#it will be shoes pants shirt jacket for forever unless i get to be alone bc any time i take anything off

[rugretti]

.

[mytwilightimagines13]

Pet (Part Four)

Masterlist

Word count: 1936

11th august 2006 Volterra, Italy

“Stay still, Dolcezza.” Dora said while she used a brush to apply some eyeshadow. “Scusa, Dora.” I said while my hands gently caressed her thighs. Dora had wanted to do my make-up before I would go and see Marcus for the evening, and currently she was straddling my lap with nothing on but a very see-through night gown, easily distracting me, my hands lightly resting on her hips, not knowing where else to place them. “Dora?” the soft voice of Caius breaks the pleasant silence between Dora and I as she works her magic on my face. “In here, my love.” she said, her face lightening up at the sound of her mate's voice. I wanted to move my head to the side so I could greet Caius but Dora grabbed my chin in her slender fingers. “No, stay still.” “I am sorry, Mistress.” I said. “Careful now, or I will keep you here for the night and Marcus can actually try and pry you away from my grip.” she said, her voice ending in a gentle growl making me shiver in pleasure. Soon I felt strong arms wrap themselves around my waist and a chin resting carefully on my shoulder. “Buonasera amore mio, bambina. Has she behaved today, Dora?” Caius asked, his voice low and husk. Dora smirked softly and leant forward to gently peck her husband's lips. “Yes, she has been a good little principessa. So, she will be treated like one for now.” her lips moved to my forehead and pressing a gentle kiss to it, making me blush. “That is very good. I love it when you behave well and we can treat you, bambina.” Caius whispered in my ear before gently placing his lips against the side of my neck where Marcus’ bitemark resided. Overall, the Masters and Mistresses left their bitemarks on my neck and shoulders while the three elite guard members stuck to my wrists. But that didn’t mean they didn't occasionally bit over each other's bitemarks when their instincts took over for the most part, or just to annoy one of the others. A small smile played around my lips while Dora put the finishing touches on my face. She put the brush down and let her fingers gently move down my cheek. “Sei bellisima, Dolcezza.” she whispered. “Si lo è, amore mio.” Caius agreed as he moved his arms from me to stand behind his wife, taking in her artwork on my face. I blushed deeply. “Grazie, Master, Mistress.” I whispered while looking down at my hands. “It is only because I value my brother's happiness that I will let you go from our grasp tonight, bambina. Or else we would have kept you here and ravished you until the sun came up come morning.” Caius whispered as he gently made me look at him, the look of a predator in his eyes making me blush even further. I looked back down at my outfit which was a simple evening gown in a deep red colour, my shoulders completely bare and the skirt was just above my feet to make sure I didn't trip over it. It was one of Dora's many, many gowns. Dora sighed and slowly got off my lap and gently pulled me up by my arms, helping me stand steadily on the new, deep red heels that accompanied the gown beautifully. My hair was being held up by a single, large and heavy silver clasp that was decorated by very expensive looking gems. “Hmm,” Caius said as he approached me. His fingers lightly traced my collar and he spoke very fast to Dora in what I assumed was ancient Greek. Dora giggled and seemed to agree to what he was saying making Caius smirk. “Very well, bambina. Off you go.” Caius said after a few seconds more before taking a step back to stand next to his wife again, wrapping an arm around her waist. I gently bowed my head to them and slowly left their chambers, careful as to not trip over the heels nor my dress.

It took me about 10 minutes to leave Caius and Dora's chambers and enter Marcus’. I slowly made my way down the long hallway to the very last room opposite to the entrance door. My heels clicked loudly against the stone floor and my heart was beating in anticipation. Once I reached the door, I gently patted down any non-existing creases before gently knocking. The door was quickly opened by none other than Marcus. His appearance taking my breath away. He was wearing a full suit, apart from the jacket and the sleeves of his black dress shirt were rolled up. His dress shoes shimmered in the candlelight coming from his bedroom and his red tie was still neatly tied around his neck accompanied by his Volturi crest that all the kings and queens wore. It was made of pure gold, like the crest of the higher guard. The only difference was the stone at the bottom. Each King had their own colour diamond in them. And every diamond had their own meaning. Marcus had a blue diamond that stood for peace, truth, devotion and eternity. Peace and truth for his place as judge, jury and executioner. Between the three brothers he was the most peaceful and always sharing the truth, how painful it might be. Devotion and eternity were for his loyalty to his coven and their cause, keeping the vampire world safe with enough humans to sustain them for all eternity while they reign. Marcus smiled at me, his smile even reaching his usual sad eyes. “Cara mia! I was slowly getting worried that my brother and sister had claimed your attention for yet another evening.” he said as he held his hand out for me. I smiled and gently placed my warm hand into his cool one. “I am sorry for making you worry and wait, Master. That was not my intention.” I said while Marcus pulled me towards him and into his bedroom, closing the doors behind him. He gently nuzzled his face in my neck taking in my scent. “I forgive you, cara. Although, it is not your fault that we like to revel in your presence.” his lips gently pressed themselves against the bitemark he left the first time he had been buried deeply within me. The memory, I was sure of it, would forever remain with me and send shivers down my spine in delight. “To lose ourselves in your scent and your love.” his lips moved upwards to my ear while he spoke. “Even the slightest touch of your fingers can make any man or woman long for more, not to mention what those lips can do.” he finished before gently claiming my lips, as if to prove what he just told me. The touch of his lips against mine alone was enough to make me sigh in pleasure. It wasn't a kiss full of lust nor need. It was a simple kiss, one that made my head spin a bit and yet made me long for more. Marcus pulled away after a few seconds, resting his forehead against mine for a few seconds longer and finally pulled his face away from mine. “Well then. I have a few things I would like to see your improvements in.” he stated, his voice becoming very serious, yet a playful glint remained in his eyes. “First off I would like to talk about your dance lessons. I do hope Demetri, Felix and Heidi helped you out in that aspect while in the ballroom. And I mean dances such as the waltz or any other form of dance that would be appropriate in company. I am not talking about, according to what Aro told me, what you like to call the ‘Devil's Tango’.” A deep red blush spread over my cheeks as he mentions this and at the same time remembering all my dance lessons with the three higher guards. “I am well aware you have practised that specific dance with the three of them on multiple occasions. The broken mirrors and furniture are proof of that.” and if possible, an even deeper shade of red coloured my cheeks now at the memory. “But I want to see if you improved on your other dances as well. Did you practice?” he asked as he gently stroked my heated cheeks. “Yes Master.” I said, gently biting my lip and trying to calm my heart down. “Good.” he said before his grip on my loosened and he made his way to a large stereo in the corner of

the room. Soft music came through the speakers once he pressed certain buttons and in the blink of an eye his left arm had wrapped itself around my waist while his right hand held my left one in a very careful way. I bit my lip and placed my hand on his shoulder, trying to not get distracted by the hard body I felt as he pressed me close against him. His, nowadays, piercing red eyes bore into my green ones. “Let us see how much you improved, shall we?” he asked and before I could answer his question, had he started his dance, gently guiding me across the room gracefully. I tried to keep up but my human body could not be as graceful as his vampire body, yet he didn't seem to care as he floated in circles, me close to his body and his eyes never leaving mine. After a few minutes the song came to an end and Marcus let go of my hand only to place it behind my head as he dipped me down on the final tune. I was panting slightly from the exercise and the excitement of having this godlike creature float me around the room as in a dream. Marcus had a playful grin around his lips before he gently pecked my lips and pulling me upwards again, helping me to regain my balance. “You are getting much better, Cara. Well done.” he said while gently stroking my cheek. Finally, my breath had calmed down and a small yet very proud smile crept onto my face. “Thank you, Master.” “Now for the other lessons I have been teaching you.” his hand slowly travelled from my cheek upwards towards the back of my head. His fingers gently opened the silver clasp that held my hair together and removed it, letting my long, brown locks fall down in waves. “I want to test your restraint once more, Cara.” his face slowly moved forwards until it was deeply buried in my neck and hair while his hands made their way towards the laces of the corset body on my gown. “Tonight, I will not tie you up. Nor will I blindfold you.” he whispered while his fingers skilfully undid the knot that kept the laces together. “However, you are not allowed to touch.” another pull at the laces, loosening the corset. “And you must keep your eyes closed at all times. Unless I tell you otherwise.” he carefully pulled the body of my dress apart, completely loosening the dress from my body. “Show me what a good little pet you are, Cara mia.” he released the dress making it flow down to the ground, leaving me in nothing but my heels. Dora had insisted on me not wearing any undergarments. A bra wasn't needed thanks to the corset of the body part of the dress and according to her, panties where nothing but a nuisance anyway. “Yes Master.”

Next Part

[dothwrites]

15.12 coda--a parent’s heart bared

Through the blur, I wondered if I was alone or if other parents felt the same way I did - that everything involving our children was painful in some way. The emotions, whether they were joy, sorrow, love or pride, were so deep and sharp that in the end they left you raw, exposed and yes, in pain. The human heart was not designed to beat outside the human body and yet, each child represented just that - a parent's heart bared, beating forever outside its chest.--Debra Ginsberg

---

Castiel sits on Dean’s bed, legs tucked up under him. 

It took him a long time to learn this kind of nonchalance, his body unwilling to bend after millennia of enforced rigidness. It took years to teach it how to relax, to learn how to relax into a space, how to be loose. 

He learned from Sam, but mostly he learned from Dean. How to be excessive. How to stretch out into a space. 

In the past weeks, he and Dean have had to relearn how to stretch themselves into the same space. They’ve had to learn how to fit themselves together, how to file away their jagged edges until they’re something resembling smooth. 

They’re still not perfect. There are still those discordant jangles that strike, the times when the memories rise up, bitter and choking, in the back of Cas’ throat. Sometimes, Dean will look at him and something dark and hard lurks in the back of his eyes, but those times are growing fewer and fewer. 

Mostly, Castiel relaxes into the feel of Dean. Like now, when he sheds his clothing, dropping it carelessly into the hamper, until he’s in just a t-shirt and his boxers. Castiel watches Dean brush his teeth and run his fingers through his hair, just the easy, calm routines of night, but Dean makes them look like a dance. 

Dean turns around and catches sight of Castiel watching him. “What are you looking at?” he asks, but there’s a pleased little smile on his face. Dean likes the attention, same as Castiel likes giving it. 

“Come to bed,” Castiel replies. 

“Take your damn shoes off you savage. And the coat. And the jacket. And the tie.” 

Castiel rolls his eyes, already toeing off his shoes as his fingers work at his tie. “You know that I don’t need to be undressed to find comfort.” 

“Yeah well, it’s weird trying to snuggle up to someone who’s wearing a tie. And it’s just bad manners to put your shoes on someone’s bed.” Dean’s eyes flick over his body, a swift, appreciative dart as Castiel sheds his button down. “Hey there hot stuff.” 

“It’s late and you’re tired,” Castiel says flatly, though not without a small amount of regret. 

“You’re no fun,” Dean accuses, but doesn’t try to argue against Castiel. 

Castiel settles back onto the mattress, the foam easily forming to the contours of his body. Dean follows a few moments later. Tellingly, he slots his body next to Castiel, laying his head onto Castiel’s shoulder. 

Dean is still a man of hard-broken habits, created from a lifetime of fighting and losing and hurting. Even now, he still refrains from asking for or seeking comfort unless it’s the most dire of circumstances. 

Castiel holds back, even though the words crowd on the tip of his tongue. It’s what he’s learned--he has to wait for Dean to approach him, for Dean to drop his walls and allow Castiel to help. 

He doesn’t wait long. 

“So Kaia’s going to Sioux Falls with Jody,” Dean says. His breath wafts over Castiel’s chest. Were this a different night or a different mood, this conversation might end much differently. But Castiel’s learned control--Dean doesn’t need that from him, not now at least. “I guess she’s going to be another citizen of the Wayward Girls.” 

Castiel hums in agreement, unsure of where Dean’s taking this topic. “Jody had a kid the first time we met her,” Dean continues. “A son. Her kid.” His fingers push into Castiel’s side before he continues. “Never figured out how he died the first time, but the second time...Sam put him down.” 

Castiel’s heard the stories. At the time, his vision tunneled by the upcoming apocalypse, he’d expressed what he thought were the appropriate noises of sympathy and changed the subject as quickly as he could, unable to see why he should spend sympathy on one dead human when there were billions of lives at stake. Now, with the memory of Jack’s screams still echoing through his memory, Castiel understands. 

“Losing your kid...” Dean trails off, but Castiel thinks that he’s finally managed to unravel the thread of this conversation. 

Jack is still a tender subject, the edges of the wound not quite healed. There’s too much anger, guilt, love, and worry to tape over and forget. Castiel knows; Castiel understands. But the fact remains that he never wavered in his belief and Dean...

“I thought about being a dad,” Dean says, turning his face so that it’s mostly hidden in Castiel’s lap. The heat from his breath spreads out over Castiel’s pants, turns them humid and damp, but Castiel doesn’t dare to move. After a moment, he settles his hand onto the back of Dean’s neck and lets his thumb rest in the hollow of Dean’s jaw. 

Dean relaxes into the contact. His shoulders loosen, even as his arm wraps firmly around Cas’ waist. “Just, you know. Sometimes. I knew that it was never going to happen, but still...” He trails off and Castiel lets him. He’s had to learn to let things go. To accept that some things, Dean just can’t--won’t--do. 

“Thought that I’d gotten it there for a while.” Castiel knows where Dean’s mind goes--to the year when he was with Lisa and Ben, the year where he tried his best to fit in with civilian life. To give it his best shot at normal. And meanwhile, while Dean was languishing away, Castiel was making deals with the devil. 

Castiel doesn’t care to remember those years. 

“But it wasn’t...It wasn’t...” Dean huffs in frustration. “I always said that it had to be someone in the life. Anyone else, they wouldn’t get it. They wouldn’t...And then, with you, and Sam, and Jack...It just...it worked.” 

Castiel strokes over Dean’s temple. He knows what Dean means. Jack fit into their lives, seamlessly as though he’d always been there, and Castiel had rejoiced, had found different ways to tell Dean--This is it. This is our family. This is where we put down roots.

“And then it got all blown to shit, and...I’m just thinking.” 

“About?” Castiel finally dares to ask, when Dean trails off into silence.

Dean rolls onto his side and looks at Castiel. 

“About kids. Claire, Kaia...Jack...They’re really all just kids. Every one of them...” Dean’s voice grows thick and he speaks through it; for his sake, Castiel pretends to ignore it. “Everyone of them got screwed over by their parents.” Dean inhales, loud and shaky in the silence of the room. “I always promised myself that I wasn’t going to...That if I ever had a kid, that I would...you know. I wasn’t going to be my dad.” 

Castiel’s thumb stutters to a halt before he continues. “He was a complicated man,” Castiel says after a moment, knowing the veritable minefield he’s just entered into. 

