#is that just colour jitter or is there some trick to it

[astranauticus]

so turns out my newfound appreciation of hue jitter on brushes comes with a newfound need to name my custom brushes because i keep accidentally selecting the versions of brushes i made with hue jitter and then feeling like im losing my mind when the colours just dont come out correctly

[grimae]

I'm so deeply fascinated and joyful about your Book of the Sun drawings, both from an audience standpoint and an artistic one. It's so distinct and wonderful, and there's so much detail and nuance to the texture and the line weight right alongside the intuitive concept of "gold lines on black." It's so great, I feel like I'm browsing an ancient grimoire. Some of my favorite art anywhere, period.

Do you have any tricks or insights you've learned artistically throughout the last 24 pages? You mention loving the problem solving aspect of art, and I'm so intrigued by that.

Thank you so much! Always glad to hear these pages inspire and fascinate other people. I wish I was better at sharing the lore behind them, but part of me always goes “nah you will just spoil things, don’t even know where to start” (what things? why? wouldn’t they just make people more interested?) and another part goes “the way you write this doesn’t sound 100% perfect yet, do not share unless it is perfect” (why must it be perfect? I have no deadline, I can always go back and explain more, too). I started working on these pages in November 2019, which was by all means an incredibly tumultous month, so it’s now been 18 months in which I did these 24 artworks, besides the usual progress in skill I can see with my normal art, I can also clearly see it in the BotS pages. Older pages tend to be muddy. And not focused. One page, the 4th for example is to this day the one I dislike the most. I drew it while I was stressed as I had to leave for a couple days and really wanted to get it finished - which was a mistake, I should have taken my time to fix what annoyed me. Another page, 9, suffers from a similar problem but in a different way. I finally figured out something plot related and desperately wanted to draw a page for it, but I didn’t know yet fully how to translate it - didn’t stop me, should have stopped me tho. 4 on the left, 9 on the right here. Now looking at them again I do see positive things and stuff I did well, though. It’s important to keep your eyes fresh. If I work on a picture well until 1 AM and then actually get it finished, I’d rather just close photoshop nowadays and sleep instead of getting overexcited. Goes for non-BotS work too. Goes for commissions. Anything. I’d rather sleep another night instead of handing in something I am not feeling all too well with.

Later and younger pages tend to be cleaner in a way. Something thing to focus on, ornaments are kept small and not distracting with a hundred lines. As example here pages 19 and 20 (below). One big thing to notice clear negative space which is only defined by this slight colour jitter (I’ve got several brushes to add those now, all slightly different). The upper two pages have these blocks of small ornaments and lines for no reason that make them difficult to look at and concentrate, in my eyes. Especially 4 suffers a lot from it. I could have grouped  them up, I could have not added that black splotch around Alazar’s muzzle, I could I could I could. Same goes for the unnecessary golden lines outside of the circle in 10. The rays, yes. The rest? Hm.

And here’s something more, which took me quite a bit to actually get fully - using tiny different changes in hue and value without actually rendering. Negative example is 5, once again a page drawn a year ago, the other two younger. I didn’t know what I was doing back then, it was the first page I wanted to experiment with bigger blocks of grey, and I had no idea what I was doing. I like the black and greys in the clouds, how dense they look and oppressing, but it was unnecessarily confusing. There’s too much going on in them compared to the bottom. I feel like it keeps pulling the view up, where nothing is, essentially. Drastic example I didn’t circle are Judrig’s arms in 21, I tried really hard to actually make them black (for lore related reasons) but the picture kept collapsing on itself, something about it got muddied too hard and made it difficult to focus - until a friend said that, yes, for lore reasons her arms should be black, but if you make her arms red, a colour you already used a lot in previous pages, you can use the black or dark greys for bigger areas and accents without sacrificing readability. Which was good. And I don’t know why I didn’t think of it.

Also I keep saying this in bad tones, “I dislike this page”, “negative example”, but I honestly do not hate any page. I’m happy with them, I’m happy with the progress I can see in them and it makes me excited for the next ones to come. I told myself I will not redraw any of these pages because if I start, I will never stop fixing mistakes no one would care about with a project that is already going way out of hand - but in a way I am proud of. There’s also older pages I really really adore, such as 8, or 6. In lore, the book is drawn and worked on by many multiple vampires, over multiple centuries. It feels a bit like an excuse sometimes, but it does help to explain the slight changes that come with me improving in general. At least to myself.

[fortunaamajor]

Sad Waters (George Weasley)

George Weasley x Reader

This story takes place during the second task of Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts. George is dating Cedric’s younger sister, who ends up being taken into the Black Lake as part of the task... angst and worry ensues. I had to slightly change the results of the task for the story to work, apologies.

Fem!Reader, Hufflepuff!Reader, reader is Cedric’s younger sister who is in Fred and George’s year.

Warnings: Angst, some mild bad language, probably some lowkey bad writing

Word Count: 1.7k

Although I am using the Harry Potter universe as a basis for this story I do not support JK Rowling or her views.

The buzz of hundreds of excited voices filled the misty valley of the Black Lake with electrifying chatter. Students looked down from the towering stands at the dark water, the morning’s clouded sky reflecting dully in the unbroken sheet. Within this crowd sat three ginger haired siblings: two identical twins and their younger sister - who they were currently in the middle of trying to calm down.

“It’s alright, Gin! I’m sure Harry has come up with something, he’s a champion for a reason y’know”

“But Hermione told me last night he was nowhere near, what’s he going to do?”

Ginny fretted as the boys craned their necks to try and get a good view of the wooden starting platform on the banks of the lake.

“Anyway I’ve not seen her since then, she must be down with Ron wishing Harry good luck...”

“Yeah, I think Y/N is already down there with Cedric, she seemed in a hurry to finish up breakfast this morning”

George had noticed his girlfriend’s odd behaviour earlier in the morning, but had simply put it down to nerves on behalf of her brother who was competing. Usually, Y/N took time to sneak over from the Hufflepuff table in the mornings, sometimes even slipping on one of George’s quidditch sweaters to look less out of place at the table beside him.

The whole Triwizard tournament had put a strain on all those George knew in some way or another - Fred’s mind had been ticking overtime trying to find a way to enter, Ron had (until fairly recently) been oozing anger and jealousy due to Harry being chosen to compete, and Y/N seemed to be constantly switching between bursting with pride for her older brother and chastising his stupidity for ever even entering in the first place.

As the the whistle blew and the task began, hundreds of eyes watched the four champions enter the water, which appeared to swallow them up and pull them under. Already there were cheers and chants brewing, the deeper tones of the Durmstrang students carrying through the mist. Ginny calmed down as she saw Harry swim confidently deeper and deeper into the water. George kept an eye out for Y/N, Ron or Hermione making their way up to claim the seats the twins had saved for them. Soon deciding that they were probably watching from the starting platform, his shoulders loosened and he began to lean forward, eyes darting across the lake looking for any signs of movement or flashes of colour in the dark, still mass of water.

However, he didn’t stay relaxed for long. Among the chatter there was a rumour spreading through the Hogwarts stands. It was one that George Weasley desperately hoped wasn’t true.

“Pssst,” he heard a Slytherin mutter behind him to their friend “... apparently there’s a friend or family member stuck under there for them to rescue before the time runs out, how’s that for pressure?”

Fred’s eyes met his brother’s and widened ever so slightly, just enough for Ginny not to notice. They then wandered, without him even being able to help himself, towards the three empty seats that had yet to be filled. George gulped, a wave of understanding washed over him feeling exactly like the icy water he was staring into. His girlfriend, brother and friend were all hostages below him in the piercing cold of the lake. “Anyway, I’ve heard that sometimes the merpeople can be quite nice,” Fred stammered “they don’t always attack I don’t think.”

Neither Ginny nor Fred had ever seen George so tense. Any glimmer, ripple or splash caused him to sit bolt upright and his lips had been pressed into a thin line for the last twenty minutes. “C’mon Ced, c’mon you can do it mate....” he muttered, his head rested in the his hands which shook slightly from their position on his jittering knees.

Soon Krum surfaced with Hermione, both were gasping but Krum appeared calm and capable as he wrapped an arm round Hermione to help lead her back to the lake’s grassy bank. George let out a low pitched groan mixed with a shaky sigh “Freddie, how long’s it been? what happens if-“

“It’s alright mate it’ll be ok. We know Cedric can do it, and even if he doesn’t - do you really think Dumbledore will just endanger student’s lives like that?”

Usually this answer would comfort George, if you asked him any other year he would be reassured by this thought. But today, he snapped in reply to his twin “If Dumbledore was so against endangering students Harry wouldn’t be in this bloody competition when everyone and their mother knows someone’s got it in for him!”

Silence fell among the Weasleys, Ginny had definitely noticed this unexpected outburst. She eyed her brother cautiously before her attention focused on Harry bursting through the surface of the lake at high speed, Ron bobbing alongside him. The stand promptly erupted in yells and cheers, “Thank Godric” Fred breathed, before whooping Harry’s name, standing to flash him a thumbs up and send off some celebratory red and gold sparks from his wand.

George stood suddenly, throwing down the banner that had been enchanted to read ‘Hip Hip Harr-ay’ - “Where the FUCK is Cedric!? This isn’t safe, Y/N’s been under there for almost an hour now” he hissed, shoving a poor unsuspecting first year aside and storming down the rickety wooden steps to the ground below him.

Fred and Ginny sat in an awkward silence once more , neither pointing out to the other that this was one of the only times they had heard George concerned about the safety of anything or anyone. Unebeknownst to his younger sister, Fred couldn’t help but notice similarities between George’s reaction to her being taken into that god-awful Chamber of Secrets. 

Hermione, Ron and Harry sat shivering on the edge of the wooden deck that made up the platform. Madame Pomfrey bustled around them supplying thick blankets and small vials of steaming orange potion. George barged past her without apologies and cornered Harry. Without a congratulations or even a smile, he looked directly at Harry with pleading eyes, “Is Y/N safe? Did you see Cedric?” Harry’s teeth were chattering and his breaths were still coming in long, heaving gasps. He nodded - “Cedric was right behind me, he was having some trouble with the merpeople but if you reason with them they do come round eventually...”

“Bloody fucking hell how’s he supposed to negotiate with them in time? What happens if they don’t listen Harry? How long is even left...”

George was now running his hands through his bright hair, his eyes trained on the serene surface of the lake, in which he could only see himself reflected and not either of the faces he so desperately hoped for.

At last, a streak of yellow broke through the still water and moved purposefully towards them.

In the stalls Fred and Ginny let out sighs of relief, still watching George as two sodden figures clambered onto the platform. He rushed forward and gathered Y/N in his arms, smoothing the wet hair off her face with warm hands and looking down at her intently. He felt as if his heart was going to burst...or stop. “Hi Georgie” she shivered, briefly leaving his embrace to thank Madame Pomfrey for the blanket and potion. George turned to Cedric, pulling him close and patting his back, rather hard Y/N thought, “Well done mate, thank you .... thank you.” he garbled. Adrenalin coursed through both boys, but through the look in his friend’s eyes Cedric could sense the relief that they shared.

The rough stone walls of the Gryffindor common room glowed in the firelight, George and Y/N had snuck up early from dinner with a small picnic. George whipping off his Gryffindor scarf and wrapping it round Y/N in an attempt to trick the Fat Lady in the portrait. This effort was commendable yet unnecessary. George was seriously underestimating the Fat Lady if he thought that during her time viewing the staircases she hadn’t noticed all the stolen kisses, loving glances and warm embraces he had shared with the Hufflepuff girl. She let the two in anyway, as over time she had developed a small soft spot for the pair.

George ushered Y/N towards the soft red couch, right in front of the crackling fire. “Get some rest love, I’ll be right here.” he advised her, tucking her head into his chest and pulling an arm around her. The two sat in silence for a few moments, although the wind was battering against the ornate windows of the tower - causing George to pull her in tighter. Breaking the silence, her voice was delicate and soft “I was always going to be alright y’know, G? They wouldn’t have kept us down there forever...” Y/N sought to comfort her boyfriend, who she could still feel tensed under her, rather than mock him. She felt him take a deep, shuddering breath and bring a hand up to stroke her hair. “I just, I was just- Godric Y/N I was so worried! Everyone was coming back up and you were still under there. I didn’t know...I just couldn’t imagine... what I would do...” he was getting worked up now, a tear or two slipping from his eyes as his brow crumpled. Sitting up, the girl in his arms pulled him towards her, nestling his head into her neck and rubbing his back in soothing, circular motions. “George, babe, it’s alright - I’m out now. Cedric got me, it’s all okay. I’m right here.” he nodded into her neck, relishing the warmth of her smooth skin and the heat of the fire. “You know, if it had been much longer I probably would’ve jumped into that stupid fucking lake to get you myself.”

“I love you Georgie.” she chuckled slightly under him. “I love you too Y/N, I was so scared to lose you today, even just for that hour. For now please can we leave all this tournament nonsense to your brother?”

A/N: First post! This kind of just invites a post-third task story of Y/N and George doesn’t it? Obviously more angsty vibes,  if you want that let me know...

[fortunaaamajor]

Sad Waters (George Weasley)

(This was previously posted on my old account that has now been moved here, sorry if anyone is seeing this twice.)

George Weasley x Reader

This story takes place during the second task of Triwizard Tournament at Hogwarts. George is dating Cedric’s younger sister, who ends up being taken into the Black Lake as part of the task… angst and worry ensues. I had to slightly change the results of the task for the story to work, apologies.

Fem!Reader, Hufflepuff!Reader, reader is Cedric’s younger sister who is in Fred and George’s year.

Warnings: Angst, some mild bad language, probably some lowkey bad writing

Word Count: 1.7k

Although I am using the Harry Potter universe as a basis for this story I do not support JK Rowling or her views.

The buzz of hundreds of excited voices filled the misty valley of the Black Lake with electrifying chatter. Students looked down from the towering stands at the dark water, the morning’s clouded sky reflecting dully in the unbroken sheet. Within this crowd sat three ginger haired siblings: two identical twins and their younger sister - who they were currently in the middle of trying to calm down.

“It’s alright, Gin! I’m sure Harry has come up with something, he’s a champion for a reason y’know”

“But Hermione told me last night he was nowhere near, what’s he going to do?”

Ginny fretted as the boys craned their necks to try and get a good view of the wooden starting platform on the banks of the lake.

“Anyway I’ve not seen her since then, she must be down with Ron wishing Harry good luck…”

“Yeah, I think Y/N is already down there with Cedric, she seemed in a hurry to finish up breakfast this morning”

George had noticed his girlfriend’s odd behaviour earlier in the morning, but had simply put it down to nerves on behalf of her brother who was competing. Usually, Y/N took time to sneak over from the Hufflepuff table in the mornings, sometimes even slipping on one of George’s quidditch sweaters to look less out of place at the table beside him.

The whole Triwizard tournament had put a strain on all those George knew in some way or another - Fred’s mind had been ticking overtime trying to find a way to enter, Ron had (until fairly recently) been oozing anger and jealousy due to Harry being chosen to compete, and Y/N seemed to be constantly switching between bursting with pride for her older brother and chastising his stupidity for ever even entering in the first place.

As the the whistle blew and the task began, hundreds of eyes watched the four champions enter the water, which appeared to swallow them up and pull them under. Already there were cheers and chants brewing, the deeper tones of the Durmstrang students carrying through the mist. Ginny calmed down as she saw Harry swim confidently deeper and deeper into the water. George kept an eye out for Y/N, Ron or Hermione making their way up to claim the seats the twins had saved for them. Soon deciding that they were probably watching from the starting platform, his shoulders loosened and he began to lean forward, eyes darting across the lake looking for any signs of movement or flashes of colour in the dark, still mass of water.

However, he didn’t stay relaxed for long. Among the chatter there was a rumour spreading through the Hogwarts stands. It was one that George Weasley desperately hoped wasn’t true.

“Pssst,” he heard a Slytherin mutter behind him to their friend “… apparently there’s a friend or family member stuck under there for them to rescue before the time runs out, how’s that for pressure?”

Fred’s eyes met his brother’s and widened ever so slightly, just enough for Ginny not to notice. They then wandered, without him even being able to help himself, towards the three empty seats that had yet to be filled. George gulped, a wave of understanding washed over him feeling exactly like the icy water he was staring into. His girlfriend, brother and friend were all hostages below him in the piercing cold of the lake. “Anyway, I’ve heard that sometimes the merpeople can be quite nice,” Fred stammered “they don’t always attack I don’t think.”

Neither Ginny nor Fred had ever seen George so tense. Any glimmer, ripple or splash caused him to sit bolt upright and his lips had been pressed into a thin line for the last twenty minutes. “C’mon Ced, c’mon you can do it mate….” he muttered, his head rested in the his hands which shook slightly from their position on his jittering knees.

Soon Krum surfaced with Hermione, both were gasping but Krum appeared calm and capable as he wrapped an arm round Hermione to help lead her back to the lake’s grassy bank. George let out a low pitched groan mixed with a shaky sigh “Freddie, how long’s it been? what happens if-“

“It’s alright mate it’ll be ok. We know Cedric can do it, and even if he doesn’t - do you really think Dumbledore will just endanger student’s lives like that?”

Usually this answer would comfort George, if you asked him any other year he would be reassured by this thought. But today, he snapped in reply to his twin “If Dumbledore was so against endangering students Harry wouldn’t be in this bloody competition when everyone and their mother knows someone’s got it in for him!”

Silence fell among the Weasleys, Ginny had definitely noticed this unexpected outburst. She eyed her brother cautiously before her attention focused on Harry bursting through the surface of the lake at high speed, Ron bobbing alongside him. The stand promptly erupted in yells and cheers, “Thank Godric” Fred breathed, before whooping Harry’s name, standing to flash him a thumbs up and send off some celebratory red and gold sparks from his wand.

George stood suddenly, throwing down the banner that had been enchanted to read ‘Hip Hip Harr-ay’ - “Where the FUCK is Cedric!? This isn’t safe, Y/N’s been under there for almost an hour now” he hissed, shoving a poor unsuspecting first year aside and storming down the rickety wooden steps to the ground below him.

Fred and Ginny sat in an awkward silence once more , neither pointing out to the other that this was one of the only times they had heard George concerned about the safety of anything or anyone. Unebeknownst to his younger sister, Fred couldn’t help but notice similarities between George’s reaction to her being taken into that god-awful Chamber of Secrets.

Hermione, Ron and Harry sat shivering on the edge of the wooden deck that made up the platform. Madame Pomfrey bustled around them supplying thick blankets and small vials of steaming orange potion. George barged past her without apologies and cornered Harry. Without a congratulations or even a smile, he looked directly at Harry with pleading eyes, “Is Y/N safe? Did you see Cedric?” Harry’s teeth were chattering and his breaths were still coming in long, heaving gasps. He nodded - “Cedric was right behind me, he was having some trouble with the merpeople but if you reason with them they do come round eventually…”

“Bloody fucking hell how’s he supposed to negotiate with them in time? What happens if they don’t listen Harry? How long is even left…”

George was now running his hands through his bright hair, his eyes trained on the serene surface of the lake, in which he could only see himself reflected and not either of the faces he so desperately hoped for.

At last, a streak of yellow broke through the still water and moved purposefully towards them.

In the stalls Fred and Ginny let out sighs of relief, still watching George as two sodden figures clambered onto the platform. He rushed forward and gathered Y/N in his arms, smoothing the wet hair off her face with warm hands and looking down at her intently. He felt as if his heart was going to burst…or stop. “Hi Georgie” she shivered, briefly leaving his embrace to thank Madame Pomfrey for the blanket and potion. George turned to Cedric, pulling him close and patting his back, rather hard Y/N thought, “Well done mate, thank you …. thank you.” he garbled. Adrenalin coursed through both boys, but through the look in his friend’s eyes Cedric could sense the relief that they shared.

The rough stone walls of the Gryffindor common room glowed in the firelight, George and Y/N had snuck up early from dinner with a small picnic. George whipping off his Gryffindor scarf and wrapping it round Y/N in an attempt to trick the Fat Lady in the portrait. This effort was commendable yet unnecessary. George was seriously underestimating the Fat Lady if he thought that during her time viewing the staircases she hadn’t noticed all the stolen kisses, loving glances and warm embraces he had shared with the Hufflepuff girl. She let the two in anyway, as over time she had developed a small soft spot for the pair.

