated. “I dunno.” She finished. “I guess I just wanted whatever I saw there, before.”

“In the butterfly?”

“In the butterfly.” I turned toward the ocean, but my hand remained over hers. “I’m not sure how good it will be a second time. It’s not like I’m really an artist. . .”

“What did you want to be?” Soft.

“Who knows. I mean, I’m glad my parents didn’t try to fight the schools. Being there during the day was better than being home, listening to my mom crying all the time and my father exploding . . . They wouldn’t have wanted me home.”

Before the sunset, when I was walking over, I thought maybe we’d kiss that night. I thought I’d feel that first electric pulse and maybe we’d climb into the ocean and swim in circles, laugh until the moon rose. I thought maybe I’d get something out of my system and there wouldn’t be anything left to say or do.

I’d kiss Park, once, and she’d be satisfied. She’d understand. She’d go on her college path and I’d go on on mine.

But the words spilled out, unbidden. Park stayed in place, steady and unflinching. That made it worse, so much worse.

“My parents weren’t like yours.” There was an accusatory edge to it. Don’t you know? I wanted to shout. Don’t you know? Even without the eyes or the school bills or the bus.

“Hey,” she cradled my cheeks with both hands now and smeared the tears away from one eye. “Hey, listen, I know. Alright? I know.”

I scowled back at her feathered little feelers.

“It’s not about the damn antenna or head beams or anything else.” I tried to pull away. “Even the kid with the antler’s kissed me and I didn’t stop him. I ran away from home and my mom never came looking. It didn’t matter. It doesn’t matter! You wouldn’t even get it. You wouldn’t get it!” I squeeze my eyes closed. “You were wanted.”

Slowly, like an awkward animal burrowing into soft earth, she pressed her forehead to the crook of my neck. I could feel us both breathing in, strong and steady. She was lean and silky, and I swore I can feel her heartbeat hammering through my throat.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered. I inhaled her sunscreen scent. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know. But I could.”

“Why are you here?” It was miserable and wet, I hated that my eyes were so different and yet still the same. Could still spill over like theirs. She took a long breath but didn’t move away.

“My last girlfriend broke up with me for being . . . sensitive and I thought maybe if I got a tattoo, I’d stop feeling so much. I’d prove something. I’d feel everything less, you know? It would hurt and then it wouldn’t.”

I took that in a parsec at time. “Are you,” I sniffed. “Are you alright?” Her legs and arms were plastered over mine. “You’re so soft, but, but I don’t want to,” I wipe at my face like it didn’t matter. “Hurt you.”

“I know.” Her face was still pressed to my neck and her lips fluttered across the hallow of my skin. “I didn’t want to hurt you either.”

A stillness settled into my bones. I glanced toward the moon, and it was like looking at like, a terrible moon to another moon. I gathered myself. I took a deep breath. I flattened.

“I shouldn’t have said all that.” My voice had dried up. “We led different lives.” It wasn’t her fault if she was wanted.

“No.”

“I wasn’t thinking . . .”

Her hand wrapped around my wrist. “I talk to Annie sometimes when you aren’t there.”

“Okay?”

“And Davies. And that front desk guy.”

“Daft Jeff. Yes.”

“They all say the same thing . . .” I blinked a couple times. “That I really should wait for you to give me the tattoo. You have a steady hand and an eye for detail.”

“Alright . . .”

“That someone taught you tattooing the right way. They wanted to show you the right way to do it.”

I snorted despite myself. “It’s not that hard. Mags was batty. Who knows why she showed me how to pick up a needle.”

“Don’t you see? They say they wouldn’t know what to do without you.” She was still there. She wasn’t moving, almost in my lap now. “You were wanted.”

“Park?” My voice cracked like a question.

“And you come with me to restaurants and help me buy bottle openers. You find shells for me and help me fix tires.” Her breath was hot and dragged across my cheek. “You are wanted.”

I blocked out her face, her voice, I turned on the sharp white sun inside and for a moment I imagine never opening my eyes back up again. Maybe I could make it night forever inside myself as well. Wouldn’t you rather have something quiet inside?

She wrapped herself around me, fully, one long arm at a time until it was cocoon. Soft. “Listen, sometimes the first people aren’t the right people. Sometimes your first relationship isn’t the right relationship. Sometimes you’re sure the world is one way, and like, always one way . . . and then it rains and the whole world is different again. You know? People pass.”

“My parents aren’t the weather.”

“But they’ll pass.” I should have pushed her off. But even against that, even those words— I liked being held, indulgent as chocolate and twice as guilty. “People sometimes feel forever, especially those kinds of people.” I was off again. “But it rains. And hey, I always know when it’s going to rain.”

I hiccupped; a smile found its way uninvited onto my face, unsure and just wobbly on its feet as Davies. I glanced down after a deep breath. Park grinned back at me and it reached the highest shelves of me all over again.

“So what happens when it rains again? Do you people like you pass?”

“Nah, not me. I don’t know how.” She winked. I didn’t notice that we’re lying flat now, stars and carpet of black above. “You can’t get rid of me. You haven’t given me that tattoo yet.”

The sound of shushing waves filled the midnight air and the moon looked down like that very first bus arriving to get me all those years ago. I wrapped my arms right back around her. She didn’t seem to mind that I was sticky or strange or sometimes kept tearing up all over again even after we’d stop saying anything worth tearing up over. ------------------

It happened. I felt like I should have been more prepared, brought flowers or poetry or earned it through honored warfare. But it happened. I was wearing ripped jeans, a spotty t-shirt and my breath smelled like coffee. We were looking for Park’s lost earring along an overgrown hill she usually biked along.

I found it, one shiny red dewdrop in all that green. Park pointed at some clouds that looked like my last “abstract” tattoo. We lay back in the grass and let the sky pass overhead. She giggled and touched my wrist, side by side. I let her.

“Summer’s almost over.” I mumbled it first.

“Yeah?”

“You find your next step then, college girl?” I tried to keep my tone light. She turned to be on her side.

“Maybe.”

“What do you want to do?”

“Oh, you know. This and that.”

“That does not sound like a college-girl plan.”

“Maybe I’ve got other plans. Maybe I’ve got other priorities, huh?”

“Ridiculous.” A playfully push her shoulder. “A lousy seaside town really isn’t priority material. There’s only one bookshop you know.”

“Two thank you very much. And that’s not my priority either.” Her voice wavered.

“Are you going to share with the class?”

“Is the class ready?” She whispered and I turned toward her as well now, taking in her perfect round face and question-mark mouth.

“I have been.” I matched her whisper. I tremor from my center outward and hopes she can’t tell.

“Do you know what they say about moths?”

“What?” I gave a breathy laugh. It wasn’t what I was expecting. “I’ve heard of them.”

“They tell your fortune.” She was grinning in that way that put out a stool and reached up. “I used to cry a lot growing up, because some kids said that moths are just evil butterflies. I was sensitive and ran all the way home. I threw myself at my mom’s feet and threw a fit about how moths were just evil butterflies. They were just ugly, wicked versions of a good thing.”

“Evil? Well, I suppose you are rather sinister when you haven’t eaten.”

“Shut up. I’m telling you something.” She put a hand on my shoulder. I inhaled deeply and turned over in place to face her. Only the shallow breeze kept us apart.

“I’m all ears . . . though maybe not as many as you.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“What can I say? The sun is adorable. I take after him.”

A finger ghosted over my cheek, tracing the arc of my cheekbone. “Well, you’re not so bad behind those headlights too. Some of us have good day vision you know. And good taste.”

I wished those words didn’t make my chest do funny things. “Thanks.”

“Do you want to hear what my mom said or not?”

“That you shouldn’t worry about evil butterflies?” I wiggled closer. “Because you’ll be really hot and funny and smart one day. So who cares if you’re evil?”

“Yeah, those were her exact words.”

“So?”

“So,” a firm hand took my chin. “Look at me.” I looked at her. I was glad she couldn’t see the flush in my cheeks in any way. “Moths show good fortunes she said.”

“Right. Lots and lots of good fortune.” I breathed, dumbly, of course. She was close and sweet and there was hair in her face. The fronds of her antennae tickle right past my ear.

“They can help you find good fortune. They’re good omens. You know why?” Park’s lips were barely moving as she spoke, hypnotic and unhurried.

“Why?”

“Because they follow the light.”

It happened all at once. Like every cheesy love poem or bad lyrics I wrote in my journals at night. It was every cracked-spine of a book using words like “rosebud lips” and every overdone song about people who find their way to each other.

I kissed her, leaning in with no life vest on or readied crash-landing position. She kissed me and my chest filled with her, breathless, drowning, soft as dreams and stranger than hope. I cradled her and she dragged me closer and closer until it was nothing but floods and brimming.

I’d been nothing before I think, I’d been an island that waits, a bus that leaves, a shadow that hides. And then I had been hers. ----------------- I was strolling home from work along the main road. The thin strip of sidewalk was streaked with bleached sunlight and the salt air was thick enough to burn throats. It was the long way home, but I was in the habit of going back to this corner.

The bus pulled up with little ceremony. It was an interstate one that crisscrossed over empty bellies of land. I stopped in place to watch, just in case, as I had many times before.

A silver head bobbed down the steps and planted herself on the concrete, unbelieving. She took an enormous noisy sniff of the air. “Not so bad!” She bellowed.

“Are you?” That wasn’t meant to be my first word. She was more stooped now and wearing shiny things on her wrist that clanked. She’d lost another tooth. “Mags.”

“Eh!” She yelled and waved frantically as if I hadn’t shot up another inch since I last saw her and started wearing clothes without holes in them. Her eyes sparkled as she tottered over. “So how’d you do, kid?”

“See for yourself.” I smiled. It was nice when the tides came back in. Mags gave me a thorough appraising. “Like this I guess.” I held up my hand. I wiggled my ring finger at her, heavy with a silver band and glittering opal.

“That’s my girl! Always knew you’d find your feet.” She cackled. “Am I too late to give you away, kid?”

I shook my head. She waddled over to me so I could take her hand. I took her home to show her my art and new tattoos, I showed her our terrible one-eyed kitten, Basket (Wicker’s son), and the little house we styled ourselves. I showed her our shoe closet and our queen bed, our messy kitchen and busted screen door. I showed her the moth tattoo over my heart, and Park showed her the matching lighthouse one over hers.

I tried to thank her, of course, I tried to say I owed her more than she knew for picking up an angry, dirty kid and seeing something in her. I owed her everything. But she just patted my hand and said that it’s not about our debts in life, kid. It’s about the becoming.

-----------

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[calehenituseappreciation]

Ive seen a lot of Dream (and usually Techno and Phil too) as gods au (i have one too dw) but all of you are sleeping on the funniest option.

Tommy is the god.

Tommy.

hes the only one in that galaxy (other than drista ofc)

Just imagine how fucking funny it is like 

it would be so fucking hilarious

and tommy just doesnt tell them

so techno is just there making all these blood god jokes and jokingly telling tommy to serve him and tommys just laughing

imagine a god in the form of a chaotic 16 year old racoon gremlin just walts into your land commits arson and gets banned, only to come back with another person who he helps start a nation for drugs?

imagine how fucking funny it is

just

imagine tubbo banning a literal god from his lands and he just doesnt come back? he just plays by the rules? then goes and like sits in the corner all sad because some humans/dreamons told him to leave

ranboo, just joining the server: hi-  a chaotic gremlin god: wanna commit arson with me?  ranboo, just trying to vibe and maybe not disturb this god: sure 

Phil and Ranboo recongnize Tommy as a god on sight.

Everyone else just refuses to believe it. hes Tommy. Tommyinnit. hes just weird lol

And Drista being a fucking chaotic blood god? 

drista is open about her godhood and does not hesitate to spawn blocks

Drista finds Dream and decides she likes this small human, and dream just has to deal with it lmao.

drista and tommy are both born at the same time.

Tommy is a god of music, chaos, war and theivery (the last one bc he is a BITCH)

Drista is the blood god, chaos, deception, and theatre

okay but imagine the sbi interactions... like ig in this au tommy joins at like 12/13 years of age (in their minds) so he doesnt really grow much 

and like tommy, a literal god, just claiming phil as his father???

phil, in his house making eggs, assuming one of his sons woke up and came to the kitchen, not looking: hey son  tommy, from their couch, already deciding hes phils son now: whats up dad? phil: looks up at tommy who are you tommy: idk dad, who am i  phil: *stares at tommy for a second* eh i made extra eggs you can stay 

ASJIDGASUIOG IMAGINE TOMMY TELLING THEM HES A GOD BUT THEY THINK HES JOKING AND IGNORE HIM

everyone on the server: tommy is the youngest! tommy, as old as the universe: no im not!!!! im not a child!!!! he doesnt pout because pouting is for children and hes not a child but hes pouting tubbo: lol im older than you by a month tommy dont try to hide it tommy: im not a child!!!! techno: laughs

tommy doesn't try to hide that hes a god just its tommy

thats all the evedince anyone needs to think tommy isnt a god or powerful its like mcc hes good but only when he doesnt throw for content

quackity: sees drista written in bedrock lmao drista visited? tommy: yeah! i wrote that for her!  quackity: snorts yeahhhh sureee tommy

imagine like how fucking funny it is jsut like 

a fucking chaotic god breaks into your house androbs you makes a room under your house and decides to live in your floorboards

imagine dream like trying to manipulate tommy, and tommy a fucking anchient diety immeditly recongnizes what hes doing

but decides to play along for the angst and giggles and then actually gets mad when no one fucking cares for his theatrics

tommy, storming off to technos base to rob and build under: >:///// cant believe none of them acknoledged my  deppression 

i love that tommy stills robs everyone, he doesnt need to he can spawn in anything he wants

he just does it for the sport of robbery

JAKOGFSDOH

THE HOLY LAND

dream: im god actually tommy: thats so fucking funny lets make a cult about that :)  dream: see! look! im god! and jesus!  tommy: wheezing

imagine tommy getting stressed and letting go of his mortal form

Tommy, his human form peeling away, showing his actual form a bit: WH̸͘A͠T̷ ̶̢T͞H͢E ̡͘F̴̵͘Ù̧C͜K҉ ̶T͘͜͞E͟CHǸ͏Ǫ  Techno: HAH?

tommy just saw tubbo and got emotionally attached

Tommy, a literal god: hello Tubbo: oh hi do you like my pet bee? Tommy: you’re mine now Tubbo: im okay with this

tommy, a bored god: gives techno shapeshifting powers  techno, not even caring: changes into more human to pig-ishg forms as he wishes this is my life now ig 

phil lets tommy do fuck all in exile bc he knows hes a god hes fine

phil: IDC IF YOURE A GOD! YOU WILL DO THE DISHES NOW YOUNG MAN! tommy: grumbles but does them

phil is the only one who can control tommy

god... tommy... with star freckles... on his human form... (as well as his god one)

tommy: f̷͛͠a̵̋t̵̒̑h̸̚e̶̓͝r̸͊ ̸̐̒i̴ ̸̅̿d̷̉͆o̵͂͋ ̵̛̆ñ̸̾ő̶́t̸̎́ w̶͆͘i̴͠s̵̓̈́h̸͗́ ̵̯͗f̶͋́ő̴͑r̷̐̌ ̶͝é̵̽g̸͊͂g̵̒s̷͂̃  phil: idc, eat your goddamn eggs tommy: pouts

tommy, despite being able to get supplies himself by fucking spawning them in: hey tubbo? we need supplies 

In this au ig like if a god claims you you get a mark on your skin showing that. Drista’s would be like a green crown, Tommys would be a red and white disk (white as the outer ring and red as the center) (its different enough that if you don’t realise tommy is a god you wouldnt realise whos it is) (schlatt is the only one who never had one which shoulda been a sign dude :/)

Dream has two from the beginning, everyone else has only one, well until they meet drista. (sbi have had one since they met tommy, though they dont remember the first time they met tommy)

wait what if tommy like found them all as children one by one and later kinda pulled some strings to get them all in one kingdom. (he still joined sbi through forcing phil to adopt him) 

OKAY BUT IMAGINE IF TOMMY MET TECHNO WHEN TECHNO WAS YOUNG ENOUGH TO NOT REMEMBER

tommy would hang out with baby techno and tell him stories

once he told him the story of a man named thesus

another time he told him the story of a blood god

like for example tommys first time meeting techno would be like

(for context techno lived in a shitty village and was an orphan and it was kinda a dog eat dog place, he learned how to be strong because of it)(he was young enough that he doesn’t remember this well, just like learning about the blood god and someone giving him gold)

baby techno: sighs tommy, appearing out of nowhere: oh heyyy whyre you sad? techno: jumps turning around with a knife up ready for a fight who are you tommy: im tommy! :) techno: what do you want from me! you dont scare me! tommy: whats your name! techno: i have a knife! i'll use it! tommy: of course, thats a given, but its rude not to tell people your name techno, confused: t-technoblade? tommy: smiles thats a nice name techno: so. tommy: hm? techno: why're you here tommy: i don't have a reason. im just a traveller! techno: then why hole to this terrible village! theres nothing nice here! everyone is terrible and so are you! tommy: hmmmm i dont agree techno: what are you? a child? i thought adults were supposed to know that everyone is mean tommy: mmhmm looks at the bruise on technos face where'd you get that? techno: fight. i won. i'll win against you too! so don't try anything. tommy: of course. i would never win in a fight against a blood god techno, putting down his knife a bit, stars in his eyes: blood god? tommy: grins blood. god. i think she'd like you. techno, muttering: maybe i can give the blood god some of your blood tommy: laughs yeah, she'd defenitly find you intresting tommy: here tosses techno a golden crown at techno, he spawned it in in the moment techno: whats this? tommy: a crown, thought it suit you screams in the distance tommy: huh. i need to go. have fun lil piglin. ruffles technos hair before running off towards the screaming unbeknownst to the pig the blood god was actually the one waiting for the god he met. techno: stares at the crown 

Techno found a pouch of gold in his ‘house’ later that day. he didnt know who left it but it helped him get food for that night. (he kept the crown)

okay but imagine tommy not taking the war seriously at all, and only seeing it as a squabble between mortals, Like toddlers fighting

dream: SURENDER BY TOMMOROW OR WE'LL DECLARE WAR! wilbur: FUCK YOU WE'LL NEVER SURENDER AND JOIN YOUR SMP! Tommy: how cute

tommy doesnt realise that theyre serious until wilbur dies

tommy would usually go apeshit against anyone who dares messes with his humans, but what is he supposed to do when his humans are fighting Eachother?