“That’s a nice way of saying that he was a dick.” Dean’s laugh is a small, sad thing. “For so long, I told myself that he did the the best he could, but he didn’t. He didn’t do the best he could--He could have stopped. He could have left us with Bobby. He could’ve...shit, I don’t know, but he could have done so many other damn things rather than what he did do. And I always said...I’d do it differently. I’d treat my kid different. I’d be better. And then I turned around and I put a gun to my kid’s head.” 

Castiel’s throat constricts. Seeing Dean, the man that he loves, the man that he had died for, would still die for...Seeing Dean standing there, his only thoughts intent upon Jack, the boy who he’d given himself up for, would eventually die for, and knowing that there was nothing but anger in Dean’s heart...If he slept, he would have nightmares about it. He still sometimes, in the strange suspension between awareness and not, thinks about it and what he could have done differently. Still examines the what-ifs from every angle, just to see--Was there anything he could have done? 

“It’s over,” Castiel says, for Dean’s benefit but partially for his. “Jack is back, and...” He tries to put into words, how much Dean has changed. How much better it is now--the automatic trust. The way that Dean’s eyes shift to his, checking in. The surprising lack of temper, even as sometimes their world caves in around them. It’s so much better, and Castiel needs to tell Dean.

“I let him down Cas. I let him down, Sam...I let you down...And all I wanted to do was to things right. To make it better for him. For all of them.”  

Dean puts a small emphasis on the word ‘all’ and Castiel knows what he’s thinking of--not just Jack, alone and afraid, so much newer to the world than any of them, but also Claire, Kaia, Patience, Alex...All the children they’ve met along the way, battered and broken, who deserved better. 

“So we’ll make it better.” The certainty settles in Castiel, above his roiling doubts and fear. “We’ll fight Chuck...We’ll end Chuck, and we’ll make it better.”

“Yeah?” Dean looks up at him, but it’s hope and not doubt in his eyes. “You think?”

Castiel holds Dean close and pushes away all of his doubts and fears--of how they’re going to kill the creator of the universe, what doing so will do to his boy, how he and Dean will weather the change, of the gloom and blackness slowly gathering at the corners of his vision, a reminder of a deal unfulfilled and a debt unpaid. 

He pushes all of that away and concentrates on what he knows to be true: Dean beside him. Dean, flawed and human but trying, always trying to be better. Castiel holds onto the hope that the past few weeks have given him, holds on so tight and so long that he thinks that it might cut him to ribbons. There’s not another option. Not for them, and not for him. 

“I know,” Castiel replies. 

---

Perhaps it takes courage to raise children.--John Steinbeck 

[anotherfacelessauthor]

Sirius’ new style - excerpt from By The Moon

Year 5

September, 1975

Remus Lupin was already sitting down in the compartment, legs tucked into his chest, eyes glued to the most recent escapist novel he’d found over the summer, when he heard the door open. As Sirius Black walked in, sporting a leather jacket, ripped skinny jeans, and a black eye, Remus thought he’d forgotten how to breathe.

He looked more confident than ever (not that confidence was anything Sirius had ever lacked) and casually leaned against the doorframe, a few cheap silver necklaces swaying around his neck. He could hear the faint click as they rattled against each other. Remus got the strange urge to take his picture—capture the moment before it was over and could leave his mind forever. He also wanted to submit to new, surprisingly strong impulses, screaming at him to reach out and grab the jewelry in his hand, pull the other boy into a fierce kiss—“‘Sup Moony?” Sirius asked innocently, as if nothing had changed since they’d gotten off the Hogwarts Express a few months prior.

“Sirius! You’ve—uh… changed,” was all Remus could spit out, mentally banging his head against the wall. You’ve changed? That’s all you’ve got? Your best mate got really fuckin’ hot over the summer and all you can say is you’ve changed?

But Sirius laughed it off, brushing a hand through his long hair. His nails had chipped black paint and a few shiny rings were scattered—one on his thumb, two on his ring finger, one in the middle—“Yeah, I switched up my style a bit haven’t I? Had a new friend help me out with that. D’you like it?” His demeanor shifted just slightly, from completely carefree, to a bit more interested. Remus barely noticed.

Like it? Bloody hell—wear that everyday and I’ll never focus in lessons again—

“Looks good, yeah." Remus swallowed. "More you.” He paused, wondering if he should address… “What happened to your eye?”

Sirius looked confused for a second, as if he’d completely forgotten about the giant bruise covering half his face, “Oh, this old thing? Nothing special, just—”

But Remus had stood up to get a closer look, revealing just how much taller he’d gotten over the summer and the rest of Sirius’ sentence stuck in his throat.

“Bloody hell Moony, you’ve grown!” Sirius exclaimed, stumbling back and looking Remus up and down, trying to swallow back all the thoughts that had been swimming in his head all summer. Sirius tried, and failed, to hide the shock as he bumped up against the sliding glass doors of the compartment. He couldn't look away. Remus looked effortlessly cool, sweater and jean jacket and another book hanging loosely, forgotten in his hands. The soft curls, the familiar freckles, the healing scars—Sirius felt warmth rising in his cheeks. Who’s that one person that feels like home… who holds your world in the palm of their hand without either of you noticing? He shook off the memory like a dog shaking off water and sat down.

Not a problem for today.

Before the moment could turn awkward, the last two Marauders showed up, babbling about their summers and how James was back and better than ever, ready to win over Lily Evans.

“Merlin, James, are you ever going to give it a rest?” Remus joked, turning away from Sirius to avoid staring. He felt himself falling back into the mess of yearning and want that had consumed him in third year, and Remus was desperately trying to claw himself out. With the OWLs coming up, he had no time for hopeless pining. Plus, he was still curious about the black eye but figured if Sirius didn’t tell him alone, he certainly wouldn’t be more willing to do so in front of the others.

***

Something that took both Sirius and Remus by surprise on the train ride was the astonishing number of girls who stopped by the Marauder's compartment to wave at Sirius, and giggle when he waved back, running a casual hand through his hair.

It was only after the fifth group passed by, a couple of Ravenclaw fourth years, that James asked, “Oi, Pads. How’re you doing that?” He paused, “And d’ya think it’d work on Evans?”

Sirius just shrugged, “I’m not doing anything. Just my natural charm—plus I got better looking over the summer. It’s a shame it didn’t happen to you—” he was cut off by James’ fist knocking into his shoulders, right on one of the healing bruises, causing Sirius to take in a sharp breath. He tried to play it off, knocking James right back, avoiding Remus’ eyes, but he could tell he’d noticed.

Lily stopped by as they were still touselling—to the excitement of James, who immediately straightened up and ruffled his hair, and the second hand excitement of Peter—but she barely acknowledged them, turning instead towards Remus.

She crossed her arms, leaning against the compartment door. “What are you doing?”

He furrowed his brow in confusion.

“Prefects are meeting in our carriage in five minutes, c’mon get changed!”

“Oh shit—” Remus began rummaging through his things frantically.

The other boys sat back in astonishment. Peter was the first to speak, “No.”

“You’re saying—”

“Our Moony—”

“A prefect?!”

Remus dug out a shiny badge, and the compartment exploded once more.

“How dare you—”

“Why didn’t you tell us!”

“Does this mean you can take points away from Severus when he’s being a blood-purist prat—” James turned around to face Lily awkwardly, “Sorry.” He looked back at Remus and whispered, “But does it?”

Remus sighed, still digging around for his robes. “Yes, I’m a prefect, I got the letter over the summer. I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d act like this, and no, James, I will not be taking away points from Slytherin unless someone actually breaks a rule.”

“Damn. Guess that’s why Dumbledore made you prefect over me.”

“Yeah,” Lily scoffed, rolling her eyes, “that was the only reason why.”

Remus stumbled out of the compartment, pulling on his robes and pinning his prefect badge to his chest. He and Lily were halfway down the corridor when Sirius came running out. Remus tried not to think about how perfect he looked, hair flowing as he jogged.

“Rem!” He held up a red and gold tie, and Remus looked down, realizing he didn’t have his. His cheeks flushed red.

“Oh, thanks,” he said as Sirius caught up with them, panting slightly. “I, uh—”

“Yeah, you can’t tie a tie quickly Moony, I know. We’ve lived in the same dormitory for four years now.” Sirius stepped forward and began wrapping the fabric around Remus’ neck and popped up the collar on his white shirt, having to reach up slightly now that Remus stood almost a head taller than him. Remus was hyper aware of how very close to him Sirius was standing, feeling every brush of his soft hands, cold rings against the nape of his neck sending a new swarm of butterflies.

Lily stifled a giggle while Sirius’ hands flew, “You’re a prefect and you can’t tie a tie?”

“I can! It just… takes a few tries to get it right.”

Sirius tightened the knot, laying the tie flat and tucking it into Remus’ sweater. Remus hoped he couldn’t feel his heartbeat racing. It was so loud in his own ears he could hardly hear anything else. “There you go!” He adjusted it once more, laying the collar flat. “Good luck in there. Don’t let them turn you into a goody-two shoes prat—no offense Lily—”

“None taken.”

“And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Got it?”

Remus held his hands up in surrender, feeling like he was going to burn up if Sirius stayed that close to him, just a breath away, for even a moment longer. “Got it, Pads.”

They stood there for half a second before Lily tugged Remus away, saying, “C’mon Remus, we’re gonna be late,” but it felt like ages. Remus, looking into Sirius’ stormy grey eyes, which were so intently fixed on him, as if he were everything that mattered in that moment. Remus shook his head, trying to erase the shock. He was making things up again, feeding into a third year fantasy of a Sirius Black who liked him back, and now Lily was dragging him toward the prefect’s compartment.

“Did you see the way he looked at you?” Lily whispered, pulling on his sleeve.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Lily.” Remus tried to keep his emotions concealed, his face stony.

“You don’t still like him, do you?” When he didn’t respond, she squealed with delight, “Oh you do! This is so exciting! Who’s gonna—”

“Lil, please don’t do this. I don’t wanna get my hopes up all over again. He’s not even gay! And he doesn’t know I’m—”

“You haven’t told them?”

Remus scratched his neck awkwardly, “Well, I was gonna get to it… and then I just—” but before he had to make up some lame excuse as to why he hadn’t come out to his three closest friends, the pair reached the door to the prefect’s carriage and hurried in.

Remus barely listened the whole train ride. The Head Boy droned on and on about ‘personal responsibility’ and ‘being model students’ and some other shit about the prefects’ duties which had already been listed in the letter sent over the summer.

He tried not to think about Sirius Black and his new clothes and long hair and black eye, but it was useless. He couldn’t stop replaying the moment Sirius had come into the compartment over and over again in his mind, and the way Sirius had stayed so close to him, even after finishing tying his tie. What he really tried not to do, and somehow managed to do (for the most part) was think about holding Sirius’ hand, or kissing Sirius’ lips and neck and-

Hello! The sensible voice in Remus’ voice screamed in protest. He’s still your best mate and this little crush reviving doesn’t change that.  

So Remus tried to listen to the Head Girl who was now discussing the amenities that were only accessible to prefects. He figured this could at least be a bit useful at some point this year.

***

Continue reading on Ao3

[survivingthejungle]

little lies v

FINE I FINALLY DID IT.

also god he’s so pretty. i think id let him do anything to me

“Tommy. You never want to be with me anymore,” you sighed, a pout on your lips. He was leaving that morning to go to a meeting of the board of Shelby Company Limited, and refused to let you accompany him. “It’s business, little bird. You don’t need to worry yourself about my business. You just stay here and do what you do best.” He was buttoning his vest on over his shirt, followed shortly after by his jacket. Once he was by the door slipping his shoes on, you knew there was no way you’d convince him to take you with him. “What do I do best?” you wondered, genuinely interested. You were bundled up under the covers, only your face being visible since the room was too cold for you to want to leave your warm cocoon. You had clung to Tommy all night, like a sloth or a koala to a tree branch, and you dearly missed his warmth. He looked at you and winked quickly. “Look pretty and steal hearts.” You frowned at him, creasing your eyebrows before throwing the covers back over your head and turning your back to him. “What’s that attitude about, eh?” “You don’t take me seriously,” you grumbled. “I don’t wanna talk to you anymore.”