George ushered Y/N towards the soft red couch, right in front of the crackling fire. “Get some rest love, I’ll be right here.” he advised her, tucking her head into his chest and pulling an arm around her. The two sat in silence for a few moments, although the wind was battering against the ornate windows of the tower - causing George to pull her in tighter. Breaking the silence, her voice was delicate and soft “I was always going to be alright y’know, G? They wouldn’t have kept us down there forever…” Y/N sought to comfort her boyfriend, who she could still feel tensed under her, rather than mock him. She felt him take a deep, shuddering breath and bring a hand up to stroke her hair. “I just, I was just- Godric Y/N I was so worried! Everyone was coming back up and you were still under there. I didn’t know…I just couldn’t imagine… what I would do…” he was getting worked up now, a tear or two slipping from his eyes as his brow crumpled. Sitting up, the girl in his arms pulled him towards her, nestling his head into her neck and rubbing his back in soothing, circular motions. “George, babe, it’s alright - I’m out now. Cedric got me, it’s all okay. I’m right here.” he nodded into her neck, relishing the warmth of her smooth skin and the heat of the fire. “You know, if it had been much longer I probably would’ve jumped into that stupid fucking lake to get you myself.”

“I love you Georgie.” she chuckled slightly under him. “I love you too Y/N, I was so scared to lose you today, even just for that hour. For now please can we leave all this tournament nonsense to your brother?”

A/N: First story! This kind of just invites a post-third task story of Y/N and George doesn’t it? Obviously more angsty vibes,  if you want that let me know…

[visual-explorxtion]

Vinylic Taste [Carlos Oliveira x Reader] - One Shot

Summary: You’re trapped and alone in the midst of an outbreak, struggling to survive. In the depths of your despair, Carlos came to the rescue. Through your ups and downs, Carlos soon became your best partner and vice versa. But...you soon realise Carlos isn’t who he appears to be.

A/N: Are you reading this at night time? Good...Wanted to write a Carlos fic but also wanna try and write something different from my usual stuff. But also got super distracted by other ideas and this fic got pushed waaaay further back and kinda took a different turn from my original plan and 11 pages in, I panicked. Still in first person POV.

TW: Graphic depiction of Violence, Blood, Gore, Angst, a bit of horror (idek), prob not as graphic as you think but it’s still graphic, uhh language and bit of a Mind Break.

Words: 6.0k

How did things turn out this way? Blood seeped its way across the vinyl floor, forming a pool around my feet as I sat helplessly with my body shivering in fear. Chest rising and falling rapidly and eyes locked wide open, my blurry gaze fixated onto a man but I could only make an outline of them. Him; on his knees, lays a lifeless corpse in between them, all drenched in venous blood as the deep red colour streams down every rigid and curves of his face. The air is thick combined with the stench of iron and gunpowder. He stares at his hands, covered in liquid but not his own. He laughs- echoes through my soul and pulsated the room- never have I ever heard of something so harrowing and sinister coming from a human. If he even had any sanity left in him. Neck twists abnormally towards my direction, head tilts eerily as if it's only supported by a thin piece of string. A soft gasp left my mouth, throat scorched with fear and lips quivering. My limbs lay still no matter how much I tell myself to run. My sense of self is being sucked into his dark, endless gaze. The light behind his eyes had vanished, all that's left is a soulless carcass I no longer recognise.

"Carlos...What happened to you?"

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

The thunderous rain came washing down my face, lowering my field of vision. The moisture trickles down from thick strands of hair and onto the rubble concrete in a light rhythmic pitter-patter. In the span of 24 hours, everything turned from just an average day in this town to be engulfed and corrupted by a fiery shitshow. Humans eating humans, without a hint of remorse. They have no emotions, no pain tolerance. Their sole purpose is to feed on anything that has a heartbeat. It creeps me out. Like somebody playing a joke too far to the point of no return. That's what I'd initially thought. In my struggle to keep myself alive in this godforsaken town, each bullet is scarce but every item you gather is expendable. As the gun recoils, a leftover shell would flicker out with each bullet piercing the head of the undead. A steady hand, steady trigger finger and steady breathing. One by one, I shot them down. The feeling of ambivalence surrounds my mind with every shot I take. This isn't right, they are...were...humans, flesh and blood.

The ringing in my ears grew louder with each squeezing action I take. The heat of adrenaline coursing through under my skin, my peripheral vision gradually disappears until I'm left with the image of head to head. Before I could react, my back was already on the ground. The backside of my head slams against the solid sidewalk with a loud crack, the noise echoed inside for a nanosecond. My self-defence mechanism kicks in- forearm struggle against the zombie's throat, it's jaw hinges wide open with blood oozing out as it frantically pushes it's deadweight onto me. Its skin texture is abnormal, like every part of them is set in stone. Why didn't rigor mortis happen? My fingers tremble, trying to grasp for the handle of my gun that's just out of reach. Muscles burn and ache as my defence is crumbling to its limit, teeth-gritting with every last strength that I have. I refuse to die like this. Not like them.

As my forearm grew tired- inching closer and closer to my face- I squeeze my eyes shut, refusing to look Death in its soulless gaze and let it consume me slowly in the space of darkness. The next moment, I felt liquid splatter across my face but the pain never set in. My eyes flew open and watched as the corpse lay limping on my arm and the rest drop dead around my vicinity. I grunt as I discard the corpse aside, inspecting it one more time for any sign of movement. Face frozen in place as blood runs dry from the temple. The sight of this made my stomach churn.

"Hey, are you alright? Can you stand?"

A muscular figure towers over me, fully equipped in tactical gear. One hand armed with an assault rifle and the other extended out towards my direction. His hand is all worn out, even though the gloves I can see his fingers covered in blisters and scratches. They have seen better days.

"Yeah...I'm fine."

I choked out as I accept his assistance. His grip heaved my weight without breaking a sweat but may have overestimated his strength a little. His aid offset my balance and my body crash-landed in his embrace. Even with me standing on my own two feet, he's still almost a foot taller than I am. Our eyes met for a brief moment but I immediately jumped out of his arms as heat flushed up my cheeks and I regain my composure. He chuckles.

"My name is Carlos, I'm with the UBCS and we're here to get you out of here."

The organisation doesn't ring any bells in mind, nevertheless, receiving help from a rescue team is better than trudging through this damned hell alone. I would be lucky if I could even make it out alive. But, this strange rescue encounter sends comfort to my mind and slowly easing off my anxiety, or maybe it's because I'm no longer alone with Carlos's presence next to mine. Either way, I shouldn't let my guard down even with the help I'm getting.

The rest of his team is gathered in the subway station, we've arrived just in time for the last train to bound. Every one of them is tattered and covered in rags, exhausted and in pain. I can't imagine what kind of hell they've fought through, compared to myself, it's nothing but a just a minor scratch. Carlos caught up with his crew while I took a seat as all my energy is drained from my soul. The cool metal sensation seeped through my jeans and triggered goosebumps and hair along my arm, I couldn't care less about the shock as exhaustion washes over my limbs. I've been beaten down mentally and physically enough for me to not realise the train was already in motion. The view from out the window is nothing but a fast pace blur of darkness. All that just happened felt so unreal- the gush of blood, the viscous touch of muscle fibres, so red yet so cold. Getting pinned to the ground by this...thing. Its strength is vicious and animalistic with a face that doesn't resemble a human anymore. And at that moment my mind went blank. What if, at that very second, nobody came to save me? What if, I just gave up? What if, I let its teeth sink into my neck? What if...I just died there and then?

"How are you holding up?"

Carlos appeared before me, interrupting all the trepidatious thoughts. A slow realisation sets in as my hands tremble in my lap. Immediately, I curl my fingers into fists to cover up the jitter from him. "Still holding" I swallowed and smile politely, hoping the lump in my throat won't betray me right now. He returned the smile and positioned himself in the seat next to mine. "You were brave out there. Fighting by yourself...not many people have the balls to do that."

I let out a quiet snort. "No, you saved my ass. I wasn't brave. I was just lucky. If it wasn't for you I would've..." A pause, "I would've become one of them by now." Tears tingled behind my eyes as I blinked several times to keep them at bay. Carlos catches my hands tenderly, unravelling my fingers one by one, releasing all the tension I took a grasp of and crimson liquid came dribbling out the crescent-shaped wound. The fear in my head numbs all my pain; unaware of the shallow cuts, the maroon shade stained the dents of my fingertips. He took out some bandages from one of his pouches and carefully bind them to stop the bleeding. "There. That should do the trick." he grins as I admire his patchwork. "Thank you." I returned the kindness and we sat in comfortable silence. Upon closer inspection, Carlos does look kinda cute. The corner of his eyes crinkles and smile line deepens whenever he laughs, not to mention, his voluminous mane is the centre of attention. It kind of reminds me of an Old English Sheepdog and that image alone made me giggle.

"Carlos, we have a situation." we turn our attention to another team member, dressed in the same gear as Carlos- except his appearance was more well-kept, clean-shaven. Carlos turns, face sombre, knowing the news that comes next won't be any good. "What's the status?"

"Charlie's comms are down. The situation currently unknown."

"And Bravo team's position?"

"They're en route to Charlie, but they've already lost half their men"

He ponders for a moment. "Alright, change of plan. We'll meet up with Bravo and rescue Charlie. Once we get there, see if you can call for extraction out of this city."

His colleague nodded and went off to relay the message to the rest of the squad. Carlos turns back and kneels down, looking at me in the eyes, he softly spoke. "Hey. We're gonna have to take a detour, but I promise you, I'll keep you safe." He paused, reading my reaction. "Are you okay with that?"

My gaze wanders around his nervous expression, but I simply smiled. "Yeah, it's better than being alone out there right now. And besides, I don't doubt your abilities to keep me safe." His face went blank for a few seconds to unexpectedly bursts into laughter as though my answer caught him by surprise. "Okay. We'll be getting off next stop. In the meantime, stock up on some supplies cuz we don't know what's out there. Talk to one of the guys and they can get what you need." Carlos winked before leaving me to psych myself up for what's coming ahead. Knowing the chaos that's happening out there, it's going to be a dirty fight.

Our clattering footsteps relay around the walls of the subway as the lights flicker in a retrospective beat. The place is bare and quiet. Too quiet, even. Not even a single croak or heavy breathing could be perceived. It is deadly silent. Why is it empty? With the city running amok, you'd expect people to be escaping this hell hole; or worst-case scenario, laying dead in this underground. But, nothing. Not a single body insight. That's what worries me. I could say the same for the rest of Carlos's team. Which means, whatever is waiting for us out there is greater than what we could imagine.

My knees are getting weaker by the minute, shuffling closer to Carlos as I grasp my gun tight. Fingers nervously fiddling with the indents of the grip; sucking in a cool breath of air and pulling my shoulders back, we press on.

The layout of the underground is intricate and labyrinthine- reaching an intersection every few minutes, but we haven't let our guard down. Turning the last corner, we finally arrived at the main plaza; still remaining empty but the place was already thrashed. Carlos signalled for everyone to spread out and search the area, while I linger next to him. My heartbeat is racing quick as ever since I stepped off the train with the rapid pulse stuck in the back of my throat. He gently touches my arm, worry flash before his eyes but I shook my head. 'I'm fine' I mouthed. He looked at me for a few seconds, unconvinced, but decided not to force it any further. This place is eerily bleak, what was once lively is now filled with desolation. Somehow there's a slight dread and sadness inside me. The noise of metal clanking took my attention away from my surroundings.

"Damn it. The exits blocked." He gave it another shot but the gate shows no sign of budging. A short, heavy breath escapes his nose. I examined his troubled look and spoke out, "I'll go look for a way to open the gate."

He was stunned. "No. I can't let you do this. It too dangerous-"

"Please, I insist. You've helped me enough so let me do this. Even if I am in trouble, you'll come to save me, right?"

Carlos's expression is tense; I can almost see his thoughts rotating, like clockwork, inside his mind. Considering and reconsidering my offer. At last, my words overthrows him. "Okay, but take this." He hands me a palm-size radio, all tattered and taped. "Anything you see, you radio in. And I mean that. If you see one of those things, do not hesitate to shoot. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," I respond, sloppily saluting as I backed away to complete my new objective, continue to traverse down to the backside of the plaza. By the repetition of office doors, this justifies that I'm going in the right direction, but which one? The fluorescent lights blinked abruptly before returning to normal. Seems like the building is getting more unstable, with time quickly ticking away, I should hurry. And by some miraculous luck, I stumbled upon a door that catches my attention. 'Employees Only', this must be it. The door isn't locked but it took a great amount of energy to push a gap open, just enough for me to squeeze through.

Stacks of documents and brick computers blockade the door and next to it; a dead corpse that was once the employee of this place. He must have been dead for 2 hours- top, by the looks of it. The blood forms into a pool around the body and adheres to the sole of my boots. He took the quick way out. A blow to the head with his own pistol, laying dormant in his hand, now motionless in white. Crimson red liquid and shards depicted the blank wall, chunks frozen in place.

"I'm so sorry..."

Choking back my grief, I resume my search and in front of me is my mission objective. Monochromatic screens all tracking specific places of the building. Right on the bigger screen, displays Carlos and his men searching the perimeter. I radio in, "Carlos, come in. I'm in the control room. Hang on, I'll get the gate open."

"Good job. Hurry back and we'll get out-"

The building fades into darkness, heightening my sense of fear in this unfamiliarity. I draw out my gun and tightening my hold like it's my lifeline. My chest stiffens with each shallow breath I took, the effect of the blackout is developing claustrophobia within me. I heaved and the lack of oxygen in my brain cause me to hallucinate all my nightmares, but the image of Carlos flashed vividly in my mind. I took a deep breath and count to three. One...Two...Three... The emergency lights came on before my eyes and my anxiety reverts back to a sense of tranquillity. Talk about timing.

"Carlos? Carlos! Are you okay?" Please tell me he's okay.

No reply.

"Carlos? Are you there? I can't see you." I bit my lip, searching relentlessly on the screen for a trace of him. Just any sign at all.

"Yeah, we're okay. We've taken cover but it's pitch black out here, but...we could only see so much with our flashlight. See if you can get the power back on from your end"

Frantically, I pressed every button presented on the switchboard, nothing seems to be doing the trick. "Negative. I don't think I can do anything from here." All of a sudden, the floor began to rumble. And gradually it became stronger that shook the whole room, files and objects tumble to the ground until it subsides back down again, just like a tank passing by. "What was that?" I said in dismay.

"I don't know..." Coming from the other side of the line, a low growl and heavy footsteps. "But, whatever the fuck that is...It's definitely in here with us now."

In search of the monitor, I glue my eyes to the blurry image shown; even if everything doesn't seem out of the ordinary, my gut feeling is telling me otherwise. Still as a statue, they listened in closely to every motion IT makes. The sound is too quiet to be perceived. Out of the corner of the screen, something whoosh by. Its movements are too fast for me to catch but it's inching closer and closer to the lifeforms. With one swift swipe, it took a man down, and then the next. The claw marks on the wall...it stretches 10 feet wide from point to point, even looking through the screen, the blood is so vividly deep in hue. It crawls in close, but the team is still desperately searching.

It strikes! "Get down!" My voice is shaking down to its core.

They duck, but some did not make it. Their limbs severed; corpse dangling in half on the claw of the monstrous being, still clinging and screaming for their lives and then cease all at once. I shrieked out in horror. The size of that thing knocked the air out of my lungs. This being couldn't possibly be a human?! The zombie creation stood ten times its original size. The exposed skeleton is partially bound by its flesh- all swelled up and tainted, its tail bone morphed to a whip carrying a single-edge blade. Claws digging into the shallow pool of blood as the liquid cascade down the cracks of the marble flooring. The remaining squad open fire, bullets fly and ricochet off the wall. In the brief moment of spark, they lost sight of the target again.

"Shit, where is it?" I can hear the frustration in Carlos's tone.

Their flashlight drifts around the room as the tension sets in. You fear what you can't see, even more so if all you could see is darkness. The beast growls and encircles them, but the squad can't pinpoint where the sound is coming from. Intensity fills your gut as you watch the monitor closely, decoding its every move. After a beat, it leaps.

"Carlos, your 4 o'clock!"

He whips around at the speed of sound as he squeezes the trigger. The blast took impact greater than his expectation, every shot penetrated into its fleshy fibres while it screeched with a chalkboard sound. It struggles to keep a hold of itself up on the pillars as it collapses and tumbles to the ground. Without missing a beat, the team executes the behemoth until it turns into a bloody pulp, killing it with brute force. They inspected the pulverized mess further before they could ease off their defences. As if by command, the power's back on. My stomach turns into a knot. This is strange, but I pay no mind to it.

"Carlos, you alright?" I asked.

"Yeah...that was too close. That thing was too quick... We could've been killed here if it wasn't for you. You were our eyes when we couldn't see so...thank you." I could almost hear him blush at the other end of the line.

"Don't sweat it. Alright, I'm gonna get the gate open." I pulled the lever and watch the gate rise and retracted back through the screen.

"Got it. Now get your ass back he-" THUMP! Something's outside the door, trying to crank it open.

THUMP!

"Carlos? Carlos, someone's trying to get in here." my voice shivers.

"What? What do you mean someo-"

BANG! The door flew open. As an instinct, I drew my gun and aimed it towards them. A team of four heavily armed soldiers dressed in black armoury kicked in, almost like a SWAT team, weapons aimed ready. Without a second thought, I opened two shots on their thighs and calves to buy myself some time. They did not flinch, nor did it cause any pain to them. The unit moved in closer and closer towards my position by the time I made the first punch. My right hook collided with one of the soldier's throat and swiftly transitioned my elbow to another one in between the ribs. But all of that did not matter, my attacks took little effect as they soon surround me, putting me in a lock hold position, hands bound behind my back and dragging me away from the room. I can feel my heartbeat pulsating in my throat while I struggle to break free. Who the fuck are these people? What do they want with me? I don't want this. I'm scared.

"CARLOS!"

His name was the last thing that left my lips before the hooded squad inject my system with some form of liquid. My eyelids grew heavy, I fought back to keep myself awake but alas, the shroud of darkness consumes my mind, taking my soul to a distant world. The next time I wake up, the doors to the pandora's box had already open and it's already too late for me to stop it.

The snickering and one-sided conversation waver into my ear. I can't shift my body, still situated in darkness along with the effect of the drug. The icy metal clasp my limbs tight cemented on either side of my body and unable to produce any strength. The noises stopped and I froze like a deer in the headlights.

"Ah...you're awake. Good, good." The man sneered and carry on muttering in an absence. "You know, I was surprised by your...actions. You all exceeded my expectations. With this data you provided, we could improve on the flaws with our last experiment." He chuckled. "For now, my child, sleep. When you wake up, you'll be born anew again." His words became a slur in my brain, lowering into a hushed tone. Phrases repeat and distorting, just like an echo in an ice cave, cold and enchanting before my conscious slips away once more.

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

"WHAT HAPPENED? HEY, COME IN. HEY!" The statics over on the other line holds its place. "FUCK!" Carlos's voice howls, the thunderous boom stunned the remaining of his teammates. His fists clenched in a fit of rage as he smashes the radio onto the bloodied floor. The radio explodes with shards flying across the hall, some splinters still clinging onto his hand.

"Carlos...umph..." Tyrell struggles, limping its way towards him as he compresses his wound. "The mutated monster...the lights and the locked gate...I don't think it's that simple." he sighs, pushing his glasses back up with his forefinger. "There's only one company that would create such a big experiment. Carlos, listen...you need to stop them."

Carlos shifts to look at him. "T, we still have to meet up with Bravo and we've already lost half of our men. There's no prediction of what's roaming out there."

Tyrell shakes his head, a stern look in his eyes. "No...You've seen what they are capable of, there's no saying what Umbrella might do to next. Go rescue them, I'll handle the rest." He waves him away, still clenched in pain but casually shrugs it off. Carlos conflicted for a short period but ultimately chose to listen to Tyrell. Tyrell gave him a quick pat on his shoulder before Carlos turns away.

[Umbrella's research facility]

The eerie sound of silence fills the whole facility. A silence that stayed constant in your ears, just like the tv sign-off tone. The uneasy feeling never left Carlos's mind as soon as he traverses through the isolated building, gun in position. Walls dressed in white, the distinctive chill in the air and corridors that lead to nowhere. Carlos grew impatient by the minute.

There, at the end of the hallway, lays a door just barely visible for the naked eye. 'Security Room, EMPLOYEES ONLY'. He breaches in; a vast space all clustered with fallen chairs and paperwork, the multiple screens project different rooms within the facility, some looked like its the cafeteria and another resembles a cool storage room with weird pieces of machinery scattered around the place. Yet they are all empty, except one. At the top left-hand corner of the display box, it presents various aqua chambers containing partially mutated humans and failed experiments. And in the centre of that screen, he saw his companion positioned upright on a surgical bed, unconscious and all tied up. But getting there might be difficult without putting up a fight as four heavily armed mercs all gathered outside of the laboratory. Carlos unclips his assault rifle and peeks, the ammunition is barely enough to fight four soldiers; hell, not even four zombies. At this point, every shot counts.