wilbur: fucking goes insane and dies  tommy: hey- hey can you guys let me talk to wil for a sec? everyone else leaves tommy, unsually somber: sorry i didnt help you i forgot how easily breakable mortals are tommy: this time you wont die, and i'll make it so that you dont break again, okay? tommy: brings wilburs soul out of its body and enters his mindscape ghostbur: wakes up what- where am i? tommy: hi there ghostbur: who are you tommy: i go by a lot of names all, one, you, the world, the universe, god, but you can just call me tommy ghostbur: oh okay. who am i? tommy: you're name was wilbur soot. you were the son of philza minecraft and brother to Technoblade, Tubbo and myself. ghostbur: was? tommy: well you see, you died. ghostbur: oh... well what am i then? tommy: a ghost! well actually its your choice. would you like to continue your existance or fade away with your body? ghostbur: i dont want to fade away! tommy: smiles thats what i thought you'd say stretches his hand to wilbur ghostbur: grabs tommy hand tommy: lets go home

ghostbur doesnt remember that though

he only remembers the good

tommy wont let him remember the bad, what if he breaks again? mortals are so fragile

phil realises what tommy did as soon as he sees ghostbur 

drista, painting tommys nails (there both in god form btw) (after wilburs death btw): tommy shouldn't you of all gods realise how fragile they are?  tommy: i know just... forgot  drista: sighs and nods i get what you mean, especially with the ones we found... they act a lot like gods sometimes i forgot they arent  tommy: ikr? wait- drista here gets drista's hair out of her face you were gonna get it on my nails, anyways, don't judge me. we all know if dream died you would turn him into a ghost too drista: smirks not if you do it first, we all know you would tommy: you say that as if you wouldn't fight me to do it first  drista: .... tommy: ... drista: both of us when he dies? tommy: nods tommy: anyways my turn to do your nails 

or like tommy with ghostbur like

ghostbur: i don't like this :( tommy, a worried brother and god: whats wrong? ghostbur: everyone is mad at me and i d-dont know why- why are they mad at me tommy: theyre mad at something alivebur did ghostbur: b-but im not alivebur sniffs it hurts. i dont like it. tommy: spawns in some blue here ghostbur: whats that? tommy: its some blue! it'll help you not hurt anymore! ghostbur: how does it work? tommy: see how its blue? ghostbur: nods tommy: well its blue because it sucks up all the bad feelings! it'll help ghostbur: !!!!! ghostbur: presses the blue into his chest ghostbur: !!!!its working!!!! :D tommy: smiles good

wilbur fucking died and tommy went from annoying little brother to caring older brother

tommy just wants to help his brother :) though he doesnt realise that not letting ghostbur remember bad memories isnt good

*at logsted shire btw* ghostbur: who are you? tommy, chuckling: did you forget me already ghostbur? ghostbur: i didnt forget you! i think! you're tommy! i just... you're different tommy, looks over at ghostbur: different how? ghostbur: you're not normal are you? tommy: grins whaaaaat? you think im weirdddd? how heartbreaking... my own brother thinks im weird, this is terrible ghostbur: giggles tommy: but really, don't worry about it bur. ghostbur: you sure? tommy: yeah, dont worry about me ghostbur: smiles okay! do you want some blue anyways? tommy: giggles sure! ghostbur: grins

ghostbur isnt worried about tommy

he knows hes strong

phil having to tell tommy that he cant just not let wilbur remember the bad memories

and tommys like "what if he breaks again!" and phil hugs him and tells him to at least ask ghostbur if he wants to remember and tommys like ‘fine’

tommy: hey bur? ghostbur: yeah? tommy: do you like you're memories? ghostbur: i mean, yeah its hard not to when you only remember the good tommy, quietly: would you want to remember the bad? ghostbur: w-what brought this question on tommy: answer the question ghostbur: no- alivebur was badi shouldn't want to- tommy: but what do you want bur? wilbur, silent for a moment: yeah- yeah i do. not that i like the bad memories! they hurt... but i wish i could remember tommy: ... ghostbur: hey tommy? tommy: yeah? ghostbur, with tears in his eyes: do you think they'd be less mad at me if i could remember, maybe then i could repair my relationships, what the hell am i supposed to do when i dont even remember hurting them? tommy: what if they dont? what if you break again? ghostbur, saltily: we'll maybe i'll be able at least be able to say i know why everyone hates me tommy: i know how to get all of your memories back ghostbur, looks towards tommy in shock: you do??? tommy: nods ghostbur, voice wavering: for how long tommy: since the beginning ghostbur: and you didnt tell me tommy: i did what i thought was best. i just didnt want you to hurt anymore. ghostbur, angrily: WELL THAT CLEARLY WORKED DIDNT IT? tommy: sorry wilbur, sometimes i forget how to handle humans ghostbur: what- tommy: sighs and taps ghostbur on the forehead and ghostbur does the ghost equivilent of passing out tommy: wont hide any memories this time

ghostbur doesnt wake up, instead wilbur wakes up weither thats good or bad we'll see

wilbur, waking up with all his memories: HOLY SHIT TOMMY WASN'T KIDDING phil, who was reading beside the bed tommy placed wilbur into, which was in technos house. yes he broke into technos house with a passed out wilbur. move on.: hm? wilbur: holy shit phil: huh? yeah. wilbur: wait you knew? phil: yeah i recongnized him as soon as i saw him about 5 years ago now? wilbur: excuse me while i freak out because my little brother is an actual god

it really hits wilbur that tommy is a god later

wilbur: hey tommy? tommy: yeah? wilbur: how fucking old are you? tommy: snorts of course thats the first thing you ask wilbur: well? tommy: i dont really know the exact years since years are kind of a human thing that were invented recently wilbur: they were invented thousands of years ago- tommy: but it was around the beginning of this galaxy wilbur, softly: what the fuck

tommy telling wilbur stories about different heros and villains and different humans he met during his life.

Adsjbffsg what if Tommy made himself blonde and blue eyed and white bc thats hyow the first human he met looked like asjfhsd

and just didnt change that, despite meeting new humans, its just his defult settings.

he would totally do this tho im crying.

drista just based her human form off dream because she is his sister now. he must deal with this. trying disowning me when i look like you BITCH.

thats my take anyways later might continue this

[themaribatpit]

Saturday Challenge: Double Crossover

Written by: The Maribat Pit   Prompt: Double Crossover Rated: M rating just to be safe (sexual references, mostly because of some very unsavory things Lila thinks and implies about Marinette.) Marinette x Jason Phantom of the Opera (specifically Hush Jason, from 2020′s Death in the Family).

A/N (Maribat fangirl): There is going to be a lot of class salt, Lila salt and some heavy duty character bashing.  I’m going to be upfront, there’s characters being called harlots. A/N (DC fanboy): My S.O. and I pretty much did karaoke while writing this.

Paris, 1875. Marinette worked in her parents bakery, while she loved her family dearly, she was dissatisfied with her current lot in life. She wished to become a singer, and everyday as she walked in the streets of Paris to bring flour to the bakery, she would stop and stare at the Conservatoire de Paris. The enchanting music and singing could be heard even in the streets.

Listening to music always reminded her of her favourite fairy tale told by her father, the one about  ‘Angel of Music’. She would sit on the street across the Conservatoire, close her eyes and listen to the beautiful music emanating from it. Once she tried to sing along, but passersby would be swift to yell at her to stop. They described her voice sounding like a rusty hinge.

Upon her 15th birthday, her parents presented to her a once in a lifetime opportunity. They had presented her with an approved application to the Conservatoire, they had saved enough money for tuition and would be sending her there to chase her dreams as an opera singer. Marinette held her parents tightly, thanking them constantly for the amazing opportunity.

That night, Marinette was unable to sleep, she was beaming with energy and excitement. She could not believe how her luck was changing, how she would be going to the musical academy of her dreams.

The next morning however she would be in a nervous panic for her first day of lessons. Running about the home, getting prepared, packing her bags. She even forgot to eat breakfast, she ran out the door with a croissant in her mouth, much to the chagrin of her parents.

However, her dream academy soon became a waking nightmare to her. She would be tormented daily by all her peers, especially one Lila Rossi, the prima donna of the academy. Every professor would sneer at her low birth, and did nothing when the others tried to sabotage her standing at the Academy.  She tried to keep her head held high, even as everyone else looked down on her for being a baker’s daughter. Marinette ignored the comments and rumours about how she was able to attend the prestigious academy.  Rumours that she dared not repeat, about how she and her parents must be criminals if they were able to afford to send her to the academy.  

It wasn’t enough for her to be stuck in the chorus, Lila Rossi wanted to make sure her place as prima donna of the academy was ironclad. A couple of the teachers felt that she was growing more temperamental, more complacent, and their eyes began to wander for a dancer to take her place.  The other dancers were unwilling to take her place, all except for Marinette, who saw it as a shining opportunity.  For Lila, this simply would not stand.  

The one time Marinette found a pair of scissors that had been used to cut the laces on her pointe shoes.  The same scissors that were missing from her sewing box days earlier. She decided that the time had come to confront Lila once and for all.

Marinette confronted her just before rehearsals began, scissors in hand, in front of everyone.  “Is it true?” she called, everyone turned to look at them.

“I don’t know what you mean.” Lila gasped.  She looked down to see her wearing her worn out slippers, before looking back up at her face.  “You do know you’re meant to be wearing your toe shoes now, right? The show is in a few days.” she reminded her.

“I do,” she breathed, “I also know it was you, you’re the one who cut the laces on my pointe shoes.”

Lila gasped and stepped back, everyone else was shocked by the accusation. She looked away for a moment, and squeezed her eyes shut.  Marinette knew the trick well from their acting classes at the academy, she was getting ready to make it look like she was crying.  “Why? Why would you accuse me of something like this?” she made sure her voice wavered as she spoke, “what reason do I have to sabotage a background dancer’s shoes?”

Marinette knew she had lost the battle before it had even begun, every dancer would move to protect Lila and her crocodile tears.  Lila was the prima donna, the daughter of a diplomat, and she had the entire academy in the palm of her hand.  “Perhaps there was some mistake,” she muttered, walking away from her classmates rushing to defend Lila’s fake tears.  It was useless trying to explain that the scissors were stolen from her, and that this was an elaborate setup.  It was her word against Lila’s, as the directors tried to command the dancer’s attention, Marinette ran.  

Once again, she tried to keep her head held high, it wasn’t as if anyone would believe her when she told them about Lila’s machinations.   She made a habit of keeping her costumes and pointe shoes hidden.  On occasion bringing them home whenever she visited her parent’s bakery, somewhere that little saboteur would not even think to look for them.

Months later, tragedy struck again when she received a letter informing her that her parent’s bakery had been burned.  Her parents, her hopes, her dreams all burned to ash in one night.  It was made worse by the fact that one rehearsal, Lila snatched the letter out of her hands and read it aloud for the entire company of dancers and singers to hear.   She assumed that it would be some kind of love note, probably preparing to spread rumours about Marinette sneaking off into the night with a mystery lover.  Instead, Lila simply made a show of pitying Marinette, “poor thing, it’s worse than I thought.  Unless you can find a patron to support you, your days at the academy are going to be numbered.”

Just as the theatre managers had arrived, Marinette fled, keeping her head down as tears were welling up in her eyes and blurring her vision.  Since the day she arrived she had been mocked, humiliated, tormented simply so that one girl could have the adoration and sympathy of her fellow performers.  Through all the salacious rumours and lies, she tried her best to ignore them and carry herself through it all.  The loss of her parents, their bakery, and now Marinette’s hopes and dreams, it was all too much to bear.  

Marinette ran to an empty music room to cry her heart out, she sat right against the wall, knees curled up to her chest and sobbed into her legs. In this state of absolute despair, she began to sing a song of her favourite fairy tale that her father would sing to her whenever she had a nightmare.  She sang a soft, painful prayer for the Angel of Music and a farewell to her lost parents. “Think of me, think of me fondly, when we say goodbye…”, her singing was hoarse, off key, full of sorrow.

The more she sang, the harder she cried. Soon to the point that she could not complete the song. However, a disembodied voice sang the remaining verse for her. Marinette paused from her crying to look for the voice, it felt as if it came from everywhere and nowhere. It was hypnotising, elegant, enchanting. She walked out of the music room to try to find the source of the singing.

“Come to me, Angel of Music.” The voice sang, in a smooth tenor voice, luring Marinette as if she was a moth attracted to a flame. The voice led her to a musical hall, reserved only for the academy’s annual showcase. She turned the door knob, to her surprise, the door was unlocked. She peeked her head through the door to see a cloaked figure playing the organ, the source of the enchanting voice. “Insolent girl, this slave of fashion. Basking in your glory.” The figure angrily sang “Ignorant fool, this prima donna.”

“Angel of Music, is that you?” Marinette tentatively asked the figure. The figure stopped playing, and turned around to face her. Marinette was taken aback by the figure, he was a tall man, wearing a red mask on the left side of his face. Another distinctive feature other than his magnificent voice was the white streak of hair and piercing green eyes.

“You are unlike any of the fools in this academy. You did not join this academy for fame or fortune. No, you came here because of your love of music.” The figure told her. He took a deep breath and composed himself, straightening his jacket. Then he raised an arm, reaching out to Marinette. “I am your Angel of Music, come to me Angel of Music.”  Marinette walks forward and accepts the Angel’s hand, thus beginning their first musical lesson together.

Marinette’s talent and ability in music skyrocketed with her extra-curricular lessons.   Her mysterious patron was also the one continuing to fund her education at the academy.  Meanwhile, no one else had the time to spread rumours about Marinette, not when there were rumours of a ghost haunting the Conservatoire.  

Unbeknownst to Marinette, she was the key to establishing control over a very profitable endeavour for her mysterious patron. The managers were being extorted to the tune of 20,000 francs and requested that box five remain open.  This money was nothing to them, especially when the sons and daughters of the wealthy and powerful were attending.  Very few had seen Jason’s face, and if they did, they would draw back in fear.   It was the result of a boyhood accident that left him changed and altered in more ways than one.  Taking control of the Conservatoire was merely the first step in taking control of an entire city.  This girl, Marinette, was the key to captivating their attention.  She would hold their attention and adoration as the rising star of the academy, drawing their eyes away from his growing influence and power.  Using talents and potential that they had cast aside, twisting their own hubris against them.  

Months later, everyone in the academy worked towards its annual showcase for its patrons, the nobility and all family members of its students. Lila had grown bored of tormenting Marinette, and had moved on to other victims.  She had her other dancers and singers wrapped around her little finger, and all eyes would be on her at the annual showcase.  

At last the day of the annual showcase had arrived, Lila sat at her personal preparation room, after all she would be the star of the show. She walked over to her wardrobe and opened it, she then screamed in horror to see her dress tattered and in pieces.

In the days leading to the showcase the Director of Conservatoire de Paris had received threatening letters demanding 20,000 Francs, box 5 to remain vacant and worse of all to replace Lila Rossi with some baker’s daughter. Director Bourgeois scoffed at the threats, tossing the letter away.

The next day during the rehearsal for one of the ballet numbers, students and teachers paid no mind to the threats that were outlined in the letter. Until one of the dancers looked up and gasped in horror. The other dancers looked up to find the stagehand hanging from the rafters. The theatre soon bursts into screams of fear as they all see the dead body of the stagehand.   Director Bourgeois ordered all faculty members and students present to remain silent of the murder. This prestigious institution could not afford such a scandal this close to such an important showcase. As the Director inspected the body, he found a letter titled to him attached to the corpse of a stagehand.

Director Bourgeois read the second letter with shaky hands, it read “Monsieur Bourgeois, good day to you. It seems you did not take my threat seriously. I present to you this corpse to show my sincerity. I see you have a young daughter, pray that no harm would befall her. I shall reiterate my demands, 20,000 francs, box five remain vacant and Mademoiselle Marinette shall replace the harlot Lila Rossi.”

Director Bourgeois collapsed into his chair, wiping his sweat. Until he heard a scream from outside his office. He ran out as fast as he could to see Lila Rossi confronting Marinette. Crocodile tears flowed from Lila’s eyes as she accused Marinette of sabotage, purposefully doing so in front of the Director's office.  

“How could you Marinette?” Lila wailed, “Whatever your reasons, how could you do this to me? To the Conservatoire?”

Marinette merely said “Lila, don’t you stay in a private room with guards patrolling the hallway outside?” She shrugs, “I was in my dormitory last night. Besides, how could anyone sneak into your room at night, unless they were a phantom?”

Director Bourgeois goes pale at Marinette’s implication, he had to intervene quickly, before the situation got worse. He attempted to placate Lila, “Now now mademoiselles, I can’t punish anybody unless we have solid evidence. As the saying goes ‘the show must go on.’ Signora Rossi, as you are currently unable to perform, I’m afraid Mademoiselle Marinette will have to take your place.”

Marinette’s eyes widened at the offer given to her, she could not believe it. Director Bourgeois himself offered her the star role for this year’s showcase. It is all as her Angel of Music said would happen. She accepted the role wholeheartedly and thanked the director profusely, she skipped back to the musical hall to begin rehearsals, now as the main lead.

Lila’s jaw dropped to see the director siding against her, how he gave away her role to that peasant without any hesitation. She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth, she stomped her way back to her bedroom to begin scheming the ultimate humiliation for Marinette. She was so distracted with her rage, she had not noticed a shadowy figure following her.

Lila planned to show the entire Opera house just who Marinette was, little more than a filthy peasant who got lucky.  She was supposed to have packed her bags and left months ago, after her parents and their pathetic little bakery burned down.  “This Opera Phantom had a lot of nerve calling me a harlot, when Marinette is probably his little harlot.” she muttered harshly in the darkness.  She searched the costume room for the lead actress’ dress, a long flowing gown that brushed against the floor.  It was made with the finest fabrics that money could buy, it almost broke Lila’s heart to sabotage it.  She would rather die than see it worn by some peasant girl, a pretender, a talentless sham of a performer.  Before she can lay hand on the dress to destroy it, a gloved hand reaches out and grabs her by the wrist.  A voice interrupts her, “What do you think you are doing with that?”

Lila slowly turns around to see a grotesque figure staring at her.  In the candlelight, she was horrified by the person she saw. The left half of his face was severely burned, almost completely disfigured. His bright green eyes flared with a fury that genuinely terrified Lila as the figure glared at her. She immediately drops everything and screams, as she runs out the door as fast as her legs would carry her, wailing and screaming how the ghost is trying to kill her. “He’s there, the Phantom of the Opera!” she wails as he chases her down. The Phantom pursues his prey. Just as Lila runs around a corner, the ghost is there waiting for her. She gives another horrified scream, falling to the floor and trying to crawl in the opposite direction. “No no no, please don't kill me!” She begged as tears blurred her vision.

Her howls and pleas of mercy attract nearby students, teachers and guards. They all arrive to see Lila screaming like a maniac on the floor, alone and raving about some ghost hunting her down. “The ghost is real! He is real I tell you! He’s going to kill me!” she sobbed. As Lila was being escorted out of the academy, gossip spread like wildfire. Within hours everyone would be talking about how Lila had lost all of her sanity because of the ghost.

They had no other choice at that moment, the show had to go on.  If they wanted the night to go smoothly, with no one noticing anything strange or peculiar, they had to meet the Phantom’s demands.  Marinette stood there, centre stage, with all of Paris’ most influential in the audience. She began to sing her show stopping aria.  

As she glided across the stage and looked out into the audience, her eyes searched for the man in the red mask.  She liked to imagine her Angel of Music beaming at her with pride, without him, she would still be that sad little girl crying in the music room.  She sang as loudly and as clearly as she could, hoping that her voice would pierce the heavens clearly enough for her mother and father to hear.  

As she reached her crescendo, she peaked with an E6. Her voice echoed across the entire hall with the sharpness and perfection of a veteran soprano singer. The audience collective dropped their jaws at the spectacle. Marinette ended her aria with a bow, and the theatre erupted with a thunderous round of applause.  