He silently sat down on the edge of the bed, causing it to dip and roll you next to his side. He put his arm on your other side, effectively trapping you, and pulled the cover down from your face. You were glaring mad at him. “Go away and do your stupid job.” “My, you’re feeling quite brave today, is that it? Givin’ me orders, bein’ a brat.” His face got closer to your own and your breath hitched. His eyes were so intense and demanding that you almost felt as if your resolve was just vanishing away. He leaned closer and kissed your cheek, but when he pulled away, he didn’t move far. “I just hate when you leave me alone.” You got a sad look in your eyes. “I’m sorry.” “Oh, my sweet girl.” He sat up and pulled you to sit up with him, cradling you to his chest. You clung to him tightly and pressed your face to his chest. “Don’t cry, eh? Too pretty to be cryin’ over this old man.” “You’re not that old,” you noted, seriously, and he chuckled. You felt his chest rumble and your heart leapt. “Aye, whatever you say.” He tilted your chin up to look at him. “I’ll be back here before you know it. I promise.” “Pinky promise?” you asked, eyes wide and genuine. You were so innocent, so delicate, he thought, that at times he was afraid to touch you; afraid you might shatter like a glass doll. But your doe-eyes made him weak, and when you looked at him like that you could convince him to do almost anything. It was a wonder than you hadn’t realized that yet. He kissed your nose. “Pinky promise.” You locked fingers and grinned, and his heart swelled. — “You know, when this business began I did some research on you,” Jessie Eden spoke. She was calm, cool, and collected, as always. “It turns out I know someone who used to know you very well. Kitty Jurossi.” When Tommy remained silent and stoic, she continued. “You were in love with Kitty’s sister, Greta Jurossi, before the war. Do you remember Greta Jurossi? Her parents were Italian. They didn’t approve of a Watery Lane Gypsy, but you won them over. With your charm. Sweetness.” Tommy scoffed lightly. “Very, very thorough research.” “Greta died at the age of 19. Of consumption. And Kitty said you were at her bedside for three months. Every day, holding her hand. And after she died, you went away to war. Kitty said that the sweet boy who left never came back.” “No one came back.” “Here’s the funniest thing— I’ve heard from people around that there’s another young girl you’re involved with. Say she’s 19 as well. Doesn’t look much like Greta, but she’s very young, very impressionable, very trusting. And I worry for that young girl, Thomas. I worry that she thinks she’s hanging around the Tommy before the war, and that she doesn’t realize all the shit that you’ve gotten yourself — and her — into. And it seems to me like that’s something you’re trying to keep from her.” Tommy stood up from his seat abruptly. “Is that true?” He strolled over to the gramophone and put the record on, faint music breaking up the tense silence. If Ms. Eden was threatening to reveal information about him to you — things you didn’t already know, things he didn’t want you to know — it was going to be a difficult night. — Tommy returned later than usual that night— in fact, he returned quite early in the morning. You were sound asleep in his bed. He noted that you had been sleeping in his room nearly every night since he had moved your family from the quaint little cottage you’d been in. You had donned one of his shirts in lieu of your nightdress, because it smelled like him and he still hadn’t come home and you were so tired and you missed him so much but you didn’t have the energy to keep your eyes open any longer… Your mouth was hanging open slightly, and Tommy’s eyes were drawn immediately to your lips. Your breathing was full and steady and he watched as your chest rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell. He shrugged his jacket, vest, and shirt off, leaving himself only in his undershirt and dress pants. On second thought, and after removing his shoes, he changed into a pair of sleep pants, as well. He slipped into bed behind you, trying carefully not to stir you, and laid over the covers as well, hoping that he wasn’t disturbing you so much that you’d be woken up. Unfortunately, it was in vain, because the second he was beside you, you were awake. “Tommy?” “Get back to sleep, love. I’m right here.” “What time is it?” “About three.” You flipped around to face him and his arm cradled you to him, the other one coming around behind you to hold you close. “You keep lying to me.” “Alright. You caught me. It’s quarter past.” “No, Tommy. I’m being serious. You promised me you’d be back tonight and now it’s three in the morning and you just got back. And you’re never here. I never see you anymore. I miss you and you’re always gone.” He sighed heavily and pressed his nose to yours. “You’re right, dove. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with work and with the Italians. I’m trying my best to keep you and my family safe, and sometimes, that means I’m not gonna be around often, eh?” You tucked your head under his chin. “I know. I know. But I miss you. I’m all alone all the time and there’s nothing to do.” “I’ll try to fix that. Yeah? But you’ve gotta be patient, alright? Now, I’m sorry I didn’t come home earlier tonight. I had a lot to take care of, but I made you a promise, and I didn’t follow through.” “And it was a pinky promise,” you reminded him. You took pinky promises very seriously. “And it was a pinky promise. You’re right. And I let you down. I’m sorry.” “It’s okay, Tommy. You didn’t mean to.” You nuzzled into his chest and smiled softly. “And you’re here now. So I don’t have to worry about you for now.” “Don’t you worry about me, little bird. It’s my job to worry about you. Not the other way around, eh? Now go back to sleep, silly girl.” “Don’t call me girl,” you protested. “Old man.” Tommy smirked at your sass and pinched your backside in response, causing you to squeal and jerk in response. This rose a chuckle from him. “Stop being mean to me,” you demanded. “Or I’ll go back to my room forever.” His arms came back to sneak around you as he tugged you tighter to him, effectively trapping you. “No you won’t, brat. Now go back to sleep.” “Goodnight Tommy.” You leaned up to kiss his cheek. He kissed your forehead in return and let his mouth rest on the crown of your head. “Goodnight, my (Y/N). Goodnight,” he whispered. — The next morning, not long after the sun rose, so did Tommy. Once he was mostly dressed he took a moment to relax, standing next to his window and watching the lifeless street down below. You hadn’t woken up yet; unless you decided you wanted to watch a sunrise, you never woke up before nine in the morning. He hated to leave you and your warmth, but there was always business to attend to. Suddenly, interrupting the silence, came a single gunshot. You woke up. “What was that?” you asked, still sleepy but very exasperated. You looked intently at Tommy. Tommy, who had all the answers. Tommy, who you thought knew everything. “I dunno,” he mumbled, peeking out the window to see if he could make out where it had come from. “Stay here.” With that he rushed out of the room and into the street, where he saw his youngest brother Finn coming to search for the source of the shot as well. You pulled up a chair by the window and watched as they both entered into the neighboring house, which belonged to the oldest Shelby, Arthur. You had been over there your fair share of times, keeping his wife Linda company and babysitting their sweet little son. After what felt like hours, but was really only minutes, Tommy returned upstairs, seemingly exhausted and done with the world. He sat down on the edge of the bed and you came over to him, tucking your legs underneath you and linking your arms around his left. You rested your head on his shoulder and his right hand came up to stroke your hair. “Is everything okay?” you wondered, genuinely concerned. He let out a frustrated sigh. “My fuckin’ brother’s losin’ his mind.” Your heart broke; you really liked the Shelby family and you knew that he was very close with his siblings. For him to admit that and have to deal with it so directly couldn’t have been easy for him. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I wish I could help,” you told him. “I wish I could, too, little bird. But I’ve got bigger problems to worry about at the moment.” He paused for a split second. “Like getting rid of these fuckin’ Italians.” “I like Italians,” you admitted absentmindedly. “They have good food.” Leave it to you to brighten Tommy’s mood when he was in such a dark place just a moment before. He let out a faint chuckle. “Why don’t you go down to the shop today with Finn, eh?” he suggested. “Get yourself out of this house for a bit.” Your eyes lit up. “Yes!” You disappeared from Tommy’s side and rushed to your room to get dressed, returning to him almost no sooner than you’d left. “I like hanging out with Finn. He’s fun to mess with,” you grinned. You seemed like a fae to him in the moment, getting worked up about being able to tease and taunt someone all day. “Ah, well, don’t mess with him too much. He’s in charge of you today ‘till I get back.” “Boo,” you pouted. “Does he know?” He stood up from the edge of the bed and walked over to you, grabbing your chin while you were in the middle of slipping a shoe on. “Yes; so don’t piss ‘im off. ‘Cause then you’ll have to deal with me.” Your heart fluttered with the butterflies in your stomach. “Be good for me today, little bird. D’you understand?” “Yes Tommy,” you spoke softly, staring into his lovely eyes. There was something about them that was enchanting. When he asked or told you to do something, you had a difficult time even trying to disobey. “That’s my girl.” He leaned down and kissed your nose and you smiled big for him in response. “Now get out of here, you’re gonna make him late.” — You followed Finn into the shop, nearly jogging to keep up with his fast pace. “Slow down, Finn!” “Walk faster, (Y/N),” he retorted. You stuck your tongue out at him and he mockingly did the same. He swung the door open and led you both inside. Once he caught sight of Polly, he spoke up again. “The rule is that the door should always remain locked until nine A.M.” You rolled your eyes. “Stick in the mud,” you mumbled. Polly rolled her eyes as well and stopped him before you could go to Arthur’s office. “Right. Boy. Boy, where are you going? And why’s the girl here?” “Well Arthur’s not coming in today. He’s taking the day off. So…” “So what?” Lizzie goaded. “So, today, Tommy said that I’m in charge. And that I had to keep an eye on (Y/N) today, too.” “Sorry,” Pol said, though she definitely wasn’t, “You’re in charge?” “Yeah. That’s what he said.” She stood up, yanking the phone plug out of the socket and placing it at Linda’s temporary desk. “Alright, sweetheart. Ladies, let’s give our boss a first day that he’ll never forget.” You grinned mischievously at Polly and she gave you a knowing wink. — Three hours later and you were being dropped off at Tommy's office by a driver that Lizzie had called for. Finn was being eaten alive by his aunt and sister-in-law, and she knew that Tommy'd listen to whatever you had to say. You didn't even stop to greet him properly when you walked in. "Lizzie wanted me to tell you that sending Finn to the shop was a mistake." His concentration was broken and he looked up at you, slightly startled that you'd shown up out of nowhere. "They found out he was a virgin and are 'arranging a girl' for him this afternoon," you admitted, only blushing faintly. "She wanted me to get out and come tell you before they could start picking on me, too." "Oh, Christ," he mumbled. You came around his desk and sat on the edge, facing him. "I don't have the fuckin' time for this today." "I'm sorry. She just wanted me to deliver the message." "Don't be sorry, bird. Not too busy for you, eh?" He stood up and grabbed your hand, leading you toward the door while he slipped his coat on. "Come on." "Where we goin'?" you asked up at him. "Somewhere I've not been in a long time," he answered cryptically. — It was some sort of creek, or very backwoods river. There were a series of arched tunnels leading out to it, and you sat on a haystack under one as Tommy stood at the edge of the water. You were swinging your feet and kicking at the pebbles on the ground, shivering slightly. There was a croaky-sounding bird that kept chirping across the water as fog drifted downstream swiftly. Before you could speak up and ask where you were, he broke the silence. "We used to come here. She'd wait for hours, for me. When I couldn't make it. And I'd wait for her when her family kept her in." There was a sad, melancholic tone to his voice, and he was almost whispering. "Who?" you wondered. "Some girl," he admitted. "Some girl before France." You had almost forgotten that Tommy had fought in the Great War. That was a long time ago, you figured, when you were still little. And Tommy was there in France, thousands of miles away, nearly getting killed every time he breathed or took a single step. He turned around to you and walked towards you, taking a final drag of his cigarette and throwing it to the ground. "I've not been back here since." He rested his hand on your arm and stood in front of you, looking down. "Wanted to come back here with you." Then his hand was pushing the stray hairs back from your face, tilting your chin up, and kissing you softly. Your head went fuzzy for a moment before your senses came back to you. You pulled away. "Are you kissing her or me?" you asked sadly. His hands rubbed up the sides of your arms which felt as if they were about to freeze off. "You," he whispered. Then he grabbed your face in both of his hands again and kissed you once more. "Always you." — After you'd been returned home by Tommy, he had a list of demands for the company to take care of at the shop. "I want Shelby Company Limited to increase non-taxable charitable contributions to local charities by twenty five percent. As of now," he announced. Lizzie took note as Polly, Linda, and Finn just stared. "I'm gonna build two new institutes for destitute children. One in Saltley, one in Digbeth. I've already identified the buildings. Two former workhouses. Lizzie?" She looked up at him. "I want you to be in charge of the project." "Why?" she asked, dead-faced. "Because… I promised someone I'd change the world." — Later in the night, Polly Gray decided to go to a bar by herself with plans to meet someone; plans of which her family could never learn. When the mystery gentleman in question appeared, they kept their interaction civil and inconspicuous. "This is public enough, no?" he drawled, thick New York accent making him stand out among the crowd. "Yes." "So?" he chided. "The boy in the hospital is out of bounds." Her son. Michael. The one they'd almost lost again. "And I will ask you to spare Finn and Arthur." He looked displeased but was not averse to cooperating. "In return for what?" "Tommy Shelby. And the girl, by association." "What makes you think I want that girl?" "Oh, please, Luca," she scoffed. "Men like you and Tommy always want girls like her." This arrangement clearly struck his fancy, but he was not trusting of any of these Birmingham folk. "And, uh, why should I trust you?" "Because you know our history," she responded cryptically. "You know what happened between us." "You are an unlikely Cassius," he muttered, taking a sip of his drink. "John was a good boy," she started. "Arthur tries. Tommy's different. You take Tommy. Spare the rest. I don't care what you do with that girl, but it seems to me as if you've taken an interest in her." — The next morning, the hospital was ambushed by Luca Changretta and a few of his gang. There was a dramatic scuffle between him and Michael, but he fled the scene before Tommy finally rushed in. "Tell your mother… we have a deal," he instructed Michael before he left. "Michael? What happened, eh!? What happened?" Tommy hounded his younger cousin. Michael was sitting on his bedside, still visibly shaken up. "They heard you. Uh, they heard you coming," he panted. "Look, the gun misfired! They ran away." "Johnny!" Arthur growled. The two of them and Finn left to keep searching for the Italians while Tommy stayed behind. "You came just in time," Michael stuttered. "You alright? You alright?" "I'm fine," he whispered. "Fine." Tommy nodded haphazardly and put his fist to his mouth, contemplating whatever it was that was going through his mind. His gaze was locked on the window and he seemed to be in a trance for a moment. Then he looked up having a sudden realization and raced out again, heading down to the betting shop. — You were out on your own that morning, getting produce from the market to bring back to the Shelby home. You and your mother wanted to make them dinner as a thank you for taking care of you all in their difficult situation. She stayed home at your request, because you missed having your alone time; and also because she hated going to markets. She was the type of woman that would always prefer to grow her own at a fraction of the cost it took to buy it. The streets were busy, dark, cold and dirty, but you paid it no mind. You were certainly standing out among the crowd of people flooding the market. The people who lived in this dull, gloomy town wore dull, gloomy clothes— there was a lack of color, of spirit, of life. That sort of thing never appealed to you or matched your personality, so you had gotten dressed that morning and gone out in a long purple skirt adorned with blue, green, pink, and white embroidered designs all along the bottom and moving upwards. Your shirt was a simple white long sleeve, with lace across the chest and at the hem. You covered your back and arms with a maroon cotton shawl, with a few purposefully placed holes to create patterns. It had long fringes on the end and you found yourself swinging them often. You'd also slipped on a pair of thick socks underneath your old, battered, lace-up brown boots that you would usually wear when you helped your parents do outdoor work. You grabbed your mother's coin purse — she had insisted — and were soon in the midst of all the hustle and bustle of Small Heath life. After about an hour or so, you had a decent amount of groceries to show for it. That was when a hand tapped your shoulder. "'Scuze me, bella, couldn't help but notice your hands were a little full, there." You whipped your head around to find the source of the voice, and were met face to face with a tall man who had a prominent nose, sharp features, and a toothpick sticking out of his mouth. He had a cross tattoo on his neck that half stuck out from his shirt collar. He was very handsome, very tan, and very American. He seemed very familiar to you, but you just accredited that to the fact that his accent was similar to your own. “Mind if I give you a hand?” "Oh my God," you responded, "You're from America?" He smirked. "New York, sweetheart. What part of the states do you hail from?" Virginia. "My family and I are from Virginia." At that moment, your senses caught up to you. You were in Small Heath, Birmingham, on Tommy Shelby's turf; Tommy Shelby, who was in the middle of a vendetta against the Italian Mafia. The Italian Mafia that came over from New York. Then you realized: he was the man from Tommy’s office the other day. He was the one leading the vendetta against the Shelbys. Your throat constricted and your breath got caught, and suddenly you couldn’t breathe. "Um, thank you for the offer," you stuttered out, walking away from him quickly enough that you could get away, but not so quick that you'd be considered rude. "But I really have to get back home. My mom's waiting for me. It was nice meeting you." "What, don't you have a name, bella?" he called after you. Of course, he was already well aware of your name, but he wanted you to give it to him yourself. If you had heard his question, (which you did,) you wouldn't have let on that you did. You were out of the market in a heartbeat and nearly ran all the way back to the house on Watery Lane. Not a moment after you'd put the groceries down, a ringing came from the telephone in the kitchen. You picked it up since no one else was around to answer it. "Hello?" It was Tommy. Thank God. Apparently the Italians had paid his cousin in the hospital, Michael, a visit, and he was worried that they might have been targeting you next as well. "Are you alright?" "Yeah," you gulped. "Um, but I think I just met one of your Italian friends."

[kurt-nightcrawler]

Handmade Healing: The Beginning

Warren Worthington III x Female Reader ft. Billy Hargrove x Female Reader

Summary: Jubilee is from Beverly Hills, CA. Billy Hargrove is from CA as well, plus they’re both teens in 1983. What if they were friends? Or what if Jubilee’s best friend was Billy’s girlfriend? 