The build-up of sweat in his palm loosened his grip. He examines his hand; trembling and numb with uncertainty, what lies between him and his enemies is just one simple electronic door. Beyond that, someone important is there waiting for him, alive and afraid. Or perhaps they...no. That couldn't possibly be the case. He clutches the handle once more, on the count of three breaths, he bursts in. It only took a split second for bullets to fly across the room, landing hits in the enemies' calves and forearms. Carlos moves in closer before they could react, instantly killing a soldier with one shot under the jaw as blood and plasma spew out onto the ceiling. They return fire, only to hit their ex-partner's lifeless corpse. Carlos thrusts the body towards the two henchmen and staggers them to the ground, he flips; locking the remaining guy pressed up the wall with his entire body, they struggle but was immediately executed with a blow to the head. Blood splattered on Carlos's right shoulder but that didn't faze him. The sound of his assault rifle clicks empty as he saw the two crawling back up. "Tch." His tongue snapped as the gun launched across the room at a high velocity, knocking one in the face and stumbling backwards. Like a chain of effect, they’ve sprawled out on the floor once again. Stepping his right foot on their torso, his gaze shows pity as he ponders over them before pulling out his pistol from the holster.

"Hope you got friends on the other side."

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! The aftermath of those four shots lingers in the room. A mixture of gunpowder and blood made Carlos's stomach twist up in a knot, but he got more important things to worry about. The life of his partner was the only thing that occupied his mind. The final door slides open; revealing a skinny, middle-aged looking man in a fresh set of lab coat, stood in front of a worktable and unaware of his presence. Inside, those hydro chambers stood twice his height with flesh substance floating inside the liquid. Some are just a blob of meat and others have fully transformed into somewhat human-shaped, but all are deformed. Upon closer inspection, one mutated monster's eye pop open. Carlos flinched. He examined around and was shocked to find that they are alive, all of them. What kind of sick joke is this? Is this what I've been fighting? He wondered.

"Admiring my creations, I see. Do you like it?" The man asked.

"Is this what's been running the city into a shitshow? What the fuck is this pharmaceutical company hiding?" He looks around. "Where are they?"

"Ah, yes! My precious little plaything. You're just in time to witness the beginning of my newest creation." The man chuckles, he pressed a button and the sound of machinery begins to whir. The glass cell shifts closer into the room, unveiling you in a comatose state, pretty as a picture. "They are sedated, for now. But soon, they will become humanity’s greatest invention and you will be the first one to witness it. Isn't that something?"

The blood inside him boils; the rage within could not be contained, white-hot magma erupting and coating every strain in his system. He pulled the trigger; the shots punctured through both of the man's legs as he knelt on the floor, screaming in agony. Carlos rushed to your side, unclasping any restrictions and carefully let you lean against the wall.

"Heh...what will you achieve by saving them...? The city's gone rogue...everybody's dead...and yet you couldn't save half your men. So...why bother saving them...the end is nigh!" His manic amusement shakes the whole room to the ground. But, the laughter was cut short and soon, it has been replaced by the clinking of a bullet shell against the hard deck and empty clickings. Gun drops as he struts towards the pathetic slob, straggling in the crimson liquid that's supposed to keep him alive. Well, not anymore. Carlos straddles on top of his weakened body, gaze bore into his soul. He wondered. How could someone like him still be alive? As the world burns and he gets to live? The ability to heal given to this monster and yet, he chose destruction. He must be purged.

The sound of his leather gloves creek as it made the first impact. The feeling of bone to bone seems odd to Carlos but...it excites him. With each hit, the pain pushes him even further, numbing and bruising. It felt right. He pants, the blood spews and paints him in a new shade of violence. The man weakly chuckles.

"The man who fights monsters have become a monster himself. Isn't that irony...?" He coughs, blood spilling out on the edge of his lips.

"Killing humans...how does that feel? Still want to play the hero and save them? With the world on fire and all those lives in your hands...you will only taint them. Lemme tell you a story...do you know what kind of flower blooms the brightest even in the harshest weathers?" Carlos looks at him quizzically.

"Snowdrops. They are the first ones to bloom long before spring comes around...the pure and innocent. At the beginning of time, Snow searched for a colour to borrow... The element admired flowers and their vibrant colours. One day, Snow asked and pleaded for one of the colours from the flowers, but the blossoms denied Snow's request; they felt Snow was too cold and undesirable. The snowdrop, however, felt sorry for Snow and offered it its own colour. It accepted the gift and the element itself became as white as an angel's feathers... To show its gratitude, Snow allowed snowdrops to bloom at the end of each winter with their own protection against the blizzard weather. From then on, Snow and snowdrops exist side-by-side as friends."

He heaves. "Like I said...irony... Their friendship is only a fabrication out of pity. Just like you!" The deathly cackle roams as he chokes on his own spit and blood.

Ears buzzed with white silence, his visions hazed with a red lens filter and heart palpate at an abnormal speed. Carlos felt every ridge of the handle on his knife and takes out his weapon, unhurried. The shiny metal pressed upon the wilting man's oesophagus- with only a little strength, it opened up. Blood spatter across Carlo's face, unflinching. His eyes darkened, tunnel vision focused on the crevice of the wound; there's friction on the thin layer of skin as the sharp edge glides slowly from one end of the neck to another. Carlos finishing him off with a fling of his blade, scattering red all over the wall. Both of his hands grip the handle tight; rising it high above his head, he paused for a moment to look at him one last time, then strikes down into the man's right chest in the speed of light. Pulverising his cardiac organ. He retrieves the knife and repeats over and over again with the red fluid gushes out with each stab until there is nothing left. A monster bathed in his enemy's blood. The man croaks in agony and over a few seconds, it stops. And so does Carlos.

The white noise has been replaced by his own rapid breathing. Thoughts are empty, his gaze quivers yet, he does not fear anything. He felt it...warmth. How did he not notice it? Is this how warm humans feel? He never realised this, this kind of feeling, it's something so different from killing a zombie. He looks down at his own two hands...so red. A smile crept along his face with the feeling of content. In a spark, he burst into a peal of harrowing laughter, vibrating the whole room.

"Carlos...What happened to you?"

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

In my moments of wake, I find myself bestowing my gaze upon a beast gazing back at me with a musing look in his eyes. They're so dark and dire, almost like someone gouged out a part of him and replaced it with something so sinister. He snaps, now truly looking at me through the eyes of the actual Carlos, as if nothing happened.

"You're awake! Good, I was starting to get worried about you. We should probably leave and catch up with Tyrell. They should've called for the extraction by now." Placing his tarnished knife back into the holster, he made his way towards me. My fear of him vanished, he's just like the Carlos I met a few hours ago. Warm and caring. "Let's go." He said, both his arms shifts under my back and behind my knees, picking my weight up with ease. "Get some rest...I wake you up when went get to the rendezvous point." His voice is hushed and the sound of his heartbeat soothes out all my stress. By the time we left the room, I was already drifting between dreamworld and reality.

The sound of his footstep was kept at a constant pace, his movement rocked me side to side, gently without missing a beat. But the further he tread, the temperature in the air got colder and yet I could not feel the wind brushing against me.

"Stay here. I'm gonna fix something real quick." Carlos's body heat left my side and was replaced by the icy touch of a piece of furniture. The mechanical hum occupied my eardrums and everything sound muffled once again. Eyes weakly opened and the sight wasn't what I was expecting. What greets me was four walls made of glass entrapping my body as he stood and watched.

"Carlos...what are you doing? Let me out. Come on...this isn't funny, Carlos. Let me out of here!" I begged.

He shook his head, resting a hand on the glass in front of me, looking at me longingly. "I can't." His words were breathless.

"Why?"

"I made you a promise. And this is the only way for me to protect you...You would be safer here, nothing can hurt you." His thumb grazes something small in his palm. I looked up and saw a room that was surrounded by pieces of machinery and nitrogen tanks, placed accordingly in rows of four. Then, it hit me.

"Don't do this..." I cried. But, it was too late. His thumb clicked on the small device in his hand and soon, a strain of gas misted out from the tubings and masking the entirety of the glass cell, leaving me dazed and numbed as I crawl back to the shivering nothingness.

"I'm sorry...I promise I'll come back for you." His empty words circulated in my ears and through the air as he walked away, leaving me in the darkest den of Umbrella. Cold, afraid and alone; frozen in time without anybody knowing.

And there I was, still as a landscape; living on top on a snowy mountain at the beginning of Spring, as pale as Death herself. Bidding my farewell to him until next Winter comes; when a blanket of snow tops the upside of the greeneries and then, we shall meet again.

[violet-knox]

Hush

Year 7 - Chapter 58

Summary: You meet Severus after dinner as promised and share with him the project you’ve been working on all year.

Word count: 3075

Previous Chapter - Chapter 1 

(Y/H/C) = Your hair colour 

~

“I told you we should have just skipped dinner,” Severus said to you as he pushed his way through the crowd leaving the Great Hall, the only thing keeping him from losing his patience was your hand in his, dragging him along as you hurried towards the Astronomy Tower. It seemed that this time around, you may be the one to lose your patience before he did.

You smiled back at him in a quick acknowledgment but kept your focus on getting yourself to a private place and finally show Severus the secret project you’d been working on all year. He of course still had the idea that you’d dragged him out of the Great Hall straight after dinner on another, more... sinful notion. And though you did rather enjoy the feeling of his hands hungrily grasping your body, his lips pressed against every inch of you, this little secret of yours was something arguably much more in need of privacy than some naughty fondling, something you’d been dying to share with him.

You were nervous, anyone would be if they were about to trust someone with such a big secret. But you’d already given Severus your heart and you’d trust him with it, so you knew you could trust him with this. You knew he’d do right by you. There was so much you’d been keeping to yourself these last few months, dying to tell someone, anyone and you couldn’t even count the times you’d almost slipped up in front of Severus, biting your tongue and pretending to be swamped with homework, just to keep that secret of yours bottled up. 

But finally, as you slammed the door shut, locking it behind you and pulling out your wand to cast a Muffilatio charm around the room, you could unload this weight on Severus. You could share the one part of your life you couldn’t keep hidden from him any longer. 

“Are you alright?” He asked as he watched you frantically place as many protective charms around the room as you could remember. “You’re being uncharacteristically skittish.”

“Sev, I have to show you something,” you said, finally turning your attention to him as you put away your wand and stood yourself in front of him. Your nerves were going completely ballistic as the moment came nearer, concern for his reaction growing to an uncontrollable size. But you knew him, and you knew even if he didn’t support every decision you made, he still supported you. 

“You’re scaring me (Y/N). What’s going on?” Severus took a step forward, reaching to hold you in his arms but you’d stepped back before he’d gotten the chance. He’d never seen you this nervous before; your bravery, always one of the qualities he loved about you now gone, leaving you alone to face whatever it was that was causing that jitter hidden behind your tone. But it was that step you took away from him that had him truly concerned. Was the weight on your shoulders really that great you felt the need to back away from him? Or perhaps the weight you were eager to release was him.

“I want to share something with you, but you have to promise, promise me Severus, that it won’t leave this room.” You looked at him with eyes full of trust, begging and pleading for him to agree to your terms. 

Shock was really the only way to describe his current state, the look you gave him doing absolutely nothing for his own worry right now. He knew you’d had trouble trusting him in the past, and for good reason of course, so obviously, whatever you wanted to trust him with now meant quite a lot to you. 

“I promise, (Y/N). Please, please tell me what’s wrong,” he pleaded, and you could tell by his tone that your words had him concerned.

You took in a deep breath, in through your nose, out through your lips and took another larger step back, motioning for him to stay where he stood. The moment had come, and you had never felt so doubtful in your life. This was likely one of the biggest secrets you’d ever possess, and he was going to be the first (and hopefully the only) person you’d share it with. You’d already entrusted him with your love when you started dating again last year, but this, this secret meant you would be trusting him with your life as well. 

Closing your eyes, you took in a few short breaths before you cleared your mind and focused on the task at hand. You felt the room enlarge as you had before when you’d practiced, the floor rising higher and higher. Opening your eyes, you looked up at the hung look on Severus’ face, waiting to see his reaction, praying he wouldn’t bolt towards that locked door. 

He couldn’t believe what he’d witnessed. His own girlfriend, his best friend and soulmate, had completely vanished before his eyes. He’d stood there frozen for what felt like a lifetime, trying to process the disappearance of the girl who shared his heart with until finally he felt his breath return to his body. He blinked rapidly, yet the sight before him remained. So, it was true what he’d seen, his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him, he wasn’t hallucinating, you weren’t pranking him. 

Letting out a breath of acceptance, he smiled as he knelt down, offering his hand out to the cat who’d appeared in your place, watching as it stood on all fours and walked over to him. The cat approached until he could feel it’s soft (Y/H/C) fur under his fingertips, purring as it began rubbing against his palm, up to his wrist. Severus gently pet the cat, it’s fur familiar to the touch as if he’d simply been running his fingers through your hair. The soft purring that filled the room carried your tone and for a moment he thought he could hear your voice. The cat that had appeared in your place was you; you were an Animagus! 

Severus smiled as he sat back, crossing his legs and letting you crawl into his lap. He watched you jump onto his legs and look up at him with those beautiful eyes of yours. Continuing to run his fingers through your fur, he began to wonder how he hadn’t caught on to this before with all those excuses you’d given him about your Transfiguration extracurricular project and talk about Quidditch Captain duties. 

“I can’t believe you’re an Animagus,” he whispered to you, fully aware your meowed response would be completely incoherent to him. You both sat there a while, enjoying the peace of each other's company as Severus began to get used to your new form before you finally transfigured back into your regular self, your legs thrown over his as you sat there on his lap. 

“I’m glad you didn’t freak out,” you said as you happily threw your arms around his neck. Severus smiled at you, examining the peaceful, now calm look on your face. 

“Well, perhaps if you’d turned into a werewolf I would have,” he joked. You chuckled and felt eternally grateful for him. He was always so supportive of you, never once going against you or a choice you’d made. Even when he complains about your diminishing time alone with him, you knew it was simply because he loved you. “So, I presume your secrecy and nervousness comes from the fact that you aren’t registered.”

You nodded your head, feeling a little ashamed for skipping a few legal lines when it came to your little project. But really, what were you to do when the process the Ministry had set took about three years, and that was only after you’d turned twenty-one and received the proper certifications. The rules were absolutely rubbish and it was no wonder they had so few registered Animagus’. In all honesty, you wouldn’t even be surprised to hear of the existence of a few more unregistered Wizards or Witches like yourself.  

“But I trust you Severus, only you.”

He immediately cupped your cheek and looked deep into your eyes, offering the most loving smile you’d ever seen him wear. He was so loyal, always so loyal and you loved that about him. But you could see he held some reservations about what you’d shared with him as his eyes shifted down and his fingers gently played with the hem of your skirt. 

“(Y/N), this must have taken you months to do. Why didn’t you share this with me before? Why wait until now?” He couldn’t lie, he was a bit hurt you hadn’t involved him in the process, especially since you both worked so well together, your skills complementing one another. But most of all, he was a little upset you hadn’t asked him for his thoughts before jumping into the process. Then again, perhaps it was for the best you’d kept him in the dark when he knew he would have tried to convince you of how horrible an idea it was and that you should go through the proper channels to register which likely would have led to a fight.  

“It was something I wanted to do on my own, Sev. To prove to myself that I could do it on my own,” you said, trailing your hand down to rest over his chest. Slowly you began rubbing small comforting circles over his uniform, knowing he of all people would understand the need to build independence. “You won’t believe how difficult it was to complete; the research, the tasks, the potions. I had to keep a bloody Mandrake leaf in my mouth for an entire month!”

“Is that why you refused to give me more than a lousy peck on the cheek all of September?” He rose a brow at you, remembering that gruesome month full of worry and despair over your lack of affection. He could have sworn you were upset with him and he was about to confront you about it too until you suddenly lunged at him one day, attacking him with a month's worth of kisses, clawing at his robes.

“Sorry love,” you giggled, admitting your guilt for the loveless month you’d caused. “But like I said, I can make it all up to you now.”

Leaning closer to him, you pressed a hand down on his chest, motioning for him to lie back as you adjusted yourself to hover over him. His hands went to your waist as you connected your lips, immediately deepening the kiss as soon as his head rested on the wooden floor beneath you. Throwing a leg over his waist, you kept the other between his, giving you the incentive you needed to press your body flush against his. 

All thoughts of disappointment in your exclusion of him regarding your secret Transifguration’s project slipped his mind, replaced with lust and desire for your touch, the taste of your skin. Trailing your lips down his jaw, you clawed at his tie, loosening it as much as his jumper would allow before tackling the two irksome buttons that stood between you and his pale skin. It took all of three seconds before your lips had settled, gently biting and grazing that spot on his neck that always had him moaning for more. 

Your hands roamed his slim physique, grasping at his slightly oversized uniform as his own went to seek out the pleasure of the little exposed skin your skirt allowed. He’d always loved skin to skin contact, that had been clear to you months ago. It wasn’t until you’d worn pants over the summer that you’d discovered this need of his, grasping for the skin exposed by the t-shirt you had on that day instead of slipping his hands over your legs like he normally would during your time at school. In actuality, you were relieved to see it was your bare skin he was always searching for since you’d been given quite a different impression every time he snuck his hands up your skirt, running them up and down your thighs.

“It’s getting pretty late,” you whispered, detaching yourself and propping up on your elbows to brush a few strands of his hair back in place. “Shall we head back to your dorm?” 

Severus normally would have protested at the request to stop such an intimate moment with you, but what you offered in return... well, how could he say no to that. He quickly nodded his head in agreement, jumping to his feet and reached for his bag, following your lead. You smiled at his eagerness, stopping him to fix his tie before leaving the Astronomy Tower and quickly making your way towards the dungeons. 

Ducking into a vacant corridor, you hastily changed into your Animagus form, following closely behind Severus as he opened the door to the Slytherin common room, making his way straight for the boys dorm where he placed his bag down next to his bed while you jumped up onto the mattress. Severus wasted no time as he popped open his trunk and removed his usual bedwear and placed them on the bed, hastily beginning to change out of his uniform.

You were thankful it was still early and only a few of Severus’ dormmates had called it a day, but you still felt your nerves escalate, worried about what would happen if anyone caught you in here, or worse, found out you were an unregistered Animagus. You didn’t dare transform back to yourself until Severus had closed the curtains completely, giving you as much privacy as you could get in a room shared with a dozen other Slytherins. 

Severus waited a few minutes before climbing under the curtain himself, finding you sitting on your side, wearing his worn-out black top with your uniform neatly folded beside you. He smiled and gathered your clothing, stuffing them under the bed before reaching to change into the trousers you’d left untouched. Sneaking back into bed with you, he wove his wand, casting a silent Muffalinto charm over his bed and prayed that would be enough to keep the world from intruding on your privacy. 

You smiled at him as he pulled back the covers for you to crawl under, waiting for him to stuff his wand under his pillow before cuddling up to him, placing a leg between his. Severus slithered an arm beneath you, embracing you to gently roll you over, sure to keep a hand over your bare thigh as he dipped himself into you. Your lips were inches apart, yet neither of you felt the urge to do more than let your hands explore each other's bodies. 

Severus could hardly believe you’d managed to sneak into his bed, but he definitely wasn’t one to complain. He was grateful for your presence and ecstatic over the lack of layers barricading you from him. He slid his hand up and down the exterior of your leg as he’d done so many times before, but this time, he’d let his fingers graze from your knee all the way up to the outline of your knickers, leaving goosebumps in his trial. 

Moments passed and he couldn’t resist any longer, the feeling of your hands exploring every inch of his upper body exposed for the first time to the cool air swirling through the dungeons, finally resting right above the waistband of his trousers. He slowly leaned down and pressed his lips to yours with all the passion he could muster, pouring his desire into the kiss. 

You let out a soft moan, moving your hands to his lower back and immediately froze in place, remembering where you were. Your heart stopped and all you could think about was what would happen if those curtains had suddenly been pulled back; a Gryffindor caught in a Slytherin’s bed. The school would never let the incident go, rumours spread between students, your likely expulsion ruining the career you hadn’t even started. Severus would never want to speak to you again, though why would he if the ministry were to ever discover your legal status, you’d surely be thrown into an Azkaban cell, never to be heard from again. 

“Relax love,” Severus whispered gently, parting from your kiss and moving down towards your neck when he felt you go stiff. “I cast a few charms around us, no one can hear us.”