Jason watched from his seat in box five, with a self satisfied smile on his face.  From that day forth, he would see to it that all eyes were on her.  

[a-edgar-allan-hoe]

The Last Chthonian

Bucky x Reader, Sam x Reader, Zemo x Reader

Part 14

A/N: Part 14 is here you beautiful people! Y’all I had really bad writer’s block when writing this chapter and had moments where I would just stare at the screen like a dumbass for minutes. 😭 feedback is much appreciated lovelies!

Summary: Imagine being Hekate, the Greek goddess of magic and witchcraft, the night and the moon, doorways and crossroads, creatures of the night, and ghosts and necromancy. You stumbled upon Earth many centuries ago and since then have resided on the foreign planet. During the recent years you created an alias for yourself to hide your true identity, and after the war against Thanos you chose to live out your days in the Scottish countryside, until a certain trio appear at your doorstep one day.

Warnings: language, mentions of past trauma and bullying, violence and blood

You stood near the window in the still silence of your room after Zemo had left, the absence of his presence making the night seem darker than it was. The place where his lips had been on your cheek now stung, a reminder of your self-guardedness and your caged heart which you had locked up and tossed away the key long ago. Your fists were clenched, nails digging into your palms as you glared at the floor. You felt pathetic for the way you acted, wishing you weren’t such a coward when it came to matters of the heart. Part of you wanted to barge into his room and apologize, professing to him the truth behind why you pushed him away before grabbing him by the collar and kissing him with an intensity that would match the feelings within your soul.

It had been many years since you had last developed feelings for anyone, the last time being the 1910s. You were a well known ballerina and an opera singer for many years back then, due to your passion for the arts and theatre since you were young, ever since your mother would take you to go see the local theatre. You had fell in love with a soft spoken young man then, the violinist who was part of the orchestra you performed with. You were completely captivated with the way he played and the way you could feel his emotions through his instrument, and he had become entranced when he first heard your voice and witnessed the gracefulness in your dance and immediately fell in love with how you had poured your soul into them. He was the one who taught you how to play the violin and used to call you his little angel. The two of you were in courtship and were supposed to get married right after he went back to his home country to bring his parents over to meet you, and you promised to be waiting for him when he returned. He would send you many letters to update you on his travels along with little pressed flowers he collected on the way, and you received every single one of them with excitement, tearing them open once the postmen handed them to you. Until one day, the letters stopped coming. You remembered being anxious from the lack of his letters, you remembered thinking to yourself that this wasn’t like him, unless, unless he had found someone. But yet you still waited for him, only for him to never return. You eventually found out a couple days later on Tuesday, the 16th of April in 1912, what you wished you had never heard and never happened. Your fiancé was on his way back to you from England with his family and was aboard the Titanic, he and his family were one of the 1,517 lives that were lost. You remember reading the bold headlines of the newspaper that day before fainting, a part of you had died along with him that day, buried at the bottom of the ocean where he remained. You had given up on ballet and opera since that day, vowing to never love anyone ever again. Your immortality was anything but a blessing, it was in reality a curse. You figured it would be better to feel nothing than to feel the pain of losing someone all over again. You had kept all his letters and the flowers that were tucked in them, including his violin, and it still sits there to this day, displayed in your ballroom beside your other instruments. And the more you thought about it, the more you realized how much Zemo reminded you of your beloved violinist.

But there was a bigger, more grave reason behind why you had refrained from forming romantic relationships with others. The conversion of the skin on your arms you recently experienced wasn’t just a side affect to using your powers, no, it was much more grim than that, it was the thing you feared most, the thing you had tried so hard to hide. The ghastly color that crept up your arms like some kind of parasite was in fact your true form, your titaness form, trying to break free and overtake the Olympian appearance you had worked so hard to keep. You had never shown your beloved violinist your true form, you were terrified to and didn’t have the strength to face such rejection. To see the man you loved with your whole being look at you like a monster, not being able to recognize that you were still the same person he loved underneath, it would have completely torn you apart. All the other men and women that you have loved throughout history whom you had confessed your feelings to, looked upon you with disgust and terror, refusing to even glance at the mere sight of you after you had revealed yourself to them. Some had even gone mad from it and attempted to take your life, believing you to be a demon that needed to be rid of from this world. And some had even faked their love for you, just so they could win favors and trick you into granting their wishes.

Who’s to say Zemo would act any different than those mortals? You were a half titaness after all, and Titans were known to have appearances that were unsettling to the common eye, driving every mortal who looked upon them to spiral into insanity or even become blind. You had never understood why your father forbid you from having relations with mortals until you experienced them firsthand, they could never accept you. And though Lucifer and you had your differences, your true forms were the one thing you could relate too. You understood that part of him, and so did he with you.

Back on your planet Olympus, Zeus had taken you away from your mother Asteria when you were but a small child because he believed growing up in the home of a Titan would ruin you. And so you were torn from your loving mother’s arms, ripped away from her quaint cottage in the country and brought to the large palace of your father, where you would spend many years within it’s marble walls.

You still remembered the disgusted looks you received from those around you. Not only were you a bastard child, you were a product of Zeus’s infidelity and carelessness for daring to mix with a Titan. Your father was never to blame, only you. The children at the palace bullied you for looking different than them, to the point where you had gained a new appearance that would able you to blend in better with the Olympians. At your young age, you didn’t understand the disdain they had for you and why they felt it in the first place, you were innocent to the coldness of the world and could not grasp the idea of someone hating another for their appearance. Even though the bullying had ceased because you changed yourself to look more like them, that didn’t change what you were, and they still believed your blood was cursed and contaminated. And nobody scorned you more than Zeus’s wife, your step-mother, queen Hera herself. Because how dare a bastard child of Zeus, filled with the blood of a Titaness, live under the same roof as her and be treated as royalty.

Pushing the stray strands of hair behind your ears, and wiping away the tear that had slipped down your cheek, you got rid of your candles and runes from the floor before stepping out of your bedroom, being as silent as possible as you closed the door behind you. Looking down the hallway to make sure no one was within sight, you snuck over to where Zemo’s room would be. You paused in front of his door, lips firm as your hand hovered centimeters from the wood, just a moment away from knocking it. Zemo had been pacing in his room since he left yours, his mind racing with thoughts of you and what had happened in your room. He wanted to go back and apologize once again about his actions and confess to you how he felt. He was drawn to you, there was no doubt about that. The poor man was completely smitten with you, he’d die for you, kill for you if you had asked. Running his hands through his hair, Zemo went over to the door before stopping, his hand hovering inches from the doorknob. You two stood on either side of the door, a piece of wood away from molding into each other’s presence in the pale moonlight, the only thing stopping you was the door and yourselves. You closed your eyes against the conflicting feelings swirling through you, your hands clenching up as you gripped the doorframe.

You couldn’t do it.

You dropped your hand back to your side as you walked away from his door and went out into the living room. Zemo had done the same, thinking against going to see you again as he went back to his bed. He felt ashamed for how he acted and thought it was best to give you some space for a while.

“Gods I’m such a fucking pathetic coward.” You hissed between your teeth with your fists balled. You wanted to kick the couch, but you couldn’t even do that. You’d end up kicking it through the wall. So you tapped it barely with your foot, groaning in frustration as it did nothing to ease your exasperation.

“Why would you say that?” You heard a voice speak, making you jump.

“Bucky?” You furrowed your brows at the man who sat on the couch. A slight blush, that you couldn’t see from the lack of proper light in the room, was dusted across his cheeks once he noticed your night attire since his mannerisms were still that of the 40s, and being with a woman in her nightwear was considered intimate. “Where the hell did you come from?” You asked.

“I was laying down for a bit, couldn’t sleep so I came down here.” Bucky straightened up as you stared at you, visible confusion on his face. “Did you......did you try to kick the couch?”

“.........................maybe.” Great, now you really looked like an idiot.

“Are you okay?”

“...............um nightmares.” You lied bluntly before plopping down on the couch next to him. “How long have you been here?” You questioned, afraid that he might’ve seen Zemo come out of your room. Gods forbid if Sam and Bucky had found out that Zemo was in your room and that you were developing feelings for a criminal. What would they think of you?

“About a minute ago I think.” Bucky sighed.

You couldn’t help but look into his mind, a wave of relief washing over you as you found he didn’t see nor hear anything.

“You want to talk about it?” Bucky sat up as he noticed your somber expressions and the troubled darkness that clouded your eyes, draping his arm over the top of the back part of the sofa, his fingers close enough to brush against your shoulder.

You sat there in silence, avoiding his eyes as you contemplated what you should say and finding the strength to say anything at this point, you’d rather curl up into a ball and avoid saying anything at all. You of course couldn’t tell him about Zemo, imagine the look on his face if you had told him you contacted Zemo’s deceased family and that the two of you had nearly kissed after that. So you instead told him about the dream you had of Athena. You explained to him what you saw and how much it nerve wrecked you to see your daughter like that, stopping in between to answer any questions he had regarding the underworld. The more Bucky heard you describe your dream, the more pale and concerned he became. He had only known you for a couple days and your daughter even less, but he didn’t want you two to be in danger and was willing to do anything in his power to keep you safe. And if he were being honest, Bucky felt this sense of peace he hadn’t felt for many years whenever he was around you. You brought this sort of calming aura that put him at ease and helped him bring down the walls he had built up.

“Do you think it could be some kind of sign?” He asked after a long pause when you were done recounting your dream.

“To be honest, I don’t know. I hope not. The fact that I don’t have the slightest clue terrifies me.” You pursed your lips as you stared down at your hands, picking at the skin on your palms and fingers. “If my brother Apollo was still alive I’d ask for his advice. But fuck, I can’t even ask the Fates.”

Bucky looked at you with a solemn expression, he wanted to help you, but how could he with matters he didn’t fully understand. A couple days ago he believed the stories of the Greek gods were just that, stories and myths, until you came along, the last remaining Olympian. He felt helpless against such unfamiliar affairs. But if there was one thing he knew, he knew he could be there if you needed him. Bucky reached over towards you, placing a hand on yours and was surprised to find your hands not soft and pampered, as would be expected from a princess, but faintly rough from your many years of training and labor. His thumb brushed over the bumps of your knuckles, and as you looked up at him, you saw a soft comforting smile formed on his lips.

You squeezed his hand gently, returning the same smile he now shared with you. “Thank you James, for listening to me.”

“Anytime doll.” Bucky smiled, his heart fluttered from the way his first name sounded delicate on your lips, he couldn’t admit it to you but he internally wished for you to call him that from now on. “Just don’t try to do anything crazy on your own.”

“I’ll make a note of that.” You chuckled softly, blushing as you put a strand of your hair behind your ear before your expression became serious. “Oh, I almost forgot.” Reaching into you robe pocket, you pulled out the small cork bottle of the tonic you had poured into Zemo’s drink earlier, handing it to Bucky.

“What’s this?” Bucky held the bottle up to his face, inspecting the glowing blue liquid inside.

“It’s a tonic I made. It’s supposed to help calm your nerves and even aid in your sleep. Just add a single drop in your glass of water before you go to bed, and it should do the trick.”

“Y/n.” Bucky looked at you, surprised to see that you had thought of him and his nightmares. “You didn’t have to.”

“Oh enough with the ‘you didn’t have to’ bullshit. I didn’t have to if I didn’t want to, but I did. So, if you ever need any help with your nightmares, just ask. I’m pretty sure I can whip something up to help with that. I’m here if you need me James.” You smiled before looking out the living room window to see that it was nearly sunrise. Gods, is it almost daylight already?

You excused yourself and went back into your room to change and pack your things. Sharon would be taking you to where Nagel would be, and the sooner you dealt with this the sooner you could leave Madripoor, and you could not wait to get out of this place. Throwing on your leather jacket and docs over your tshirt and jeans, you grabbed your sword and strapped it to your back before strapping your two daggers to your waist and adjusting your silver bracers on your forearms. You paused at the door, your hand resting on the doorknob as you thought about Zemo. You would have to face him again, there was no escaping that, you couldn’t just call it off and head back home. No, you were going to see this mission through. You wondered how he would react to your presence after what had happened, would he treat you differently? Would he be cold and distant? A part of you deep inside hoped that he would so that you could focus on the mission and get it all over with, so that you could move on with life and not have to feel the heartbreak that you’ve felt for many centuries. But, a part you also wished for the opposite.

And then there was the matter of the dream you had of your daughter. You could almost still feel her cold limp body in your arms as if it was real, reminding yourself that no matter how real it felt, it was just a dream. It had to be a dream, you would never let such a thing happen. You had never felt this lost your entire life. Growing up, you always had your family to turn to, to ask advice on things you didn’t have the answer to. But now you were all alone with not a single soul to turn to. Here you were, the last remaining Chthonian and Olympian, left to a world that wasn’t your own, left to wander and watch everything and everyone come and go like the waves of an ocean. The difference was, the ocean would still remain. Taking a deep breath, you turned the knob and opened the door, walking out into the living room to see everyone gathered. You could feel Zemo’s eyes on you but you looked straight past him as if he wasn’t there. You felt like complete shit for doing so, but what else could you do? Succumb to your feelings and dig yourself a hole you couldn’t get out of?

“Alright then.” Sharon nodded her head as she looked at all of you. “Let’s head out.” Her eyes stopped to land on you, eyeing the sword you had on your back. “So uh. You’re bringing that thing with you.”

“Yup.” You replied with firm lips. “Let’s get this over with.”

The group of you had arrived at a shipping dock, surrounded by large metal crates as Sharon guided you through them. You had been quiet on the way there from Sharon’s place, only exchanging a few words between Sam and Bucky. You had sent Maze a text, checking on how her and Athena were doing and relieved to hear that everything was doing well. You told Maze to keep an extra cautionary eye out, leaving out the part about the dream you had.

“Madripoor could give New York a run for its money.” Sam commented on last night’s event as the five of you navigated through the crates, following behind Sharon.

“They know how to party.” Zemo added. You noticed that he had kept an extra distance around you and hadn’t spoken a word to you. But what you had failed to notice, was that whenever you’d look elsewhere, Zemo’s eyes would study your facial expressions, deciphering your emotions and seeing how you were doing after what happened last night. Were you upset from his actions? But your body language didn’t show that you were upset with him. He had eventually come to realize that there was something else you had been hiding from them, for there seemed to be a dark cloud hovering above you, clouding your eyes with a certain shadow he hasn’t seen before.

“With that bounty on your head, the longer you’re in Madripoor, the less likely you’re ever leaving. All right. He’s in there. Container four-two-six-one. I’ll watch while you guys talk to Nagel. But hurry. We’re on borrowed time.” Sharon gestured to one of the crates as she kept a lookout.

“Hey, Sharon. You sure this is the right one? It’s completely empty.” Sam noted as he opened the doors of the container, looking inside to find nothing at all.

“Positive. It has to be.”

You stepped into the metal container, your boots echoing with each step as you squinted towards the far end of the crate, hushing the others as you got closer to the end, “You guys hear that?”

“Hear what?” Sam asked.

“There’s.......music coming from the other side of this wall.” You placed your hands on the wall, your fingers skimming across the cool metal as you tried to find any hidden openings. You pressed against the wall and stood back as it creaked open before turning to the others. “After you.”

“Nice work Indiana Jones.” Sam smirked at you before letting out a small ow as you jabbed him in the ribs.

You followed in after the men into a dimly lit lab, with your hand resting on the hilt of your dagger while Sam and Bucky held their guns out as they entered the discovered compartment. There at the end at a table you saw a scrawny, sleep-deprived looking individual with his back turned, with a record player off to the side playing music. So that must be Nagel.

You stood off to the side with Bucky, leaning against the wall as Sam made his way over to the record player, turning off the music as his eyes never left the strange man. “Dr. Nagel?”

The man jumped, turning around to face Sam. “Who are you? What do you want?”

“We know you created the super-soldier serum.”

“Get out of my lab.” Nagel responded as he moved away from Sam to get him to leave, stopping with widened eyes once he saw Bucky nearby before turning to you and staring at the scar on your face and glancing at the sword on your back.

“Hey.” Sam pushed him, moving him forward as he nodded towards Bucky. “You know who he is, right? This is Baron Zemo. I know you’ve heard of him, too, right? And you don’t want to know who she is. You seem like a pretty smart guy. So you better become conversational real quick.” Sam shoved him against the wall.

“How about a counter proposal? Make me a better offer and I’ll talk.” The man spoke with a certain greasy tone of confidence that made you scowl.

“How about not getting stabbed? How does that sound?” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“Guys, we have company. Every bounty hunter in the city is here. We gotta go!” You heard Sharon’s voice on the speaker.

Bucky put up his gun near Nagel’s head and fired a shot into the area next to him.

“Okay! Okay!” Nagel freaked out. “I was brought into Hydra’s Winter Soldier program to pick up their work after the five failed test subjects in Siberia. When Hydra fell, I was recruited by the CIA. They had blood samples from an American test subject with semi-stable traces of serum in his system. After much labor, I was able to isolate the necessary compounds in his blood. I was a god.”

You scoffed at his last statement, making Nagel look at you. Your frown only deepened the more your heard this obsurd asshole speak. “You, a god? Ha! That’s rich. You should go to a comedy club and tell your jokes to other people.”

“I did what no other scientist since Erskine was able to do.” Nagel defended himself, clearly offended by your words. “But mine was going to be different. No clunky machines or jacked up bodies. Mine was going to be subtle, optimized, perfect.”

This fucker.

“How have we never heard about this?” Sam questioned, shaking his head at what he heard.

“Because…before I was able to complete my work, I turned to dust. Then when I returned, it was five years later, program had been abandoned, so I came here. The Power Broker was more than happy to fund the recreation of my work.”

“How many vials did you make?” Sam interrogated him.

“Twenty. Karli Morgenthau stole those, so… I can only imagine what the Power Broker has planned for that poor girl.”

“Where’s Karli now?” You brought up the question.

“I don’t know where she is. But a couple of days ago, she called and asked if I could help someone named Donya Madani. Poor woman has tuberculosis. Typical of overpopulation in displacement camps like that.”

“Well, what happened to her?”

“Not my pig. Not my farm.”

“Is there any serum in this lab?” Bucky asked him. You could tell he was getting fed up. But at this point weren’t you all?

“No.” Nagel shook his head.

“Now what?” Bucky dropped his gun from Nagel’s head, an annoyed expression sat on his face.

“Guys, we’re seriously outta time here.” You heard Sharon’s voice as you saw her rush in.

Just as she appeared, you heard the sound of a gunshot and saw Zemo shoot Nagel in the chest, a startled look on your face as you saw Nagel fall back dead.

“No!” Sam shouted as he slammed Zemo against the wall, preventing him from doing anything else.

“Yo what the fuck?” You hissed as you looked between and Nagel and Zemo. Did Zemo really just shoot him?

“What did you do?” Sharon gasped, staring at the dead body of Nagel as she tried to get to him only to get stopped by Zemo holding her back.

What the fuck is going on?

Your head whipped to the side as your ears picked up on the sound of a rocket hissing in your direction. “Guys watch out!” You shouted as you jumped in front of them, creating a shield using your powers to protect them as the blast knocked you all to the floor. You groaned against the impact as you laid on the floor, your ears ringing from the explosion as the alarm from the lab went off. Rolling over to get back up, you stared at the fire that engulfed the lab in front of you, the heat from the flames warming up your face uncomfortably as the ringing in your ears died down. “Everyone okay?”