What if our destinies were predetermined? What if things just happen because that’s how life works?

Warnings: language, angst, mentions of sex, and mentions of self-harm.

Word Count: 2.2k

Author’s Note: I will finish this series even if it kills me. You can all hold my word against me. This is supposed to be around 27 chapters, so strap in everyone!

Mutant.

The word was something you thought about often. You were always scared, always worried people would find out. Realize you’re a freak.

No!

No— there was nothing wrong with you, but you needed to be safe— even if it hurt.

You had wings. Butterfly-like wings, but less delicate. They were purple, and no matter how many times you cut them off or shaved them down they always grew back, and they became thicker and stronger each time.

So you cut them once or twice a week and always wore a jacket.

Even though you lived in California, nobody questioned it, not your family, not your best friend, not even your boyfriend.

Besides, it’s Cali, pretty much anything goes.  

Everything was going perfect for you.

And then it wasn’t.

-

Jubilation Lee, also known as Jubilee, was your best friend since primary school. She was bright, spunky, and full of energy— she got you out of your shell and made you social.

Her parents were like your second set of parents, always there when you needed them.

She lived in a much nicer part of town— Beverly Hills to be exact. However, she wasn’t like your typical rich kid from the hills— she was nice to everyone and partied harder on weekends than anyone you knew. You probably wouldn’t know she was from Beverly Hills unless you asked.

-

Jubilee was the one who set you and your boyfriend up. They had some mutual friends, and he seemed like the perfect guy for you— good looks, and he’d get you out of your shell when Jubilee couldn’t.

Billy Hargrove was everything most girls wanted— nice car, an even nicer body, he partied hard and had an attitude to match. You, on the other hand, were quiet, and if people knew who you were it was as “Jubilee’s best friend” or “Jube’s sidekick.” Once you started dating Billy you were then known as “Billy Hargrove’s girlfriend.”

-

As a wise man once said, “Young love— full of promise, full of hope, ignorant of reality.”    

Billy’s dad cheated on his mom with his secretary and wanted a divorce so he could marry her. So Billy and his mom moved from their familiar home to the empty house next to yours.

This led to late night rendezvous, parties, and lots of sex. It was like a teen drama, minus the drama.

However, reality had other plans.

-

You walked into Jubilee’s house. It was quiet, so you took that as your cue to head upstairs into Jubilee’s room.

You knocked on the door. “Jubes, It’s me. I brought Jaws 2.”

The door opened and Jubilee stood there, hair in a messy bun and pajamas on her body.

“Jubes did you wear pj's all day?”

“Yeah, I haven’t bothered to change. I have to pack my stuff.” You set your bag on her bed, ignoring the state of her room.

“Where ya going this time?” The Lee family took random vacations quite often, so this wasn’t much surprise to you. They would usually be gone just for a handful of days, coming back with some souvenirs and stories to tell.

“You know how I like, take a bunch of honors classes and stuff?” You nodded. Jubilee was smart, something people never thought when they saw her, as they never looked past her bright clothes and curly hair.

Their loss.

“Are you going to DC for that one camp? I heard Allen Smith is going to that. Maybe you’ll see him there.” You noticed Jubilee’s eyes were glossy. “Hey, Allen isn’t that bad, plus you may not even see him!”

She quickly rubbed her eyes, “It’s not that.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I’m going to a boarding school in New York!”

“What?!”

“My parents really want me to go. Uh, one of our teachers recommended me to the headmaster and he wants me to enroll as soon as possible. My parents think it’s a good opportunity for me. Meet new people, see new things, stuff like that.”

“But… but... you… You can’t leave Jubes!”

“I have to.”

“Why? Why do you have to go to some boarding school all the way on the other side of the country? Our school is just fine and if your parents have a problem with it they can just wait and send you to some fancy Ivy League college.”

“It’s not like I wanna leave! It’s just… It’s just what’s best. I’m sorry.” You nodded, unsure what to say. Your best friend was leaving you for New York.

“You’ll visit, right...? They, they let you come home for like summer and Christmas?”

“Of course! Of course, I’ll visit. Don’t want me getting pasty do we?” You smiled a little at her joke, a bit happier that she wouldn’t be gone forever.

-

Yet Jubilee never visited. Not for Thanksgiving, and not for Christmas.

She never called or wrote letters either. It was like she just wanted to vanish from everyone’s memory. Her own parents didn’t even mind they never saw their daughter! It made you sick sometimes, knowing they just shipped their kid away from everything she’d ever known— that they sent away your best friend.

Being the not-so-social-butterfly you were you spent more time with your boyfriend, Billy. He’d gotten a job as a lifeguard, trying to save up for a car.

You, on the other hand, engrossed yourself in your studies, hoping to please your parents with a 4.0 GPA, as Jubilee’s school switching stunt made them upset you weren’t also recommended for some smarty pants boarding school.

So you were at the library, getting books and information for your physics project.

Placing a book back on the shelf, you saw curly, dirty blonde hair in the corner of your eye.

You turned around, knowing exactly who it was.

“Billy!”

“Hey, baby, your mom said you’d be at the library so I figured I’d pick you up.”

You squinted your eyes, “What have you got planned, Hargrove?”

He winked, “You’ll see.”

“Alright, just lemme grab my stuff.” You grabbed your bag and headed outside.

“Okay, close your eyes.” You do as he said and laugh a little, feeling somewhat childish. He held your hand and slowly guided you forward.

“Okay, you can open your eyes.”

“Oh my god… Is that?... Billy is that?...” You asked, mouth gaping.

He grinned, “Yep. Just got her today.”

“Oh my god! Oh my god! Congrats baby!” You have him a peck on the lips and open the passenger door.

“You can throw your bag in the back seat.”  

“Billy this is amazing! But... why a Camaro as your first car?”

“Because I like Camaros?... Look, I’ve had my eye on this specific car since New Years. Plus I’m a good driver.” You nodded, a little skeptical, but trusting in his judgment nonetheless.

He started the engine and backed out of the parking lot.  

Loud rock music blasted through the windows as you drove by people, making heads turn. It was a good feeling. Something you hadn’t felt in a while.

You were mindlessly bobbing your head to the music, facing the passenger window.

Billy glanced at you. He gave you a sad smile and put a hand on your thigh.

“You doin’ okay, (Y/N)?”

“Yeah, I’m alright.”

“Wanna stop somewhere and get food?”

“Sure.”

-

You only got a soda, but you stole a fry from Billy every so often.

“You going to Sarah’s bonfire next Thursday?”

You shrugged, “I dunno. I’m not really friends with Sarah.”

Billy scoffed, “So? I don’t think anyone going is really friends with her.”

“Yeah, but…” You sighed, “I don’t know... I’m not sure I’ll go.” Billy rolled his eyes.

“What?”

“You never go out anymore. Hell, we didn’t even go to homecoming this year!”

“You said you didn’t want to go to homecoming!”

“Yeah, but that’s only because I knew you didn’t wanna go.” Billy pursed his lips for a second before continuing to speak, “Look I know you and Jubilee were really close, but you can’t just shut yourself out from everything.”

“I’m not shutting myself out!”

“Then prove it, princess.”

You glared daggers at Billy. He knew you hated that nickname. He knew!

“Fine asshole. I’ll go to Sarah’s stupid bonfire.” You dipped a fry in your ketchup with a bit too much force. “There, see? I go out.”

He raised his eyebrows and feigned surprise, “Guess I was wrong.” He then ate the fry from your hand.

-

You got home before dark, however, your house was dark inside, meaning you were home alone.

You walked into your room and sighed and set your bag on your bed. You kicked your shoes off and laid on your back. You squirmed a bit, having some uncomfort.

Getting up, you headed to the bathroom. You turned on the light and locked the door shut, then you took your jacket off.

You admired your back in the mirror, “Okay so they’re not noticeable from under my shirt—” You took your shirt off and gazed at your shoulder blades. “Okay, I should shave tomorrow. Yeah. Shave tomorrow, that’ll be good.”

When your parents got home you told them you already ate and were heading to bed. They didn’t question it and bid you sweet dreams.

-

You pressed snooze at least five times, for it was a weekend.

You only woke up when your mother banged on your door repeatedly. “(Y/N) get up! Get up!”

“Just give me a minute!” You tied your hair up in a scrunchie, and changed your sweatpants for leggings, leaving on the baggy shirt you wore to bed.

“What do you want?”

“It’s the Hargroves.” Your heart was pounding. Was Billy okay? Was his mom alright?  

“They were in a car accident. Billy and his mom are in the hospital right now—” You pushed past your mother and ran to the kitchen. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the hospital! I need to know if they’re okay!”

-

Your mom had a cow when she saw you take her car to the hospital, worried you’d get into an accident yourself, but you didn’t care.

After parking, you made your way into the hospital lobby.

“Um, hi. Hi. I’m here to see Billy Hargrove.”

The woman looked you up and down before responding, “He’s not taking any visitors right now. Only family can see him.”

“We are family.” You spat. The woman looked taken back and stuttered out an apology and his room number. You didn’t even thank her, you were so quick on your feet, hurrying to see if he was okay. And his car…

Oh god. He just got the Camaro— Unless it was his mom’s car. Maybe his mom’s car was in the wreck. Either way, it was a messy situation.

You slowed down and started mentally counting the room numbers— looking for Billy’s.

“333… 334… 335… 336.” Billy’s hospital room. You had no idea where his mom was, but that didn’t matter right now. You just needed to know Billy was alright. You couldn’t have someone close to you taken away, not again.

-

“Um, hi. I’m Billy’s girlfriend, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” You awkwardly waved at the doctor.

“Oh, yes. Hello, I’m Dr. Marcus. We called your parents.”

“Yeah, I came down quickly as I could. Is he okay?”

“Billy will be fine. His biggest injury is a minor sprain in his wrist.” You tried to get a good look at him. He was sleeping, arm wrapped up, and a bruise on his face.

“How about I explain what happened outside?” You nodded and stepped out of the room.  

“Dr. Marcus, what happened exactly?”

“A man went through a red light as Billy was driving. He t-boned their Ford Fairmont.”

At least it wasn’t his Camero.

“What happened to—”

“Where is he?” A deep voice asked. You turned to look at the man.

Great, he’s here.

“Mr. Hargrove, Billy’s asleep right now.”

“What is she doing here?” He sneered at you.

“We called (Y/N) up here. I’m telling her what happened to Billy and Helen.”

“I don’t know why she needs to be here! She’s just his damn girlfriend. All she does is cause trouble and get others blamed for it. Wearing her stupid jacket all the time, and getting her friend sent to boarding school.”

“That—”

“Don’t interrupt me.” You suddenly wished you were twenty times smaller, or that you could turn invisible.

“(Y/N), how about you wait inside for Billy to wake up while I speak to his father?” You scurried back inside the hospital room.

-

You tried to make out what they were saying, but you couldn’t.

It wouldn’t matter anyway, for Billy was starting to wake up.

He let out a groan, probably adjusting to waking up. “Hey, baby. How are you feeling?” He blinked a few times and tried wiping the sleep away from his eyes.

“(Y/N)?”

“Yeah, baby, it’s me. The hospital called. I came down here to see you.”   

“Aw fuck.”

“What is it?”

“They called him too didn’t they?”

You didn’t answer; you didn’t have to. Billy knew they’d call his dad.

“God damn it,” He groaned.

“I’m sure he’ll leave after they give him some more info. You know he doesn’t stay too long for anything.” Billy just rolled his eyes in response.

-

Dr. Marcus entered the room alone. “Your dad’s leaving, but he’ll be here tomorrow to take you home.”

“I wanna stay here with my mom until she recovers. He doesn’t need to pick me up.”

“About that…”

Tag List: @mooniessuniverse @warrentrash 

[chaoticgremlinwholikescheese]

The Bar

TW: Drinking, attempted rape, date rape drugs

JACK’S POV:

“C’mon, you sure you don’t want to come?” Alex asks. “Yeah. I’ll come another night. I need to finish this painting. Have fun though!” She sighs but relents. “I’ll be home around eleven. I’m the designated driver, so I have to drive everyone home.” I laugh at her expense. Herding drunk newsies into a car is like trying to catch water with a strainer. 

She kisses me goodbye and heads out the door, keys jangling in her hand. I look back at my painting. I have the rough sketch on the canvas. All that’s left is to actually paint. I pull out my paints, deciding which ones to use. I settle on a few greys and some warm colors.

I like painting. It’s calming. The repetitive motion of the brush, the way the colors merge. Reds, yellows, and oranges becoming a sunset. Greys and blacks becoming a mountain. Green and blue becoming the shadows. On the top of the mountain, there is a tiny person. One you wouldn’t notice unless you looked closely.

I lose myself in the art. Time is warped. When I check the clock, only ten minutes has passed. I check again a few moments later, and it’s been two hours. It’s as if I was swirling in a vortex. Drifting through time. My phone plays music. I move the brush along with the beat, choose a color based on the rhythm. 

Fast bouncing rhythms are red. Slow ones are blue. Swirling notes are yellow, like sunshine. The voice of a singer is purple. The sound of the guitar is orange. In my mind, I can see the music. A combination of moving colors. They dance, spinning past each other. 

My phone rings. I pick it up. It’s only ten, but Alex is calling. They must have decided to turn in early. “Hey. You on your way home?” I hear heavy breathing on the other end. “Alex? You there?” I can hear the noise of the bar in the background, a white noise.

“Yes. Don’t feel good.” Her words are slurred. “Are you drunk? I thought you were supposed to be driving home.” 

“Didn’t drink. Ordered a soda. I-I think someone put something in it. I feel wrong.” My eyes widen. My face goes white. “What? I’m coming now. Where are you?” I grab my jacket and shoes, rushing out the door. “In the bathroom. At Jacobi’s.” I jump into the car and race down the street. I break at least three speed limits and run a stop sign, but it doesn’t matter.

“Stay there. Where are the boys?” 

“Don’t know. Got seperated in the crowd. I’m scared, Jack.” Her voice is getting weaker by the moment. “Just hang on sweetheart. I’m almost there.” I hear scuffling on the other end. “Alex? Alex, are you okay?” The line goes dead. “No! Fuck!” I throw my phone onto the seat next to me.

I need to get there now. It might already be too late. My gut churns. I can’t let her get hurt. I need to keep her safe. Fear is all I can feel. It consumes me, pulsing through my veins with every heartbeat. Thoughts run through my head. Of what might be happening right now. Of what I might find.

I finally get to the bar. I park and run out. I push past people waiting in line. They yell and swear at me, but I don’t care. The bar is packed with people. I can’t see any of the other newsies. I shove my way through the crowd, heading towards the bathroom sign. 

I bust open the door. And the image I see there will forever be ingrained in my mind. Alex is on the floor, tears running down her face. Her eyes are full of so much fear. Her shirt has been pulled off. A man is working on unbuttoning her pants. “GET OFF OF HER!” I lunge towards the man. Anger takes over my brain. I’m going to kill this man. I’m going to make him bleed.