His words were comforting, they always were, but you still couldn’t shake the feeling of the presence of others around you and, who could blame you? After all, despite the curtains and the charms, you still weren’t alone in his dorm. 

“Sev, do you think we could… pause for tonight?” Your whisper was so low, you were sure that even without the charms, no one but Severus could hear you. 

Severus stopped his motions and propped himself up to look at you when he heard the concern in your voice. He understood your reservations, especially when he felt them himself even after charming the curtains, convincing himself they were alone. Smiling down at you, he moved a hand up to cup your jaw, his thumb placed gently on your cheek, softly swiping over your delicate skin. “Of course.”

He would give you the sun and the moon if you’d asked for them. You were his everything and he couldn’t bear the thought of making you uncomfortable. 

Leaning back, he made himself comfortable before opening his arms up to you, throwing the covers over your shoulders as you cuddled up to his side. You both spend the next two hours simply existing in silence, gentle strokes being passed between you before you drifted off to sleep. Severus kept himself awake as long as he could, refusing to close his eyes in fear he’d open them to find you a complete illusion. But eventually, he mustered up the courage to relax his muscles and close his eyes, the weight of your body snuggled up next to him a comfort as he finally felt the whisper of sleep calling him. Despite the few hiccups, the day was perfect, it always was with you, and the night had unquestionably ended the same way. He was sure he’d wake up tomorrow feeling the same joy he did now, and nothing could have comforted him more, not even the thought of receiving a first class Order of Merlin.

~

Next Chapter

~

A/N: Hmm, is it just me or does it seem as though everything in the last few chapters end up with them pouncing on each other lol This year obviously has too much fluff, guess I’ll just have to make up for that in the next part of the series 😉

~ 

@dusk-realm @a-slytherin-sin @gbatesx @sneezy-s @emsdroid @leah-halliwell92 @dellightfullydeceitful @sparklingkeylimepie @nameless-sovereign @justanobodyinthisbigworld @soft-slytherin-sweetie @youtube4life10 @scarletmoon83 @fluffymadamina @sleepysnapesnake @mitchiesdungeon @retroillustrations @armouredteddybear @dracos-mudblood @marvelschriss @bush-viper-cutie

[seekstrivefind]

can i get some jamilton laser tag????

You sure can! Disclaimer: I haven’t played laser tag in 15+ years and I haven’t written Jamilton ever.

Want a Hamilton mini-fic? Prompt me!

Jamilton, laser tag, 1907 words

“Okay, so. Here’s our strategy—”

Alexander’s jaw is set, brow furrowed in determination. He’sgot his vest strapped on, the blocky plastic laser-gun held across his body,and he’s addressing his friends like a general addressing his gathered troops.Lafayette is listening intently. Hercules is shoving John, who’s bouncing onhis toes, eager to get going and barely paying any attention at all.

“—how about ‘lose graciously’?” drawls a familiar voice frombehind Alexander. Alexander scowls. Hercules rolls his eyes and John gives anaudible ‘ugh’. Lafayette’s face lights up as he waves.

“Thomas!” he exclaims cheerfully, and then catches sight ofAlexander’s murderous expression. “Ah, sorry. I forgot; we are enemies.”

Lafayette taps the blue of his vest, and nods towards thered of Thomas’. Alexander lets out a steadying breath, and turns on his heel toface their opponent.

Thomas looks ridiculous. Despite knowing that they would bespending the afternoon running through a darkened room with laser-guns pointedat each other, he’s wearing a button-down and a tie. An actual tie. The veststrapped over the top tapers towards his narrow waist and hips, the laser-gunswings idly from one long finger. His hair is pulled back, something thatAlexander has seen only rarely, and it seems to accentuate the high line of cheekbones,the slender column of elegant neck, and did Alexander say ridiculous?Because he’s not even convincing himself. His scowl deepens.

“Any tips for losing graciously, Jefferson?” he snaps. “Ohno, that’s right—you’ve never done anything graciously a day in your life.”

“Never lost anything, either,” Thomas remarks coolly, oneeyebrow quirking up.

“Dunno, pretty sure you lost big when they were handing outfashion sense,” John pipes up from behind Alexander.

“Oh, you trained your monkey to talk?” Thomas remarks, fauxsurprise colouring his face as he presses his hand to his chest. “You couldmake real money off that little trick. Finally buy yourself a decent suit.”

“Fuck you,” John says, and Alexander hears a brief scufflethat sounds to his experienced ears like John Laurens being held back by oneHercules Mulligan. Thomas takes a step closer, and Alexander remembers to makea conscious effort to untie the knot in his tongue and come up with some wittyrejoinder.

“Yeah, fuck you,” is what he actually manages, which—notexactly his best work. But Thomas is stalking towards him with an almostmesmerising poise, and Alexander’s mouth is suddenly as barren as a desertwasteland. He swallows. It’s distinctly unfair that Thomas—an arrogant,pretentious, privileged son-of-a-bitch determined to put Alexander down to getahead—is also a complete wet dream, like somebody somewhere went down atick-list of Alexander’s desires and then slapped a faulty personality inlast-second.

Makes arguing with him properly real difficult, and this ishardly the first time that Alexander’s been trapped in the confused placebetween anger and arousal.

Thomas extends a finger, and prods Alexander in the chestwith it, leaning down so that they’re face-to-face.

“We all know who’s going to come out on top,” Thomas says witha smile, and Alexander sinks a sharp tooth into the side of his tongue in a determinedattempt not to think too hard about that phrasing. “Might as well cometo terms with it now, Hamilton.”

And then he’s gone, sweeping past them without even a secondlook.

“—well!” Lafayette says brightly before whatever collectionof inventive curse-words John has been stringing together can leave his mouth. “Ifor one am looking forward to this. Let’s go, shall we?”

Alexander, still glowering darkly and trying to calm the jitteringthump of his pulse, follows his friends without a word.

It’s chaos once the buzzer sounds. Any strategy they’d beenrelying on quickly falls apart as grown men and women start sprinting andshrieking, hammering plastic triggers and swearing sharply when their vestsflash to show they’ve been hit. Hercules ducks away without any of the rest ofthem actually noticing him go. John gets hit from behind and takes off with awar cry in pursuit of his attacker, determined on revenge. Lafayette is laughingdelightedly, and it’s not long before Alexander is separated from him, too.

Not that any of it matters. It’s just team-building,a stupid day out with colleagues that they’re forced to endure once a quarter.It’s laser-tag, for God’s sake, it’s for children. Except that the office livesand dies by the winners of the team-building games, and Alexander’s departmentare on a winning streak that he’s determined not to break.

He tucks himself into an empty corner, listening to the mayhemand deciding on his best strategy now that he’s alone. Points-wise, finding agood spot and staying put, sniping his competition as they move around isprobably the most efficient, and judging by the bedlam of the first sixty secondsof the game, they’re going to need all the points they can get.

He ducks out from the corner, advancing down a narrowcorridor, staying low. He hasn’t been hit yet, and that’s a badge of honour initself; a hard one to keep hold of in these games.

Alexander wouldn’t have noticed the branching corridor if anarm hadn’t come out of nowhere, practically clotheslining him before grippingthe strap of his vest and pulling him bodily into it.

“What the f—”

That’s as much as he gets out before there’s a hand clampedover his mouth, and Alexander is blinking rapidly up at the face of ThomasJefferson.

“You’re welcome,” Thomas says flatly. Alexander makes asound that’s close enough to what for, asshole? to be interpreted, and Thomastips his head just as a knot of red-team vests tumble past, whooping andhollering. It’s a long moment before he removes his hand.

“What,” Alexander repeats, tugging on the bottom of his vestto fix it, riding up askew on one side where Thomas had pulled on it, “is yourgame, Jefferson?”

“What, a man can’t do something nice for a colleague?”Thomas asks, and there’s a sharp glint to his smile, preternatural in theglowing blue lights of the course. Alexander narrows his eyes.

“A man? Sure. The devil himself dressed in a person-suit?Not so much.”

Thomas tuts, leaning back against the wall and folding hisarms as Alexander finishes brushing himself off.

“You think so little of me, Hamilton.”

“And every time I think I’ve hit the lower limit, you find away to prove me wrong,” Alexander mutters.

“You think I’m playing an angle?” Thomas asks, apparentlyexamining his fingernails idly, though the low light must make it impossiblefor him to see much other than the vague outline of his hand.

“Obviously,” Alexander retorts. Thomas pushes himself upfrom the wall, and Alexander steps back reflexively as Thomas advances on him oncemore. In this narrow recess, there’s nowhere much to go; he feels his back hitthe wall. Thomas doesn’t stop, not until they’re toe-to-toe.

“Then ask yourself this, Hamilton,” Thomas suggests, leaningone hand on the wall next to Alexander’s face and leaning close. “Why are youstill here?”

There’s a long and laboured silence, tense despite the lowthump of the shitty electronic music that’s being pumped in through too manytinny speakers, cut through by the sound of two dozen adults behaving likekids. Thomas is close enough that Alexander can feel the heat rolling from him,the warm dance of Thomas’ breath against his own lips. Another shift and they’repractically chest-to-chest, and either Alexander is having a delightful aneurysmor Thomas’ knee is pressing between his thighs.

Alexander swallows hard against the tightness in his throat,gaze hooked on Thomas’ own. And he might be imagining the feather-light brushof fingers against his hip or the way that Thomas presses yet another half-inchcloser, but he knows he’s not imagining it when Thomas’ eyes flicker downtowards his parted lips.

“You seem to know everything,” Alexander says, faintly. “Youtell me.”

Thomas kisses him with a slow deliberation that chafesagainst Alexander’s impatience. When he runs his tongue across Alexander’s lipsit’s with unhurried intention. He laughs, a low and curling chuckle thatAlexander feels echo between his ribs, rattling between his lungs, whenAlexander tries to push up against him, to coax something more urgent from him.Thomas won’t be moved, won’t be pushed. He only waits, smiling into Alexander’sfrustration until Alexander is forced to meet Thomas’ terms, to move at Thomas’pace.

Thomas finally licks in behind Alexander’s teeth, suckslightly on Alexander’s tongue, drags teeth against his lower lip, and Alexanderis almost dizzy with want, hands pawing slackly at Thomas’ chest, frustrated bythe bulk of the vest that means he can’t feel the smooth curve of muscle thathe knows hides underneath.

“You lose, Hamilton,” Thomas murmurs against Alexander’slips, half pulling back. Alexander chases the kiss, freezing when he feelssomething jammed against his chest. He hears the descending bleep, sees theflashing of his vest as it illuminates Jefferson’s predatory smile. “Again.”

Alexander looks down in disbelief at the laser-gun pressedagainst his chest, and then back up at Thomas.

“You absolute fucking cu—”

“—ah, ah,” Thomas says disapprovingly, presses his lips againstAlexander’s once more to cut off the obscenity. Alexander tries to bite down,to drag sharp teeth against Thomas’ lip, but he’s already pulling back, a lookof smug satisfaction on his face. “What I did tell you about losing gracefully?”

And then Thomas is gone, and Alexander stands there, utterlyenraged and hopelessly turned on, heart jack-rabbiting in the cage of his chestand laser-gun hanging loosely by his side.

Once the lights come back up, Alexander finds the others inthe lobby. John is wild-eyed, bordering on the manic. At some point, his hairhas come loose and his curls are splayed wide around his face, a mess of darkhair that Lafayette is laughing fondly over, doing his best to finger-comb itinto some semblance of order.

“Why the long face?” Hercules asks as Alexander approaches,knocking a punch against his shoulder that rocks Alexander onto one foot for abrief second. Alexander glances at the screen, where the team scores are yet tobe listed. It flickers to display individual high scores, and John whoops whenhis name appears at the top, punching both fists up into the air.

“I am amazed he did not get hurt,” Lafayette laughinglytells Alexander. “He was running wild; shooting people point blank. Like Rambo.”

“I wish they’d let you have two guns,” John says, mournfully.

“Hey, man,” Hercules says, pointing up at the screen wherethe teams have been ranked in order. “We won!”

There’s assorted whoops and groans throughout the room as people,breathless and sweating, celebrate victories or bemoan defeat. Money changeshands, as is common. Alexander catches sight of Thomas, vest and gun alreadyabandoned, talking to Madison. He notices Alexander, and grins widely, closingone eye and stretching out an arm to aim one finger like a gun right atAlexander’s chest.

“I’m not so sure,” he mutters to himself under his breath,and then deliberately turns his back to Thomas to watch John slap Lafayette’shands away from his hair.

“Celebrations are in order!” John proclaims. “Let’s get wasted.”

And yeah. Yeah, Alexander can get behind that plan.

[megalony]

A big family- Part 5

Here is the latest part of my dad! Ben Hardy series which I hope you are all enjoying so far.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem @butlegendsneverdie @langdonzvoid @jennyggggrrr @luvborhap @radiob-l-a-hblah @rogertaylorsbitontheside @chlobo6 @rogertaylors-lipgloss @sj-thefan @omgitsearly @luckytrashgooprebel @scarsout @deaky-with-a-c @killer-queen-ofrhye @bluutac @vousmemanqueez @jonesyaddiction @rogahs-drowse

Series taglist: @writeroutoftime @7-seas-of-fat-bottomed-girls

Summary: Ben and (Y/n) have three daughters together with their youngest not even being one year old yet. But their family is about to get bigger when they find out they’re pregnant again.

Series masterlist

Enjoy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Charlie, baby can you get up please?" (Y/n) practically begged the toddler sitting in front of her but Charlie didn't look like she was going to be cooperating today.

The three-year-old wasn't feeling well, when she was like this she seemed to just sit and cry until she fell asleep and to top it off she was crying for Ben. She wanted him to come home because he seemed to have a knack for calming her down. She was fine when he was cuddling her and settling her to sleep, she didn't play up for Ben and when she wasn't well she liked to be around him.

But Ben was away working and he had been for the past three weeks. He wasn't coming back for another three days and all of the girls were finding it hard to be without him. He didn't want to leave but he had to go away for location for a movie that was almost finished now. After this he wasn't taking another role for a while since they would be having the baby in three months time.

Charlie looked up at (Y/n) for a moment before she held her arms out, clearly wanting to be carried.

(Y/n) sighed as she shook her head at the request she had to deny, she could only just carry Goldie around recently and being pregnant meant she was already carrying around one of the girls all the time. Charlie was getting too heavy for her to carry whilst being pregnant and she couldn't carry Charlie downstairs in case she tripped.

As soon as (Y/n) shook her head, a whine escaped Charlie's lips before she started to cry around the pacifier in her mouth. She tipped her head down as she cradled the teddy in her arms close to her chest.

She was sitting on the floor of her bedroom with her legs spread out and a blanket around her shoulders that was slowly falling from her frame. When Charlie wasn't well she stayed in her pyjamas like she was now. She was wearing blue pyjamas with cookies on them since they were her favourite and she had her blonde hair tied up in a small ponytail to keep it from her features.

"Charlie, what are you going to do? Do you want to go to bed and have a nap or do you want to come downstairs and watch some tv?" (Y/n) didn't know what the little girl wanted to do, she only knew that when she tried to get Charlie up off the floor she wouldn't budge. She had either gotten out of bed but didn't have the energy to go anywhere or she had been up but now wanted to go to bed but couldn't pull herself up onto the bed behind her.

"I want daddy." She cried around the pacifier in her mouth as she tucked her face into her teddy. She didn't know what she wanted except for Ben to come back home and cuddle her.

"I know, but he's not coming home for another few days."

Just as (Y/n) was going to try and get Charlie to stand up, she stopped when her phone started ringing. A wave of relief shot through her at seeing it was Ben calling on facetime.

"Charlie, its daddy. You want to answer?"

Charlie's head lifted up instantly as she reached her arms out towards the phone, making grabby hands to signal that she was desperate for the phone now she knew she could talk to Ben. (Y/n) pressed the answer button before handing the phone over to Charlie who dropped the pacifier from her mouth so she could speak.

"Daddy!" She whined, holding the phone in one hand as she used the other to wipe her eyes and her runny nose on her sleeve before she held the phone in both hands again. Her eyes focusing on Ben who appeared on the screen, surprised it was Charlie who answered but his face fell when he took in her state.

She had red cheeks and nose, puffy eyes and tears streaking her face as her nose was now beginning to run. She looked tired and unwell making him wish he was back home to be there to take care of her.

"Oh, baby, are you still not well?" Charlie shook her head as she sniffed, trying to stop crying but she couldn't.

"Y-you coming home now?" She spoke in a wishful tone as her big blue eyes were begging for him to tell her that he was already on his way home. But Ben couldn't lie to her and as much as he wanted to come home he had to finish up the scenes they were shooting and that meant he couldn't go home until they were done.

"Babygirl you know I can't come home yet." Ben sighed when she whined before letting out a sob. Charlie didn't know what Ben did for a job, she just knew that it meant sometimes he had to go away for a week or maybe even a month and that usually he was away all day. She only understood that his job took him away from her and she didn't like that. In her mind, Ben should be able to come back home and the fact that he couldn't was both confusing and upsetting to her.

(Y/n) leaned against the doorframe as she thought Charlie was going to throw the phone for a moment when she didn't get the answer she had been looking for. But she simply peered closer into the phone as she stared at Ben with tired, drooping eyes.

"I've got some time now babygirl, you get in bed and we can talk for a bit, okay? Then you can take a nap because you don't look well."

Ben noticed she was sitting on the floor in her room, he wasn't sure why she was sat there but he could tell she was tired and he wanted her to either go to bed and go to sleep or watch tv downstairs with (Y/n). Charlie seemed to think it was a good idea as she tiredly pushed herself to her feet before planting her arms on the bed, trying her best to pull herself up.

Walking over to her, (Y/n) gently picked her up so she could scramble onto the bed and tuck herself under the scrunched up covers. The curtains were already closed since she had been in bed all day and she had her fairy lights on that were placed above the bed and along the wall. Charlie hated the lights being on during the day, she only wanted them on at night but when she was ill she made an exception.

(Y/n) caught Ben's eye on the phone for a moment and she smiled tiredly before Charlie laid on her side and held the phone so she was looking at Ben. Both parents knew it wasn't going to take long for Ben to lull Charlie to sleep and (Y/n) was very thankful for that. Seeing that Charlie was content for the time being, (Y/n) headed out of the room and made her way over to check on Goldie who should be awake by now.

Ben's mum was bringing Taylor home from school today so that was one less girl for (Y/n) to think about.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Y/n) turned her head to check on Charlie who was sitting in the bath with bubbles covering almost her entire frame. Her cries over the past three days had turned into coughs and (Y/n) thought a hot bath might help her chest and it seemed to be doing the trick. Her coughs were no longer crackling like static on the tv.

Charlie tipped her head down so she could look at the bubbles in her hands, clearly about to blow the bubbles into the air but she coughed instead causing a few to pop and the rest to float around her.

A tired smile pulled at (Y/n)'s lips as she turned back to look at Goldie who was laying on the changing table next to the sink. The youngest girl was wriggling around with an open-mouthed grin as she had just woken up from a nap. (Y/n) couldn't wait for Ben to come home today, she didn't know what time he was going to be back but he had called at dinner and said he was on his way. She took the liberty of not telling the girls he was coming home because Taylor would be bouncing off the walls and Charlie would simply cry out for Ben more than she already was.

"Da... da, a-da." Goldie held a rattle toy close to her chest as she pulled her legs up to her stomach just when (Y/n) tried to put a nappy on her.

"Don't you start calling out for daddy as well." (Y/n) mumbled, nudging Goldie's cheek before she tried again to put the nappy on. She knew Goldie didn't know how to say daddy yet but she was trying her best to speak lately and (Y/n) didn't need all three girls calling out for Ben. Right now, Goldie was the only one who wasn't sitting on eggshells waiting for Ben to come home.

(Y/n) wasn't feeling well, she didn't need all of them crying or running around asking for Ben.

She pulled down the cream coloured dress over Goldie's short legs before sitting her up on the changing unit. Just as (Y/n) was about to pick Goldie up to take her back into her room, she stopped when the bathroom door barged open and Taylor bounded inside.

The eldest girl jumped up and down, not stopping when she accidentally caught her elbow on the towel rail on her right. She continued to jitter like she was on a spring as she turned her attention to her mum.

"Mummy! Mummy daddy's home, his car's in the drive!" Taylor squealed as she clapped her hands in front of her. She heard the car pulling up and barely managed to see that it was Ben's car through the darkness of the evening. Taylor didn't wait for a response before she rushed out of the room again and (Y/n) heard her feet battering down the stairs so she could wait near the door for Ben to come home.

"Daddy!" Charlie gasped before she suddenly started to cough, her nerves sparking as he was finally back after being away for almost a month.