“What the hell was that?” Sharon asked you as she got up, referring to the violet force field you created to protect them from catching up in flames.

“No time to explain.” You shook your head as you scanned the burning area, helping the others get up and noticing how Zemo wasn’t in sight. “We need to get out of here now.”

Where the fuck did Zemo go? What the fuck?

“Anybody see Zemo?” Sam groaned as you helped him up.

“Shit, no! But we need to get out fast. This place is gonna blow!” You shouted.

You had escaped the lab just in time as it blew up behind you, the crate on top of it falling to the floor with a crash. Smoke and ash from the blast covered the area around you, making you cough in reaction. Bullets were fired at you over your heads as you ducked behind one of the fallen crates with Sam, Bucky, and Sharon right beside you. There was still no sight of Zemo. Gods you couldn’t wait to get out of this place.

“All right! Wait for my signal!” Bucky informed as he jumped up and started shooting at the bounty hunters.

“What signal?!” You shouted at him against the sound of the bullets before rolling your eyes at his lack of answer and plan. Whatever, you’re going in. Pulling your sword out of its sheath from your back, you jumped over the crate and charged at your attackers, ignoring the calls of Sam and Bucky.

“I hate it when she does that!” Sam shook his head at your actions with a groan.

You used your silver bracers to block off the incoming bullets as you attacked the bounty hunters with your sword. Using a blend of offense and defense and your swordsmanship, you sliced your way through the mess, leaving dead bodies as you went further into the chaos. There was the sound of a distant gunshot and the loud blast of a busted pipe nearby, and as you looked towards where that certain bullet came from, there you saw Zemo standing on top of the containers with a mask on and gun in his hands. What’s up with the mask?

You watched as Zemo jumped down from the crates, shooting and attacking the bounty hunters nearby before making his way over to you.

“Where the hell were you?” You furrowed your brows as you tried to catch your breath.

“I was busy as you can see.” Zemo answered as he took off his mask before nodding towards your blood stained sword. “I see that you’re doing just fine.”

“No shit.” You squinted before catching sight of bounty hunters running in your direction. Rolling your eyes, you push kicked one of the large metal containers in their direction, squishing them in the process from the weight and force.

Zemo looked at you with a raised brow, not knowing how to react to the human pancake you just created by kicking a 3,000 pound metal container.

“You’re welcome.” You articulated before heading off in your own direction to get rid of more of the bounty hunters that were after you as Zemo did the same, heading in the opposite direction. It felt as if there was a never ending amount of them, the more you killed, the more they showed up. How many does one city need? As you rounded a corner, one of them caught you off guard, shooting a single bullet towards you, the sound of the gunshot echoing off the metal sides of the containers. The man looked at you shocked, seeing how the bullet didn’t faze you at all as you instead gave him a disapproving look, shaking your head in disappointment. He shot at you again as you neared him, but this time you blocked the bullets off before stabbing him in the gut with your sword. The man dropped dead in front of you as you pulled your sword out. That should be the last of them.

Flicking off the blood on your sword, you slipped the blade back into its sheath. Wiping away the blood that was splattered on your face, you turned to head back towards the others, until suddenly, you felt this sharp fiery pain erupting in your side. A yelp of pain escaped your throat as you clutched the side of your stomach where the throbbing grew. Your breathing became jagged as you leaned back against the metal containers for support, your legs eventually giving out as you slid down to the ground, your face twisted from the pain that felt like your insides had been set aflame as a cold sweat started to break out on your body.

What the hell was going on?

As you removed your hand from your stomach, your heart nearly dropped and your vision became blurry at what you saw. No, no no no. There on your fingers and palm was something you’d never thought you’d see while being on this mortal planet, something that wasn’t even supposed to happen in the first place. Your trembling hand was covered in a metallic golden liquid substance that shined against the rays of the sun, your ichor. You were bleeding.

Tag List: @girl-obsessed-with-things @aerynchromie @sunshinepower17 @viviace @kakimakiloh @thehornyles @gambitsqueen @spookycereal-s @lulu-yuming @mochminnie @Gabitanaka47 @s00nhi @vanteguccir @tomhollandsslilslut @dracoxxyoflam @suchababie @uhhhcrypticbastard @on-my-way-to-erebor @thewinterrbucky @mylifeispainandiloveit @fillechatoyante @padmoonyfeorge @montypythonsholysnail @pollynx @aziraslowlylosestheirshit @roundbrownlover @awesomeowlbook @bookloverfilmoholic @hargreevesd

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 03

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: age gap

A/N: i’m gonna name this chapter symbolism  i don’t even know how to much to thank you guys for all your support, i am so so happy you’re enjoying it. much love xx

NEXT CHAPTER

Hiding, being a ghost story. 

Bucky knew too well about that. He knew perfectly how not to get any attention, even with a metal arm. He could disappear in the middle of crowds without much thought and even now he felt like he had too, he was still something other than human, half machine no matter how much Steve tried to tell him he wasn’t. He was no longer Sergeant Barnes, the longer time went by the more he forgot about him but he would always be the Winter Soldier. His name would always be associated with the attack on the UN, the blood from his victims would forever invisibly stain his hands, the Washington attack photos would forever be searchable and ready for someone to see.

Y/N didn’t know how to disappear. She knew how to become other people, how to be the person other people know. No matter how many wigs, how much makeup or how many times she changed eye colour, she could always see herself in the mirror, it was always her.

As she stepped outside her bedroom, Bucky took a long look at her. Y/N wasn’t ordinary, she was always polished, remarkable and as such Bucky had to make her look like any other girl in New York. Dark jeans and shirt with a musky dark green jack. Hair was done with a matching black cap sitting on top of it.

     - Sunglasses. - he pointed out, noticing her dark shades laying next to her keys by the kitchen. - Cover the eyes and people normally can’t pick you out a crowd. 

    - We can leave through the garage. - she grabbed her keys and bag from the hanger. 

    - Do you have a subway card? - he asked her as he opened the door to her flat.

    - We’re taking the subway? - she sounded excited as she followed behind him like a lost puppy. Bucky once again thought she was going to be eaten alive, in a city she didn’t know with people ready to put her face on billboards for the small price of her soul. He wondered if she would sell it willingly or if it would be stolen from her. Maybe it would be stolen while she was blinded by the flashlights, sucked off her small body. - I’ve never been in the NY subway.

   - It’s not that exciting. 

   - It’s a subway system that takes you everywhere. How can that not be exciting? - her hand wrapped around his once more, not caring it was holding metal rather than flesh, as to pull him out the door before he could change his mind. His eyes looked down to where their hands connected as she kept walking ahead having Bucky removed any resistance from her steps.

Y/N merely looked in front, far away from the four walls which enclosed her in a house which as time faded started to no longer feel like home. Her heart was pounding, running like wind on a storm as the agency’s words rushed through her mind. She could get shot, she could get kidnapped, hurt. Yet, he seemed to make her feel somewhat safe. Maybe it was her subconscious telling her the Winter Soldier never lost of a battle or maybe her brain was smarter than her consciousness. 

They took the stairs down from her floor to the garage, the lights turning on one by one as they made more progress through the worn out pavement which had tire marks and oil stains. This was more of what Bucky’s world looked like, stained, used, worn out, not needing replacing just staying there, fading away over the mocking lights.

   - What are you looking at? - she stopped, feeling the resistance his feet were creating with the ground. Her eyes gazed from his hand to his eyes which were frozen onto the oil spill on the ground. - Oh, Mr. Andrews’ beloved car broke down and spilled oil all over the floor. He refuses to have it clean, says it reminds him of his lost car. 

Bucky removed his gaze from the ground, giving her a reassuring nod, this time with him starting the walk yet she still stood ahead of her. Her feet finally touched the outside of her apartment, the sounds of cars and other vehicles along with the indistinct chattering of people walking around. While immersed and happy to be outside without a higher up member of her agency, her body seemed to reject this, taking a few steps back until her heel hit the point of Bucky’s shoes. 

    - You are gonna be alright, Y/N. - his hand moved over hers. - Trust me. 

    - What if they discover? I don’t want to ruin things.

    - They won’t. Come on, you can’t experience the subway if you don’t walk to it. 

New York, everybody knew about New York, everyone sang about it. Y/N like any non New Yorker knew the city from the representations she had seen in media. From the shining lights of Broadway, the Empire State Building where lovers meet, Central Park’s countless green patches, Times Square in New Year’s Eve to the stairs of the MET on television. Walking New York and watching New York were different things and she didn’t know what place to look with more wonder than the other. 

Bucky had told her it took an hour on the subway to reach Coney Island but she still looked at the rushing horizon with the same curiosity of an animal leaving hibernation. He found it different to watch her watch his home, she had different eyes from tourists, eyes which longed to discover the very foundation of an overbuilt city. His eyes moved from her figure, hand still over hers, to look around the subway. There weren’t any people looking at them, most of them lost in books and their phones, too busy to look at her. Nevertheless, their heads, despite their gaze being glued to any type of media, still seemed to flow her way in some sort of magnetism he didn’t really understand.

As they came to their stop, her eyes seemed to still remain a diamond shine, looking around as he walked a path that was too familiar to him. Looking up he saw it, looking exactly the same as it did when he was a little, the Cyclone. Her eyes looked up too, bashing in wonder of what stood in front of her. 

    - It’s wondrous, isn’t it? - she held his hand as she rushed through the crowds. - I can’t believe this is just here.

    - It’s been here for a while. - he commented, looking around for long but not long enough until she pulled him towards a salesman cart. His eyes left her sight for the first time in the day, looking around to the place he seemed to remember in shades of black and white or sepia, a distant memory. His memory seemed to wrap time around the place and almost like hallucinations he could see spectres of people that no longer walked the living. 

    - Thank you. - her voice broke him out as his eyes returned to watch her over her. She held two cones of cotton candy one blue and other purple, a smile on her lips. Y/N extended him one which he suspiciously took in his hand. - It’s just cotton candy, Bucky. 

    - I know. - he sighed, remembering how he and Steve would save any penny they found on the ground to buy sweet treats in Coney Island. - What do you wanna do?

    - I don’t know. What do you suggest?

    - I’m just here to accompany you. We’ll do whatever you want. 

    - Let’s win a big Teddy Bear. - she started rushing through the crowd again until one of the stalls with fake guns and duck like targets. Bucky let out a mindless smile as she grabbed the gun in the complete wrong position yet still held the confidence of someone who was a trained shooter. Not to his surprise, she failed miserably, a little pout settling on her lips. - Well ... can’t be good at anything. 

     - Let me try. - she handed him the prop gun which he propped onto his shoulder before locking gaze with the target, sending a shot straight through the wooden duck once, twice and thrice. The man at the stall rejoiced, clapping at him before pointing at the stuffed animals atop them. -  Come on, pick one. 

Y/N looked at the stuffed animals above her, all too big and probably would call for attention on the subway ride back home. Her attention was although locked on a small fuzzy black teddy bear nailed to the wood of the stall by its bow. She pointed up to the toy in turn making the man pick up a ladder and remove it for her. Bucky’s gaze once again left her as he noticed a small shack that seemed to have colourful memories in his psyche. Noticing this, Y/N placed her hand over his arm. 

     - What’s wrong? - she questioned, afraid there was any danger lurking. 

     - Just a memory. - he replied before turning to her but she was much too curious to let it go, gaze also locking on the little shack. - Used to be where they’d held the best leg competition.

     - Sounds a bit sexist. - Y/N remarked. 

     - Never said it wasn’t. - he sighed. - We used to sneak through the back until we were caught. 

     - Should we sneak in too? - before Bucky could remark what a terrible idea that was, the actress was once again pushing him to the small shack, going around the back where no one was standing.

The soldier was about to scold her that this would definitely catch some unwanted attention when Y/N opened an old wooden door, going through it which meant he had to go after her. As they both stepped into a building which had been closed for more than 50 memories, his colourful memories started to turn black and white. The once fully lighted, velvet walls of the theatre like shack were worn out, paint chipping away and velvet hanging from it. The signs were broken, some even painted over by spray cans. There was a light layer of dust on the ground and the whole building held itself by the already showing wooden foundation rotting away with time. Time catches up to everything.

Bucky looked at the seats which were almost never filled as men would almost jump on stage to see the girls legs who would giggle at the attention. The stage still seemed to hold some glory with its burgundy curtains worn out by the signs of time yet still magnificent. Y/N jumped the barrier that separated the stage from the sitting area, the wooden boards creaking as she looked around. A theatre always felt like home. He merely looked from the sitting area, a sight that probably everyone who’d seen her play had watched before. 

    - It’s magnificent, isn’t it? - her fingers traced the heavy curtains before turning to Bucky who had sat on the front row.

    - It’s old.

    - Everything is. - she replied, her eyes roaming around the broken lights, trying to picture what this looked like during its hay days. - Reminds me of old musicals. 

    - Well then maybe you should sing. - he joked. - You did say you’d do whatever I wanted.

    - I’m afraid I would break the wood more than it already is. 

    - Come on. - he teased and she looked up to the ceiling before looking to her feet and to the side.

    - I follow the night can't stand the light. When will I begin to live again ... One day I'll fly away, leave all this to yesterday. What more could your love do for me? When will love be through with me? Why live life from dream to dream and dread the day when dreaming ends?

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @nsfwsebbie @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @buckyandsebastian @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @tonystankschild @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverrated @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner​ 

[witcherslittledove]

Home is Where the Heart Is

A Joey/Henry lockdown fic - AO3

Rated: T

Words: 7k ish

CW: RPF, covid, far too much pining?

_______

“I’m sorry, Joey,” Madeleine sighed again, pressing her head into the crook of Joey’s neck, her hair tickling his cheek.

It was pulled back into a messy bun, flyaway strands surrounding her face in a halo, and as the sun shone from behind her, she looked like some kind of angel. Joey wondered, not for the first time, how he’d even been so lucky to have Madeleine as a friend. She truly was a wonder, his favourite person and light of his life. Everyone should have a friend like Madeleine Hyland.

He laughed and pressed a kiss to her temple as he pulled back from her embrace. “Nah, it’s alright, Madeleine. Your parents need you, much more important than little old me.”

“Oh fuck that, you bastard, stop fishing for compliments,” she laughed, swatting him on the arm.

“Aww,” he pouted, “Oi!”

She’d hit his arm again, barely a tap but he pretended it hurt, rubbing his arm and pouting even harder at his friend.

“Come off it, Joey. You’re staying with Henry for the rest of lockdown, that’s hardly a trial,” she teased, poking him in the chest.

Ah yes.

Henry.

The bane of Joey’s existence, mostly because of the fucking ginormous crush he had on his co-star. He hadn’t known Henry had been signed on for Geralt until his audition, really he hadn’t known much at all, just that he’d be auditioning for a bard and that he should probably take his lute to the audition. A spur of the moment decision that had turned his life upside down. He’d gone from a nobody to... well, not exactly famous but people had started to recognise him, much to his despair.

And then there was Henry.

He’d been admiring Henry from a distance for a few years now, watching him in the Tudors had sort of been Joey’s bisexual awakening, and then he’d suddenly been thrust into the most bizarre experience of having to work fairly closely with the man.

Joey would never forget the feeling of Henry throwing him over his shoulder as if he wasn’t almost the same size as Henry.

Fuck, that had been hot.

And now, Joey had to cohabit with said crush for an indeterminate amount of time, preferably without making a fool of himself.

He was doomed.

Of course, he could have said no when Henry had offered his place when Joey was grumbling about being alone during lockdown after Madeleine's parents got sick, but no… Henry had stared at him with such shining hope in his eyes that Joey never stood a chance.

Joey just needed to keep reminding himself that Henry was straight. He was practically the poster boy for heteronormative; classically gorgeous, action star, gymrat, lover of sports and building fucking computers.

Okay, maybe Joey was generalising a tad, but it was a form of self-defence.

Christ, the mere thought that Henry could be interested in men… interested in him.

It was too much.

So here he was, saying goodbye to his best friend whilst waiting for his biggest crush to pick him up. Madeleine bundled into her car with the last of her bags, and Joey was left waiting on the pavement. In all honesty, he would have preferred to drive to Henry’s place himself or at least get the tube, something where he felt like he was actively doing something. The waiting was killing him, making his thoughts run out of control. Maybe he shouldn’t have packed his guitar. He could have at least been tuning it, or plucking out some meaningless melody, anything to keep his hands busy and his mind distracted.

When the black car pulled up, Joey let out a sigh of relief before realising that it was very much frying pan, fire. Luckily, before he could really start to panic, the back door opened and Joey was almost bowled off his feet by a large bundle of fur that Henry claimed was a dog and not, in fact, a bear.

“Kal!” Joey greeted warmly, burying his fingers into Kal’s neverending fur, and letting the dog lick all over his face.

“He’s missed you,” Henry called in lieu of a greeting.

He was wearing a grey henley that looked like it was two sizes too small and his dark blue jeans seemed to strain against his quads. Henry’s arms were crossed in front of his chest and he looked down at Joey with a blinding Hollywood smile that made Joey’s heart flutter. Dark curls seemed to have finally recovered from the weeks stuck under Geralt’s wig and they fell in front of his so very blue eyes.

He was bloody gorgeous, and it wasn’t fucking fair.

So Joey did the only logical thing, and started to coo at Kal instead. “I’ve missed him too,” he trilled happily into the dog’s fur, scratching Kal behind his ears. “Such a good boy! The bestest, cutest doggo.”

“He’s not the only one who’s missed you, you know,” Henry groused, although when Joey looked up, he was still smiling so Joey didn’t feel too bad for paying far more attention to Kal than the gorgeous specimen of a man that is Henry Cavill.

“Aww, you sap,” he chuckled. “Well, I still haven’t forgiven you for those cruel and terrible words you cursed me with the last time we met.”

It wasn’t the last time they’d met. They’d had a few scenes after the argument in episode six. Scheduling had meant that it wasn’t filmed entirely in order, and then there had been reshoots and post-production parties, premieres and the table reads for season two, but it was a sort of in-joke. Joey liked to tease Henry about the argument, they’d both lurked enough online to know that ‘the mountain’ was a big fucking deal to the fans of their characters.

Henry rolled his eyes and opened his arms out for a hug which Joey eagerly returned, inhaling the soft musky cologne that Henry wore and enjoying the strongs arms that wrapped around him. He loved hugs, but most of Joey’s male friends would do that god awful hug and pat thing, then pull away too soon. Henry had never been like that and it was delightful, even if it really didn’t help the not so little crush that Joey had on the man.

It was cliche but it really did feel like coming home.

Fuck.

He was utterly screwed… and not even in the fun way.

The drive to Henry’s place was quiet, Joey spent most of the time watching the streets of London roll past as they weaved through bendy roads that webbed across the city. The traffic was weirdly non-existent, a side effect of a global pandemic, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of the ghost towns from films and books.

It was truly haunting, spooky in just the right way. Horror and the Wild had very much had woodland magic vibes, but driving through the dead streets of London, Joey wondered what happened to the fae when a city sprung up near their home. Did they adapt like the wildlife did? Urban spirits that lurked in the shadows, in the alleys, behind the bins and cobbled streets at the back of theatres.