The man starts to throw some punches, but he’s a bit drunk. I easily dodge them. I punch his jaw and relish the crack I hear. I hit him again, and again, and again. The man is barely awake when I finish. I drop him to the ground and run over to Alex. She’s curled in a ball against the wall. She’s shaking.

I kneel down and reach out a hand. She flinches and tries to push herself back farther. “Hey. It’s alright. It’s just me. It’s Jack.” She’s breathing hard and fast. She looks up at me. Her eyes are red. And the normal spark I see is no longer there. She looks... broken.

“I need you to breathe for me. In and out.” I do a few breaths and she copies me. “Let’s get your shirt back on.” I grab it and hand it to her. She pulls it over her head. She buttons her jeans, having trouble grasping the tiny buttons with her shaking hands. “It’s alright. You’re safe now.” I say quietly. Her lip quivers. She starts sobbing.

I slowly wrap my arms around her. She clings to me like I’m a life line. I rock her and whisper calming words into her hair. The man who tried to do this is still in the corner passed out. The hatred I have for him is unexplainable. This man tried to rape my girlfriend. He would have if I hadn’t gotten here. And thank God I got here. I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t.

“Let’s get you out of here. We need to find the boys.” She nods. I help her up. She presses herself against my shoulder. The sudden noise when we open the door is overwhelming. The two of us weave through the crowd. I find the boys sitting at a table nearby, drinks in hand. They smile and cheer when they see me. They stop when they see Alex.

“What the hell happened?” Race shouts. “A guy put something in her drink.” Their eyes go dark. “Where is he?” Albert hisses. “The bathroom. But we need to go. C’mon.” The boys nod and stand up. But before we can leave, I hear a commotion coming from the other side of the bar.

The man is limping towards us, along with a security guard. “That’s him!” He glares at me. “Sir. We’re going to have to ask you to leave. This man may be pressing charges.” I place Alex behind me. 

“Like hell he will. This man drugged my girlfriend’s drink. He was going to rape her if I hadn’t stopped him. This asshole deserved what he got. And you!” I point at the guards. “You should be keeping an eye on stuff like this. Isn’t that what you’re hired to fucking do?” The guards turn towards the man and he shrinks back. 

“He’s lying!” He yells. He starts to move in my direction, but Spot stands in between us. “Take one more step, and you won’t be able to take a step ever again.” He growls. The rest of the boys gather around him. All of them are itching to take a swing at this guy. 

“You are scum. And I can’t wait to see you rot in a jail cell.” I snarl. The guards grab the man and drag him away. He’s shouting and arguing, but they ignore him. We escort Alex outside, all of us surrounding her like a human shield. All of them are boiling with rage. Alex is one of us. And we protect our own.

“Can we go to the hospital? We need to see what kind of drug he gave you.” She shakily nods her head. Davey, being the only other sober person there, offers to drive the rest of the boys home. I promise to keep them updated. They reluctantly leave. Alex and I get in the car. She’s silent the whole way to the hospital. The only noises are her occasional stuttered breath. 

At the hospital, we’re led to a private room. Alex sits down on the bed. The doctor comes in and asks Alex questions. She holds my hand the whole time. They take a blood sample. They assure us that she’s fine to go home, so they discharge her. We’ll know the result in a day or two. The doctor hands her a resource packet with different numbers and doctors. She doesn’t give it a second look.

She takes a shower when we get home. A long one. While she’s in there I text the boys to let them know what’s going on. All of them are worried sick. All of them want to kill the bastard that did it.

Alex throws her clothes in the trash. Her eyes are red with tears. She looks haunted. She climbs into bed. I’m hesitant to join her. After something like this, people are hesitant to be touched. I ask her. She says she doesn’t want to be alone. I make sure to put space between us. A few moments later, she cuddles against me. I hold her close. 

There will be a lot to do in the future. But for now, we both rest.

A/N: parties and bars can be dangerous. Date rape drugs are easy to slip into drinks, easier than you would think. That’s why it’s so important to try to stay safe when you are partying or out at a bar. Here are some tips:

- NEVER LEAVE YOUR DRINK UNATTENDED.

- You went to the bathroom? That drink is dead to you now. Throw it out.

- Always go with a friend or two. Keep an eye on each other.

- Cover your drink with your hand when holding it.

Rape is never your fault. There are resources and hotlines that you can reach out to for support. You are not alone.

[jflashandclash]

Attrition of Peace

Thirty-Three: Joey

What a Nice Day to Kill for Love

              Joey was having a lovely dream about punching Apollo in the face when she heard his voice singing in her ear. Most of her dreams involved elaborate dance numbers, but the musical twist was new. She didn’t even know the dead did dream.

           When she willed herself to get up, her legs and arms felt heavy, like someone had dumped a Mrs. O’Leary on each limb.[1] In the distance, behind the lovely voice, she could hear a continuous chatter that made her shiver. If this was a musical, Joey would need to recommend a better chorus than wind-up teeth.

           She tried to think of why Apollo would be here. She remembered tricking her way through the EZ line for deaths and skirted around a three-headed dog. Unless her death had been a nightmare… which was unlikely, since her brain would have thought of a way less lame death.

           Someone’s hand—Apollo’s she presumed—graced her calf. The gesture felt distant. Regardless of the distance, what Charon had said about godly-demigod or mortal relationships still made her want to smack him over the head with a harp, and maybe a piano.

           Joey went to kick him.

           Nothing happened.

           Her throat constricted with fear when her legs wouldn’t respond.

           She tried to sit up.

           Relief flooded her system when she could twist enough to hit Apollo with a good right hook.

           She was never going to tease Euna for struggling to wake up again. That struggle was real.

           The boy kneeling beside her clutched his face where she’d made contact. Something about it seemed… wrong.

           From what she could see, that wasn’t Apollo. And, either this person was made out of marshmallows, or she’d gained ghostly super strength. Over the tips of his fingers, it looked like she’d struck him with a truck, not her fist.

           What mostly stumped Joey was how she was able to touch him.

           Joey fumbled in her pocket for the rosewood box, the only other thing she’d been able to touch and interact with since her death.

           That blond hair, the tan, the Camp Half-Blood T-shirt, the medical fanny pack: only one person she knew could make such a grievous misstep in fashion with such casual confidence.

           This was Will Solace. She remembered him from camp, a heartthrob that all the nymphs pouted over losing a few months ago to a certain grumpy Goth kid.

           Although Will’s face was mutilated, she could see his dismay at getting walloped. A real expression. Not another ghost, creepily floating around, lost and empty, like they’d been the next ones in line for the cafeteria when the entire school kitchen got shut down for health code violations.  

           Joey lunged forward to hug him.

           Will made a muffled sound of confusion when she shoved him away immediately after the hug.

           Tears threatened her eyes. She tried to ignore how alone she’d felt and how scared she’d been and how relieved she was to see another living—er—another sentient ghost. Even if the interaction did start with ghost on ghost violence.

           Instead of expressing any of that, she did the courteous thing: she folded her arms, huffed, and demanded, “Why are you touching my legs, you perve?”

           By now, Will looked baffled. What was left of his pummeled brow furrowed in annoyance. “I’m dating Nico,” he stated and pointed at her feet.

           When Joey glanced down, she had to refrain from reigniting her panic. The edges of her shoes were grey and crusty, completely coated in some kind of stone. When Joey tried to wiggle her toes, she realized they weren’t coated in stone. They were stone.

           Will’s fingers tapped against her rolled up pant leg, where ghostly dust fluttered away. It hadn’t just been her toes before.

“I thought it would only happen to living demigods, but I guess it can happen to ghosts too. You’re not supposed to sleep down here,” he said. There was a slight frown on his lips, as he gazed past her, to the two-story bronze gates around Hades’ black obsidian palace.

Joey wanted to shout at him. If she didn’t nap, she was scared she’d collapse in front of Hades and Persephone in their courtroom. She’d been so tired, and she’d only meant to nap for a few minutes. Getting past the Fields of Asphodel… just remembering who she was and that she had a purpose… it was exhausting. Every step threatened to shake her of what made her… well… her.

“There isn’t exactly a how-to guide on traveling through the Underworld,” Joey snapped. “But—uh, thanks for fixing my legs, I guess.”

Will sighed and fumbled in his fanny pack. He withdrew a trifolded sheet of paper and handed it to her.

Last time someone handed her one of these, it was Thalia Grace suggesting all boys’ coodies were worth giving up for an eternity of hunting. Clearly, Thalia hadn’t been investigating the right boy’s coodies.

“What is this?” Joey asked, suspicious it was another sales pitch at why she should relinquish makeup and hair products forever.

“A how-to guide on traveling through the Underworld and the quickest routes to the McDonald’s pit stops,” Will explained, “Nico does a seminar on it.”

Although she didn’t want extra reading, Joey stuffed it into her pocket, beside her rosewood box. That could come in handy later, for the next time she tried to do an everyday activity that turned deadly. She’d be terrified to see what flushing a toilet would do in this place.

“So, does he give that seminar like, right after your First Aid class? I feel like that could make campers nervous about your faith in their survival chances,” she said.

“We try to have them on separate days,” he said, humming a healing song right after.

Joey could feel her toes start to wiggle. The sensation was surreal and almost painful after the numbness. Weird to think a ghost could feel pain, but she guessed they had to for the whole eternal punishment thing to work.

Everything was so bleak: the trampled black grass leading up to the fortress of a black palace, the black poplar trees, the massive swarms of souls. Pax and she needed to lead the Hermes cabin down here with an arsenal of paintball guns with neon ammo and shoot up the place. Maybe not Hades’ ideal way to redecorate, but it would be quick, effective, and fun. Hades’ direct antithesis.

Something had changed since Joey put her head down on the cold stone. A single shaft of sunlight glistened down from a crack in the stalactites, landing behind the gates of the palace. Joey thought she must have been hallucinating after the dreariness of everything else.

She refocused on Will and the way his skull caved inward around his hairline. Joey almost choked up while asking, “How did you die? Lose a fight to a bowling ball?”

Will paused. He mindlessly tugged up the side of his shirt, revealing a grotesque red rash and claw marks. With his other hand, Will touched the indent in his forehead. His eyes watered, and he shook his head.

“Cerebral edema and hemorrhaging, if I had to guess.”

Joey wanted to feel bad for him, but all she could say was, “Cereal edma?”

“I think… I think one of my half-brothers beat me to death with an electric bass,” he said, like that had anything to do with the previous sentence.

Will swallowed and caught Joey up on what had been happening upstairs while she was down here. On several occasions, Joey had to clarify, and assure him, that her sister and friends were not the bad guys. Though, she was proud to hear that her sister went on a murderous rampage on behalf of Joey’s death. She’d have been furious at her sister if Euna had frozen up and gotten herself killed.

By the time he was done explaining, Will had cracked away all of the stone but her pinky toe and Joey had full mobility of her feet—something necessary for any undead dance competitions she might enter. Those had to exist in Elysium for it to be paradise.

“I can’t get this last part,” he said apologetically as he stumbled to his feet.

Joey took his hand to stand up. They walked towards the two-story bronze gates with ghastly etchings of death scenes. Two undead soldiers flanked either side. One wore a bloodied, old school military jacket, with golden tassels, medals, and a white ascot. The other wore some Middle Eastern headdress and—

Joey made a face. His hand was burned away to the bone.

“So,” Joey summarized Will’s story, unsure if the guards would try to stop them, “One guy in pink pajamas took out all three of you?”

“Four of us,” Will said, taking no heed of her tease. “Pax tried to stop him, I think. I just hope Annabeth and Piper are okay, though I could have easily missed them. They could already be in Elysium by now.”

From what Joey had heard, Annabeth was one of the best. Joey would have loved to have trained under her. The idea of someone being able to take out those three made Joey tense. She hoped Pax and the others were okay, too.

“So, how did you get to the front gates so fast?” Joey asked. Although she hadn’t followed Will’s timeline well, he must have died weeks after her. She wasn’t sure how time passed for the dead.

“Everyone knows who—” Will started to say until the blue uniformed man hailed him.

“Guillaume, it is good to see you,” he greeted with a thick accent that Joey assumed was from some weird region of France. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

“We have been waiting for you,” his companion corrected, sighing and twirling a stiletto in his non-burned hand. He also had a thick accent, but one Joey couldn’t place.

“Hello Kléber. Al-Halabi,” Will nodded politely to each of them. “I thought you two weren’t supposed to be working door duty together anymore?”

The Frenchman turned up his nose and inhaled sharply.

The Middle Eastern man scowled off to the side.

“All the bureaucratic red tape,” Kléber said, waving his hand back and forth in front of his nose like he could beat the smell away. “This is why government directories are worthless. If you had a better system set up, Nico could have overturned Midas’s orders by now, and I wouldn’t be with this murderer—je dis ça, je dis rien.”[2]

Al-Halabi scoffed. “Eid wahda matsa’afsh,” he said.[3] Although Joey didn’t understand his words, she could recognize the sarcasm. “I’m not even in the right afterlife because of your conquest and your influences, damoteel.”

While old feuds were great and all, this was wasting time. Joey cleared her throat.

Kléber glanced at her, and bowed. “I apologize, Mademoiselle. Your sister is waiting for you. If it pleases you, Crevette, escort the young lady this way.”

Joey felt weird taking Will’s arm, but the look he shot her said it would save them a lot of time if she complied. It felt nice having Kléber recognized her presence. Since the Fields of Asphodel, she’d been scared of fading away.

As Kléber and Al-Halabi escorted them through the gates, Al-Halabi asked, “Have you heard anything topside about the angry spirits?”

“Angry spirits?” Joey asked.

Al-Halabi nodded and twirled his stiletto again. “Someone opened a bridge between the Underworld and topside. Hades permits a few ghosts to haunt the Upperworld every night, but nothing like this. Khawaaja Kléber thinks someone is amassing an army and it’s connected to—”  

The ground trembled. Joey clutched Will’s arm and he grabbed her arm back.

“What was that?!” Will demanded.

Kléber glanced back and made a grim face. “Rumor has it: Nyx. Something has upset her. My instinct tells me that’s no coincidence with the ghost army.”

Al-Halabi sighed. “As much as Kléber is a corruptor and tyrant, he is also an exquisite general. He had similar inklings about events leading up to the Second Titan War—wait here.”

Al-Halabi and Kléber motioned for them to stop, then continued forward into a blinding light.

Once her eyes adjusted, Joey could see a lovely garden. Each flower bed was surrounded by dazzling gems: sapphires, rubies, emeralds, and diamonds. The flowers themselves gleamed silver. Trees loomed above the gardens, with orange and red fruit and flowers glittering in their branches.

The sole ray of sunshine from the ceiling beamed into the garden like a glaring spotlight. Combined with the sparkling gems, Joey felt like someone had shoved a kaleidoscope in front of a lighthouse beam and told her to stare at it.

Al-Halabi and Kléber had disappeared.