Gripping the side of the bath, Charlie hauled herself to her feet before trying her best to clamber out of the water. She slipped as she practically fell onto the bathmat on the floor but it didn't seem to stop her in her stride as she shook the bubbles from her body before trying to get back up. She had been waiting for weeks for Ben to come home, she couldn't wait any longer now that she knew he was downstairs.

"Charlie- we need to get you dry before you rush off." (Y/n) laid Goldie back down so she didn't have a chance to try and crawl from the changing unit before she tried to grab hold of Charlie.

Even though the toddler was excited to see Ben she couldn't just run out with nothing on and still dripping wet from the bath. She had to get dry and get changed before she went to see Ben or her cold could get worse and she could make herself sick. But Charlie didn't care, she whined and wriggled from (Y/n)'s arms to try and reach for the door.

"Want my daddy." Charlie groaned as she started to crawl so (Y/n) couldn't get hold of her.

"Fine, go." (Y/n) huffed in annoyance as she threw a towel over Charlie as the toddler scrambled to get out of the bathroom. If she was going to be like that then (Y/n) wasn't going to try and stop her, she didn't have the energy to fight with Charlie when she was desperate to go and see Ben.

"Daddy! You're home!"

Ben only just managed to set his bag down on the floor before Taylor tackled him and almost pushed him up against the door he just walked through. He huffed as she knocked all the air out of him but he quickly recovered, wrapping his arms around her so he could pick her up. He buried his face in her neck as she locked her arms around his neck like she was trying to suffocate him, but he didn't care.

He'd been away from all of his girls for almost a month and phone calls and facetime simply weren't enough. He couldn't hug any of his girls, he couldn't kiss them or be there when they were ill or happy or wanted to show him something.

Ben didn't know how he was going to cope when he eventually took another job role that meant he had to leave because he would have four daughters to leave behind and he would be leaving (Y/n). That was something that he couldn't see himself doing right now, but he didn't have to think about that for quite a few months yet so he was going to try and push that thought from his mind.

"Oh, Tay I missed you baby. You okay?"

The eldest girl burst into a fit of giggles when Ben started peppering kisses all around her face, swaying her in his arms as she reached to kiss his cheek. He'd missed all of his girls and it had been weird not to carry one or two of them around. It was confusing not to have them in his arms, he was used to the girls bombarding him and trying to scramble into his arms so he could pick them up.

"Missed you too daddy." Her words were muffled as she buried her face in his neck, thankful she had gotten to Ben first before Charlie had the chance to scramble out of the bath.

The moment was short-lived when Ben looked up at the top of the stairs and saw Charlie scrambling to make her way downstairs. Ben gently set Taylor back down to her feet as he walked over to the stairs, his eyes narrowing as Charlie came down dripping wet with a towel hanging loosely on her shoulders.

"Babygirl, where are your clothes?" Bending down on the stairs in front of her, Ben wrapped the towel around her properly before he picked her up and held her close to his chest.

Her wet hair clung to his neck as she curled up against him, tucking her head into his neck. She would have wrapped her arms around him but her arms were enclosed to her chest from the towel binding around her. There were still a few bubbles fading out on her skin and one or two still clung in her hair giving Ben the answer as to why she had run down wearing only a towel.

"Bathtime." Charlie responded as Ben started to walk up the stairs with Taylor following closely behind.

Ben pressed his hand to the back of Charlie's head when she suddenly started to cough. Her eyes snapped shut as she seemed to be unable to catch a proper breath as her cheeks turned a darker shade of red.

"Alright baby, alright. Let's get you changed, you're okay." Ben whispered the words soothingly against her temple as he tried to calm her down. He headed into the bathroom, seeing Charlie's pyjamas set out on the changing unit so he laid her down to get her changed. Watching as she closed her eyes, rubbing at her nose as she sniffed, trying to breathe properly and Ben guessed she was already going to sleep.

It felt as if he'd never left.

When she was changed, Ben scooped her back up into his arms and she seemed to flop like a rag doll. Her head burrowing into his chest as she curled up against him, small coughs continuing to leave her lips.

"Poor baby." Ben mumbled as he went to walk into her room but stopped when Taylor grabbed onto his arm and hung from his limb as she swayed around. Clearly wanting his attention since he hadn't been home for weeks. "Tay, give me ten minutes to put Charlie to bed and see your mum, then I'm all yours." Ben pressed a kiss to the top of Taylor's head before he headed into Charlie's room.

He sat down on the end of the bed and gently laid Charlie in bed, tucking the covers around her as she curled up and closed her eyes. She could hardly breathe through her nose but she seemed to be rather calm and she was almost asleep anyway.

Ben kissed her temple before he quietly left the room, peeking into Goldie's room to see she wasn't in there meaning she was with (Y/n). He smiled as he headed into his and (Y/n)'s room, catching Goldie's eye as she was in (Y/n)'s arms but her head was resting on (Y/n)'s shoulder.

"Miss me?" Ben whispered as he wrapped his arms around (Y/n)'s waist, kissing Goldie's temple before he rested his head on (Y/n)'s other shoulder.

(Y/n) closed her eyes as she leaned her head back on his shoulder, relishing in the embrace. She'd missed him more than he'd believe and for more reasons than one. She generally didn't like it when he left but with three girls to look after, she didn't want him to leave again for a long time. If his mother hadn't of been coming round a lot to help out (Y/n) didn't know how she would have coped.

"More than you think."

"That's what I like to hear." He mumbled before leaning to press a longing kiss to her lips. He missed all of his girls more than ever to the point he almost regretted signing the contract for this movie. But he didn't have to go away for location anymore and he only had one more month left for the rest of the scenes to be shot. Then he could be at home with his girls for a good few months. "Are you okay?"

(Y/n) held her breath for a moment as she didn't know if she suddenly felt sick or if it was the small pains coming back. Either way, when she didn't answer Ben guessed that she wasn't well.

"Alright, I'll take Goldie and you sit down." Unravelling his arms from her waist, Ben moved round so he could gently ease Goldie into his hold, feeling that she seemed to have gotten bigger whilst he'd been away. He held Goldie in one arm and reached out to hold onto (Y/n) with the other to gently move her so she would sit down on the bed. "What's wrong?" He asked gently as he bent down in front of her, settling Goldie on his knee as she seemed to be content for the time being.

"I-it's nothing, just a twinge. It came and went earlier." (Y/n) shook her head to try and dismiss the subject as she pressed her hand to her stomach to try and force the pain away. It was a sharp pain in her side that had only lasted for a minute this morning before disappearing. She'd had twinges and pains in all the other pregnancies and it had been nothing to worry about.

"I don't like the sound of that, I think we should get you checked out, just to be safe." If it had happened earlier and it was happening now, then whatever was wrong clearly hadn't gone away like (Y/n) thought and it was clear that it seemed to be worse this time around.

Ben also didn't like the fact that (Y/n) didn't fight against him and protest like he knew she would have meaning there was something wrong.

"I'll call mum to come stay with the girls and then I'll take you to the hospital. It's all gonna be fine."

[hellolittleogre]

Happy Holidays and have some fic!

  Home made from me to you, the continuation of Billy x Goody College AU, Idiots in Love pt 2. Thank you all for this year, for encouragement and flailing and AUs. 

May you have some days of rest, peace and food however you do or do not celebrate.

  Billy was hungover, feeling like an idiot and nursing a large cup of coffee and browsing the campus bookshop for a suitable valentines card for Jujin. He hadn't told her about the whole Vasquez debacle, still feeling pretty fragile about it and not able to stand her reaction of incredulous pity, exasperation and downright ridicule that was no doubt coming his way. 

The first valentines card Billy had ever sent, or rather had made, with chubby fingers sticky with white glue and glitter, way back in playschool, had been for Jujin and his mother, and so it felt like a good gesture. A “no hard feelings” kind of gesture. A “I guess you kind of outed me but it turned out alright in the end, and all in all I’m kind of glad to have it done because it would have been difficult as hell to introduce our mother to my legally wedded husband and our adopted kids 15 years down the line, so it’s all good, put please for the love of God don’t do it again” kind of gesture.The trick was to find a card which was nice, yet still patently ridiculous, since nobody wanted a sincere valentines card from their brother. He was choosing between a card with a very grave looking cartoon T-Rex holding a heart, and a card with a big yellow rose saying “HAVE A GAY VALENTINE!” which seemed funny, but also slightly passive aggressive, when his eye caught on a postcard.

It wasn't specifically a valentines card, instead it was a water colour depiction of a hazy moon, full and white, over the water of a calm pond. Little wisps of cloud were trailing around the moon, softening it, almost like a veil, and muted green tones around the edge of the water-mirror hinted at lush vegetation. On the back it said La Lune, Metropolitan Museum of Art. It wasn't strictly speaking a valentines card but it was so Goodnight that Billy didn't hesitate for a moment and left the shop with it and the t-Rex valentine in secure possession.

 Delivering it to Goodnight was easy. They all had their cubbyholes in the lobby and leaving for lectures on the 14th Billy quickly looked around to make sure he was alone before sticking the unassuming white envelope into the cubbyhole. He had settled for printing Will You Be My Valentine? and nothing else at the back, figuring that was mysterious enough without driving Goody into a frenzy trying to figure out who wrote it. He'd never squashed little handwritten notes into a crush’s locker in high school so he figured he was owed the experience. All day there was a little jitter of excitement and he firmly ignored the little voice that said that if he had any balls at all he'd give it to Goodnight in person and come clean.  

Coming home he immediately spotted the card lying on Goody's desk. It was the hardest thing he’d ever done not to look at it and just walk over to his bed like normal. Goody seemed in a good mood, humming softly and hanging out the window smoking and picking up Billy’s valentine’c card and tapping his fingers against it. It was sort of a breathtaking feeling. He had done that, he'd caused that little dreamy smile that hovered just at the edge of Goody's mouth, and it made him want to preen and puff up. 

“You want a chocolate?” Goodnight asked leaning into the room to look at Billy. 

“You got chocolates?” Billy asked, crestfallen,and tried not to feel upstaged by Sam again. As if Billy was not upstaged by Sams whole existence.

“They were giving them out for free at the health center,” Goody shrugged and pushed a small pink box towards Billy. 

“At the health center?” Billy asked and took one. “Are you feeling ok? Not ill?”

“No, I’m fine, I have a standing appointment with a hmm, uh, a counselor,” he shrugged it away looking a little pink so Billy elected to let it slide in favour of stuffing his mouth with chocolate. His mom had always told him he would grow out of his sweet-tooth but so far it hadn't happened.

 “Happy valentines,” Goody said with a smirk and Billy tossed him a chocolate. “Any roses and flowers?”

Billy huffed. “Not that I know of. They could of course have gotten delivered to my other dorm room, with my other roommate.”

“Yeah, that place is probably so full you can't even see the floor,” Goodnight said with a bark of laughter. 

“And they're all from your mother,” Billy returned, pleasantly warmed by Goody’s slender fingertips against the shiny surface of the card and his attention. 

“Too bad she's wasting her time when all you want is my daddy's dick.”

Heat exploded all over Billy's face. It might be the way Goody's mouth curled around the word daddy, all fat and satisfied and filthy, his crooked smile, or hearing him saying “dick” that casually, or too close to what Billy actually wanted for him to control himself, but he blushed so hard he could physically feel his cheeks pulse and his eyes dropped immediately to the hands in his lap.

The silence was deafening.

 He could hear Goodnight moving but he didn't think he could look up even if he was offered good money for it. 

“Aw, shit Billy. Shit, I'm so sorry. I talk too much, everyone says so. I didn't mean to…”Goody's hand was warm on his shoulder and Billy darted a glance at his face before looking away again. 

“‘S OK,” he managed, all cotton mouthed. 

Goody was just there, close. If Billy leaned any closer he could push his face into his crotch. Mouth at the fly and unzip him, sneak one hand up under his t-shirt and fit his palm to the crest of his hip bone. Would Goody say no?Or would he let him?

“Lets just see if you got any mail though,yeah? Did you check your mail?”

Goody ushered him down to the lobby, dithering about this and that, leaning more heavily on the French than he used to, a sure sign of how flustered he was. Billy was still feeling the smarting sting of his previous stupidity, as well as the whole mess about Vasquez and wondering how to take it back or bring it up again. He didn't want Goody to assume he was carrying some hopeless torch for Vasquez, or that he was his one true love and would never look at anybody else, he just didn't want Goody to think that the boy he had a crush on was Goodnight.

 If he hadn't been so surprised he would have thought of better lie, like the boy in the coffee shop or the tall guy who checked books at the library or basically anybody else other than someone both Billy and Goodnight talked to every day. 

His cubbyhole had an unexpectedly rich yield with a card from his mother, and a pizza flier with a two for one offer but Billy's attention was distracted by a chocolate box at the very bottom of the drawer. He pulled it out and looked at it. It didn't look like a commercial offer but there wasn't a card or note and he kept turning it over and frowning.

“Did you get one of these?” he asked Goody, waving the box and Goodnight frowned and shook his head. “There is no note,” he said, turning the box over again and Goody bent down to pick up a folded piece of paper by his foot.

“Maybe this?” he started and then trailed off. “Its...uh. Its from Vasquez. Cool! That’s uh, really cool.Chocolates from your crush on valentines! Wow!” Goody said with a bright smile, handing the note to Billy. It was handwritten in an uneven scrawl: Happy Valentines, enjoy! / Vasquez

Billy stared at it with narrowed eyes. He was 90% certain Vasquez wasn’t the type to buy chocolates for Valentines for the person he was dating, let alone a friend. He was also 90% sure that if Vas was trying to get into his pants it would be through the means of a bottle of tequila and a frank question rather than what looked like Mexican Ferrero-Roche.With Goody heading back to their room Billy clutched his trove to his chest and fished out his phone. Vas picked up on the second ring.

“Hey Chaparrito, how’s it going?”

“Why the fuck do I have chocolates from you?” Billy said, never one for circumspection, and Alejandro laughed.“Its my abuelita, man. She gets them from her work and always picks up at least two cartons of chocolate, they are left-overs from last year, so she sends a ton to my ma. She says that when I was in pre-school I had so many novias there weren’t enough to go around. And they were all called Maria.” He sounded nostalgic.

Billy frowned even harder.“Your grandma has sent me old chocolates because she thinks I’m your bitch?”

“Dude, that is not what novia means. Also if I had bitches then Emma would be my bitch, and you would be my side-bitch. At best.”

“Aren’t I fucking lucky,” Billy groused and Vasquez made an indignant sound.

“Hey cabron, you could just say thank you.I could have given those to at least three girls in my course. I could even have let those go into the bottomless hole that is Josh, but instead I hauled ass all over campus to stick those up your letterbox, so now you had better appreciate your not even expired chocolates.”

“Ugh, I’m so touched. Your grandma chocolates are the most romantic thing to ever happen to me.”

“You’re an ingrate, shorty. Did you get one of those pizza leaflets? Josh and I are using one to go and crash Emma and Mathew’s valentines date, you should bring Goodnight and come.”

“Is Red coming too?”

“Yeah but he’s going as his own date. Says two pizzas and he might not get hungry again after half an hour.”

“All right, if they have their date in the student pizzeria hey deserve to have it crashed.”

Goodnight was hanging out of the window and smoking when Billy reached their room, Billy tossed his jacket at him and waved the leaflet.“Come on, we’re getting pizza and crashing Emma and Mathew’s valentines date.”

“We are?” Goody asked, picking up his coat.

“Absolutely, I have a two for one pizza offer and nobody I’d rather spend it on. I’ll even pay for your soda.”

“Oh, Billy,” Goodnight rolled his eyes. “You sure do know how to treat a fella.”

“World’s okayest roommate. You can stick it on a mug for my birthday.”

Goodnight’s hand landed on the back of his neck, warm and broad as he leaned over and gently bumped their foreheads together, their noses nearly brushing. Warmth zipped up and down Billy’s whole body. It was like being back at first week when Billy had jumped at the slightest touch, his heart doing an eager little somersault in his chest, and his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth.

“You, mon ami, are so much more than “okay”,” Goodnight said warmly and released Billy to get his shoes on and Billy stuck behind him all the way down to the street to give himself time to stop blushing and get all of his limbs back under control. 

Mathew and Emma had indeed been dumb enough to have their romantic valentines date at the student pizza place and although Emma’s face promised murder it was a fun evening. Vasquez and Faraday kept trying to trump each other with bad dating stories, Vasquez winning with the story about how he had managed to commit pre-school polygamy with all the girls in his creche and then got into terrible trouble when they all found out and he and his best friend (the Cyrano to his Casanova) had been forced to hide from the tiny mob of pissed-off five-year olds under the pillows in the nap room until his dad came to collect him.

 It made Billy laugh so much he got the hiccoughs and nearly fell off the bench and Vasquez was forced to reach out and pull him up by the scruff of his neck, putting an arm around him to make sure he wasn’t falling off again, and Billy looked up from laughing so hard he was literally snorting orange juice through his nose and saw Goodnight looking at him with a brittle smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, and he remembered he was supposed to be in love with Vasquez and perhaps not laugh so hard at his romantic failings.

“I’ll see you Thursday,” he called out to Vasquez when the groups separated, on Thursdays they both had a midday gap in lectures that they usually used for going to the gym.“It’s a date, short stack,” Vas responded cheerfully and blew him a kiss before putting an arm around Josh to support him around an icy patch on the road.“A date uh?” Goodnight said, smiling as they walked home and Billy looked at his feet and shrugged, his ears heating up. He was really going to have to find a way to get himself out of this one.

[callmehopeless]

Honeyed Eyes

CLYDE LOGAN x READER Chapter 1

Words: 2922

Plot: The newest attraction at the local circus is anything but an ordinary wolf. Clapped in chains and kept in a cage; he’s slowly given up all hope of rescue. But kindness can be found in unlikely places: and Clyde is slowly learning to trust that you might be the one to give him his freedom - and with it, his humanity.

A/N: A werewolf!Clyde x reader fic, complete with fluff, angst and that NSFW content you all know and love! I’m so excited to bring you guys this one. I reckon you’re gonna love it as much as I’ve loved writing it. There’s also some gorgeous art by @abstractragedy at the end of this fic - please check out her amazing work! 

Kofi | Masterpost | Ao3

“You know I’m a little old for the circus, right?”

Marie laughs - laughs musically as she leans back on the little plastic seat that reaches up to her mid back. Colours fly in kaleidoscopic waves; dancing in your vision as they reach up to the center of the tent. It’s not a full house by any means, but it’s a day off you both desperately crave. Marie managed to get you both front row seats, and well: something in the scent of cheap popcorn and culled grass that sends you homeward, fills you with a comfort and a strange anticipation in your stomach. 

“Too old for the circus” she scoffs “right, sure. Because that’s a thing that happens. Suddenly you get to a nondescript age and they say ‘ma’am, you want to come to the funnest place in the world for a few hours to break the monotony of life? No, you’ve got tits and we’re worried it’ll startle the jugglers.’ And then they throw you to the curb with a squeak of their nose.”

Marie doesn’t do subtle. You like that about her.

Lights dim; drawing your gaze to the center of the ring. Crowds hush and acts bustle on - tightrope walkers, jugglers. At one point, some sort of fire-breathing based act (you can’t quite comprehend it - how the hell is he doing that?) and three gymnasts doing tricks over hot coals (Marie winces the entire time). 

It’s only when the final act comes on that you really feel yourself drawn forward in your seat. Plastic digs into your jeans as you grip your legs; some sort of cage being dragged into view by four lycra-clad gymnasts. The cage is entirely obscured by a thick red blanket, but something inside it jitters and groans as though it’s distressed. You’re sure this isn’t a circus with animals - sure of it. Didn’t the brochure say so? An all-human circus. Exclusively. No ifs or buts.

“Ladies and gentlemen” a voice booms through the speakers, lights slightly dimming “and for our final act, we are pleased to present: The Terrifying Wolf-Man!”

A gymnast rips the red cover from the top of the cage, leaving it trailing in a flurry on the floor as sand kicks up. The cage rattles with the force - and then, the crowd freezes.

“Holy shit” Marie whispers, equal parts reverence and fear.

Everyone hears of little stories about circus freaks and what. You remember watching a documentary, somewhere in the late night re-runs on Youtube, about dog-faced men and people with genetic defects. You hear stories of animals kept as curios by ringmasters - white tigers, elusive two-headed rats. Exotic scorpions.

This is none of those. Nothing like that.