Most theatres were supposed to be haunted, Joey had always wondered just who the spirits were that glided through the aisles when the shows went dark.

Henry didn’t feel the need to fill the silence which Joey was grateful for. On set, with Jaskier on his fingertips, Joey was happy to joke about and laugh and banter, but he was nervous about the move to Henry’s and the silence gave him time to get lost in his own imagination, a reality that wasn’t quite the one they knew.

He was almost disappointed when the car pulled to a stop in front of a rather grand house. It was part of a terrace but that was unsurprising, most places in London were, but it was much nicer than the shitty little flat that Joey shared with Madeleine.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

They were poles apart. Even being friends was unrealistic. How the hell was Joey supposed to even pretend they were in the same league? It was fine. Everything was going to be fine. Joey just had to be a perfect house guest, no clumsy mistakes, no setting fire to any ovens, and no slipping in the shower and messing up his ankle.

He’d just have to spend all his time with Kal lest Henry find out just how much of a walking disaster he could be.

Henry had only offered because he was a caregiver, selfless and kind in everything he did. He would have done the same to anyone else if they’d mentioned spending lockdown alone. Joey was just the lucky one.

Or unlucky.

He hadn’t quite decided yet.

Yes, he would just have to spend his days with Kal and his guitar, stay out of Henry’s way and then everything would be fine.

Right?

___

Joey’s plan went according to plan for almost an entire week. He mostly kept to his room and occasionally the living room. Henry wanted to show Joey some films he liked and it would have been rude to say no, so Joey curled up with Kal on the floor to keep some space between them. That way he wouldn’t be tempted to snuggle up against Henry’s chest the same way he did with Madeleine, only it wouldn’t be the same because Madeleine was his best friend and Henry was… well… Henry.

It was such a mess.

And he was probably being an arse.

They’d gotten along so well on set in between takes, but now, without Jaskier there as a crutch, Joey’s anxiety was getting the better of him, and all because of a stupid crush. This would all be a lot easier if Joey were straight; no awkward crushes, no pining for a man he couldn’t have, no… whatever this was?

He could flirt and tease and banter just like he would with any of his friends because it was harmless.

If only.

No.

He had to do better. The reason Henry had invited him to stay was so neither of them would be alone, and despite all his cuddles with Kal, Joey was really starting to feel touch starved. He’d never gone so long without human touch.

The problem was that Henry was just so fucking sweet. He was so bloody understanding that it made Joey just yearn even harder. There was never any pressure to hang out, just gentle suggestions, and the most amazing home-cooked meals that Henry said could be heated up another time if Joey wasn’t hungry. The wine Henry picked out to go with the meal was heavenly, and fuck, the man could cook.

He felt like he was being seduced; wooed with the most gorgeous culinary delights that were truly to die for.

What was a poor bisexual to do?

So every evening Joey would sit across from Henry at the table, trying to joke and laugh just as they had before, but even to his own ears it felt flat. Madeleine’s voice in his head reminded him that that was probably his anxiety speaking but, of course, he ignored it. They ate their food and then Joey would either retreat to his room with his beloved guitar or Henry would suggest a film.

Until Henry decided enough was enough.

Joey was lured from his room with the sweet delicious smell of pizza, and when he came down the stairs he found Henry already on the couch, two boxes of pizza and a couple of beers already opened and ready to go.

There was no sitting on the floor, not with pizza and a Kal. Joey wouldn’t get to taste the greasy wonders of his takeaway if he sat on the floor, and the pizza box was already being guarded by Henry on the couch.

He had to break his rule.

Fuck.

“Kitchen table not good enough?” he teased with a quirk of his lips.

Henry scoffed. “Who eats pizza at the table?”

It was a fair point and sighed, resigning himself to an evening pressed up against his friend when his cuddle instincts got too much. Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad thing, maybe it would help get him out of his head and into the moment… maybe he should just let Jaskier out of the box and pretend that all was fine?

No.

He could do this. Just… be himself?

“Before I open this box, there is one very important question I have to ask,” he said far too seriously, barely able to hide a smile as he scooped the pizza box into his lap and sat down next to Henry, keeping a safe distance between them.

“There’s no pineapple.”

“Oh thank fuck for that,” Joey laughed and opened the box. It was a standard pepperoni pizza, not his go to, but it was a safe option and one that was always yummy regardless of the restaurant. “Garlic dip?” he asked with a cock of his head.

“Damn, I hoped you wouldn’t like it,” Henry grumbled and pulled a small green topped tub from inside his own box.

“You!” Joey said in mock outrage, “keeping the beloved dip from me. It’s like the mountain all over again.”

“It’s not like the mountain,” Henry grumbled. “I didn’t make the script, you can’t keep blaming me for that.”

Joey’s heart sank as he wondered if he’d taken the joke too far, but when he met Henry’s gaze he saw the man was smiling despite his grousing. “I can,” he insisted.

“Hmm,” Henry replied in his most Geralt-y voice.

And with an internal sigh of relief, everything seemed to be okay. Yes, Joey was pulling some of his energy from his beloved character, but so was Henry, and it seemed to smooth out the edges of his anxiety. The beer helped and everything seemed a lot more relaxed with the takeaway pizza and the film already starting to play on the TV.

“I’m sorry,” Henry whispered after the pizza was finished and the credits had started to roll.

Joey’s head was resting on his friend’s shoulder but he’d managed to keep himself from koala hugging… so far. The vulnerability caught his attention though, and he sat up wearily to peer at Henry.

“For what?”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable by inviting you here.”

Joey wanted to swear, to stomp around the room and tear the place upside down. He’d fucked up. He knew he’d fucked up, his damn anxiety keeping him from being the person he wanted to be, the person he knew he could be if his head just shut up! He didn’t do any of that though. Instead, he slumped back down to lean against Henry and took a deep breath.

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable.”

“I didn’t?”

“No. I’m just- it’s hard for me, being somewhere new,” not a lie, not entirely the truth, “and I didn’t want to encroach on your space. This is your home, and I- umm- I didn’t want to get in the way.”

Henry laughed, running a hand through his hair, pushing the curls back off his face, and Joey was entranced for a moment, wanting to reach out and feel the soft hair between his fingers for himself. It was a miracle that he managed to keep his hands in his own lap.

“Joey, this is our home, for now at least,” Henry said with such conviction and warmth that Joey made a sort of strangled noise in the back of his throat.

“Our home?”

“We have no idea how long this nightmare is going to last. It could be months, Joey. I want you to feel like you can relax here,” Henry insisted, wrapping his arm around Joey’s shoulder and pulling him into a sideways hug.

“Right- yeah, no, I know,” Joey mumbled, trying and failing not to blush.

Now that Henry wasn’t really having to watch what he ate and stay dehydrated for dear old Geralt, he was big.

And Joey was weak.

It was like all his wet dreams were becoming a reality, one by one.

He was just monkey-braining over the fact that Henry was one big, large, strong man that wanted to take care of him. It was pathetic. Joey wasn’t exactly small himself, and he could, should the role require it, hold up pretty well in a sword fight with Henry and not look entirely ridiculous.

“And I know Kal is very cute,” Henry teased, nodding to the dog who was sprawled on the carpet in front of them, “but if you ever need a hug, he’s not your only option.”

Joey definitely didn’t squeak this time. Instead, he finally let himself snuggle up to Henry the way he’d been wanting to all evening, every evening since he’d arrived. “Like this?” he teased.

Henry chuckled, and just squeezed his arms tighter around Joey, “Exactly.”

“I’m sorry,” Joey mumbled. “I was being an arse.”

“No, it’s not your fault.”

Joey scoffed.

“I should have been clearer on day one,” Henry sighed, “although seeing as you live here now, maybe you should cook?”

Joey laughed nervously, burying his face into Henry’s jumper. “Neither of us want that,” he muttered. “Trust me.”

“I’ll help?” Henry suggested, which of course brought forth a dozen images of cooking together, dancing in the kitchen to whatever songs fell past Joey’s lips, lazy early morning kisses as they waited for the coffee.

He swallowed, blinking away the fantasies. “How about you cook, and I’ll help?”

“Lazy,” Henry said with a chuckle but just pulled Joey closer.

“Only trying to keep you safe, darling.”

Darling.

Fuck.

“I mean, Henry, sorry, slip of the tongue. I mean- fuck. I call Madeleine darling all the time?”

“Joey, it's okay,” Henry reassured him.

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

With a sigh, Joey untangled himself from Henry’s arms and gathered up the pizza boxes and empty beer cans. Booping Kal on the nose as he went past, he busied himself with clearing up. It wasn’t much and didn’t take long, so sooner than he would have liked he poked his head back around the door.

Henry was sitting on the floor, rough-housing Kal, chuckling as the dog kept licking at his face. The sight made Joey smile softly, and he almost didn’t want to leave, but he was getting tired and he really didn’t want to slip up again. He couldn’t blame every mistake on Madeleine. It wouldn’t be fair to her.

“I’m going to bed,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his hair. “See you tomorrow, Henry.”

_______

After that, things started to get easier. Joey would flop down onto the sofa next to Henry in the evenings regardless of what they were doing. Sometimes he’d lie with his head in Henry’s lap whilst they both read a book, other times he’d pluck at his guitar and laugh over stupid limericks that he could make up about his co-star. True to his word, Henry made Joey start helping with mealtimes, although he soon regretted that decision but refused to back down. The food still tasted good but the presentation was lacking. They spent an afternoon trying to bake bread together… Joey’s did not turn out so well and Henry’s attempt was thankfully less than perfect but still edible. The little flaws made Joey feel a little less inferior, and made Henry seem all the more human.

Kal still got a lot of Joey’s attention. How could he not? He was just so fluffy and adorable, plus Joey loved the little pout that Henry did whenever Kal got more hugs than he did. Joey could pretend that his friend was jealous, and that just helped him sleep a little easier at night.

Cuddling on the couch had become their usual routine, and it settled something deep inside of Joey that had been becoming restless. Mornings were spent watching Henry workout. Joey joined in occasionally but usually he would just cheer Henry on from the sidelines sipping his cup of tea. It was a sight to behold, and Joey thanked the lord that the gyms were currently closed otherwise he would never have been allowed to enjoy the view.

Henry’s arse was truly spectacular.

Despite his morning workouts, Henry had definitely gained a rather lovely layer of fat over his previously tightly toned muscles. He looked stronger. He looked cuddlier. Joey’s crush was only getting worse by the day, wanting to run his hands over the broad muscles of Henry’s back, thighs, arms… wherever he was allowed, but he just settled for the cuddling each day.

Joey tried not to think about the fat building over his own stomach and filling out his cheeks, barely noticeable unless you’d had a lifetime of his mother breathing down his neck about his weight. He was cuddlier too, that’s what he told himself whenever the familiar buzz of anxiety started to build up.

And anyway, Henry didn’t seem to mind.

Kal certainly didn’t. The beast of a dog had started to share the sofa with them in the evenings, squishing between them for maximum cuddle potential until eventually he got bored and retreated back to the floor.

It was really starting to feel like home. There were signs of Joey around the house, sheet music left on the TV cabinet, a set of spare lute strings in the kitchen, the bastard instrument tucked away in the corner of the living room until Joey could bring himself to pick it up. Two sets of keys now hung up by the front door so they could both take turns walking Kal without having to worry about getting locked out if the other was busy. A fluffy worn blanket was now strewn over the big armchair where Joey liked to sit during the day. Even the fridge now stocked Joey’s favourite rosé wine.

All in all, Joey wasn’t hating lockdown. It was frustrating but he enjoyed being inside anyway, and well, the company was pretty great.

The two of them were curled up on the sofa watching the Great British Bake Off on netflix, gin and tonics flowing a little too freely, and Joey felt like he was on top of the world. He had the best cuddler in all of England, nay, the world, a big fluffy puppy to boot and some bloody brilliant booze in hand.

The best thing was that Henry’s hoody had shifted up at some point during the evening, and Joey couldn’t take his eyes off the soft but defined muscles that were often hidden under Henry’s clothes. The dark hair that dipped beneath the exposed band of Henry’s boxers was tantalizing, and Joey longed to reach out and touch…

Only he was drunk enough that his inside thoughts had his hand moving before he could realise, landing on Henry’s stomach.

He froze and stared up at his friend with wide eyes.

“Oops,” he slurred.

“That’s my stomach,” Henry pointed out.

And still Joey didn’t remove his hand, relishing the bare skin beneath his fingertips, but he knew he needed an excuse, so he did the only logical thing and launched his attack. Henry was stronger than him, but Joey had the element of surprise as he tickled his friend, fingers dancing across the exposed skin as Henry desperately tried to shove Joey away. They were both laughing, too busy pushing and pulling at each other, that neither of them quite registered that at some point in the tussle, Joey had straddled Henry’s waist in an attempt to keep him pinned down.

Until suddenly their lips were barely a breath apart.

Oh.

“Hi,” Joey mumbled, smiling coyly down at Henry, the longer strands of his fringe falling into his eyes.

“Hi.”

It wouldn’t take much to lean down and kiss him, maybe Henry would even reach up first. There was no denying the sudden pull between them, and god, Joey wanted it. He’d wanted it for so long now.

So close.

The warmth of Henry’s breath brushing against his lips.

Eyes closed.

Hearts racing.

A soft whisper of a moan.

And then a bark rang out in the room, startling Joey and shattering the moment. He cursed as he fell to the floor, the world spinning from the gin and giddy burst of adrenaline. Kal jumped up into Henry’s lap, barking and whining excitedly at his owner, checking that he was okay following Joey’s tyrannical tickle attack.

Joey felt like an ice bucket had been dumped over his head, feeling far too sober, far too fast.

He’d almost kissed Henry.

He’d almost kissed Henry.

Fuck!

“Right,” he slurred as he pushed his hands back through his hair- too long, needed a haircut. “Bedtime, sleep. Yup.”

“Joey?”

“See you in the morning?” he mumbled, although glancing at the clock, he wondered if that was a little optimistic. “Tomorrow,” he amended.

“Tomorrow,” Henry agreed, looking a little disappointed.

Joey refused to think about it. He wouldn’t start to hope. It would hurt too much if this all went wrong.

______

They didn’t talk about it.

Or rather, Joey, didn’t talk about it.

Henry tried to bring it up the next morning but Joey just laughed it off before his heart could get torn to pieces. He didn’t need confirmation that his crush was a no go. He already knew, but he really didn’t need to hear the words. Not to mention his hangover was an utter bitch and all he wanted to do was crawl back into bed and feel sorry for himself, which is exactly what he did.

After a few days, or was it weeks, months, years? Time seemed to stop existing, all Joey knew was his clothes seemed to be tighter than before and he was in desperate need of a haircut, but after a lockdown-eque period of time, all was forgotten. They fell back into their usual routine, and Joey’s crush continued to simmer just below the surface, unnoticed by Henry.

He’d started to facetime Madeleine most evenings just before bed now that the novelty of living with a bloody filmstar had worn off. He missed her terribly and she seemed to be going crazy at her parent’s house. There was a twinge of guilt stabbing in his chest when he realised he’d all but forgotten about her the first few weeks of lockdown, but it was nice to catch up with her again.

Henry was brilliant, but he was no Madeleine Hyland. He wasn’t Joey’s best friend.

And sometimes Joey just needed to vent about Henry’s stranger habits. Like seriously, why wass there that weird sponsored water just stationed around the house? And what was with the weirdly staged selfies on instagram. It made Joey feel a whole lot better about his own lack of media presence. He’d rather be a mystery online than this boomer energy than Henry had going on.

Venting to Madeleine helped too, he got less frustrated about the shit hole that was life during a pandemic. A little less angry, a little less depressed, and a little less pathetic with his pining over Henry, although Madeleine would probably disagree.

She was probably right.

The sudden cold turn in the weather hadn’t helped. It wasn’t too bad but Joey had mostly brought summer clothes with him because he honestly hadn’t thought he’d be staying more than a couple of weeks. Thankfully he’d thrown in a couple of onesies for comfort reasons so he spent most his days dressed like a tiger and hoping that Henry would find it endearing. The best part was his onesies were a bit looser and fit him more comfortably than his normal clothes. A lockdown diet was brilliant, but not exactly what he’d had in mind when he’d gone shopping all those years ago.

What he hadn’t expected, was for Henry to rock up to dinner wearing the stupid bunny onesie that Joey had left in his room.

“There,” Henry greeted him with a broad smile, “Now we match.”

It wasn’t fair. Joey wanted to kiss him so badly. The white onesie was a little short on Henry, pulling up just above his ankles, and it still managed to stretch at his shoulders, but it was so fucking adorable and Joey could pin point the exact moment his crush tumbled over the edge into love.

It was the crinkles at the corner of Henry’s eyes as he smiled, the slight tilt of his head, the sparkle in his ocean blue eyes.

Except they weren’t just blue. No, there were specks of golden brown in one eye, that were just captivating. Joey felt like he could so easily get lost in Henry. Every time he looked at the man he found something new and exciting.

“Darling, you look adorable!” he cooed, before he could get too distracted by the fluttering of his own heart. “Very cuddly.”

Henry chuckled and opened his arms wide, allowing Joey to barrel into them. “That was the idea.”

“So, what’s for dinner?” he asked, hoping that Henry would have forgotten that-

“It’s your turn to cook.”

“Bugger,” Joey whined. “Cheesy pasta?”

“You made that last time,” Henry teased.

“I’m very good at carbonara!” Joey countered.

“Melted cheese on pasta isn’t carbonara.”

Joey scoffed. “Eh, close enough.”

“Fine, make your cheesy pasta.”

“Carbonara,” Joey said with a wink. “I’ll add bacon this time.”

The pasta was overcooked and the bacon was a little chewy, but it was dinner, and afterwards Henry made them both extravagant hot chocolates made from actual chocolate rather than powder shit that Joey used. It was covered in whipped cream and marshmallows and had a healthy amount of Baileys to top it off. They curled up on their usual spot on the sofa, buried under blankets and held the warm mugs close to their chests.

If it had been snowing, then Joey would have thought he’d walked into a Christmas film, all it needed was a fireplace and some fairy lights. It was cosy and warm, and a little bit romantic, or it would be if Henry was interested in men and Joey was his type.

No, he couldn’t think like that.

They were friends, good friends, good friends that liked to cuddle and almost kiss if the dog hadn’t interrupted.

It was fine.

Everything was fine.

He took a long gulp of his hot chocolate to stave off his anxiety, not noticing when his nose dived straight into the whipped cream until he looked up to find Henry staring at him with a fond expression. Warmth flooded through Joey’s chest as he returned the smile, feeling high on love and sugar.

“Hi,” he breathed, sounding as love sick as he felt.

Henry’s smile brightened, filling the whole room with light and Joey could have sworn he could hear the swell of violins in the soundtrack of his life.

“Hi,” Henry replied easily as if he hadn’t stolen Joey’s breath, heart and soul. “You- umm, cream, here!”

Henry tapped his own nose.

“Oh cock!” Joey hurried to wipe his nose, almost spilling his hot chocolate in the process, “Fuck! Bugger, shit balls!”

Henry, the bastard, just laughed, his arms reaching out to steady the mug and stop Joey from falling to the ground. “I think you made it worse.”

Joey snorted “I got that, yup, thanks.”