           Will let go of Joey’s arm. “About how I got here so fast. Everyone knows me here. I’m Nico’s boyfriend. Or was.” He sighed and glanced upwards towards the light’s source longingly. Joey had to wonder how much hell a cavern like this was for a child of Apollo. “He’s not going to handle this well. After his mother, and Bianca… I’m so worried about him. No one else is going to know where to buy him Mythomagic Band-Aids or Walnetto’s candy, or force him to have a balanced diet…”[4]

           Joey thought about Euna, and how hopeless her older sister would be on her own. None of the others would be harsh enough on her for training or grades. They’d let her laze to mediocrity.

           “I’ve been down here for a few family dinners,” Will said, aimlessly. His blue gaze looked through the gardens. “They were… you can’t eat or drink anything down here. Do you know how hard it is not to offend someone’s parents when you can’t—”

           Joey grabbed Will’s arm and dragged him towards the garden. “Wha—” he started.

           Hearing him talk about family dinners made Joey remember her father’s homemade soondubu-jjigae that she’d never have again.

           “We’re here to talk to Hades and Persephone, not to talk about your and Nico’s creepy bring-your-son-and-his-boyfriend-to-work-day,” she said, biting back tears, “I’m not waiting for those jerks to escort us. I mean, you only live once, right?”

           “That’s really tasteless to say down here—” Will said, but was cut off when they almost ran into a massive black form.

           Joey skirted to a halt. She almost screamed. There was a dark shade of robes standing behind one of the poplars, just ahead of them. She’d mistaken him for a shadow. Where his hand touched, the tree’s bark screamed in pain. His robes warped and gnarled with faces howling in agony. He was tall and wiry, reminding Joey of a rotting twisted oak. The aura around him vibrated with power and his stature reflected it.

           The way the pale man peered around the tree trunk confused Joey. She’d be horrified to see what this man was hiding from.

           Following his line of sight made her jaw drop.

           There was a young woman toiling in a garden bed. The sunlight glimmered off her billowing blonde hair and warmed her pale skin. Her apron had a flickering floral design—no—it was made out of various flowers that Joey quickly identified as blooming during the wrong time of year: daffodils, tulips, azaleas, magnolias, and hyacinths. All colorful springtime flowers.

           She had the satisfied grin of someone knowing their labor would pay off—a smile Joey’s father also got while doing yard work.  

           “She’s beautiful, isn’t she?” the man asked, his oily, powerful voice an ill match for the adoring tone.

           “How are you doing that?” Will asked in awe, staring up at the sunlight.

           “Poseidon wanted to say his last farewell to a lovely surfer that died young. So, in exchange, I asked him for some sunlight. He caused a massive earthquake…” The man raised one hand out of the shadows, into the sun rays.

           Will frowned. “You… you’re probably killing hundreds of people to give her that sunlight.”

           The man quarter turned towards them, a smirk coming to his lips. His eyes blazed black with the fury of a wildfire. “137 in counting,” he answered.

           Will swallowed. Joey dug her nails into his arm, hoping he’d realize getting righteous around this guy was probably as useful as reminding Hitler that Jews were people too.

“Wouldn’t you do the same for Nico? Or did I misjudge you as worthy of my son?” Hades asked, that dark gaze boring directly into them.

Will’s arm shook violently under Joey’s grip—or was that her hand shaking?

“I think it’s romantic,” Joey squeaked. She cleared her throat and said more firmly, “We both do.”

“Thank you,” Hades said, his continence warping back into a grin. Joey relaxed. She did not want to end up in this guy’s robes—either metaphorically or literally.  He continued, “Normally, I would ask a living demigod to do this, but we’re short staffed right now. I hate dealing with the Romans, and most of the Greeks are already among the sleep.”

Joey blinked, glancing over to Will to see if this meant anything. In an uncomfortable moment, she realized she hadn’t asked Will why he wanted an audience with Hades. Requesting resurrection didn’t seem like it would be the Sun Boy’s motive.

Will’s expression remained neutral, though he disentangled their arms to stand taller.

“Among the sleep?” she asked.

Hades ignored her and continued, “Will, you can bring Nico back from the shadows and stop Melinoe. Being a son of Apollo, you’re most likely to succeed with the job, and in exchange, we can talk about giving you back your li—”

“Hades, are you being rude to my sister?”

The woman had come over from the garden. In the sunlight, her face was soft and kind. Her grin was playful. She touched Joey’s arm and Joey could feel the warmth of an April breeze.

Joey found herself smiling back and doing a quick curtsy—something she’d never done before and felt super stupid about afterwards.

“I’m working,” Hades said, his shoulders slumping.

When Persephone glanced past them at the obsidian palace, her face fell and her gaze hardened. “It looks more like you’re showing deference to your bastard child’s boyfriend. What did you put Orpheus through when he tried to lead someone back from shadow?”

“Pers…” Hades said in a voice that sounded too close to begging for a god.

Persephone held her hand up. She gave Joey another smile, though this one was chilled. “Joey, I’m sorry I can’t give you a proper welcoming right now. Let me finish with this, and we can have a pleasant talk.”

Persephone turned back to Will, her eyes fiercer than any warrior’s. Hades frowned and Will took a step back.

“When you try to save Nico, you need to have faith that your love will be enough to bring him back and defeat his despair. You can’t talk to him. You can’t acknowledge him. If you fail at ignoring him, you’ve damned both of you,” she said icily. Her eyes shot to Hades. “That is close to the deal you gave that charming poet.”

Will glanced at Hades.

Hades shrugs helplessly.

“That’s cold,” Joey said.

The ghost of a smile returned to Persephone’s face. She took Joey’s arm and led her towards the garden. “Now, we can talk about your entry to Elysium—”

Joey resisted the movement, wondering if Persephone would still the world into an eternal winter when she was upset.

“That’s not why I’m here—” Joey said, withdrawing the rosewood box from her pocket. She’d almost forgotten. Had that been why she was here? She remembered Will’s comment about Nico, and about how worried she’d been for her sister. Could she just ignore them? The others? Wouldn’t they eventually die anyway? Just thinking it scared her.

Persephone frowned at the box. “Sister, if you stay, I can grant automatic entry to Elysium.”

Hades groaned behind them, like he and Persephone had argued over this before.

“You’ve already died a heroic death,” Persephone said sternly and Joey could tell that comment wasn’t directed at her. “But that box is a mark of struggle. Are you sure you want to keep holding it?”

This box was the only thing reminding Joey of her past life. She dug her nails into its golden filament. If there was anything else she could do for her sister and friends, she was going to do it. Returning this box was one of Psyche’s quests, after all, wasn’t it?

“Yes,” Joey said, lifting her chin. “Hera gave me this box. She wanted me to ask you for the essence of a happy marriage.”

For a moment, Persephone looked stunned. Then she burst into laughter, Hades’ booming laughter echoing after.

The latter sound was horrifying and something Joey assumed was a special punishment for the particularly wicked.

Persephone wiped a tear from her eye, calming herself down. She snapped her fingers. A lovely undead handmaiden rushed over to bring Persephone a rose pen and flowery paper.

After writing a quick note, she took the box from Joey and opened it.

Everything slowed.

The flowers trembled.

Hades’ robe fluttered in Joey’s peripheral vision, towards the open box.

A motionless vacuum sucked the noise from around them, leaving the Underworld—despite its sunlight—even drearier.

Then Persephone placed the folded note into the box and shut the lid. Everything went back to normal.

Joey could hear Will give a sigh of relief behind her.

Persephone returned the box to Joey. Nothing felt different about it, though she supposed nothing would with a single piece of paper.

“Don’t let her open that around you,” Persephone said. “Tell her this is the key to her happiness. Give it to her without saying what is inside.”

“What’s in it?” Joey asked, glancing down at the flowers. Something about them felt ominous.

“A divorce lawyer’s number,” Persephone explained, “Staying with a hopeless cheater like that is anachronism at its worst. She needs to get with the times.”

Her eyes flicked past Joey and that warmth returned. She must have been looking at Hades. Feeling grossed out, Joey could tell Persephone actually liked Hades. Yuck.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Persephone asked again.

Joey nodded her head. She’d never been more certain. She turned back towards Will and Hades, who gazed at her evenly.

Hades narrowed his gaze. “Are you working with the one who called my helmet stupid?”

That absolutely sounded like something Pax would do. Barely containing a laugh, Joey asked, “How could someone say your helmet looks stupid? Doesn’t it turn you like, invisible or something?” She was pretty sure she’d heard Merry talk about that once.

“Exactly!” Hades cried triumphantly.

Joey trembled and was pretty sure the rest of the Underworld did too, though she couldn’t tell if it was because of Poseidon above, Nyx below, or from how terrifying Hades’ victorious attitude was.

Hades snapped his fingers and Al-Halabi and Kléber materialized on either side of Will and Joey. “It is time for you to leave,” Hades said, “Remember that, outside, ghosts aren’t as powerful during the day, so, it will be easier to work at night. I don’t normally let spirits escape, but… these two have been spreading rumors about holes where souls can slip away…”

He made a shooing motion with his hand, quarter turning towards Persephone’s little patch of sunshine.

Persephone waved her hand warmly at Joey before shooting an icy look at Will.

Will was already going to take Joey’s arm, the same way he’d escorted her in, when she paused. “Wait—Lord Hades.”

“Yes?” the intensity of his voice revealed his impatience. Those eyes flashed again.

Joey shouldn’t ask. Not just because of Hades’ impatience but because she wasn’t sure she wanted to know. “In… in the Fields of Asphodel, people forget who they are and mindlessly wander. Everything those spirits have done is so unimportant to them, they forget their own accomplishments. At least the people in the Fields of Punishment know who they are and that their deeds left a mark on the world. Which one do you think is really worse?”

A queer smile curled onto Hades’ lips. “Joey Song, you’re never coming back to my domain again. So I would not worry over such nuances as to whether it is worse to be forgotten and forget or worse to be in pain.”

           Joey paused. Never coming back. She thought that sounded like a sweet deal—the Underworld sucked and Kléber was right about everything taking forever, like waiting in those stupid lines for an EZ pass. Why even make an EZ pass lane when the traffic in it could still get so congested.

           A deeper instinct in her shivered at the thought, wondering what that could mean.

“Now go. You try my patience. Will is running out of time to save my son, and you need to deliver Hera some peace of mind,” Hades said.

           Joey nodded. They gave their farewells to the King and Queen of the Underworld and Will escorted Joey towards the exit with Al-Halabi and Kléber on either side of them.

           As they approached the two-story gates, Joey asked, “Do any of you know what he was talking about? Never coming back?”

           Kléber gave an airy chuckle. “It could mean becoming immortal. That is one way to never need return.”

           Al-Halabi frowned and shook his head. He stared down at his stiletto, and Joey got the impression he knew there were other ways.

           “I’m not getting any Apollo-style prophetic moments about it. Sorry, Joey,” Will said, giving her arm a brief, comforting squeeze.

           Joey should have been ecstatic. They were going topside. Will might be able to save his boyfriend. She’d get to properly complete a quest and maybe see her sister again. But instead of rejoicing, she found herself asking, “Spirits can’t like… die permanently, right?”

           Al-Halabi muttered a curse in Arabic, his glare switching to his burned hand. He changed the subject by saying, “We don’t know the location of all the routes out of here, but let’s pretend the rumors are true about multiple ones. Where would be the best spot that you know of to contact Hera?”

           As they talked about the best reentry points, Joey became more afraid of leaving the Underworld than entering it.

Thanks for reading! Here’s a little break from the chaos in the Upperworld XD

Also, as a call out to you wonderful people--I’ve been getting a lot of really kind support recently from my constant readers. I really appreciate it! You guys are awesome and make this book series happen! :D <3

Footnotes:

[1] Apparently, this is going to be the accepted weight measurement system in my version of the world. Pax weighs a fortieth of an O’Leary.

[2] More or less, “just saying…”

[3] يد واحدة ماتسقفش. Equivalent of saying, “you need cooperation from all parties for something to work.” I’m not sure if this is a common idiom for Syrian Arabic or the timeframe, but eh—we can say he picked up stuff while he has been undead.

[4] Super popular candy from the early 1900’s.

[bi-antagonist]

Day 3 : Reunion 

Alternative Universe where pokémon don’t exist and Red disappeared while going after a criminal organization. All because I don’t want to write about Mount Silver. 

Warnings for strong language, because a mad Green trash talks everything and everyone. 

"You idiot!”

 Booted feet collided on the ground with each stomp, snow melting and splashing everywhere.

"You huge son a bitch! Ya think? Do ya think?! That you can just do this to everyone? To me?!"

 The day was barely up, pale orange slowly fading into dark blue, when he made his way towards the ambulance, its siren light the center of attention as street lamps began to switch off. All voice stopped, two cops turning their heads towards him as a nurse stepped back, shoes sliding on the road.

"Fucking hell, I told you, didn't I?! Don't go into the fucking forest at night, don't taunt the mafia, don't go and get yourself in unnecessary trouble. And what did you do, uh? What did you do, Red?!"

 The last word came out as a strangled cry, his legs stopping and hands trembling. In front of him was Red, sitting on the ambulance with a bloody bandage around his head and his left arm pressed against his chest. His eyes were wide and staring at Green, lip caught between his teeth as his shoulders shook slightly.

 Green definitely wasn't on the brink of crying.

"What did you do?” his voice was barely above a whisper, almost inaudible over the vehicle’s engine and gusting wind.

 Red lowered his head, his free hand gripping his trousers. Green sighed, running one hand through his hair and taking two steps back. 

 Eight months. It had been eight months since the man disappeared, leaving nothing but his phone behind as he adventured into some farfetched hero dream. He had said nothing. No goodbye, no I'm leaving, no anything. He had left, just like that, making Green think he had somehow fucked up their relationship.

And then, two months afterwards, the news arrived. Team Rocket’s hideout had been found, but their leader and half of the building had escaped, taking a kid and a hostage with them off to god knows where. Green had let the remote fall flat on the floor, body shaking as Red’s picture came on the TV. His grandfather’s loud complains about him breaking his devices had stopped when Green sunk to his knees, face pale as his mind broke into a chant of this isn’t happening, no way.

It was as if his entire world had turned dull and lifeless, all yellow and orange vanishing from his life.

 Green kicked at the melting snow, making Red jump.

"No word. You seriously won’t say even one word."

 Red shook his head. Green felt like chuckling from all the accumulated nerves, his heart pumping far too fast for his mind to keep up.

A hand tapped his shoulder and he jumped back, almost falling on his ass thanks to the melted snow below his boots.

"We still need to interrogate him, sir, so if you could give us a-"

"Oh, shut your trap!" Green cut in before he could even process that hey, this was a policeman, maybe he should pay a little more respect towards him.

"Sir-"

"Don't call me sir-"

"Leave 'em be, we still got the son to interrogate. It's not like that one is in condition to speak, anyway."