Jet black fur covers its body; a mass of dark tangles, untamed and smoky in the dull light. One of its arms is shackled to a bar in the cage; the other cuts off just above the elbow, leaving a stump in its wake. The shackle is stained with crusted blood, rubbing against the skin of frighteningly large paw. Hind legs seem to shake as they’re forced to balance the creature’s weight, tail drooping and curled between them as though from intense fear. Muscles ripple on its stomach, taut as muscles can be - strong and defined on the soft underside in a way you’ve never seen on an animal before. Its snout is clamped shut by a leather muzzle: nostrils flaring as it sips in the scents of the crowd.

But the eyes. God, the eyes. Liquid gold flecked with chocolate brown - beautiful, really. Devastatingly so. And so, so afraid. It seems almost dazed as the lights flash over its eyes, metal bars separating it from the outside world. 

A dark, cold prison.

Whispers of awe run through the crowd - mumbles, murmurs. There’s something ghastly about the scene before you; something cruel about the way the crowd stare at the huge, wolflike creature: like it’s a thing. Disgusting. Terrifying. No pity for the freakish thing.

One of the gymnasts rattles the bars of the cage with a thick, wooden stick. Clanks echo: the wolfish thing howls as though pain radiates through its bones from the sound. Chains jangle: its eyes scan the room in desperation, soft gold flitting from one shocked patron to another.

And then they land on yours.

The wolf huffs a soft whine, its cheeks puffing as it stares at you and holds you there - holding time still, for the briefest of infinities. A quiet stills you; the creature sniffing, tasting a scent in the roof of its mouth. Its struggles just...stop. Watching you. Holding to you. And in its eyes: you see all you need to see.

“It’s looking at you” Marie murmurs, her hand on your shoulder.

The roof of your mouth is suddenly incredibly dry. Palms shake.

“I know” you whisper. The wolf huffs another whine, leaning forward. Leaning towards you. In those golden eyes, there’s such profound intelligence. Gentleness. Awareness.

Human. It looks devastatingly human.

“It’s still looking at you.”

It won’t stop. It holds you in its gaze; curling in your stomach. Imploring you, begging you.

Help me.

“How much to see more of that wolf?” you ask; heart up in your throat as you stare down the ringmaster with a palpable nervousness. You can hardly feel your palms, nails digging in so hard that there’s a bitter sting rising up in the ridges.

The man scoffs, grabbing up a handful of leftover juggling balls. Thick, red hair laps at his neck: scratchy beard wisping at his chin.

Marie tugs your sleeve.

“Come on” she whispers “just leave it.”

You shrug her off and pull out a fifty dollar bill from your pocket.

“How much?”

The man does look up then; regarding you with a heady mix of skepticism and distaste.

“A hundred” he says, licking his lips. “For that, you can have as long as you want. Fuckin’ thing’s turning out to be a bad investment anyway.”

It’s no question. You palm him the hundred, even as Marie huffs a complaint and walks off toward her car. On shaky legs, you follow the redhaired man through the slew of seats and out of the curtains between the tents. Sunlight dapples through the red and yellow canopy of materials, soft sand kicking up on your boots as you pass a pair of jugglers.

Coming to a stop by a clearing, you note a hollowed-out truck. One of the sides is entirely made up of metal bars; glinting bright silver in contrast to the chipping red of the other three walls. Scratchy straw fills the space: thick chains hammered into the walls as though to hold the creature down. In the middle: the thing huffs, its back to you as it lays facing the back wall. The way its legs are curled protectively is almost...almost human. A distressed stance you’d know anywhere.

“What is that thing?” you ask quietly. Spit crackles in your throat, watching the way its chest rises and falls. Hitching as though desperately trying to calm itself.

The ringmaster laughs.

“You won’t believe me if I tell you.”

“Try me.”

The man folds his arms, waistcoat dipping as he leans back against the side of the truck.

“Werewolf.” His grin is cold and lopsided; he already knows how you’ll react.

And react you do - eyes rolling.

“Right.”

He shrugs. “Told ya.”

“So you’re telling me” you say “that’s...that’s a guy. A guy you’re keeping locked up in a little cage like that? Are you kidding me?”

The wolf’s ears seem to prick up, but it fails to move. Whether from exhaustion or fear, you’re not quite sure.

“Now you listen here” the ringmaster retorts. “We give ‘em good food and lodgings. Keep ‘em clean and let ‘em have peace and quiet outside of showtime. If he ain’t changin’ back into a guy; that’s his problem. Far as I’m concerned if he wants to get out of here, he can just go doin’ that.”

You don’t even dignify that with a response: approaching the cage and resting your hands on the worn bars. The metal is smooth at your touch, little sticks of straw poking at your belly. It smells good in here; almost like cologne. Nothing like you’d expect.

“When you’re done inspectin’ the merchandise” the ringmaster sniffs “get out. Don’t be comin’ back here.” He moves off, calling over his shoulder. “And his name’s Clyde.”

The man moves off as you silently appraise the huffing wolf - its back legs stretching out ever so slowly. A werewolf? How utterly stupid. Werewolves don’t exist - and if they did, wouldn’t they look like a shitty Hollywood blockbuster?

“Clyde?”

The wolf stirs in response as your eyes widen; the sound of a loose chain jinking on the floor as he rolls onto his side. Bleary gold eyes take you in as he huffs, muzzle now removed to let his jaws free of the leather. There’s a spark of acknowledgement that catches you off guard - even moreso as he staggers up onto three paws. His gait is slowed by the missing paw, but there’s something so familiar in his movements. Something hauntingly sad and pained and fearful.

Facing you, eyes low: Clyde stops.

“Can you...” you swallow thickly, pushing away from the bars “...can you understand me?”

Clyde puffs air from his cheeks. With a sweeping motion, he bows his head. Dark fur ruffles.

“Ohhh no. No. That wasn’t a nod. That’s...this isn’t happening.”

Clyde huffs again, yellow eyes appraising you with some form of soft skepticism. As though he’s the one testing you out. Your hands run through your hair nervously, jittering on the spot.

“Six times two” you offer. “Make a noise when you hear the right answer.”

Clyde blinks.

“Three.”

A pause.

“Eleven.”

Nothing.

“Twelve.”

Clyde whimpers.

“Oh my god.”

You stagger backward; breathing ragged as you stumble into the wooden bough of a nearby tree. This is insane: werewolves don’t exist. You’ve heard of all sorts of crazy shit: but people shifting into giant wolves and ending up as circus attractions? That really isn’t in the ballpark of stuff you’re willing to accept.

But this wolf is responsive. Intelligent.

“He’s right. You’re...Clyde, you’re a werewolf. Oh god.”

Clyde shifts his weight on his three paws; stump wobbling as he pushes his nose against the bars. It slips between them just so: just enough that he can push the black mass of his muzzle through and huff at you. Huff at you as though he’s trying to draw you in, draw you close.

Cautiously, you take several steps forward, letting your fingertips lightly dip out towards his nose. He seems to strain even further at that: furry chest straining as he whines, trying to reach you for just the briefest of moments.

And so when your fingers gently stroke the cold wet of his nose: Clyde makes a harrowingly desperate noise. His whole body seems to ripple with an insistent, painful energy as he nuzzles harshly into your hand - as harshly as he can, given the circumstances. Any worries you had about Clyde being something that needed chaining float away with the painful want in his eyes.

He’s lonely. He’s so, so lonely. Scared and lonely and desperate to be held.

You can’t imagine it. Being stuck in that body, tortured and chained - dragged out for amusement of crowds. How much it would make someone crave even the briefest of social interactions, the briefest of caring touches on your skin.

“I’m so sorry” you whisper, tears threatening to spill over as you run your hands over the soft fur on his muzzle. He puffs breaths into your palm, closing his eyes as though to savour the moment. “I’m so sorry they’re doing this to you.”

A buzz in your pocket leads your spare hand down to the back of your jeans: plucking your phone from the denim and pushing it to your ear. Clyde’s eyes follow the movement: still leaning against your other hand, mouthing the skin on it insistently.

“Marie, I just...”

“I don’t know what you’re doing, pal, but we’ve gotta go.”

Clyde whines, needy and strong.

“I can’t. I can’t leave him.”

The phone crackles as you push it into the crook of your neck, freeing your hand in the process. With both hands free, you’re able to pat Clyde’s head: lathering him in attention. His eyes flutter shut, breathing steady as he revels in it.

Marie sighs.

“I’ve got a meeting in an hour. It’s a 45 minute drive back to my place. We need to go.”

Annoyance flits through her tone - but you don’t have a choice. Marie’s your ride home - without her, you’re pretty much fucked. This circus isn’t going anywhere until the end of the week; and it’s not like you can stay with Clyde even if you want to. Night is drawing in: and what’re you going to do? Bust the guy out with no tools or plan? No - you need advice. Tactical thinking. To clear your head.

“Alright, I’m coming. I’ll be there in five.”

You withdraw your hands, ending the call and shoving the device into your pocket: and Clyde absolutely despairs. His paws clatter, making his chains jangle on the straw-covered floor. Pupils wide and dark and desperate as he howls.

“I’ll come back!” you tell Clyde; letting him earnestly nuzzle your palms again. His nuzzling seems even more panicked now; as though he no longer cares how needy he seems. “I’ll come back tomorrow. I’m going to figure this out, Clyde. I’m going to get you out of here. But I can’t do that tonight: not without a plan. You have to trust me.”

Clyde seems to still at that: eyes closing. His forehead pushes against the bars as he bows his head, pressing black fur against the flat of your hand. Resting it there. Regaining himself.

“I promise you, Clyde: I’m going to get you out of here. I swear.”

And as you turn to walk away, slipping your palm off of his head and feeling the dust crunch under your feet: Clyde’s head stays bowed against the bars.

As though he can imprint the memory of your fingertips right onto his soul.

He wishes it was like in the movies.

Clyde was never really much of a movie buff - he prefers the company of books. Any books, all books. His brother used to tease him for it; but Clyde could never help himself. Every cent he ever found was spent on endless books - when he wasn’t working the bar, he was curled up on the sofa. Book in hand.

The movies always tell you it’s something like a blur. You lose control: give in to some primal urge. All memory goes out with the human skin, and the time as a wolf is almost like dreaming.

It’s nothing like that.

Clyde feels everything. Every want, every need. Every thought. Crystalline and clear; his mind still entirely his own. He’s aware of everything: aware of the way the chains on his legs dig into the thin flesh there, aware of the way they all look at him like he’’s this creature. 

The loneliness is the worst, he thinks. Being trapped in a cage, lonely and bitter and sad. Craving just...any form of company. Anything. The smallest exchange.

He shifts his body: yellow eyes drifting up to the soft cloud cover of the sky. Stars poke through every now and then, illuminated by the soft glow of moonlight. He lays on his side, paws curled in front of his body. Wet nose pressed against a metal bar.

It still smells like you. So much like you.

He wants to hold your scent in his lungs forever. Let it fill him up, up, up: fill him until it spills into his skin. Burns away the fur and paws and brings back the man he remembers being. He aches for it so badly that it feels like wildfire.

The way you looked at him...God. How long has it been since someone has looked at him like they feel for him? Looked at him like a man, a real man: seen the person in his skin? Too long. And when you touched him, he just...couldn’t help it. It should be shameful (and it is - it is) but it’s just...you smelled like heaven. Like something sharp and distinctive and exquisite on the roof of his mouth.

Beautiful. You’re so, so beautiful.

His head feels too full as he huffs a breath, lungs aching. Sooner or later, he knows he’ll fall asleep - fall asleep with that gorgeous scent on the roof of his mouth. Maybe it’ll carry him off to better dreams - dreams of a life where he’d be himself, he’d pour you a drink with a shy smile. On the house, darlin’. 

He’s scared and alone: but for the first time in as long as he remembers, Clyde Logan feels that light shiver at the base of his spine. That little tug on the muscles in his legs, a tingling on his lips.

It’s not enough to shift, but it’s hope. Comfort, pulling him just slightly back towards humanity. If you give him enough of it: maybe he’ll be free.

He huffs quietly, giving a little whine.

“I’m going to get you out of here” you’d said.

Please let that be true.

And here are some gorgeous sketches of our wonderful sad boy by @abstractragedy! She’s so incredibly talented and was my rock for playtesting this chapter. Please go drop her a like and let her know how cute her wolfy Clyde is!

Let me know what you thought of Honeyed Eyes and if you’d like to be added to the taglist!

Check out my: Kofi | Masterpost | Ao3

[poisonedfortunecookie]

shance month - day 23 - Carnations 

-

I’m so glad shance month is in January because I could write this silly self indulgent flower shop au for my birthday and not fell at all guilty. This one is also longer than most of the others, you can find it in the ao3 collection if you’d rather read there. 

-

The first time Shiro went into Altea flower shop, he was so enamoured by the man serving him he'd walked out with a bouquet of a dozen roses and no recollection of buying them.

Luckily his mother loved roses and was overjoyed to receive them for her birthday.

The next time Shiro visited the flower shop he had no business being there. He did not need to buy any flowers, but he wanted to meet that man again, the one who was more beautiful than any of the flowers that bloomed in the shop.

Shiro had only one goal entering the shop; to learn the man's name.

“Good afternoon,” he greeted when Shiro walked into the shop, then his eyes lit up in recognition. “Oh! It's you, Shiro, right? Did your mother like the roses?”

Shiro’s heart flip-flopped in his chest and his stomach tied in knots. The man remembered him.

“What can I help you with today?” He asked with a brilliant smile. He rested his arms on the counter and leaned forward. The elegant curve of his back and arch of his neck as he looked up at Shiro like the delicate curve of a flower leaning towards the sun.

“I, uh,” Shiro was speechless. He needed an excuse.

“I need some flowers.”

The man laughed, his midnight blue eyes sparkling with mirth. “Well, you've come to the right place.”

Right, of course. Shiro blushed but kept his cool. He took a deep breath to steady himself and glances at the name badge pinned to the man's apron. Lance. Now he knew his name.

Shiro smiled.

“It's for a friend's birthday,” he clarified surprising himself with the ease with which he lied.

“Another birthday? Must be a busy month for you.”

“And an expensive one," Shiro chuckled. Lance laughed, his voice was like music.

“Do you know what flowers they like?” Lance asked.

Shiro paused for a moment, pretending to consider what this 'friend' might like. Of course, there was no friend and Shiro would be keeping the flowers for himself, so he may as well take the opportunity to learn a little something more about Lance.  

He shook his head and smiled sheepishly. “No, not really. What's your favourite flowers,” he asked smoothly as if he were only looking for suggestions.

“Hmm,” Lance pondered the question. He glanced around at the display of flowers studying each in turn.

“Carnations,” he said his eyes finally landing on a brilliant display that took up almost the whole wall.

“They are very pretty,” Shiro nodded approvingly.

“And it just so happens to be the flower for January,” Lance exclaimed, a fact he knew not because he worked in a flower shop but because his best buddy’s birthday was in January.

Hunk was currently doing something weird with food and flowers that Lance didn't understand, but he seemed to be having fun, so Lance had to place a big order of carnations to create a bouquet worth of Hunk. Unfortunately, he'd overestimated just how many of the flowers he needed. Now the shop had too many, and it was his job to sell them all...or else.

Shiro and his naivety had come along at just the right time. He felt a small amount of guilt for tricking the man, but it wasn't as if he was forcing him to buy something he didn't want.  He was simply making a suggestion, and Shiro wasn't looking for anything in particular, this way they would both benefit. No harm no foul.

Lance walked over to the display with a skip in his step and picked out one of the purple flowers delicately pinching the stem between long, slender fingers. He presented it to Shiro.

Shiro took the flower allowing himself the thrill of letting his fingers to ‘accidentally’ brush against Lance's.

“My friends favourite colour is purple, these are perfect. I'll take some,” Shiro accepted quickly, his fingertips tingling from there they'd touched Lance.

“Wonderful, I'll pick out the best ones just for you,” Lance said with a wink, and in that moment Shiro fell in love.

“Thank you.”

Lance wrapped the bouquet in bright paper and added a few extra decorative ribbons because he wasn't a complete jerk thank you very much.

“There, how's that?” Lance presented the bouquet to Shiro for his approval. Shiro was too captivated by Lance's eyes to pay much attention to the flowers, he accepted and paid for them without complaint.

- - - -

Shiro returned a few days later.

“Hello again. Don't tell me, another birthday?” Lance asked with a playful, cheeky smile that made Shiro's heart soar.

“No, not this time,” Shiro returned smoothly with a playful grin of his own. He'd had time to prepare during the past couple of days, and this time he had a plan, though he could quite prepare him for Lance's smile.

“My friends just announced their engagement.” It was another lie, but something believable. Lance would not suspect him.

Lance’s eyes brightened, and his smile softened with delight.

“That's wonderful. Congratulations to them.” He said it so sincerely that Shiro immediately felt guilty for lying to him, but there was no turning back.

“I don't suppose what you want this time?”

Shiro shrugged sheepishly. “Not really. I was hoping you could help me.”

“Well, there's always carnations. Both white and red ones represent love,” Lance laughed. He meant it as a joke, a reference to Shiro's previous purchase, although there was the small hope that he could get rid of a few more of the flowers.

“The carnations went down well as a birthday gift. I think they'd be lovely for an engagement present," Shiro said enthusiastically.

“We do have other flowers if you'd like to browse," Lance offered. He’d already forced one bouquet on Shiro; he didn't want to add another.

But Shiro had made up his mind. He shook his head. After all, he wasn't buying them for anyone else, they would decorate his apartment along with the purple ones he bought a few days ago, and they were Lance's favourite flower, so he wanted to buy them.

“Ok then.” Lance picked out the best of the white and red blooms adding a few sprigs of green bell and baby's breath (that he didn't charge for) to bulk up the bouquet and make it look more impressive.

He finished it off with lots of ribbons and a gold tag that said 'congratulations'.

“it's perfect,” Shiro said. He left the shop with a smile.

--

Over the next few days, that turned into a week and then two, Shiro visited the shop frequently. He had a different reason each time, and no matter which flowers Lance offered he always ended up buying carnations.

It was a relief in some ways for Lance. Shiro had bought a large chunk of the stock and Lance no longer had to worry about his job. But he couldn't help the stab of guilt he felt each time, the first time he'd practically tricked Shiro into buying them, and now they were all the man seemed to buy.

The flowers were reaching the end of their life now and no longer looked their best, though they would stay relatively fresh for another week.

He wondered if Shiro would keep coming in when they were all gone. Of course, when they ran out Lance would just order more, and there would always be some carnations in the shop, but there was something about this batch of flowers that tied him to Shiro, and Lance worried that he might just disappear along with the last of them. It was unusual to have such a frequent customer, and Lance doubted he would continue to buy flowers for every special occasion.  

Lance had grown used to him. Shiro's visits were always nice, he was easy to talk to, easy on the eye and probably taken.

Lance sighed. Well, he hadn't bought flowers for a partner yet, but there was no way a man like that was single.

The bell above the door rang announcing the arrival of another customer. Lance straightened up and smiled to greet them, his grin growing brighter when he saw who it was.

“Good morning Shiro. What’ll it be today?”

The first thing Lance noticed was that Shiro looked nervous. His head was bowed, and he shuffled his feet and fidgeted, but his smile was as warm as ever.

“I need something...for someone special.”

Lance’s heart sank, but he put on his best professional smile to help Shiro.

“Someone special, eh?” He teased wiggling his eyebrows which made Shiro laugh.

“What's the occasion?” Lance asked, a touch more seriously.

“Well, actually, I plan to ask him out today,” Shiro admitted, jittering with nerves.

“Really? What a lucky guy. I'm sure it'll go well,” Lance said encouragingly his heart sinking even further. So close, yet so far.

Shiro relaxed somewhat. The fact Lance didn't respond with open disgust when he admitted he was asking a man on a date was a good sign that, at the very least, Lance would let him down gently. He felt a little braver.

“I hope that he at least gives me the chance to take him to dinner,” Shiro sighed a lovesick sigh. Lance wanted to scream, it was so unfair! How could anyone say no?

“You're a great guy Shiro. I don't see why anyone would refuse.”

“Well he might have someone already. I've only known him for a short time, so I don't know if he's single...”

“Well if he is taken and turns you down I'm free at six. We can grab  a drink and drown your sorrows.”

It was a terrible idea to flirt with someone who was about to ask another person out, and an even worse idea to offer himself as a rebound, but Lance couldn't help himself. In the unlikely event that Shiro did get rejected at last Lance was giving himself a shot with the other man, even though, under such circumstances, it was more than likely to end badly.

A new light of determination flared in Shiro's eyes.  “Is that a promise?” He teased feeling his confidence grow.

“Promise. I'll keep my schedule free for you, but in the meantime, I'm going to make you the most extravagant beautiful bouquet you have ever seen. These no way he'll say no,” Lance said as he rolled up his sleeves. While he wanted a chance with Shiro, he wasn't going to ruing the other man's chances with someone he clearly felt strongly for.  