This time he could feel the sticky sweet cream clinging to his cheek, the subtle taste of vanilla on his lips. He pouted up at Henry, gazing through his eyelashes in a way that he hoped could be played off as friendly, but also maybe a little bit seductive. His tongue flicked out to lick his lips and he barely resisted the urge to wink.

Maybe there had been more Bailey’s in his drink than he realised.

Instead, he just wiped his face and snuggled back up to Henry, pulling the blanket up to his chin. They settled on watching Always Sunny, so Joey didn’t really have to concentrate. He let the tension drain from his body as he listened to the familiar TV show and then closed his eyes. Warm, happy and wrapped up in the arms of the man he loved-

Joey fell asleep.

He didn’t notice the way Henry was staring down at him as if he hung the fucking moon and stars, or the inner turmoil his friend was plague with as Henry resisted leaning down to kiss Joey in his sleep.

No, Joey was blissfully ignorant, sleeping better than he had in weeks.

________

The rest of lockdown went by in a blur. Their routine started to seem normal and any doubts Joey had about spending so much time with Henry faded away. They bantered easily like they had on set, laughing and giggling over whatever stupid thing one of them had said. Henry would spend hours playing his video games whilst Joey zoomed Madeleine to work on their new album together. When the regulations relaxed they started to walk Kal together, enjoying the quiet summer days and fresh air. The cuddling never really stopped, and some mornings Joey would wake up still curled up against Henry’s chest, their limbs tangled from the night before.

Those were Joey’s favourite mornings. He’d be stiff all day from sleeping on the couch but he could pretend, for just a few moments, that things were more than they were.

The pining never went away but it was truly the sweetest torture that he’d ever had to endure. The domestic bliss being barely a step away from everything he craved.

And when the time came for Joey to return to his flat with Madeleine, he felt like shit. He didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay in the strange fantasy world he had with Henry, eating too much food and drinking too much wine, cuddling and watching crappy Netflix shows.

Which was why he was sat, staring at a messy pile of clothes on his bed, clothes he’d not worn in weeks. Over the chair were his onesies and a collection of jumpers and hoodies that he’d stolen from Henry over the last few months and weeks. Kal stared up at him from the floor, tail thumping against the carpet.

Joey sighed and ran his hand through his hair, trying desperately to ignore the ache in his chest that was growing more painful with everything second that passed. “I don’t know, Kal. I should be happy about going home.”

Kal didn’t respond, his tail still wagging away just like it always did whenever Joey paid attention to him.

“I miss Madeleine, of course I do, but living with Henry has been great. And you, I love you, big fluffy puppy!” He cooed with a big smile as Kal barked happily and jumped up onto the bed. Joey laughed as he tried to keep his face away from the attack, wrapping his arms around Kal’s neck and pressing his nose into the fur.

“If I tell him how I feel that’s just going to make season two really really awkward, but I just feel like I’m missing a chance, you know?”

If Kal knew, he either didn’t care or just enjoyed watching Joey suffer. There was no reply and Kal just rested his head in Joey’s lap.

“Yeah, right,” he muttered, still running his fingers through Kal’s fur. “You’re no use.”

Kal snorted at that and Joey rolled his eyes.

“But I love you anyway, yes I do!”

“Ready to go?” Henry asked from the door.

“Shit!” Joey yelped. “How long have you been standing there?!”

Henry chuckled, striding into the room and perching on the bed opposite Joey. He reached out to scratch Kal on the head with a dazzling smile. Joey felt his cheeks warm up and he buried his face in Kal’s fur to hide the blush. So many months and he still couldn’t stop his heart from racing whenever Henry smiled. He was pathetic.

And he was running out of time.

He knew it was a bad idea, even entertaining the thought of dating a co-star, but he’d regret it if he didn’t give it a shot. I mean he could always blame the mixed signals if it went wrong. They’d nearly kissed twice and Joey didn’t even cuddle Madeleine as much as he’d cuddled Henry. They were probably the only people that were less touch-starved during the lockdown than before.

So Joey was going to tell him.

Just three words.

He could do that.

Fuck!

He couldn’t do that.

“Joey?” Henry said, reaching out to squeeze Joey’s shoulder.

Joey blinked. Had Henry been talking to him? He’d asked a question so that would make sense. God, his anxiety had gone through the roof, it was like that first day all over again.

“Need to pack,” he mumbled, gesturing at his clothes.

Henry let out a long and heavy sigh, sounding just as thrilled about the idea as Joey did. “I suppose you do, yeah. When is Madeleine due over?”

Joey hummed, glancing at his watch. “Ten minutes ago. Lockdown traffic must be a thing of the past.”

“Pity.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Henry sighed.

Neither of them moved, both staring glumly at Kal who was happily nestled between them. It was strange but Joey had almost begun to think of Kal as his, theirs. Their home, their life, their dog. He would miss Kal very much.

He would miss Henry even more.

“Do you have a start date yet?” Joey asked, the restrictions were lifting and there were talks about getting back to work again, but it was all up in the air.

Henry shook his head. “Should be getting a call from my agent some time this week. I need to make sure my other projects can work around the schedule.”

Joey smirked, “Or my dear witcher will have a new face next time we meet,” he teased.

Henry scoffed. “Not a chance, you’re stuck with me, bard.”

“You still owe me an apology,” Joey shot back, not quite realising how close they’d gotten during their mock argument.

He swallowed and licked his lips, one hand reaching up to scratch the stubble on his cheek. His face was burning right up to the tips of his ears, his heart thumping in his chest. There was a spark of electricity crackling between them, the scent of coffee lingering on Henry’s breath.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Henry promised, voice hoarse and low, making heat spread through Joey’s body and the world around them seemed to disappear.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Henry breathed, the words shaky.

Joey longed to reach out and brush his fingertips along the strong line of Henry’s jaw, to feel the scratch of stubble beneath his skin. He longed to tangle his hands in the dark mess of curls, to see if they were really as soft as they looked. It felt as if there was a magnetic force pulling them closer, a string tying their souls together, binding them as one. Joey couldn’t ignore even if he wanted to, and he was over that. He couldn’t live inside his head any longer, not when there was a chance.

Hope.

Deadly, poisoning his very soul, until he could think of nothing except Henry’s lips on his, hands roaming bodies, pulling at hair, unable to resist the promised pleasures of sin. Tongues tangling. Hearts singing. One breath shared between two. Heat. Lust. Love.

Just Henry.

His love.

Joey closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against Henry’s, their lips barely ghosting over each other, you really couldn’t call it a kiss; not yet. One more breath, a millimetre to close the gap.

A horn honked from outside and they pulled apart before they could cross the bridge, past the point of no return.

Joey let out a slightly manic laugh and ran his hands through his hair, whilst Henry went back to stroking Kal as he cleared his throat.

“Bollocks, I still haven’t packed.”

“I’ll invite Madeleine in for some tea,” Henry chuckled, stretching as he stood up.

Kal barked happily and jumped down, wagging his tail as he sniffed at Henry’s socks.

And Joey was left alone once more.

“Fuck!” he groaned, covering his face as he flopped back onto his pillows.

By the time he finished packing, Madeleine and Henry were laughing away in the kitchen like old friends.

Like Joey and Henry had so many times.

He wasn’t special. Henry was just that guy.

Hope.

Dangerous and lethal, stabbing into the heart and tearing the soul apart.

“Ready,” Joey mumbled, holding up his suitcase and guitar. “Might take a couple of trips, I have another bag upstairs and the damn lute.”

“Not sure I ever heard you play the lute?” Henry teased.

“Yeah well,” Joey grumbled and turned away from the kitchen before he could start crying.

He really really didn’t want to cry in front of Henry. What was a little heartbreak between friends? At least he could channel that into Jaskier whenever they finally got back onto set. God, he was a fucking mess.

“I’ll help you,” Henry volunteered because of course he would. He probably just wanted Joey gone sooner.

The poor bloke probably couldn’t wait to have his own space back without Joey’s inedible attempts at cooking, non-stop music and chatter, lazy slobbish evenings in front of the TV.

He wasn’t going to cry.

He wasn’t.

Fuck!

Joey sniffed and stumbled out the door, his hands gripping his suitcase so tight he thought he might break the handle. Back home with Madeleine, to his life, and his bed, and nights spent drinking too much wine and lurking on social media.

He’d just about managed to throw his suitcase into the boot when he heard a loud bark behind him, followed by Henry grunting. Joey was almost knocked off his feet as Kal bundled into him, circling around as he jumped up, winding the lead around Joey’s body and pulling a poor Henry with him.

Not that Joey was particularly complaining about having Henry pressed up against him, but did it have to be when he was crying?

Henry cursed, struggling to keep hold of the lead. Their faces were close and they had to wrap their arms around each other to keep steady. Joey laughed through his tears, reminded of a similar moment from one of his favourite Disney films.

Only Kal was a lot bigger than a Dalmatian.

“I don’t think he wants you to leave?” Henry said, smiling sheepishly.

Joey smiled back despite his broken heart. “Doesn’t look like it.”

“I- I don’t want you to leave either,” Henry whispered so quietly that Joey wasn’t sure whether he’d heard it at all. “I- umm, I like having you here… with me.”

“Oh,” Joey replied stupidly.

“Fuck, I- Joey… Can- can I kiss you?”

The world turned upside down. Joey's heart stopped and everything started to spin. He tried to process the words but nothing seemed to make sense. There was no fucking way that Henry had said that, that he wanted to- wanted to…

Fuck!

“Oh,” he repeated, blinking at Henry as he licked his lips. “I mean. Fuck. No, I mean… Christ. Yes. Please. Yes.”

Henry chuckled and cupped his cheek, pressing their lips together in the most tender of kisses, taking Joey’s breath away right there on the pavement. Joey just giggled when they parted and then swooped back in for another kiss, and another-

And he never wanted to stop.

He didn’t need to breathe, he just needed this; Henry’s lips on his.

Henry had other ideas though, pulling away with a blinding smile.

“Stay with me?”

Joey nodded and threw his arms around Henry’s neck. “God, yes.”

And then they kissed some more. They had months of lockdown to catch up on, after all.

[drowninginblox]

Define Dark

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

With a shrug and a smile, I take Mark’s hand. It must be surprising for him, to go out with someone with more confidence than he has. At least I assume so. His face gives it all away. “I try not to get my hopes up with romance, but I'm a sucker for love stories.” He glances between me and his hand. “Well, that's a shame.” He mumbles, a small smile ghosting his face as he stares at our hands. For a moment we stay like that, taking it to admire each other’s company. Hesitantly, I rub a thumb over his knuckles, making him look back up at me. “You don’t need to worry about me.” He fades slightly. “What?” I lead him into the movie. “I got you, for now, I mean. Now- let's watch this! It’s been so long since I’ve seen a cheesy romance flic.” He exhales slightly, a smile in his tone. “Y’know, I always thought you to be a patron of the arts, like myself.” I roll my eyes, a grin growing on my face. “Oh really,”

“And- I’ve always respected that about you.” I dare take a glance at him; I’d never thought smiling into popcorn was something that could be considered cute. Huh. This guy is something else.  “I'm so glad you asked me out on this date.” He continues, looking up at me. I cock my head slightly “Or was it me who asked you? Ah- never know.”

Did he just- “Anyway, this play is astonishing! It is, undeniably, the greatest play that has ever existed. In the history of theatre!” Once again, I roll my eyes, but the smile refuses to leave. He’s back- that kid in the candy store. “And you’re going to love it! I know it!” He slightly bounces as we get closer to the seats. Popcorn falls out of his bag as the excitement grows more and more prevalent. But he doesn't seem to notice as the empty stage captures his attention. “Oh, is that so?” I tease. He breaks his longing gaze with the stage to back at me, coughing off the excitement as if it didn't happen. “What do you mean? It’s the best play ever! Trust me. C’mon, take a seat.” It was his turn to take my hand it seemed. With the theatre all to ourselves, we take some seats in the front row. In hushed tones, we poke at each other before the play begins.

When we left, let's just say we were crying for different reasons. “That was magical! Inexplicably good!” I nod along “My words exactly.” I breathe in between suppressed laughter. “Truly a unique experience. One that everyone should part take in.” 

“Exactly!” He cries in between sniffles. “Are you okay?” He nods, pulling a handkerchief from one of his pockets. “I'm sorry, I may need a minute- the beauty of the love between two people-! I- I just need a minute!” Whipping away his tears gives me more than enough time to wheeze from the experience of that work of art. Truly a 10/10 masterpiece. Eventually, Mark recovers from the overwhelming emotion of that experience, straightening up as we start to leave. But... there’s something missing. I don’t know why but something seems off. Looking back and around us, my gaze eventually locks with the other poster. The Dark Mark 

Why is that so on brand? 

 Mark continues as he is, but he eventually notices my attention not being on him. “Um, Y/n? Are you okay?” I look back at him before turning to the poster again. “Oh, wait-the other play! Do you winna see it?”  I blink. Was I just staring this whole time? “Are you sure? I don’t want to be a bother.” He walks back to me, taking his place at my side. “I mean, it’s up to you. It plays right after this one.” He says, motioning to Love Too Soon’s cheesy mess of advertising. “I mean there’s still time. Or we could keep moving on with the date. It’s really whatever you want.”

Looking over at him, I take his hand. “You really don’t mind?” He exhales with a smile. “Y/n, life is for the living. Why not live it?” Whatever doubt I had fades. This man is going to be the death of me. 

“Well, c’mon then!” I exclaim. Mark opens the door with an always encouraging;” Let’s give it a try.” We walk through to an almost identical theatre. The seats are empty just like in the last play. What a shame. “Good luck.” one of the staff calls just as the door closes. Almost on cue, we glance at each other. 

Silence takes over. 

For some reason, even though the environment is the same, it feels so different. Almost like comparing a black and white photo to a colored one. “I’ve actually never seen this play before,” Mark says to try to shrug off the tension. “I don’t even know who made it. So, it could be a fun adventure! I certainly love new plays, new theaters, and new artists. Yknow,” This guy… does seem to ramble… quite a bit. It's good that we saw another play. Another opportunity for silence. This time I can savor it. The seats are comfortable here too. Maybe after this, I can get some food. More food than whatever we had to eat before this and what pieces of popcorn Mark spare me. 

Lights dim, Mark quiets, and the stage is… empty. Why is the stage empty? “Mark are you sure we’re in the right theatre?” I turn to where he sits only to see nothing. Well. “This isn’t funny Mark! I get that oblivious himbo is a good look on you but just because spooky scary is what I picked, doesn't mean that you should match!” I call as the room grows darker. And farther. 

And is... Multiplied? What even is this?! “Mark!” This time I shout but to no avail. “Mark-! I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t consent to it!” I find myself backing up from the sight I'm witnessing. Surely this is a dream, right?

“Don’t doubt your instincts… You wouldn’t have gotten this far without them.” Naturally, I turn to face the voice. “Whoever is there, I got MACE and I’m not afraid to use it!” A lie, but my purse holds many secrets. Some of them I don’t even know. A dark chuckle succumbs the space. Quickly, vibrant colors flash before a man takes center stage. “Did you miss me?” The man questions, leaning in with an intensity I didn’t know was possible. His form twitches and flicks in and out of his own body with variations of different colors. His voice diverts and merges with itself almost as if every sentence was a debate to get out. He looks, sounds, and acts as the opposite of Mark. But something like that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. And… we’ve met before. Right? Maybe in another life. At another time. 

But if that's the case, he certainly must know that I don’t remember that now. Right? “I missed you very much.” He confesses with little to no emotion. I stand corrected.

Standing up straighter, I let him move closer to me. It gets to the point where he is just inches away from my face. I can almost smell his breath. Good thing he brushes. God Damien had the worst morning breath in college. With all the partying we did and the classes we worked our asses in, it’s a surprise we weren't arrested for public indecency. Wait-back up. Damien? Is that his name? Where the hell did that thought come from? My eyes narrow inadvertently at the thought “Do I know you…?” I mumble. The man’s eyes widen slightly but he doesn’t show any signs of relenting. “Do you remember?” I look up and down at him as he takes a moment. Haze and flashes cloud my mind as I reach back into my memory. “I know I’ve seen- or at least heard you before. I wish I can say where or when. But I can say I have.” He slowly encircles me. I keep my eyes on him as he ponders me as prey. His eyes stay on my feet though. Maybe he thinks I’ll make a break for it. “Can I make a guess?” I ask. He glances, growling slightly before waving a hand at me I take it as an invitation. This man doesn’t seem to have the patience for me. “Were we friends in college?” The man turns back to me quickly, eyes widening at my assumption. “I’ve been waiting a long time to see you again.” 

He takes a step towards me, getting back to the up close and personal conversation we were reveling in. “I’ve been pushed aside- replaced. Mocked.” With each word, he leans in closer. I do what I can to not show how intimidated I am. It’s men like this one that commands respect. But respect is earned, not given. “And then he had the gull to not invite me to his little adventure with you.” He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as he lingers on the thought. “No more. Never again.” Even though I had no idea what he was talking about, there is a tug that keeps me from running away from this situation. Properly anchoring me with him. 

This isn’t the worst thing ever though. Certainly, there are worse scenarios. I could be glancing at someone with a less handsome and/or beautiful face. The whining is a turn off though. I don’t care how good he looks in that suit. There is only so much I can put up with. It’s honestly astounding that I’ve put up with Mark for this long too. Wait- where is Mark anyway? Did this guy kill him? “I’ve been waiting patiently! He promised he would let me in again!” Who’s he? Is “he” Mark? That would explain a lot actually… 

I exhale in the middle of one of Damien's short pauses. If this guy is the Damien that I remember. Regardless of how much he’s changed since our college days; unless something truly traumatic happened at the time we last met, there must be a glimmer of the man I once knew. No- of the friend I once knew. 

Realizing his rambling, he adjusts his suit and tie. The flicks in his demeanor and aura resemble that of an out a TV in-between channels. Or when it’s on standby. Whenever they are prominent, his movement becomes more sporadic. Resulting in this disheveled state. He wears it well though. He regains his posture after tiding himself. Concluding with “I'm tired of giving people a choice.” 

My eyes meet his now. It looks as though he was going to end, but he picks up where he leaves with an over-dramatic exhale. “... But I suppose I could give you one last option.” Well, that's a 180. 

I continue to stare. Even though I am unknowing of what he’s playing at, at least I can make him feel uncomfortable in the moments he has me where he wants me. “Take your pick!” He spats. Around him, static traced windows open. Four of them. I glance at each of them for maybe half a second. None of them interests me as much as he is right now.” Anything of four different choices! Far more than he has ever given you!” He sneers. 

God, what happened to him? “So, take your pick- show me what you really got.” I look around us. This darkness, was it all him? “Let’s see how far down this rabbit hole really goes.” Does he even know who he is anymore? “Maybe we can have a good date after all.” He waves a hand dismissively. There is so much I don’t know. No doubt there is so much he doesn’t know either. Maybe he knows more. Far more than I ever will!  My eyes meet his again. He is composed. Serious. Cold.

I blink. 

My eyes meet his again, He is composed, serious, cold.