 The policeman sighed, turning on his heels without much of a farewell. Green's eyes followed him till the man stopped in front of another boy, his red hair sticking out in the mist of white clothed medics and snow covered trees.

 Green's eyes widened.

"Is that-“

 Red was nodding before he could finish, gaze stuck back on the ground. Blue clutched his hair, almost yanking as the pieces fell together. Red, tracking down a criminal organization, meeting up with Silver by accident. Red, remembering Ethan’s words about how Silver and Giovanni’s relationship was far from perfect. Red, trying to bring the boy with him after sending the hideout location to the police. Giovanni himself, appearing and taking both of them with him, for some twisted reason like revenge. Or sheer panic.

It made him want to rip something. Instead, he forced his wobbly legs forward and sat heavily by Red’s side, watching as the man looked up with a face paler than usual.

"Why."

 Red shrugged.

"You could have told me. What? You thought I'd let ya go? That I'd move forward? Not worry? This ain't a fairy tale, Red. You knew what you were getting yourself in, didn’t you? You knew the risks. You knew you could never come back. Yet here we are, right? You, bleeding on some old dusty ambulance as I ask you why you didn’t tell your own mother you were leaving.”

Red shrunk on himself even more, fiddling with the hem of his shirt. His hair was longer, almost reaching past his chin and sticking out wilder than usual, the bandage doing nothing to prevent this fact. His own body seemed smaller, a contrast to how bulky he had been nearly a year ago, his pants baggier as his shirt danced around his body. Despite all, he still looked like his Red, with big eyes and rosy lips, calloused fingers and warm skin.

However, Green felt like screaming. He wasn’t mad at Red, hell, if anything he was relieved to have him back, to finally be able to touch him instead of phantom where the hell he had been. But… It was too much. All of the pent up frustration was popping like a balloon, making it impossible for him to just shut up and hug the hell out of his boyfriend.

He clenched his fists, feeling his body shake. He couldn’t keep his tongue going for much longer unless he wanted to ball his eyes out.

"You’re- fuck, c'mere."

 And soon he had one arm wrapped around Red, pulling him against his side and gripping his good arm as if it were the most important thing in the world. Red startled, trying to turn his head towards him but breaking the act with a hiss. Green apologized and readjusted his hold, burrowing his face on the man's dark brown hair and taking a deep breath, trying to stabilize his rapid heart.

"I was so worried, Red. So worried. Do you know how- how scary it was? To get home and not find you anywhere? To wait for weeks at end without hearing a word from the police? Hell, what happened to you even? You- fuck, you’re okay, right? You-“

 Red grabbed his wrist, leaning further against him.

"W-what?"

 Red shook his head.

"Red, c'mon, say something. "

 Red sat still for what seemed like hours, Green holding his breath the entire time. Then, just as the sun rose over the horizon, he signed something, tapping a 'c' two times against his cheek. Green nodded, more to himself than anything, and handed him his phone.

 More hours dragged themselves by, stars sinking into the fading dark sky as Red finished typing. Green felt himself relax each passing second, Red’s warmness slowly waving through his jacket and pressing against his body, confirming that yes, this was real, he was holding him.

A bright screen was pushed under his nose.

I had to do something. I couldn't let them keep experimenting on any animal they came across. I couldn't let them just keep stealing away fur and then leave the poor things defenceless on the woods. I couldn't let Silver there, either.

 Green chuckled, looking up at the sky, fingers gripping Red’s sleeve.

"That sounds just like you, always fitting your nose where you ain't called."

 Red only leaned further against him.

"I know you were trying to do the right thing, but… Just- don't ever disappear like that again, you hear? You could have died Red, died. And then what?"

Don't cry.

"I'm not-"

 But he was, the words dancing around the screen as water pooled on his cheeks. Green wiped it away with the back of his hand, sniffling.

"It's just- snow got into my eye, ya know how it is-"

 He pinched his nose, leaning his body forward as his arms fell from Red's sleeve to grip the man's leg.

"I'm not crying."

 Red ran his fingers through his hair, hands jerky as he showed him his phone, lip caught between his teeth.

I'm sorry.

 Green nodded, taking in a breath as his lungs felt like they were about to explode. He wiped his cheeks again, ignoring how hot and wet they were.

"Yeah, it's- it's fine. I'm being a dick, aren't I? You got a broken arm, a bleeding head, probably an infection followed by trauma, and here I am, talking shit."

I'm fine, this'll heal. I'm used to you being an emotional rollercoaster anyway.

 Green gripped his leg tighter, shooting him a glare. Which probably wasn’t very effective given his state.

"Don’t say that. You're not even signing, and your hands are shaking. Quit playing the though role, silly. I’ve known you since forever, that act ain’t fooling me.”

 Red lowered his gaze, looking more like a dejected puppy than anything. At least he wasn’t either trying to deny his words or crying over them. That was a start.

 Sighing, Green wrapped one arm around Red’s waist and rubbed his side, cupping his cheek with his free hand and tilting it till the man was looking at him. He pressed their foreheads together, lips quivering because it had been so long, it had been so fucking long. He felt like bursting, especially when Red's eyes – those beautiful, russet colored eyes - widened just a fraction before he leaned in, resting his hand on top of Green's.

"Does it hurt?"

 Red shook his head.

"Can you walk?" 

A nod.

"How's your arm?"

 Red's eyes fell on the floor, but he didn't move away. Green’s breath caught on his throat as he nudged his forehead against Red’s.

 Red only leaned heavier against him. Green felt like pushing him away and prying the answer out of his brain, but his heart was holding him back. They had time. They had time. He had waited for months, he could leave a broken limb for later if that meant not pushing his boyfriend too hard.

 "Okay, okay, but don't push me off the ambulance, please."

 They both straightened up, pulling away, Green's hand falling to Red's shoulder.

"Just... don't do something as reckless ever again, okay? At least not alone.”

 Red only smiled, the act a sight for sore eyes. Green felt his own lips quivering into a grin as he shook his head, lightly pushing the man away and beginning to catch him up on everything that had been happening since he left.

 They stood there for another half an hour, talking and watching as the sun melted the rest of the snow away and made the less aware person slip. The siren' lights reflected on the wet asphalt, sometimes fading out as clouds parted for the sun. Voices grew louder each passing second, more people coming in: some going for Silver, other for the cuffed grunts, none having the courage to approach Red. Cops ran back and front in drenched sweat, looking like pigs who had gone for their first morning exercise after a long winter. Red chuckled at the comparison.

 In the middle of it, Green just held Red tighter, mind still taking it all in. 

 He would never let him go like that. Not until the day he stopped loving him, anyway.

[sittingoverheredreaming]

On the Night of the Ball

My entry for the prompt party, Harumichi Cinderella! Mine is a modern take, about 2600 words. Enjoy!

The phone rang just as Haruka had settled into the couch for the night. She untangled from the blanket and dove for the old landline, the long braid of her hair smacking into her back. The answering machine was in her mother’s room, and it was best not to disturb her.

“Hello?”

“So you know how I bet you fifty bucks I’d get you to go to the Halloween dance?”

“Mina, the dance is in an hour—“

“And I’ll call off the deal if you come over right now.”

Haruka sighed. “So I can either stay in pajamas and get fifty bucks, or drag myself out and get nothing?”

Mina clucked into the phone. “You can either stay in, have me come make a scene and pay me fifty bucks you don’t have when I get you to the dance, or you can come over here and not have to worry.” There was a pause, Haruka knew she was twirling her hair with her free hand. “How about this, if you come over, I’ll still pay up if you don’t go. And I’ve got the movie butter popcorn you like.”

“Fine, Mina. But I’m not changing my clothes.”

“Didn’t ask you to, buddy.”

Haruka slipped on her shoes without leaving a note. Her mother would assume she was at Mina’s, if she even noticed. And unless Haruka did something wrong, she didn’t notice.

They lived mercifully close, Mina just a few blocks away in a marginally nicer house. Her mother would be out, and father home, but it amounted to them being alone anyway. Haruka tucked the loose strands of her hair back as she got to the door. It was never easy to know what to expect with Mina. This could end with Mina literally dragging her to the dance, or it could be a wild plan that mysteriously ended in the school gymnasium, and whoops, look at that Haruka, you’re at the dance. Haruka gripped the door knob and resigned herself to losing the bet in a night of misery.

Mina stood in the foyer, dressed in a long robe she must have found at a thrift store. “Dahling, you made it,” she said in her best old-movie actress voice, leaning against the wall with a hand on her head. “I was beginning to worry.”

“What’s the plan, Mina?”

“Don’t look so resigned!” She smiled, big and devious. “I’m going to give you the night of your life.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Haruka shoved her shoulder as they filed down the hall to Mina’s bedroom. “You say that every night.”

“And compared to how you’d be without my stunning influence, it’s true.” Mina hopped onto her bed, smushing several stuffed animals. “But tonight is different. I’ve been saving up tips from the salon to pull this off.”

A new dread settled in Haruka’s stomach. “Mina, you shouldn’t waste your money—“

“You say now, having been willing to rob me dry in a bet.” Her eyes flashed, she knew she had Haruka. “I’ve still got my wages in the move-out fund, don’t you worry. But tonight’s not about what we need, it’s about what I want. And I want you to have a good time.”

“Then why can’t we stay in and watch movies?” Haruka did not do dances—not the dresses, not the shoes, not the hair, and certainly not the dancing, not where everyone could see her.

“Because we do that all the time. Tonight should be different.” Mina cracked her knuckles. “See my plan through, and then you can decide, okay? If you don’t like it, we’ll stay in and I’ll see what I can return to the store tomorrow.”

“Fine.”

Mina jumped up and grabbed Haruka’s wrist. “We’ll start with your hair.”

“Hey, wait, no. Off-limits. You promised when you started at the salon—“

“That I’d never use you as a guinea pig for styling.” Mina yanked her into the bathroom. “I’m not styling your hair, Haruka, I’m cutting it.”

“What?”

“I’m cutting your hair.” She pulled out a clipper set. “That’s always been part of the problem, hasn’t it?”

“I…” Haruka pulled on the end of her braid. “My mom…”

“Tell her it’s for a costume, and if she kicks you out anyway, you’ll stay here.” Mina softened and put her hands on Haruka’s shoulders. “Halloween is about being whatever and whoever you want to be. I, for one, want to be a slutty, slutty vampire, forever young and beautiful. You want to be something else. You can try it, for tonight, and if it’s not right you say it was all play and let your hair grow and no one will bat an eye.”

Haruka looked in the mirror. She wanted it. Always had. Her mother had caught her as a child, cutting her hair with the kitchen scissors to look like a boy’s. She had not been allowed anything more than a trim ever since. “Do you think it would look okay? You don’t think I’d look too…” She meant to say boyish, but couldn’t. Part of her wanted that, too. Not to be a boy,  but to look and exist in that space she’d rarely seen occupied, of being a different sort of woman.

“This might not be the right thing to say, buddy, but I think you might look kind of…” Mina stretched back, forcing nonchalance, “well, kind of handsome.”

Haruka bit her tongue. She leaned closer to the mirror, covered the start of her braid with her hands, a poor approximation of how it might look. “I wanna do it.”

“Okay.” Mina pulled out scissors and held them to the base of the braid. “Ready?”

Haruka took a deep breath. “Ready.”

The scissors snipped, hacking through, once, twice, three times, and – thump! The braid fell to the tile like a dead animal. The bob of Haruka’s remaining hair fanned around her face. Her head felt light, the smallest motion made easier and bigger without the weight of the braid. Mina trimmed it shorter, then switched to the clippers.

“This might tickle some.”

Just the sound as she turned it on sent shivers up Haruka’s back. It vibrated the air with a magic she’d lusted after through barber shop windows. Mina ran it up her head from her neck, and Haruka had to fight to keep still. She couldn’t mess up her chance to look how she dreamed.

Slowly more hair fell to the floor in feathery clumps, until Mina turned off the clippers and dusted Haruka off. Haruka tried not to cry—the mirror now showed a woman standing tall even in her giant hoodie, hair just long enough to be fluffy on top but shaped on the sides. “Mina…” she swallowed hard. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, buddy. We’re only half done.”

Haruka had no more words of protest or question. Mina led the way back to her room and threw open her closet.

Haruka’s breath caught as she pulled out a suit.

“I can’t promise it will fit great, men’s sizing isn’t the same. But, you know, I tried and it should be close.” She rummaged through her drawers and pulled out a brilliant navy tie and a matching masquerade mask.

“This is too much, I can’t accept…”

“If this is a money thing, Haruka, don’t worry. I’ve been planning this long enough that I had time to get good deals.” She opened the suit jacket to reveal a big red stain on the lining. “Somehow, this has been in Goodwill for a long time, even though they insist it’s only ketchup.”

Haruka laughed in spite of her awe. “I ever tell you you’re too good to me?”

“I think the words you’re looking for are ‘Thank you Mina, you’re the best and I’ll never doubt your judgement again.’”

“Thank you, Mina.”

Minako rolled her eyes. “Now, I’m going to change into my vampire dress, and give you a moment. We’ll have to leave in a few.” She grabbed her costume and vacated to the bathroom.

Haruka ran her hands along the suit sleeves. She’d worn men’s clothes before, flying under the wire with hoodies and tee-shirts that weren’t great but kept her from wanting to crawl out of her skin. This was something else entirely. She rubbed at the base of her neck, where her braid had been replaced with fuzz. She’d enter the dance a different person from the one who’d left school that day. Even if it was only for tonight, she’d be the woman she’d always dreamed of.

Slowly, she pulled off her sweatpants, then her hoodie. She slid on the pants, happy to find them only slightly too short. She stole a pair of black socks from Mina’s drawer to hide it. The shirt, on the other hand, was long, but tucked in it made no difference. Haruka pulled on the jacket slowly, suddenly worried it would make it all farcical, she’d be the ordinary gangly girl, dressing up like someone she wasn’t. But it settled onto her shoulders, tight but not too restrictive, and she turned to Mina’s full-length mirror with bated breath.

It didn’t fit perfectly. But it wasn’t glaring, and she looked… real. Or she felt real. She couldn’t think of how to say it. She fumbled with the tie until Mina came back in.

“Damn, buddy, you clean up nice.”

Haruka chuckled, then choked into tears. “Will you help me? I don’t know—“

Mina took the tie and stood behind her. “Now, you be sure to tell everyone I’m very good with my hands.” She smoothed Haruka’s collar and centered the knot. “The ladies are gonna eat their hearts out.”

“Do you think…” She hadn’t allowed herself to think too much about anyone who might be at the dance, committed as she had been to not going. But there was the girl, from homeroom, who’d sometimes caught her eye, and…

“Drag your gay ass back to earth now, buddy, you can either dream or make it happen. If we don’t leave, we’ll be much more than fashionably late.” She pulled the mask on Haruka’s head and they set out together into the night.

The gym was pulsing and packed when they arrived. The only lights came in flashing colors and through the door to the hall. Haruka pulled at the ends of her jacket.

Mina rubbed her back. “Don’t worry buddy, you’re gonna be great.”