“So do you want? Roses?”

“Actually, his favourite flower is carnations...” Shiro said carefully gauging Lance's reaction. If he figured it out from that than all of Shiro's plans would be ruined, but Lance just laughed.

“Seriously? Carnations? It must be fate.”

Shiro hoped so.

The carnations display was a lot smaller now, and Shiro noticed a few new additions.

“Where did these blue ones come from?” He asked.

“Those are dyed. They're a bunch of leftover white flowers that will only last about another week, so I'm trying to give them a new lease of life. Hopefully, they'll sell before I have to throw them out.” Lance said wistfully. He seemed sad at the idea the flowers might get thrown out before they were sold.

“But we have some fresher red carnation here, they look a lot nicer.” Lance tried to draw Shiro's attention to the red flowers, but Shiro had made up his mind. He picked up one of the blue flowers and rolled the stem carefully between his fingers, spinning the flower slowly so he could study the brilliant dye effect from every angle.

“These blue ones are beautiful,” he held the flower up comparing it to Lance's eyes. It was perfect.

Lance's breath caught in his throat. He could almost believe Shiro was calling him beautiful, but that was just wishful thinking. “They're unique. Blue carnations don't happen naturally.”

“I'll take all of them,” Shiro said firmly.

“Are you sure? Don't you want something a little more romantic?”

“Would you be happy to receive these flowers?” Shiro asked surprising Lance.

“I would,” he answered honestly.

“Then they're perfect.”

So Lance gathered all of the blue carnations and wrapped them up in blue and white paper, securing the bouquet with silver and blue ribbon.  

“Good luck.” He said as he passed the flowers to Shiro.

“Thank you,” Shiro left with the flowers cradled carefully in his arms as if they were the most precious gift of all. He paused once he was outside the shop, hovering in the doorway for a moment before he turned to the left and disappeared into the crowd.

Lance wondered when he might see Shiro again if things went well. He would probably come back to buy flowers for the guy, for Valentine's day and birthdays until they eventually got engaged and then married. Lance groaned and hit his head on the counter.

There was no sense in worrying about that now. Grumbling angrily to himself Lance straightened up and ran his fingers through his hair to smooth it down. He had a job to do!

The shop was quiet. There was no customers, and nothing that required his immediate attention. With a huff, he contented himself with staring out the window watching the people pass by.

Around five minutes later he saw Shiro walk passed the window, coming from the opposite direction he'd left as if he'd just taken a quick walk around the block.

Lance frowned when Shiro turned to the door and stepped back into the shop. Had he been rejected already?

No way.

“Shiro?"

He held the bouquet, hiding behind it, but lowered it at the sound of Lance's voice and smiled over the flowers nervously. He didn't look upset.  

“Hi Lance, do you have a moment?”

Lance glanced around the empty shop and nodded.

“Would you like to go out for dinner with me tonight?” Shiro asked holding the flowers out to Lance.

Lance blinked dumbly at him. “What?”

“Well you see when I first saw you I was so….and then I kept coming back and.. you're so beautiful, and funny, and kind, and I don't want to make you feel uncomfortable so if I sound too much like a creepy stalker then just tell me to leave and I'll never bother you again, but it would make me the happiest and luckiest man alive if you would give me a chance, so please?” Shiro said in a breathless rush. He stretched out his arms further pushing the flowers towards Lance.

Lance took them without a word, unable to believe what he'd just heard.

“So the person you wanted to ask out..” He said when he finally recovered his words.  

“...is you,” Shiro confirmed in a low whisper.

Lance began to laugh, bright bubbling laughter that flower like a babbling stream, he couldn't stop. He clutched the flowers to his chest and laughed harder.

“Sorry, sorry, this isn't a no, it's just-” Lance was cut off by his own giggles. He was happy, so happy, but he couldn't say yes. Not yet. First, he had to tell Shiro the truth.

“It's just carnations aren't even my favourite flower,” he admitted. He told Shiro all about his mistake with the order, how he'd persuaded Shiro to buy them that first time only because he needed to get rid of them, and how grateful he was Shiro had bought so many.

“I think you single handed my saved my job,” Lance chuckled. He'd gained control of himself now, but his eyes were still bright and wet with tears of laughter.

“I figured I owed you the truth. And if you still want to take me to dinner after all that then I agree, but on one condition. You have to let me pay.”

Shiro seemed to consider this for a moment.

“Are you still free at six?” he asked. Lance answered with an enthusiastic yes.

[madluv]

joker origins / napier thing I wanna start that’s like a new take on the killing joke backstory? I spontaneously started writing a little bit last night, kinda got some ideas for it - it’s unfinished but what dya think yay or nay? 👀🃏

language / drug use / violence under the cut

The music and bodies were throbbing, a stage of lowlights and loose limbs. Techno thumped hard  against his chest, aggravating his adrenaline heavy heart. It was an assault to the senses, the acrid scent of sweat and semen lingered in the stagnant air. It was all tits, legs, teeth and tummies, though the flesh show wasn’t the reason for Jack’s sticky shirt, nor even the reason for his presence at the stripclub. Much unlike the sparse patrons perched on stools and splashing the little cash they had for a flash of slit, or rarer still, a smile. Jack sat alone and to the side, a single chair against a single table, vibrating from the hefty speakers, ashtray still smoking from one half-cinder cigarette. The lack of customers, though bad for the girls, made it the perfect setting for the work they had planned. And every few minutes, as to not raise suspicion, Jack turned his attention from the split legs and bulging bikinis to the VIP suite, where the owner sat behind tinted glass, snorting coke and counting change. Where they needed him to stay while they robbed this shithole blind.

It could certainly do with some style – the neon pinks and purples worked to flatter the aging strippers but did very little for the drab furniture and chipped paint. Personally, he’d get rid of the podiums altogether, replace them with cotton candy machines, poker tables, how about a little roulette? People had very little vision in this town and he hoped one day to change that. For now though, Jack settled with whatever paid. Whatever paid for his very particular skill set. The Red Hood gang, he found, were more than willing to. Equal splits when a job was done, perfect for an upstart fresh out of juvie. At least that’s what he’d said. So, they’d shoved a flip-phone in his hand and got him entry to the local strip joint. “Don’t fuck this up, kid,” worried he’d get distracted due to the setting. He’d seen more meat on his own mother – wasn’t his thing. They’d be rolling in notes by the morning. Women were a dime a dozen and Jack was out for a lot more than fucking dimes.

The phone buzzed against the table, jittered against his empty glass. Bored eyes blinked, adjusting to the screen brightness. WE GOOD? Not yet. Jack had other plans. They’d be a certain success, he was leaving nothing to chance. He’d shut the phone just in time as a waitress loitered in his blotted peripheral. Sent as an obvious prompt that he should buy another cold one, she was slowly collecting empty tumblers, a blank expression beneath a battered blonde wig. He could barely contain his disdain as she approached and reached for his drink.

“Handy tip,” she started softly, “the girls won’t come over unless you throw ‘em some notes –”

Startled, she jolted as he grabbed for her wrist, catching her mere inches from the rim of his glass. “That is handy,” he replied with a chuckle (hahahaha…) “but why do that when I can see all I want from here, for free?” Jack felt the gentle tug of her arm but her expression remained neutral. She was noticeably practiced in the art of accepting unwanted advances. He didn’t relent.

“You sure?” Her tray of empties now placed upon his table, she pulled her pinny upwards to present the hem of her skin-coloured stockings, brushing a knee lightly against his splayed leg. He could feel her warm breath against his damp neck, could see the raised veins in her skinny arms. The wide and searching, empty eyes. Parched and cracked lips coated in thick crimson. The hunger.

“It’s far less disappointing from a distance,” he assured her, laughing lightly – with pity – and patted her skirt back over her thighs flippantly. “Scotch will do.” He extending a single crisp $50 between two fingers. Grinning widely as she desperately swiped for it… But Jack was much faster and sleight of hand had the fifty dollars once again tucked down his sleeve, out of sight and out of reach. “Tadaa!” Jack splayed his palm to prove the money’s absence and the waitress sucked through her teeth, disgusted.

She glared dangerously from beneath the rough fringe of her shiny wig. Not even the neon lights could flatter her deep-lined frowning. He tutted falsely at her repulsed response – she was used to disappointment, surely? After all, she lived it! “Magic tricks don’t do it for you, huh?” Jack asked, retrieving the note and offering it up again. Dangling it temptingly, smiling warmly at her all the while.

She snorted, visibly angry – long gone was the vacant waitress – this time, she viciously snatched at the fifty, scratching his hand with sparkling nails. She left three tiny welts that stung. Jack finally let go and she stumbled, snapping up her tray she stormed back to the empty bar, muttering obscenities about scumbags and skint men. “Wash your hands before you make mine!” he called eagerly from his seat, utterly satisfied. He’d paid $50 for that, it was the very least she could do!

Another text sent his cell spinning in a semicircle. HOW ABOUT NOW? Jack sighed, they had all night. Success – and more importantly finesse – took time. Something the Red Hood gang had yet to learn. Still, Jack eyed the lounge from his quiet corner. No one had left in a good hour or so. He just needed the dumb broad inside to return to the stage. The owner had beckoned in some top-heavy brunette thirty minutes prior and she had yet to come back. Considering the amount of snow Jack had seen him sniff up his nostril, a half hour stint was certainly commendable. So, Jack had been inclined to wait out their awkward coke-dick coitus with a quick drink – only for it to go on far longer than he (or anyone for that matter) could have anticipated. Now the gang were getting impatient. R WE GOOD YET J?

Jack stood. He’d given up on his waitress as they were giving up on him. J? Sighing somewhat dramatically, he slicked bouncy curls from his brow. He didn’t like to be rushed. This was only Jack’s  second time on the job with them – couldn’t risk a premature sacking, so to speak. He hoped to avoid too much of a scene, he’d have to be quick as not to scare the punters. Though looking back at very few of them, noses halfway up the girl’s assholes, he doubted they’d notice a damn thing. The thrumming of the mindless music would drown out any screaming, he’d just have to be be sure they didn’t escape before he was done with them.

Five minutes. Jack finally replied, flipping the lid and pocketing the phone.

No one batted an eyelid as he approached the VIP suite, not one client noticed his thin and unassuming frame stride across to the owner’s own private quarter. Not a single person thought to stop a stranger from stepping beyond the public premises. Without encountering any problems whatsoever, Jack was at the lounge door and waltzing inside.

“What the fuck?!”

The owner, bald-headed, dried blood from his nose to his lip, pupils pinpricks, jaw solid, sat spread out gurning on a leather sofa. The brunette was bouncing lazily in his lap, barely lucid. That was until Jack appeared in their doorway, smiling pleasantly at them both. “I’m ever so sorry,” he lied loudly, “I thought this was the men’s!”

“Get the fuck out!”

The balding beast of a man shoved the stripper roughly from his thighs, clutching at the slack of his jeans to quickly cover his flaccid cock. Jack continued to smile politely as though he’d interrupted a picnic rather than a failure of a fuck in a private room. “I don’t suppose you know where they are?”

“I’ll fuckin’ kill you, you little fuck –”

“I’ll take that as a no, shall I?” His teeth flashed, tugging swiftly at the ankle of his own pants – flicking a knife out from his sock suspenders. This was where chaos always ensued. The stripper immediately set to squealing, bunching herself up in the corner and cowering, brittle arms covering her matted hair. The owner reacted far less submissively, and despite tripping on his loose trousers, swung a firm fist that spelt CUNT across the knuckles. One terrible scratchy tattoo that was quickly followed by its predecessor, TUFF. Both missed – and in his open state, gave Jack the gateway to his soft, bare belly.

The first stabbing went straight up between his ribs, where the man immediately slacked, sputtering, stunned. The second swiped his stomach, which turned him rigid, only his eyes roved madly about his skull, unseeing. And finally, the third, driven directly into his thick throat, silenced instantaneously, he shook uncontrollably in Jack’s slick hands. “It’s t-o-u-g-h!” Jack explained, breathless and exasperated, dropping the body at his feet.

“So–” He clapped his sopping hands together and felt the splatter speckle his face. Grinning widely, welcomingly, at the woman staring, the brunette was wordlessly mouthing something, aghast. Blowing wandering wet curls from his face, Jack continued calmly, “I don’t know why you’re hanging around I’m not gonna pay ya.” Frozen solid with fear, she dared not move. Not an inch. “Alright. Alright. Alright. Alright. Alright.” Jack squatted down to frisk the sorry carcass of the club owner, oozing black and red from wide and pumping wounds. She gave a strangled whine as Jack proceeded to pat it down, shoving stained palms into tight pockets, eventually he found himself fat leather wallet. “Here.” Limply, he tossed it, flicking tendrils of thick clotted blood, along with payment, her way. “Now you can go.”

Money motivated most and as he’d hoped it would, had motivated her to move out from the corner she had clambered into. Reaching without flinching for the wads of cash he’d procured from her dead lover, she said nothing, nodded absently, gathered her gear and fled. Jack caught her so suddenly, slit her windpipe so deeply, she was as good as dead the very moment her fingers touched the doorframe.

The time he’d allotted was up, the phone once again hummed against his hip. NOW? They asked.

I’ll let you through the back.

[aastralfox]

Promises Made Anew

Pairing: Chise/Elias (The Ancient Magus Bride) Word Count: 1533 Rating: General Excerpt: Well, he'd been getting better with identifying emotions, whether it showed or not. He understood happiness now. He understood sadness, loneliness, jealousy. But he never understood fear. He couldn’t, not when he’d never felt what was described in books as 'blood going cold' or, being 'frozen in place'. He never experienced anything that resembled’ ‘terror’, nor had he ever been 'horrified'. At most he'd been worried, but nothing more. 

Regrettably, he understood now.

He felt fear now.

Notes: This is set in some nebulous universe before Chapter 42. Written for my lovely, most wonderful @jellyfishfaerie​, my darling, one of my closest friends, for her birthday. You, every day, are an absolute joy to talk to and i love you so so much. sorry this is late.)

Like Elias, the creature was something...Other. Unlike him, however, it was made of scale and smoke and vine instead of bone, darkness thorns. It appeared suddenly, a menacing presence on the edge of Elias' awareness. Elias left to meet it instantly, part curious, though mostly defensive. The Other, whatever it was, didn't belong here. It wasn't from here, and all past experiences indicated that a fae-being on their property without invitation was after only one thing:

Chise.

So, of course, the problem needed to be confronted.

And of course, that was when the real problem began.

Elias remembered walking out past the front gate of the cottage, out into the gloom of midnight, into the darkness that feared him more than he feared it. He remembered taking the winding path down to the forest and he remembered facing it as it loomed above him.

It didn't speak, either because it couldn't, or it didn't want to. It only shifted, a swirl of smoke and scales and jittered to a halt in front of Elias. The serpentine mouth opened and it dove, Elias darting out of the way, scant inches from the sweep of elongated talons.

Regaining his balance, Elias turned back to face it and...

Well, he'd been getting better with identifying emotions, whether it showed or not. He understood happiness now. He understood sadness, loneliness, jealousy. But he never understood fear. He couldn’t, not when he’d never felt what was described in books as 'blood going cold' or, being 'frozen in place'. He never experienced anything that resembled’ ‘terror’, nor had he ever been 'horrified'. At most he'd been worried, but nothing more.

Regrettably, he understood now.

He felt fear now.

He didn't know where Chise had come from, or how she'd managed to follow him so quickly, so silently. But there she was, the talons of the beast holding her down as its open maw hovered above her, ready to snap, to snuff out the life that was so precious to him.

Elias shifted without thinking about it, his voice all but a low, guttural rumble. “Let her go.”

He lunged and the creature of scale and vine did too, and a moment later Elias was enveloped in smoke. He swiped out with a massive, distended paw to no avail. The Other had become immaterial, and his physical attempts at retaliation, at protection, slid through empty air. Desperate, tendrils of his own darkness wavered outward, twining with thorns to weave an entrapment. He felt something catch, a fish at the end of the line, and he snapped out with his jaws, feeling his teeth clamp down satisfyingly on flesh, but only to have it turn to whisps and slide from his grasp like water. Elias spun and bit and snarled uselessly.

All the while Chise lay limp, pale as a sheet, the very colour draining from her, everything faded to greys, from her skin to her hair to her clothes. And all the while, Elias fought, because he needed to win. He needed to snatch Chise away and run to safety, to Tir Na Nog, where she could again be healed, even if it meant facing a reprimand from Titania for allowing their favourite Robin to be injured.

“Elias!”

The fae-lights of his eyes flicked to the right and...there was Chise. Standing. Whole. Healthy. Ruth by her legs, his tail curled around her. Confused, Elias swung away to look down, and there was Chise, again, still laying prone on the ground.

“Elias!”

Her voice seemed closer now and Elias shook his head, dropping onto all fours and growling. This...this was a trick. A vision. But which was real? Which was the falsehood?

Magic flared around Chise, sending her dress aflutter, tugging at the ends of her hair. She raised her hand, palm pointed toward the Other as her eyes blazed with that singular look of determination that only Chise was capable of.

Magic washed over them and Elias shouted in warning. Such a display was the equivalent of lighting a beacon with Chise's name on it, making her a viable target for every hungry, malicious fae being in the area. They were already moths to Chise's flame, and this was the equivalent of lighting a bonfire.

But as the warmth of her magic danced in the air around them, the smoke lessened, whisked away by tendrils of her power. The Other turned, enraged, and dove for her. The real her.

Elias charged in the way to block, and everything went dark.

***

When he woke again he was cocooned by blankets. Bandages wrapped over his arms and most of his torso, turning him into something of a mummy. He felt something touch his arm and he turned to look, just in time to see Chise darting out of the way, narrowly avoiding being clocked in the forehead with the thick bone of Elias’ snout.

She sat back on her chair and fixed him with a steady look. “You were hurt,” she explained, as though it weren't already obvious. “And whatever it was hasn't come back.”

“How did you get rid of it?”

“I don't know.”

They lapsed into silence after that, one broken only by the trickle of water as Chise dipped a cloth into a bowl set by the bedside and squeezed it out, bringing it back to dab at the wounds which hadn't yet been covered by the bandages.

“You...are okay?” Elias asked, settling back against the pillows to watch her work.

Chise nodded mutely. “I think it was an illusion. It wasn't entirely there. But...I could hear you. See you through the smoke. You were trying to fight it.”

“The...Other?”

“The smoke itself, Elias. There wasn't anything else there.” She pursed her lips and dropped the cloth back into the water, folding her hands into her lap. The air swelled with the unspoken question and Elias felt distinctly uncomfortable, the same as he did whenever Angelica would stare at him for too long.

“What did you see, Elias?” she questioned gently.

Elias burrowed back into the pillows, tugging up the edge of the blanket as though it was somehow a viable option to hide behind. He felt a bit stupid, all things said and done. However, it wasn't because he was embarrassed by what he'd seen. He didn't know enough about matters of the heart to guess the implication of what admitting the truth might mean. No, he only felt silly for having been taken in by it, and his pride was bruised for having to be rescued to boot.

So he poked at one of the pilings on the blanket as Chise patiently waited. The silence spooled out between them, growing heavier, thicker with time, itching like a woolen blanket on a hot day. “You don't have to tell me,” Chise finally said, standing to reach for the bowl to change the water. “But whatever it was, it was an illusion. A trick. It wasn't real.”

“I saw you,” Elias said, and Chise dropped back into her chair. “It was you. The thing...the Other. It was eating you.”

Her expression was hilariously unruffled from the revelation, but after having been the target for hungry fae creatures time and time again, evidently the shock of it had long since worn off. She sat forward, elbows on her knees, the hagstone around her neck gently swinging with the movement. “It can happen,” she admitted.

“It won’t,” Elias countered, stubbornly.

“It can.”

“No! Without you I w--”

“Elias!” Chise scolded, her tone sharpening even as gentle hands came down to cup Elias’ face and turn it towards her. Human on one side, draconic on the other. 

Both grounded him. 

“It can. It might. Any number of things might happen. I don’t plan to die, Elias. I don’t want to before my time. I want to live. But even if I survive a long, long time, live as long as a normal human, I’m still going to die before you.”

Elias stared at her then slumped back into the cushions. “I know.” Not unless, of course, he stole her away to the faewildes before that, but now wasn’t the time to entertain thoughts of protective kidnapping.

Chise patted his face. “We fight together, Elias. You promised me that. We fight together and we live together. Survive together. And none of that will work if you always think that I’m something to be protected.”

He parted his jaws to protest.