I shut my eyes and turn away for a moment. “Damien, is that you?” There is a moment when I contemplate repeating myself but the clicking of most likely polished shoes fills the gap. There are no words when he meets me. Not a sound when he lifts my face. I open my eyes to see his. Blue and red outlines of his form fight for dominance as he stares. What he is looking for... I most likely will never know. But, eventually, his gaze breaks from mine and into the darkness that surrounds us. A sweep follows. His gaze ends on me. And in not even a second later, he is a foot away from where he once was; the choices surrounding him.

[prime-pulse]

Cole 🥺

Cole... My sweet summer child... He is literally the rock of the team. Zane is the glue that holds everyone together but he keeps everyone in place with a big strong bear hug. He is simply a creature and he cannot change this....

- Cole is the only person on the team with GENUINE charisma; being a theatre kid will do that to you. He knows how to talk to people and make friends in almost any situation (see s4, s9, s13) and is overall just a trustworthy guy. When the team needs to talk to people Cole is the go-to because he’s the only one who won’t freeze up, threaten them, or use awkward vocabulary.

- Cole is the only one without major anxiety and I don’t think I need to prove this one just watch the show. Everyone else will be freaking out (mainly Jay) and he’ll be like Ok OKAY guys. Calm down. Let’s think up a plan. (Though Lloyd is beginning to take after him and do this as well! Call that MIRRORING! Bonding.)

- Cole is the strongest on the team both mentally and physically I think. Cole has had his moments but he’s never truly given up, even when he was a ghost. When he was a ghost he got close to giving up and calling it quits, but he didn’t. Everyone else has had a genuine “I want to give up” moment; but not Cole. He’s had plenty of “I don’t think I can do this. Maybe I should give up.” Moments, but never “I want to give up.” ones. He’s gone through so much with the loss of his mother, literally being dead for a season or two, multiple near death experiences, losing 2 of his friends in one season (s4, temporarily), and yet he’s one of the most optimistic and happy members on the team. Also he can lift a car

- LAVA ARMS? BOULDER HANDS? WHATEVER THEY WERE CALLED? HELLOOOOOOOOOOOO

- Cole is the only Ninja I simp for aside from Nya :| - Despite Cole running away, I do think him and Lou have a good relationship. Before Lily’s death they seemed to be pretty close, and as someone who’s gone through the same thing you definitely get very attached to the parent you have left. They seemed relaxed around each other and openly talked about their problems; Lily being ill, Cole getting in trouble at school, Lily being the Earth Elemental— hell, most of the team didn’t know their parents were elementals, but Cole knew because Lou didn’t try to hide it from him. I don’t know if he or Lily told him, but one of them did, and I appreciate the openness of the family. Though Lou was strict and that’s what caused Cole to run off, they did start to get along better after s1. Lou openly preformed at Ninja related events, and Cole even invited him to preform sometimes. They shared the DotD together. They don’t see eye to eye but they do care about one another DEEPLY!

- People usually assign Zane as the parent of the group but frankly he’s just as much a mess as everyone else. If ANYONE is the parent it’s Cole; he’s always offering optimistic insight and helping the others when they may need it, even when he’s in a bad mood. Though he does sometimes snap, that doesn’t mean his love for them is any less! He tends to treat them all like siblings or family; cooking for them even if he’s not too good, going out of his way to protect them even if it puts him in danger, and always doing the right thing. He’s a role model to the Ninja even if they’re all in the same age-group.

- seriously he just casually lifted a car that one time . A 2 ton vehicle. He could lift an elephant like it was a fucking puppy.

[the-archxr]

Nobody Puts Harrington in a Corner

steve harrington x reader

Summary: What do you do when you want to go see a romance movie but have no one to take you? You haul along your best friend and have an impromptu dance lesson after, of course.

A/N: y’all I fucking love Dirty Dancing so much, it’s not even funny. This fic is honestly just self-indulgent, so enjoy??? Even if you don’t like Dirty Dancing.

Song Inspo: (I’ve Had) Time of My Life - Jennifer Warnes and Bill Medley, Hungry Eyes - Eric Carmen

•••••

“I have a business proposition for you.”

The words come out rushed, ragged and breathless. A strange mix that Steve isn’t particularly familiar with when it’s coming from you. His eyes trail up to your hunched figure, shocked at what he sees.

Your face is a blotchy red, with blown cheeks, and a heaving chest. With complete disregard of your previous statement he speaks up. “Did you run here?”

You shrug, and wipe at your forehead. “Yeah, but that’s besides the point.” Straightening your back, you almost square up Steve as a way of proving your point.

He leans his hip against the countertop with his arms crossed and hair falling haphazardly in his face. “I need to ask you something, Steve. And before you say no, just remember that I’m literally you’re most favourite person on the face of this planet who has saved your ass more times than I can count.”

“Okay..?” He pushes himself off the counter before straightening out the ugly green vest he has to wear. “What is it?”

You smile wildly but force yourself to keep some composure as to not draw Keith’s attention, who has definitely kicked you out of the store before, and wouldn’t hesitate to do it again.

“So...there’s this new movie...”

“Well there’s a lot of new movies, Y/N.” He butts in playfully, which earns a small glare in his direction (which inevitably turns into a smile, but you assume he’s too unobservant to actually notice).

“Anyway,” you exaggerate, wringing your hands together. “I want to see this movie, and no one will go with me...so I’m forcing you to be my...” you hesitate, trying to find the word. However, the one you were trying to avoid slips out. “My date.”

The boys eyes widen almost immediately as he awkwardly falls back a bit. “Your...date? Like a...date date?”

“What? No!” You say quickly, shaking your head. “No, I’m not asking you out, Harrington. I’m saving that for Family Video’s regular attendees.” You gesture to a group of giggling girls who’ve you seen here one to many times, who very obviously come here for the sole purpose that is Steve Harrington. “No, it’s cause it’s a romance movie, and I don’t really wanna’ go alone.”

He frowns and lifts his shoulders in question. “Why not?”

You laugh to yourself, the question sitting awkwardly within your mind. “Because...it’s embarrassing? I mean what would you think if you saw me by myself in that situation?”

He pauses and shrugs. “I guess I’d feel...I don’t know, pity? It’s a tough question.” He mumbles, eliciting a roll of your eyes.

You brush off his remark of it being a “tough question” and clear your throat. “Exactly, Steven. Which is why you are going to accompany me to this movie, so that way I don’t have to deal with the apparent pity.”

It’s silent for a moment. Steve chooses to lean against the counter again, as he mauls over your offer. “I don’t even like romance movies, Y/N.”

You frown and lean in closer to your friend. “I know, but please, Steve.”

You grab his hand and squeeze it, batting your eyelashes at him in the most exaggerated way you know. You don’t like manipulating people (much less your best friend), but for reasons unknown, the poor boy can never really say no to you—and you really need him to say yes.

His gaze make its way from your clasped hands, up your arm and to your face. His chest tightens and his whole body turns rigid as he watches you allow your head to lean ever-so-slightly to the side. Soon,  the tips of his ears grow hot and then -

“Um...excuse me?” Both of your necks snap to the source of the voice. It’s one of the girls from the group earlier, and you can’t help but chuckle, because she looks just as nervous as she sounds. Her eyes are quickly cast on Steve, which causes her to flick her ponytail back with a shaky smile. “My friends and I are trying to look for a certain movie, and we can’t seem to find it. Do you mind helping us?”

You turn to Steve with a smirk. He clears his throat, noticing that the hand that held his a mere few seconds ago rests casually on the counter. You look unbothered by the events that had occurred, which makes Steve’s stomach drop (and not in a good way). He frowns in your direction once more before shaking himself out of it, shooting a smile in the girls direction. “No problem.”

You laugh and stride towards the door. “The movie starts at seven, but you might as well show up thirty minutes early ‘cause you have a little tendency called ‘being late’, Harrington.”

You hold the door open, one side of your body burning with the summer heat that threatens the comfort of everyone, and the other side facing Steve and the air-conditioned store. You wait until he looks back at you, which takes him a few seconds before he’s practically shooing you away. “Yeah, yeah, we’ll see.”

You jump in excitement and wink at the boy. “See you tonight, Stevie!”

“See you tonight,” he mumbles, before turning to the jittery group of girls in the corner.

•••••

“Look who’s the late one!” Steve shouts in your direction. It’s 6:50 (which is even a little late for you) and surprisingly Steve has already arrived. “Ya know I’ve been sitting here for like, fifteen minutes.”

You shut your car door and stride up the cocky boy. “Oh, I am truly sorry, your Highness, but my dear mother was keeping me up.”

He hums, looking you up and down with fake accusation. “...Apology accepted,” he shoots back before standing up and guiding the two of you to concession.

Really, it’s a miracle that the two of you made it on time. And it’s an even bigger miracle that the last two seats in the theatre were directly beside each other; enough space for the two of you, and your obscenely large bucket of popcorn.

Steve leans over to you as the lights dim dramatically. His breath ghosts over the shell of your ear, forcing your attention onto him. “So, uh, what kinda’ movie title is ‘Dirty Dancing’?”

You shake your head at him and push his face towards the screen. “Just watch the movie, Farmer Fred.”

“You and your Sixteen Candles references...” he mutters before you kick his foot with yours in annoyance. “Okay, okay, I’ll be quiet.”

He sighs and leans back in his seat, remaining quiet for the rest of your “date”.

•••••

The movie ends quickly—way too quickly for your liking, and when the lights turn back on you can’t help but frown.

The sound of clapping from the viewers drowns out the sounds of popcorn being squished on the ground and the squeaking of the seats.

Steve is standing up, his shadow casted over you as you try to steady yourself after sitting for so long. He lets you walk past him, hand grazing your lower back as he guides you through the bustling stream of exiting movie-goers.

Soon, the two of you have left the theatre itself and face the stark cold air of the night. “So...” Steve starts, slowly walking you to your car. “What did you th—“

“It was amazing!” You shout, eyes blown with excitement as you hop back and forth. With a breath you let yourself slip into pur amusement after having to control yourself for so long. “I mean the dancing and the plot was incredible! And—and the end was just...just so good! And don’t get me started on Patrick Swayze! Like, oh my god, who does he think he is just looking like that, prancing around without a care in the world?!”

Steve laughs and stops just before your car as you unlock it. “Yeah, honestly it wasn’t that bad. The lift was something else though.” He leans against the door as you put your purse into the passenger's seat. “I mean I can’t imagine doing that! And the amount of times they probably had to do it?! Geez, it’d be hell.”

You shake your head in disbelief. “Oh, come on, it didn’t look that hard.”

Steve’s jaw drops with a shake of his head. “Well it wasn’t hard for Baby, obviously. All she had to do was jump! Johnny was the one who had to hold her up!”

You laugh incredulously at your best friend before a rather treacherous idea pops in your head. You bite your lip, slam the car door shut and look out into the somewhat empty parking lot.

“Well, why don’t we out this theory to the test...?”

Steve’s laughter dies quickly before a squeak of a “what?” slips out of his mouth. You grab his hand and lead him to a rather deserted spot just south of where your cars are parked.

“Let’s try it out! Let’s be Baby and Johnny. Let’s do the lift.” Your tone turns serious which only adds to Steve’s ever-growing nervousness.

“You can’t be serious...” His hands are deep in his pockets as he leans from one foot to the other. Strands of hair in fall in front of his face, and for a moment, in the distant light, he really does look like Johnny.

You can’t help but really notice the oddity of the whole situation. What with Steve looking like a reincarnation of Johnny Castle and you deciding to get somewhat dressed up and wear your favourite sundress—one that is oddly similar to Baby’s. It’s a funny little coincidence that you opt to point out later. But now? The two of you have to do this.

You remove your jacket, leaving it on the ground and shake out your limbs before looking straight at your friend. Steve’s face deepens with his shock. “Oh god, you are serious.”

You laugh and signal at Steve to get ready. Instead he shakes his head. “Y/N, I--I don’t think this is the best idea.”

“Steve, come on! We’re testing out are hypothesis’ as to who had a more difficult time performing the lift.”

He shuffles quickly, and with a groan, throws his jacket off his body. “I swear to god, Y/N.” You here him mumble as he nervously fidgets and bends his knees. He gets into a stance similar to Johnny’s and holds out his hands to you. His whole body is shaking—which in comparison is odd because yours simply feels light.

The cold prickles at your exposed skin, and it sends your senses into overdrive as your eyes lock onto Steve’s.

Kicking off your shoes, you dig your heels into the ground and prepare yourself.

“Oh, and Steve?” His head shoots up to you. “Don’t drop me.”

He stands up straight at that as he loses his concentration. “Oh well that’s a really comforting thing to sa—WAIT!”

You had already started running. Your feet pounding against the gravel as fly-away pebbles poke the soles of your feet; your body gaining momentum with every step.

Steve rushes into the stance, desperately trying to ground himself.

“Steve!” You shout with a laugh as you jump. His hands catch your waist as he extends his legs. It almost works but with Steve’s partially delayed actions, your head barely gets above his before he’s stumbling backward.

He falls first, with you quickly following as his grip pulls you down with him.

You land on his chest, and for a moment the air is filled with shock. Rolling onto the ground beside him, you regain your breath before bursting in laughter.

“Jesus, Y/N!” He shouts, body tingling with nerves.

By now the parking lot is empty, save for the cars of the theatres workers, which means that your laugh echoes to the neighbouring buildings.

Steve pushes a hand through his hair before inhaling deeply. His eyes cast to your figure—still rolling on the ground—and before he has a chance to reprimand you, something hits him.

It’s a sudden feeling. One that pulls the last of his breath out of his lungs and throws it into the night sky. You don’t notice his sudden change in behaviour, and to be frank, he doesn’t even really recognize what he’s feeling other than the fact that he felt this...murmur this morning. Except this time it’s amplified.

He hears pounding in his ears, and as he watches the faint, yellow light from the theatre cast over your face, he feels the pit of his stomach burst open. Butterflies flutter around in his belly and threaten to escape his throat.

The feeling—one that is shocking, but not unwelcome—is indescribable. The boy gets lost in his thoughts as he watches you finally get up off the ground and gather your things.

Steve feels as though he’s watching an old tape. The pictures move slowly, and they’re a little fuzzy, but they elicit warm, nostalgic feelings.

Suddenly your voice rings through his ears, until he recognizes that you’re looking at him a little confused. Steve is snapped out of his trance, his body jumping up to match yours. Your eyes are wide as you stare him up and down. “You get another concussion?”

The joke is familiar, but his laugh is delayed. He simply shakes his head, realizing that this is the first time he’s actually looked at you (and if he’s honest, you’re making him a little nervous). He takes note that even though you look messy--with wild hair everywhere and a breathtaking smile--he can’t help but admire you in your most natural state. However you break the moment (unknowingly) with a shrug. Spinning on your heel to your car, you continue to talk to him as he walks over to the familiar, beat-up BMW. “Anyway, I was saying that for a first time that wasn’t bad. We just need a little practice.”

“The first time?” Steve questions, leaning on the roof of his car. “There’s gonna’ be a second time?”

You shrug with a cheeky smile. “If you want...”

He allows a small smile—a smile he can’t tell if you catch from the distance, but one he hopes you feel. “Yeah. I do.”

You smile back at him, and soon your bidding him goodnight and driving out of the parking lot.

Steve, on the other hand waits. He’s stunned, obviously. So much so that part of him is concerned about this new revelation. But the other part of him, recognizes it. He may be oblivious, but he’s not necessarily stupid.

And how could he be? When he hasn’t felt this way before...and it’s such a strong feeling. If anything, he’s forced to figure it out.

He grins to himself, the sight of you burned into his memory and carved into his heart. It’s the kind of sight that he knows he’ll see behind closed eyes and dazed moments where he can’t help but let his mind wander.

It’s a sight that promises something new.

He can’t wait to tell Robin about this.

•••••

Steve Harrington Taglist:

@wigofokoye @timeladygallifrey @fairlysuitehearts @loulouloueh @bluegreyme @coltonparayyko @readinthegarden12 @hello-therree @gothackedalready @aphrodites-perfume @arielizzlewizzle @fic-cheesecake @bohemiandeakyy @nerd-domland @blueoz @laneygthememequeen @xelaalec @i-justlikewhales @elen-alambil @heykarsyn @yellowhopes @veeshthefrog @justsomeficsilike @cxddlyash @aniya21890 @billyhargrovescigarette @nugturally @daddystevee @asheseiler @enchantedcruelsummer @gwenandtheunfortunatename

[staticscreenwriting]

The loneliest time of the year || Part one

Part 1 of 4

Summary: With a broken heart and the fear of having failed as a father, Frankie returns to his parents house for Christmas. What is supposed to be the most wonderful time of the year feels quite lonely. Though when an old friend shows up unexpectedly with her young son in tow, Frankie’s Christmas seems to gain a little more happiness. Can they help each other fight the ghosts of their pasts and overcome their fears ? A/N: This is part of my 12 days of Christmas / Advent special. Every sunday leading up to Christmas you will get another part. That’s 4 parts in total. Likes, reblogs, comments are all much appreciated. 

[additional note: I am German. Sometimes I get the tense wrong or make mistakes. I am useless when it comes to punctuation. Go easy on me, please.]

Christmas time is the most depressing time of the year. Seriously, you can look that up. There’s a bunch of statistics about it and essays using long fancy words.

It’s a time that makes you so acutely aware of how lonely you actually are. And then you’re left to reflect on all the reasons why and that’s just fucking depressing. 

Frankie maneuvers his car along the streets of his hometown, a light dusting of snow covers the ground and the trees to his left and right have long sharp icicles hanging from their branches like the sharp teeth of an imaginary monster that lives under your bed. 

He passes by the old movie theatre, the 7/11, the diner where he got his first kiss, the red brick building that was once a printing house but has been turned into a Starbucks for some reason, and the public library that he used to volunteer at when he was in high school. There are ghosts in all the windows looking back at him. Ghosts of the boy he used to be and the memories he thought long forgotten.

This wasn’t the plan. He’s not supposed to be here. Or maybe he is. Maybe this is exactly what he deserves. To come crawling back home to mom and dad because the future he had tried so hard to build for himself came crumbling down on him in a matter of moments. And all of it is entirely his own fucking fault. If only he wasn’t such a damn mess.

“I'll have a blue Christmas without you

I'll be so blue just thinking about you.”

“Ah fuck off, Elvis!”

He turns off the radio and is left with just the quiet and his thoughts until the little blue house at the end of a cul-de-sac comes into view. This house has seen many versions of Frankie. Highs and lows. He wonders if he even knows the person he is anymore. 

Across the street sits a park and then another little house, this is one red and the shutters are white and the paint is chipping. It used to sit empty for a while but there’s a car in the driveway and light coming from inside. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he isn’t the only one that changed, maybe the town did a little bit of changing too. 

His mom is a hugger, always has been. Still is. At least that hasn’t changed. She has him wrapped in a warm big hug as soon as he gets out of the car. She smells the same way she did when he was a little boy. Like lavender and fresh cotton and warmth. His mom, Frankie thinks, has the ability to talk faster than anyone else he knows. Even faster than Pope when he’s drunk. She bombards him with information about various distant relatives and has him caught up on the last several years of their lives before his dad even manages to get to the door. 

His dad looks older than the last time Frankie has seen him, but not in a fragile way. Age doesn’t make his dad look sickly or weak, it just makes him look wise. He’s got lines etched into the skin around his lips, from all the laughter and the smiles. Every adventure, every memory, it’s all there in his face and Frankie admires that so much. With every day passing he himself just looks sadder and more worn out. 