“And besides, this time I protected you so we’re clearly equally vulnerable in our own way,” Chise quickly added, her green eyes glittering with poorly concealed mirth.

His jaw snapped shut.

“Promise me, Elias.”

He looked up at her, fae-light eyes flickering as he thought. “I already did, once.”

“Promise me again.”

“I promise.”

“Thank you.” Chise smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to the end of his nose. Warmth tingled through bone and Elias reached out to tug her close, an arm slung around her waist like a child holding onto a particularly favourite stuffed animal. Chise obliged him with her unique brand of exasperated indulgence.

“Together,” she said, shifting to rest against him.

Elias propped his chin against the top of her head. "Together."

[mantrabay]

Ballroom In The Sky

Short Story

Gazing with his mouth wide open towards a sullen evening sky dotted with jet black clouds

Geoff Wild shakes, weeps and sighs.

He was on his knees on this grass-strewn, unkempt graveyard on the outskirts of his native town.

Two years later and her memory still intrudes in unexpected moments.

“Still so vivid. Is this a nightmare…..some trick of the light or just another passing dream?

The Passing Of A Velvet Heart.”

Geoff's thoughts almost choking him. Streams of emotion flowed down his face like someone who had just seen a tragic film.

Violet or Velvet heart, his pet name for his wife, had died and was still having difficulty coming to terms with it.

The sudden passing of his loved one had left this middle-aged man gaunt, ashen faced and skeletal. Wild’s troubled expression had become a haunted house of uncanny notions and strange secrets waiting to flow from his water-logged eyes. Those circumstances surrounding Violet’s death were never clear.

Was it a death wish or an accidental fall from the edge of the flat roof on their elegant townhouse?

Why would this lady of such excellent balance lose her footing in such a manner?

Death through misadventure was a colourful term used to describe what happens when there is no clear cause or explanation.

“Cherish all those wonderful experiences we had. Whichever one of us dies first.”

Violet once said. Almost as if she had some premonition.

This was six months before she passed away.

A creepy dawning sneaks its way into Geoff’s thoughts.

An endless see-saw of conflicting doubts convulsed him as he dwelt in the cemetery.

Yet Wild fondly recalled that night they first met at the Skyline Ballroom.

The Skyline was a battered tumbledown barn cum venue whose allure was based firmly on its availability.

The interior of this ballroom was hardly more enticing.

The chipped hardwood floor and the dusty pale cream walls with paint flakes that peeled off only confirmed its tenement status. It was known locally as the “Creaking Beam”” due to its ghostly acoustics and flickering lights. Here in this spooky venue Geoff and Violet had their earliest encounter. Wild remembered her radiant smiles and looping glances which he hoped were being cast at him. The ripples of long dark hair, those apple blossom cheeks and of course her angelic aura stood out.

On that night she wore a polka dot ruche dress, amethyst ear pendants and satin moccasins.

An opal choker completes the picture. “Have I the gumption? The courage.

A faint heart etc.” Geoff could hear his heart flutter as he did his tightrope walk toward her. Within seconds he was standing in front of Violet unable to control the tremble in his knees.

“May I dance with you?” Geoff asked.

Velvet heart’s hands formed a lazy arch and her dainty fingers curled inwards while she thought of a response.

“Of course. I would be delighted.” Violet spoke in that pear drop tone which beguiled everybody who met her.

Geoff, the local journalist and writer was in seventh heaven.

They never forgot that enchanting song they first danced to, “Ballroom In The Sky.”

The song was performed by Valerie And The Blue Skies, a rock and jazz band whose name was partially influenced by the venue that gave them their initial break.

They weren’t very big but had a cult following.

Something magical and unearthly happened every time they played that song on stage.

Geoff could see how similar Violet and Valerie were in appearance.

They were mirror images of each other.

It was frightening how easy it was to confuse the two of them in speech, mannerisms and appearance.

The drole, quaint, humour.

Age even.

Valerie was based in a remote enigmatic area outside town when not on tour.

She used to refer to songs as role plays in that banter between numbers.

“You feel as though you are a different person.

Maybe a member of the audience betimes.”

Valerie remarked.

Other than that they, Violet and Valerie, were virtually indistinguishable.

Violet did admit to meeting Valerie casually and for autograph purposes but other than that they had very few interactions with each other or so it appeared on the surface at any rate.

It seemed amazing how “ Ballroom In The Sky” with its airy ascending rock chords and jaunty jazz lines could draw Violet, Valerie and Geoff into a peculiar triangle.

The sudden moody breaks and abrupt silences built a momentary cocoon around the three of them which the rest of the patrons were unaware of.

For the most part or at least superficially.

They, the three characters, weren’t always aware that they were being sucked into a surreal threesome.

As for Valerie’s top sideman....well, he was known as Silent Sam.

He was the only member of this group that had any kind of track record or reputation.

Sam’s blue attire was in keeping with the band’s name. He wore a large trilby hat tipped over his forehead sheltering his pointed face and pencil slim physique.

Basking in the background one saw very little of him.

He, Sam, was short-sighted when it suited and though taciturn was also eccentric.

Practical jokes were his forte and the trademark impish grin was always an afterthought.

Then the usual quiet man mystery.

“Yep ..Yup....or Sure.“

These were the only asides from this oddball sidemen by and large.

He was prone to stumble and fall. Valerie had to indicate where things were to Sam in case he injured himself.

They would have words with each other which no one could quite figure out. Theirs was a sign language of its own complete with slanted squirms and facial signposts.

One often wondered if there was a deeper relationship between Valerie and Sam that others had yet to pick up on.

Leaving that aside, those Blue Skies airs would have been mere fillers without Sam. This lonely freak seemed aloof but by the same token these songs were peculiarly his.

“LOVERS TAKE THE FLOOR

FANCY DANCING WITH THE ONE THAT YOU ADORE

WARM EMBRACES AS YOU HEAR EACH OTHER SIGH

LOVERS TIL WE DIE

WE’LL BE DANCING IN THAT BALLROOM IN THE SKY.”

Every time that song was played Valerie, Violet and Geoff were sharing unwittingly a secret that would baffle even the most senior detective.

The startled looks, embarrassed smiles, were all part of this outlandish ritual.

Wild did try to piece all these recollections together.

“Valerie sure could croon those songs. In a real hypnotic fashion. Everyone in the dancehall was enthralled. People would sway like ice skaters one moment, waltz in a swan-like manner the next and just as often rave in the isles like end of term teenagers. The classics then came thick and fast.”

Geoff whispers to himself in this solitary graveyard.

“JUST A PASSING DREAM...........STILL SO VIVID.......DANCING IN HEAVEN...... KISSES ALL AROUND....MAGIC HAND........A LITTLE BIT BLIND, and of course “BALLROOM IN THE SKY”. Other favourites included “ LET YOUR LOVED ONE KNOW “ ( BEFORE SHE PASSES AWAY ) AND “ IN TWO MINDS.” Geoff and Violet would date and swing religiously to those fantasy songs every Sunday as their courtship blossomed.

“Ballroom In The Sky “ was always the highpoint of the dance with its mesmerising rhythms and choral mantras.

Like magic it weaved its way through every aspect of their relationship. Its spell was like an invisible hand shadowing their each and every move.

This constellation of events occurred in a scenic nineteen seventies spot.

Despite its haunting vistas and backdrop of panoramic hills it resembled a ghost town. Openings were few against an infinite spiral of closing factories, bookstores with half-empty shelves and shopkeepers peering out of doors.

A crushing gloom weighed heavily on this once vibrant resort.

Ten years earlier it was a beacon. “I shudder to think…...A jigsaw puzzle of past events.”

Geoff surveying the cemetery as if he were a stargazing prophet.

He didn’t want to be heard talking to himself.

Such memories could have been taken directly from some movie script. “Yes .. it was a hub that Skyline. Like homeless drifters, the folk who attended lapping up and revelling in the bonhomie of gemstone tunes and spritely pulse rate beats.”

The man Geoff communing with himself.

They were fugitives all of them. Be they fantasists, love seekers or escapees from that heavy-handed void called the dole queue. Suddenly an unusual presence descended without warning.

“What the heavens is? Snap…..ah it's a branch.” Momentary jitters engulfing Wild.

He shook in concert with the overarching colonnade of brown edge green leaf trees astride this burial ground.

An eerie rustling dewdrop tiptoe now caressing Geoff’s ears.

”Up there somewhere Velvet Heart?

Dancing in the heavens? You know that “Ballroom In The Sky.”

Nervous laughter now relief road to that traffic jam of sentiment just about to speed off.

Glued to the spot that macabre sixth sense of Violet hovering above evaporates due to an illusory shaft of late evening sun.

Warm misty comas presently forming a shroud over Wild but he was immune to them.

Geoff’s mental state shifts from doze to daze. Clouds of recall floated past his eyes with the odd fact jolting him out of his stupor.

Wild could no longer hide from the rather bizarre identities Valerie and Velvet Heart possessed. “Oh those comic jibes and piercing glances that they cast at any distance. Some ethereal intrigues were passing through the air in a game of bow and arrows that never missed their target.”

Geoff recalls with forensic clarity.

Poor Silent Sam who was also at a loss would do his usual u-turn into the shadow. He then shook his head in dismay.

Two months before Geoff's and Violet’s parting, an unforgettable incident occurred.

Quite often memory is a lodger which steadfastly refuses to surrender its keys. It was one of those Sunday’s that typified the area Geoff lived in.

Valerie and the Blue Skies were in flying form as the tunes morphed and segued into each other. Valerie and Velvet Heart who were magnets for men knew the music would amplify their appeal.

This tuneful genre helped both aforementioned ladies ooze black magic.

Violet's knowing stare caught Geoff off guard. “Guilty conscience, there Geoff?”

Having fantasies about Valerie.

Focus all those erotic thoughts on me.

As for that eternity ring remember?” Violet’s eyes twinkled as she seized Geoff up and down. Those penetrating peepers knew how to vet a body in a flash.

“Oh no .....not at all.” Geoff with a loop of a smirk.

“Just those mystical melodies working their spell.” He said.

“You came into my life like the early morning sun.... a new dawn.” Wild in poetic mode.

“You honey tongue you. Wait, Geoff our song. Yes, Ballroom.” Violet mutters gingerly.

Valerie nodded towards Sam.

Her expression was a hard to decipher veil and deep code command.

“Get those fingers flying, Sam.”

In a tone identical to Velvet Heart leaving no room for misunderstanding.

Sam didn’t always act immediately on Valerie’s cues.

“Yep.. Yup ...Sure.” Sam’s usual retort.

Eventually.

“Ballroom In The Sky” now strong as ever as it cast its bewitching spell to all sections of this venue.

A medley was now included tonight for the first time.

“SOMEONE FOR EVERYONE” ( Sam looked at Valerie), “A LITTLE BIT BLIND” ( Sam staring vacantly at both Valerie and Violet), “MIND YOUR STEP( Sam winking at Geoff while scrunching the mouth at Violet).

Violet edged toward the stage whilst tenderly clasping Geof. There was a dim-lit silence.

Ballroom started again. Valerie and Violet now singing this tune. An eerie vacuum filled the hall as they sang unaccompanied with Geoff simply awestruck.

A triangular crush of people occurred near the stage.

Valerie handed Violet a letter which Geoff could only peer at. What was in it?

Sam was now talking to Valerie with the usual economy.

In the confusion of memory images are both mist and blur.

“Pst...Pst. It's me. Your Velvet Heart is back to haunt you so I am.“ Violet’s lofty twang.

“What in the name….I can't phantom…..fathom.” Geoff nearly froze. Violet’s voice sounded like a wet whisper stretching over twigs that simultaneously tap against windows.

She pulled back an orchard pattern duvet which was covering Geoff.

“Fell asleep at your favourite film, The Passing Of A Velvet Heart. All those graveyard scenes shot in our small town remember?

Actually Silent Sam wrote the soundtrack for the film and Ballroom. He sings on that one.” Said Violet objectively.

“Incredibly you chose Velvet Heart as your courtship name for me based on the film.

The film was never a huge success at all but did get our area some limited publicity for a while.

Sam earned some extra royalties, though not a king’s ransom from the soundtrack sales.

Valerie and Sam tying the knot next Sunday of all days.

As for that love letter you mumbled about in your sleep.

It’s an invite to their secret wedding.

Very private. As Sam is.

What a time and place he chose for the invitation.

During that ethereal love song which brought us together.” Once more Violet observes.

“Poor Sam’s a little bit blind and confused on occasions.

You know next Sunday and all. Or is he?

I was upstairs on the flat roof today.

Six months ago I fell off it.

You’ve never liked me being up there since.”

Violet continuing.

“Guilty secret must confess. I used to be onstage instead of Valerie.

Well, sometimes.

She was dating you pretending to be me.

We never knew each other that well but it was a dare worked out between us.“

Geoff shouted. “Hoodwinked.”

An incredulous look ripples over Wild’s pale face.

Violet’s eyes now ablaze.

“You never noticed did you? Deep down.”

This dry playful tease surfacing from Violet again.

Geoff was thunderstruck. Violet strolled towards their CD player on the mahogany table near the drawing room corner.

“Think you’ll like this one. Our song with Sam on vocals.” A tranquil Violet stated.

“This is one tune you’ll definitely know.

May I dance with you?”

Geoff smiled. “Of course. I would be delighted.

And relieved!”

Silent Sam’s voice wafts and weaves in his own inimitable shy way a song usually sung by Valerie, his wife to be.

And sometimes Violet, or Velvet Heart.

A number that united three people in the most curious and otherworldly manner!

“Yep….Yup ….Sure.”

As Sam was in the habit of saying!

mantrabay Copyright Protected

All My Own Work

.

[lollercakesff]

Time & Again 2

A bit more Jopper that I can’t get out of my mind…  AO3

Hopper wakes up to the smell of her, his mind fuzzy as he looks around his sparse room for Joyce. She isn’t there. He knows she never was. But still his dream had convinced him that she had been here lying next to him.

It was like a memory of another time when they had been thick as thieves, waking up after a night of debauchery in their last year of school. He’d been preparing to leave for Vietnam, trying to get his living out of the way before his draft came due when he and a few friends had run into Joyce out on the town. He didn’t remember how it had happened, but he’d woken up with her hair in his face and instead of pulling away he’d tucked in closer.

When she’d finally come to with her head spinning from the hangover, he’d held that same mop of hair back from her face as she prayed to the porcelain gods. Then he’d drove her home and she started seeing Lonnie a week later.

They never really spoke about that night and he wasn’t even sure if she even remembered it, but every so often he woke up to the familiar feeling and felt the loss of what never really was all over again.

The knock on his door has him rolling to sit on the side of the bed, his hands grasping for the rumpled shirt at the base of his bedside table. “Yeah, one sec,” he calls out as he pulls the shirt on. When he opens the door, El is there with her backpack, her quiet stare focused on him.

“School,” she states forcefully, her fingers playing with the sleeves of her plaid shirt and giving away her nerves. Hopper looks towards the clock and rubs his face.

“Yeah, I know. But kid, it’s six in the morning, school isn’t for a couple hours yet,” he says, sighing and turning back into his room to start gathering his uniform pieces.

“Late. I don’t want to be late,” she adds awkwardly.

“Don’t worry - we’ll be on time. Now can you close the - “ The door clicks shut and he smiles to himself while grabbing a clean shirt from the closet.

He knew she’d be excited for today, he should have expected it. After more than a year of being hidden away, he had finally registered her in school using her new birth certificate and an excuse about how she’d been living with her mother until now. They’d worked hard with Nancy to try to bring her closer to the knowledge level she’d need in class, though it was still an uphill battle ahead of them. But he was confident she’d pick it up quickly with the help of Mike and the gang, as long as they could keep her real identity secret.

Exiting his room, he finds El perched on the arm of the couch with her backpack held tightly in her arms. “Now can we go? Flo has already messaged twice.”

“Did you eat breakfast? Most important meal of the day, you know.” He nods as he moves towards the cabin’s kitchen, ignoring her question purposely. He can feel her eyes on him, watching his every move as her anxiety builds. “El, come on, trust me. We’ll eat breakfast and then we’ll go. You want Eggos?”

That seems to do the trick, distracting her enough so that he’s able to have his coffee and eat without much of a rush before he finally loads them into the truck to go. Pulling up to the school, he barely gets a chance to say goodbye before Mike is pulling open the door and rambling on about how he’d expected her sooner. He watches with his stomach in his throat as she lifts her hand to him before disappearing into the school.

The feeling that rushes in takes him by surprise and he has to press his knuckles into his forehead to keep it contained. In a swift moment the loss of Sara and the missed chances to watch her grow up flood his mind and fill up the space leftover from concern for El’s identity. The emotion blocks out everything else and he’s overwhelmed by the force of it.

“Hop?” Joyce’s voice cuts through to him and he looks up from where he’d hid his face against the steering wheel. Without warning, she rounds to the passenger side and climbs in, her hand coming to rest on his cheek. “What’s wrong?” She prods, angst tightly wound up within her.

Shaking his head he sniffs and feels her hand brush the wetness from his tears away. “God Joyce, sorry,” he groans, reaching for a handkerchief he keeps between the seats.

“Is everything okay?” She tries again, angling herself to be in his line of sight. He chuckles in between shakes of his head and smiles weakly.

“Yeah, just first day jitters, I guess,” he adds lamely and pulls her hand away from where it rests on his beard. He doesn’t let go of it though.

“Oh, I get that. The first day back after we found Will I was a wreck…” She laughs tightly and shrugs. “You’ll get used to it. Maybe even look forward to it, sometimes.”

“Yeah, I know. You caught me by surprise is all. Are we still on for dinner on Wednesday?” He was desperate to steer the conversation away from his ghosts, by any means, and while he knew the dinner would be on - they hadn’t missed family dinner since the Snowball dance a few months ago - he felt like it was a neutral middle ground between them that would give him time to recover.

“Of course! Will wants to try to make lasagna, so if you and El want to bring some garlic bread or something,” she says, shifting until she’s leaning back against the door window with her hands clasped in her lap.

“Hopper - you there? Come in Hop - “ Flo’s voice fills the car, the police radio turned up loudly to be heard over his usual driving music.

“I guess I’ll see you later,” Joyce nods, her eyes darting away as that rare blinding smile breaks across her face. He tries not to stare. Tries.

“Yeah, I’ll see you,” he pauses as she turns to slide out of the truck. “Hey Joyce - “

“Yeah Hop?”

“Thanks.” He smiles, leaning down so he can see her for one more minute. The flare of colour in her cheeks fills him with warmth that lasts even after she shuts the door with a snap.

[swxpped]

❝　excuse me ? why are you speaking to my daughter ?　❞

{!!} – Alexsander had never really been good with children, even when he had been one, himself. Not only that, but it was a rarity that he should encounter a child as unaffected by his curse as this one, so to say that he was somewhat uncertain of how to conduct himself when she approached him would have been fair. She had asked him for a magic trick; presumably, she had seen him somewhere before, perhaps the television, and knew what he did. He supposed he could oblige, turning out a smile constrained with unease and trepidity that he may somehow still manage to spook her off. He was so accustomed to children hiding behind their parents with their little faces stricken with unexplainable fear that this seemed exceedingly strange to him. ❝Alright...❞ Alexsander fumbled for a passing moment, still slightly incredulous to the fact he was being willingly spoken to by a youngling, before producing a pen & kneeling down to her level, asking her to test it on his hand, the distinctly black ink leaving its mark in whatever abstract shape she chose to scribble. ❝Now, I’m going to place my hand over your forehead & I want you to think of your favourite colour.❞ It was a simple trick really; just one of his innate abilities to channel the specific hue a person’s psyche emitted upon physical contact, and what do you know, he ‘guessed’ it correctly, the black ink now having been miraculously replaced with the child’s favourite colour, much to the astonishment of the little girl gazing up at him with that distinct air of childhood innocence that Alexsander had never had the advantage of possessing, himself. It hadn’t occurred to him that the child’s guardian hadn’t been keeping an eye on her, so the accusatory tone with which the suddenly approaching figure accosted him hit particularly hard that day, causing him to physically startle & almost topple over before he levelled himself out & stood up to his full height. His jitters were awfully damnatory for someone who had done absolutely nothing wrong. ❝She wanted to see some magic!❞ he defended a little too guardedly to be considered innocent, which he was, much to the contrast of what his behaviour would suggest. His nails, sharp & incising, were subconsciously dug into his palms as he awaited some kind of further censuring from the stranger, his gaze downcast but still able to survey the child’s guardian from within his peripheral vision. Why did he feel so guilty? Was he guilty??? Had he unknowingly committed some sort of atrocity only considered as such by the humans? Would he be punished??? What would they do next?

@familiae