“Darling, let him come inside. It’s freezing out here.”

Ever since he was little, Frankie knew that what his parents have was special. There was so much love in the way they talked with each other. It exuded from every word. From every look. They were a package deal. One could simply not be without the other. It’s something he knew most of his family members were envious of. Hell, he himself was envious of it. 

“Hey Pops, good to see you.”

His dad wraps him in a hug as he steps into the warm house. His dad isn’t a hugger, he’s more stoic and calm but that doesn’t make him any less loving. There was never a day in his life, that Frankie ever doubted his father’s love for him. It’s just that he’s not the most physically affectionate guy, and that’s fine. When he does give out hugs, they are the best.

“Did the Murphy’s house get sold then?” Frankie questions, motioning over his shoulder towards the little red house. The couple who lived there, Margaret and Edwin, were lovely. They were the kind of old people that others just adore. Always a smile on their faces, always greeting you with the most infectious of good moods. They were already old when Frankie was a kid, but they were the kind of people you’d expect to live forever. Though death doesn’t care for any of that and eventually it came for them too. The house went to their only son, a man that always intrigued Frankie. Michael was a photographer and always on the road looking for a new adventure. He was his parents' age but there was a youth about him that made him look much younger. He always seemed like more of a friend or older brother to his daughter than a father. 

His daughter. (Y/N) and Frankie weren’t friends. Not really. For that, they didn’t spend nearly enough time with each other. But whenever she would come around and spend the summers at her grandparents' place, Frankie and her would gravitate towards each other. There was an undeniable attraction, a magnetic pull. She always had the most exciting stories and for a teenage boy, there was nothing more exciting than a pretty girl with adventure in her veins.

He hasn’t seen her for a long time though, eventually, she went off to college and he joined the military. She came around less and less and then when first Edwin and then Margaret died, the house stayed quiet and lonely. Last time he saw (Y/N) was when he randomly ran into her at a bar but even that must’ve been at least 10, maybe 12 years ago.

“Oh no. Their son, Michael, do you remember him?”

“Sure.”

“He had a bad accident. Can’t work no more, needs a lot of help. You know what he was like, always on the road never really having a place he called home. Other than this house. So him and his daughter are back here. Do you remember her?“

“ (Y/N), yeah.”

“She’s moved back too. Gave up her entire life to help her father. Poor thing now works at the diner waiting tables for a living all the while taking care of Michael and her young son.”

“She has a kid?”

A sting of pain runs through his heart. Big brown eyes stare up at him in his mind, eyes that look so much like his. Eyes he couldn’t wait to see sparkling from joy on Christmas morning. Eyes he ain’t allowed to look into anytime soon.

“Yes, a little boy. Leo, he’s 7 years old. So well behaved and smart. Such a lovely little boy.”

A warm mug of coffee is thrust into Frankie’s hand as his father guides him to sit down on the big couch in the living room that’s been there ever since he was a kid. 

“We invited them to come around for Christmas Eve dinner which reminds me that I still need to get a present for the boy.”

“Darling, it’s December 5th we still got time.”

Despite his heart laying in shambles by his feet, being around his parents sends a warmth through Frankie. It’s so familiar and comforting to be here. Maybe this isn’t all bad. Maybe this is exactly what he needs. 

On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me: One sweet reunion.

Frankie sits on his old bed in his old room. There are fewer posters there and the wall that used to be painted a dark blue is now a soft peach color. The old dark wood furniture has been replaced by white cupboards and two beds, both white too. An adult-sized bed for him and a toddler bed for Rosie. Little butterfly decals decorate the walls and soft pink curtains hang before the window. This is more Rosie’s room that’s his now, only she isn’t here to see it. 

A knock on the door shakes him from his daydream. Voices echo through the halls and up the stairs. Voices he doesn’t recognize but by the tone in his mother’s words, he can tell they’re friendly faces.

“So we thought maybe we could borrow your car.”

Frankie sees her before she sees him. Had he not knows she was in town, maybe he wouldn’t have recognized her. (Y/N) looks older. Not old. Just more mature. She must be in her 30s now. Grown into her body. A mother.

“Of course dear, Frankie can help you get the tree if you want. We still need one ourselves anyway. Two birds one stone.”

“Frankie is home?” 

(Y/N)’s voice shines with a glimmer of hope. 

“I am.”

A smile spreads on her face, and that one he recognizes so well. It’s equal parts mischievous and warm. Familiar and comforting. Sassy and soft. 

“Oh man, it’s so good to see you. It’s been some time, huh ?”

“Sure has,” he replies and the two of them share a quick hug. She’s cold from the air outside and smells like winter and snow. Her hair is hidden beneath a beanie and her fingers are kept warm by some fluffy blue mittens. She’s adorable. So fucking adorable.

“So, you want help getting your Christmas tree?” Frankie asks as she pulls away, missing the softness she brought.

“Well actually I was just asking to use your dad’s car but since you’re here, would you mind helping out ?”

“ Course not! We need a tree anyway and I’ll have you know, I’m great at finding the best Christmas trees.”

“That so?”

“Sure is.”

Another big smile spreads on (Y/N)’s lips. “Okay cool. Let me know when you’re ready. Leo and I are free all day.”

“That’s right, you have a kid now.”

There’s an infinite sense of pride that washes over her face. He knows the feeling, sees it in his own mother when she talks about him. Feels it in his heart when he thinks of Rosie.

“Frankie has a baby too, little girl.”

His mother means well. Doesn’t matter though, the mention of her still sends a pant of pain through him. Right to his heart and then it spreads slowly but surely to the rest of his body. Like an ice pick melting slowly.

“You do? Oh, I can’t wait to meet her.”

His heart breaks. Shatters. Crumbles. 

“She’s uh — she’s with her mom for Christmas.” And pretty much any other day too.

“Huh, well I guess you’ll just have to tell me all about her then. “ 

He appreciates this. Her not asking but just taking the situation for what it is. Questions ask for answers he can’t give, doesn’t want to give.

“I can do that.”

“Okay great. Let me bother you no longer, just come knock on our door when you’re ready. You know where I live.”

With a wave and a smile, she makes her exit and steps back into the cold. Snow now falling in big white flakes from the skies, like big bubbles of soap. Like star fragments.

“She’s such a nice young woman, I wish life was a bit more gentle on her. “ his mom spoke up from beside Frankie. 

“Yeah. Yeah, me too mom. Me too.”

When he steps out of the house a few hours later, the ground is already covered in a thick coat of fluffy snow. His boots leave deep prints in the pristine white blanket. 

Across the street, he can hear a melody of laughter flowing through the air before two figures jump out from behind the house, wrapped in warm clothes, throwing snowballs at each other.

“Mom you’re cheating!” The young boy, Leo calls out, laughter ringing along with his words.

“No way! Nu-uh.”

“Yu-uh! “

The exchange puts a smile on Frankie’s face. It reminds him of his own childhood. When the world didn’t feel like it was working against him. When it was kind. When things were easy. When he was happy.

Realizing neither of the two has spotted him yet, Frankie squats down and gathers some snow in his glove covered hands. In a swift motion, he pulls his arm back and throws the snow in (Y/N)’s direction hitting her right in between her shoulders. 

“Hey!”

There’s a second where anger and confusion reign over her face and then she realizes it’s Frankie who threw the snowball and it melts into warmth and mischief.

“I’ll get you back for that, dude. “

“That a threat?”

“Nah, it’s a promise.”

The boy regards them with careful curiosity. 

“Leo, come here. This is my friend Frankie.”

To be quite honest, Frankie hadn’t really considered himself a friend of (Y/N) but to hear her introduce him as such felt real nice. He had friends, good friends, brothers even. Pope and the Millers knew him like the knee themselves but this was different. This was home.

“Frankie, this is my son Leo.”

The boy is all (Y/N). Same smile, same eyes. Like a copy and paste.

“Hey, Leo, nice to meet you.”

The boy gives him a shy wave. “Hi.”

“You guys ready to get some Christmas trees?” Frankie asked, looking from (Y/N) to Leo and back to her. The excitement on their faces makes him feel a little giddy. 

Back when he was a kid, buying a tree was one of his favorite things to do during Christmas season. His dad always used to wake him up real early so they could be one of the first people at the Christmas tree sale. They’d stay for hours looking for the perfect tree. Now perfect didn’t mean it had to be actually immaculate. Perfect meant perfect for them. Sometimes they’d decide to find the fastest one or the one with the biggest hole. One time they found one with a bird's nest still inside. 

Those were the good times and Frankie, knowing now how harsh life can be, will never take them for granted.

On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Two perfectly imperfect Christmas trees.

“Too big.”

“Too small.”

“I can literally count the branches on one hand.”

(Y/N), Frankie realizes as they look at what feels like the 12 millionth tree, is very particular when it comes to her Christmas trees. 

“Mom, can we just pick one? They’re all good!” Leo chimes up as his mother dismisses yet another tree for being too skinny.

“I just want it to be perfect. When I was a little girl my dad and I were always traveling and when we’d come to my grandparents for Christmas they’d have this big beautiful tree every year. I want my dad to have that again.”

There’s more there, he can tell. By the way, her voice shakes slightly and the determination and chaos raging in her eyes. Frankie has yet to find out what exactly happened to her dad, what kind of accident he got in. But it’s not really a conversation starter now, is it?

Leo’s eyes meet Frankie's, a clear message traveling between them. A silent understanding. 

“Look (Y/N) how about we let you roam this place in peace until you’ve found the perfect tree and Leo and I go see if we can find one for my parents? “

Leo nods his head in enthusiastic approval. A smile playing on his lips that is so strikingly similar to the one Frankie has seen so many times on the boy's mother.

“You sure?”

“Yeah, two of us are gonna find a perfectly imperfect tree for my folks and you go find the tree of your dreams. Just call if you need us, okay?”

She takes a breath, lets out a sigh. “Okay sounds good. Leo?”

“Sounds good to me too, mom.”

“Okay. Well, you boys have fun then.”

As she rounds the corner in search of the tree straight from a Christmas fairytale, Frankie turns to Leo who regards him with a guarded kindness.

“Thank you. “

“ For what? “ Frankie asks and raises his eyebrow in confusion.

“ For not making fun of my mommy. She’s so worried about grandpa, sometimes she goes a bit crazy.” 

“ Nah she’s not crazy. She just wants to make everyone happy. Why would I make fun of her? Did someone make fun of her? “ 

It sends a flash of anger through him, the idea that someone might ridicule her for caring too much. If anything it’s what makes her so endearing. The world could do with more people like her. People who care. Deeply. 

“ She talked to my daddy on the phone yesterday. I think he made fun of her. She cried. “ 

“ That’s — that’s not nice.” 

Leo shrugs his shoulders in a way that seems casual but weary. As if he’s so used to it. Geez, the kid is 7. This isn’t something he should be used to.

“ Dad is not a nice person. Mama always says he’s busy and that he wants to see me but I don’t think that’s right. I think mama just doesn’t want me to be sad. I think daddy doesn’t really want to see me. Don’t think he loves me. But that’s okay mama loves me so much that’s enough. “

Leo’s words sent small cracks to Frankie’s heart and it’s quite hard not to let it crumble entirely. He’s never known what it feels like to be unloved by those that are meant to love you most. His parents adored him, still do. Even when he doesn’t deserve it. He can’t even begin to understand how much that must hurt. How devastating it must be, especially to a 7-year-old. 

And yet Leo looks so — at peace. Like it bothers him sure, but it’s no big deal really.

Because he is loved either way. By (Y/N).

“ You’re a cool kid, you know that? “ Frankie asks and pats the young boy’s back in a friendly manner.

“ Mom says so. “ 

“ Well, she’s completely right. You really are. Now, you wanna help me find a tree? “ 

Leo nods enthusiastically.

“ Okay cool, but I’ll have to tell you how it works. “ 

“ We don’t just look for one we like?”

“ Oh no, you see the Morales family has a very specific tradition. Each year my dad and I go looking for a special tree. “ 

“ A special one? “ 

“ Mmmh. We always think of something special and then try to find a tree that fits that special thing. One time we tried to find the tallest tree on the lot or the widest or the skinniest. “

“ So what are we looking for this year? “

“ How abouuut … we look for one that has two tops? “ 

A giggle falls from Leo’s lips. “ That’s silly, that’s not a thing. “ 

“ Sure it is. You wanna go look for it? “ 

“ Yeah.”

There are big trees and small ones. Ones in shades of greens and some that look almost blue. There are fat ones with lots of branches and skinny ones that look like they’ve seen better days. None of them have two peaks though — until … 

“ Frankie, look !” 

His small, glove-covered hand is outstretched, pointing towards a tree before him. It’s a big tree, wide too. It’s blueish green color shines through the white haze of the winter's day. 

And true to Leo’s words, the stem of the tree goes halfway up before it diverges into two different branches. Two tops.

“ That one’s perfect! “

“ He’s special! “ 

“ He is special. Good job, kid. “ 

The two share a high 5 as a laugh sounds from behind them.

“ I see you boys are getting along well. “ (Y/N) says as she approaches the two of them, placing a kiss on her son’s head as she reaches him.

“ We found a special tree, mom.”

“ Did you? Well so did I, it’s perfect. “ 

Her eyes wander towards Frankie’s and for a second it’s only the two of them there, veiled in shared understanding, a silent thank you. 

“ I’m glad you found your tree, (Y/N). “ 

“ I’m glad you two had fun. Now hooow about we get those trees home and set up? “ 

“ Can we have hot cocoa at home, momma? “ 

“ Duh. Of course. You can’t decorate a Christmas tree without a good hot cup of cocoa.” 

The softness in her voice, the pure adoration she holds for this boy, it makes Frankie think back to Leo’s words about his father and about (Y/N). About how she loves him enough for the both of them. And he can see it, clear as day. Her love for Leo. 

Those two, he thinks, don’t need anyone. Especially not someone who doesn’t treat them with the love and respect they deserve. Those two are their own warmth, their own little universe. And it’s enough. It’s plenty. Everyone who’s allowed to be a part of their little world should be grateful because it’s a good world. It’s gentle and kind. 

“ Alright you two, let’s get those trees home. “ Frankie pipes up and for a moment he is part of their little universe too. And it’s wonderful. He doesn’t wanna let go of this feeling. How anyone ever could is entirely beyond him.

On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me: Three mugs of cocoa.

Bobby Helms’ voice echoes through the room accompanied by the soothing crack of a vinyl record. It’s an old one, one (Y/N) has found in a box of her grandparent’s stuff. Jingle Bell rock fills the air with a sense of excitement and wonder only a good old Christmas song can bring.

There are 3 cups of cocoa on the table, one of them in a Star Wars mug. It all feels warm and cozy. Homey. And for the first time since he’s back, Frankie doesn’t feel out of place. He doesn’t feel like a stranger watching through the window into someone else's life. Someone familiar. Someone he once knew. Someone he once was.

Right now he feels like he’s right where he’s meant to be. With friends who chose him. A family that lets him into their lives and willingly shares a piece of their kindness and warmth and magic with him. Not because they are bound to him by blood, by shared trauma. Just because they like him, as he is.

(Y/N) and Frankie sit on the old leather couch that’s been there in this same living room for so many years. One that has seen different versions of (Y/N). Some of him too.

In the corner of the room, across from the big window leading out into a snowy dreamland, stands a perfect Christmas tree. (Y/N)’s perfect tree. It’s decked out in lights and ornaments and tinsel. Leo hops around the tree, adding yet more ornaments here and more tinsel there, a big smile on his face the entire time.

And as she watches her son relish in the pure unfiltered joy only a child really knows, (Y/N) smiles too. Because sometimes this is what it means to be happy, seeing your loved ones smiling. 

“ Thank you, Frankie. “ she says, eyes still locked on her son. 

“ For what? “ 

It’s the second time that day that he is being thanked and for what? For being there? Really he hasn’t done much. This is what friends do, isn’t it? What they should do. Help each other out. Be there for one another. 

“ For playing along with my crazy antics. I know it’s just a tree but I just want this Christmas to be — to be good. For me and for Leo and for my dad. We haven’t had the best year and I just want to make this perfect for us. Or as perfect as possible. Thanks for not letting me see how annoying I was back at the tree sale. “

Frankie shakes his head dismissively. “ You weren’t being annoying. I get it, don’t worry. Leo, he uh — he said something similar to me earlier. Said his dad made fun of you? Made you cry. “ 

(Y/N) lets out a scoff, curls her lips in an unamused smirk. “ Derek’s a — “ her eyes trail towards her son who pays the two adults no mind “ — he’s such a dick. Always has been. But he was suave and he had a motorcycle and I just kind of fell for his bad-boy charms. He’s unreliable though and a goddamn child. When I told him about Leo he bailed on us. Sometimes he tries to be a dad, whenever he gets one of his moods and feels like he needs to turn his life around. Those don’t last very long though. He sends birthday gifts and Christmas presents and he calls every once in a while but — well his interest in Leo isn’t all that big. “ 

“ What an asshole. Why’d he make you cry? “ 

“ Ugh, it wasn’t really any particular thing, just an amalgamation of so many. He was making me feel stupid because of the tree thing. He was being dismissive of my feelings. He didn’t want to talk to Leo. It was just his entire mood that day that once again made me realize why I ended things with him in the first place. And it isn’t fair. It really isn’t. That I have to work twice as hard to be a good parent because I have to fill both roles and he gets off scot-free. Not even a guilty conscience. How am I ever gonna be able to play both roles and play them well? How can I do that? I feel like I am failing already. “ 

“ Are you kidding me? “ Frankie says and softly nudges her shoulder with his “ You’re a great mother. You’re fun, you’re loving. What else could Leo want? (Y/N) you are doing an incredible job, trust me. Little mistakes you make that might seem big to you, they really don’t matter to Leo. Not now and especially not in the long run. He’s gonna remember the good times. The snowball fights and the hot cocoa and the tree decorating. Those are the little moments that will become memories. “ 

“ You think so ? “ 

“ I know so. It’s what I remember about my childhood. And it’s uh — it’s what Leo told me. He said that his dad might not be around but that it doesn’t matter because you love him twice as much. Said that’s plenty enough. The boy loves you. You’re a wonderful mom. “

He forbids his mind from going to that dark corner where he’s banished all his own fears. Those that whisper to him in quiet moments. About how his shortcomings, his mistakes, his faults, how all of that will stain his relationship with Rosie. His ability to be a good father. 

Lord knows he wishes his daughter was here now. Maybe not in this exact moment, a toddler really ain’t much help when setting up a tree. But here. In his arms. With him. During Christmas time. He fears that she never will be. That the times he gets to see her will become few and far between. That he will one day only be a distant memory to her because he ain’t ever given the chance to make any good ones with her.

His heart aches from how much he misses his little girl at that moment. But he has to remind himself not to wallow in it. Because once he goes there, lets himself fall into this big black hole of grief and of missing and of fear, there’s no coming back.

So he looks back at the people around him, at their soft smiles and the Christmas lights reflected in their eyes. Shining with happiness. Shining with joy.

And as the snow falls softly outside, he tries to focus on the warmth in this room. The warmth from the fire and from the hearts so soft and so filled with love. 

Because he’d rather get lost in a beautiful dream than the sad reality of his fears.