“Nice suit, bro!” A footballer called as he passed.

Haruka swallowed. “They don’t recognize me.”

“Drastic haircuts and masks will do that. You okay?���

“Yeah I just… I feel different, too.”

Mina smiled. “Be who you wanna be, Haruka.” She paused. “Split up or stay together?”

Haruka scanned the crowd, looking for the green hair of homeroom girl. “Can we… Can I try being on my own?”

“Spread your gay little wings, buddy. You can find me if you need me.”

 -----

Michiru wondered sometimes why she attended dances. Homecoming and prom she understood—they were appearances, she would be crowned Queen and have her picture in the papers, and her family would have one more thing to brag to their friends about. But the mid-year frivolities… She sighed and nodded as Rei chewed out a boy for asking her to dance. Why Rei came was perhaps a bigger mystery-- though she faced a different side of the same pressures as Michiru, she was less apt to playing along. She knew Senator Hino oft wished he’d had a son, so that his child might court the Kaioh prodigy rather than compete with her. That Rei would have better luck as she was was lost on him.

Michiru supposed the night would go as it always did—accept a dance from her homecoming king, and then a few from those who might be her match for prom. Perhaps it all came down to training, the sweaty gym was the young version of a high society gala, the attendees not yet skilled in hiding their crude underbellies.

But then someone caught her eye. At first it seemed a boy in a sharp costume, going for a formal masquerade rather than any of the silliness others sported. But then she noticed the slight curve of chest and hip, the uncertainty in movement, the charming line of the chin.

It was a girl, and a girl the way the partners of Michiru’s dreams were girls. Their eyes met through her mask. There was something familiar, though Michiru had never met anyone like her before. She rose from her seat on the bleachers, not bothering to let Rei know where she as going. She needed to know the stranger. She needed to meet this woman.

As if on cue, the dj announced the first slow song of the night.

“Um, hi,” the other girl said as Michiru drew close.

Michiru could feel her nervousness. There was something endlessly charming about it. “Hello.”

“Would you, well, would you like to dance with me?”

“I would.”

The butch’s hand was sweaty as she took Michiru’s, her fingers shaking slightly. Michiru guided her other hand to her waist. As their eyes met again, close enough to feel each other’s breath, Michiru felt a familiarity she hadn’t expected.

“We’ve met, haven’t we?”

“Sort of.” She flushed red under her mask.

Michiru thought of the tomboy in homeroom, blushing whenever the teacher called on her, playing with her long hair like she wanted to disappear. Michiru had thought of her, looked at her, more than she cared to admit. They’d sort of met, hadn’t they? Having never spoken, but seeing each other every morning… Michiru ran her hand along the edge of the girl’s hair, wondering how recently it had been cut. “I don’t want to be wrong about who you are.”

“Don’t guess.” Her eyes widened, like hearing the wrong name might break her. “I think… Monday, if you want to find me, you’ll be able to. And if you don’t, it’s okay.”

I’ll want to find you. But Michiru said nothing and sank into the girl for the rest of the song. She could feel their heartbeats mix in their fingertips, the other girl’s pounding hard even as she got more confident in her movements.

“Tell me something that isn’t your name,” Michiru said finally as the music faded into another DJ announcement.

“Um. My favorite color is blue, which I know isn’t original, but it’s nice.” Michiru nodded for her to keep going. “And… I like flowers, but not how people perceive liking flowers. Besides right now, running is about the only time I really feel good.” She blushed again, and swallowed hard. “And maybe this goes without saying, but in case it doesn’t, I’m… I like girls. And I am a girl.”

Michiru stepped into what little space remained between them. “I have one more question.”

The girl swallowed again. “Okay.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Her eyes went wide, but she nodded. Michiru stood on tip toe and, gently as she could, placed her lips on hers. For a moment, the whole world was still, narrowed down to the two of them.

Michiru rose a hand to the girl’s face as she pulled away. “I want to know who you are.”

“I think you’ll be disappointed.”

“I don’t.” Though she wondered—if it wasn’t the girl she’d been watching, would she be? “Whoever you are, I want to see you again.”

“Well. If that’s true, you’ll see me at school. And if-- if you still want to… you can ask me then.” She took Michiru’s hand and kissed her knuckles. “I think I should leave. This… I want to keep this night beautiful.”

Before Michiru could protest, she was gone, taken from Michiru’s sight in the crowd of bodies.

She closed her eyes, committing every second to memory. Come Monday, she’d find the girl.

[bruno-news]

It’s Joy Time for Bruno Mars

WE’RE JUST CAVEMEN, hitting on rocks,” says Bruno Mars. “It’s no different—you’re a caveman and you got a rock in front of you, you hit it with a stick to get everybody dancing. This is our time to forget about everything, it’s joy time. So who’s the best at hitting that rock? Who’s going to make the village dance the hardest?” 

At a casual glance, you might not know that Mars is one of our superstar cavemen. Pulling up to an upscale Italian restaurant on an anonymous street in L.A.’s San Fernando Valley, alone in a relatively modest Cadillac, he parks in back by the dumpsters to slip in quietly. In contrast to the flashy outfits he wears onstage, he’s dressed in a simple collarless bomber jacket, a white Gucci logo T-shirt and camouflage pants. A small crucifix on a thin chain hangs around his neck. 

But at age 31, the singer/songwriter/producer dynamo born Peter Gene Hernandez is unquestionably one of the most highly decorated figures in pop music, with 21 Grammy nominations and 21 Hot 100 hit singles. He has sold over 170 million singles and 26 million albums worldwide and notched his first five No. 1 hits faster than any male artist since Elvis Presley. His third album, 24K Magic, debuted at No. 2 in November; more than two months later, it was still parked in the top five. 

On this drizzly January day, Mars is trying to take care of business before heading to Japan for promotional duties. He’s finalizing plans for the album’s second single, the breezy, drop-top banger “That’s What I Like,” and plotting out his performance for the Grammy Awards. Today, he’s mostly bouncing between meetings and calls to assemble the staging for his massive world tour—already more than 100 dates this year, starting in late March in Antwerp, Belgium, and hitting the U.S. in July. 

“I want the show to be powerful, because people spent some money on a ticket,” he says. “I’ve seen some awesome shows. I’ve seen Prince and Michael Jackson ; those are nights I will remember forever. I’m not doing my job unless I leave a piece of me everywhere I go—if you do the right show, it will stay with people and they’ll tell their kids about it. I hope people can see what I was feeling when I made the records. Then I want to go beyond their expectations and fly.” 

With his old-school dedication to entertaining and his grounding in classic pop and R&B songwriting, Mars stands alongside Adele as one of today’s most universally beloved musicians. “My mum loves Bruno Mars and my son loves Bruno Mars and he’s 5,” says James Corden, host of The Late Late Show—and, recently, the Grammys—in a phone call. “I love how joyful, positive, uplifting his music is. It excludes no one. Everybody is welcome.” 

Mars makes no secret that being onstage comes much easier to him than being in the studio. Almost four full years passed between his quadruple-platinum Unorthodox Jukebox album and the release of 24K Magic. He works so obsessively on each song, he says, that he drew up parameters for himself in order to get the concise, nine-song project finished. “I wanted to make a movie, where each song has its own moment,” he says. “So ‘Versace on the Floor’ is the tender moment, ‘That’s What I Like’ is the fun moment, and the ballad at the end [“Too Good to Say Goodbye”] seals the deal. That’s how I kind of tricked myself into making the album. 

“We were trying really hard to tap into the ’90s R&B music that we grew up with, and it’s a very fine line—it can get tribute-y, it can sound forced,” Mars adds. “But that New Jack Swing sound brought me so much joy as a kid, so we took that on and did our best to try to get that feeling, that effortless fun.” 

His interest in exploring the sounds of the past has sometimes led to accusations that Mars is just a talented copycat. When 24K Magic was released, one publication offered a track-by-track analysis of which artist each song was imitating. Not surprisingly, Mars gets heated about such criticisms. 

“Man, that pisses me off so much!” he says. “It’s so easy to say that, but anyone that does that kind of shit has never written a song in their life. That’s why I’m here, because of musicians before me. 

“Don’t get me wrong—there is plagiarism when you just say ‘Hey, man, what are you doing? I’ve heard that already.’ And I’m not stupid, of course it sounds like [the ’90s]. We’re using these vintage instruments and there is a certain sound, but it’s not just regurgitated. You can tell that we were listening to ’90s R&B. It has that spirit. That’s what we capture, and that’s what I want.” 

Every time I think about it, my whole story is just weird,” says Mars. “Even I don’t get it!” He was born and raised in Honolulu, one of six children—his Filipino-Spanish mother was a singer and dancer; his Jewish–Puerto Rican father was a percussionist. By age 4, young Bruno (the nickname came from his father, who thought the infant Peter resembled wrestler Bruno Sammartino) was performing five days a week in the family band, the Love Notes, singing Michael Jackson and Temptations covers. 

According to his older brother, Eric “E-Panda” Hernandez, when Bruno was just a few years old, his parents dressed him up as Elvis for Halloween. “He was already so in tune with Elvis that he was imitating the moves, the lips, drawing a crowd,” says Hernandez. “I thought, ‘Holy cow, he’s a showstopper already!’ ” “Little Elvis” went on to perform at halftime in the 1990 Aloha Bowl and had a cameo in the 1992 film Honeymoon in Vegas. 

“If you took your kid to school with you every day, and you were studying rocket science, he’d probably be a rocket scientist,” says Mars. “So that’s just it—my dad and mom took me to work every single day, and I got to see what it’s like to entertain an audience. I got to entertain everybody who came to Hawaii—a roomful of people that didn’t speak English, from around the world—and to see what music can do, and how it can bring the world together.” 

Above all, he learned the power of a great song, the fundamentals of writing music that far outlives its creator. Hernandez, who is now the drummer in Mars’s band, recalls Bruno constantly studying music videos—doo-wop, Michael Jackson, Elvis, anything he could get his hands on—in the bedroom they shared. 

“I’ve been singing amazing songs since I was a kid,” Mars says. “They weren’t my songs, but they were classics. So I’ve trained my brain to know what it feels like to sing an amazing song—when you do a lot of covers, you see it; you’ll play a song and you see everybody freak out when you get to that chorus, everyone is singing. It taps into something, whether it’s nostalgia or it just makes people feel a certain way.” 

His father gave him a guitar and started teaching him to play—surf music at first, classics like “Walk Don’t Run” and “Apache.” The influence ran deeper than just the music, as evidenced by the silk-shirt-and-shorts set, white shoes and gold jewelry he sports on the cover of 24K Magic. “The style stuff all comes from watching my dad—the pinkie rings, the pompadour, everything,” Mars says with a big grin. “My dad would take me to school in some big, busted-up Cadillac, and he’d be wearing a rhinestone jacket and have his hair all whipped and greased up, flashy glasses, and I was like, My dad’s not like the other dads at school! I’d try to get out of the car, zoom out. And now I’m the one driving the busted Cadillac, wearing some gaudy shit, and it’s what makes me happy.”

“Bruno is a fashion leader, with a sense of style that is truly his own,” says Tommy Hilfiger, whose clothes Mars sometimes wears onstage. “He is almost chameleonlike—for one concert, he’ll wear an animal-print shirt, then the next, he’ll be in a tuxedo, and it’s all him, he is totally in control of his presence.” 

After graduating from high school, Mars moved to Los Angeles to pursue a musical career. (He now lives in the Hollywood Hills with model/actress Jessica Caban, whom he has dated since 2011.) He was signed by Motown Records in 2004 but then dropped. He kicked around town, signing a publishing deal, playing in cover bands and soaking up all he could from sympathetic, successful songwriters. He wrote songs for K’naan, Brandy and Flo Rida and, in 2009, co-founded a production team, the Smeezingtons. 

His breakthrough came with the hits “Nothin’ on You” by B.o.B. and “Billionaire” by Travie McCoy, both of which featured his voice on the hooks, and then with Cee Lo’s 2010 smash politely known as “Forget You.” Just weeks before that song dropped, Mars released “Just the Way You Are,” the first single from his debut album on Atlantic Records, Doo-Wops and Hooligans. The irresistibly sweet ballad went to No. 1 and topped the adult contemporary chart for a record-breaking 20 weeks. (The next single, “Grenade,” also went to No. 1, and the ukulele-driven trifle “The Lazy Song” cracked the top five.) After a brief tour opening for Maroon 5, he played headlining dates for more than a year, as the album saw sales of more than six million units worldwide and an unbelievable 300-plus weeks on the Billboard Top 200. 

On the road, though, Mars became aware of the limitations of his repertoire. “The first album was so ballad-heavy,” he says, “and when I toured I was like, ‘Man, I need to dance!’ We gotta pick this up, because we can offer more and we’re kinda stuck. And that’s where ‘Locked Out of Heaven’ and ‘Treasure’ and a lot of tunes on the second album came from, because we wanted to push the tempo.” 

With an Anglo-reggae groove reminiscent of the Police (Mars and Sting sang together at the 2013 Grammy Awards), “Locked Out of Heaven” shot Unorthodox Jukebox out of the gate in 2012. The album explored disco and classic soul styles and topped charts around the world. And then, at the end of 2014, Mars was featured on producer Mark Ronson’s earth-quaking, booty-shaking, record-breaking throwback “Uptown Funk.” Certified diamond, for sales over 10 million, the song is only the eighth single in history to spend at least 14 weeks at No. 1. “Uptown Funk” won three Grammys, including record of the year, and for months it was unavoidable—on your TV, in your car or at sporting events. 

Mars says the song emerged only after a long struggle and that they had almost tossed it away. “We went through some trials and tribulations,” he says. “I’m not lying when I tell you that we were fighting—I was on tour and Mark would send me something and I’d be like, ‘Are you out of your mind?’ And I’d send him something back and he’d be like, ‘No, my version is better.’ We were both fighting for the greater good of the song. 

“You press play and it went, ‘This here’s that ice-cold…’ and it was like, ‘Oh, what’s about to happen?!’ But then ‘Oh, man, that’s what you got? Nah, never mind, turn it off.’ And that kept happening for months. 

“Finally the solution was that we just needed to dance—to say, ‘Don’t believe me, just watch,’ and that’s it. Don’t try to write a hook. You don’t need more; that already said everything. But it took us a while to feel that, because the way we were doing it was so unorthodox, piece by piece. When we finally got together and picked up the instruments, we got to feel it. That’s when the superpower comes in.” 

Even after cranking out so many hits—plus collaborations with and writing efforts for everyone from Lil Wayne to Alicia Keys, Adele to Jay Z and Kanye West—Mars has no formula or shortcuts; songwriting remains an instinctive craft. 

“When you’re in the studio, you can feel the energy shift,” he says. “It’s no different from telling a good joke—you can tell when it lights up the room. Or from telling a shitty joke that makes everyone want to leave and you hear the crickets. So you’re always trying to find that magic and then capitalize on it. 

“You find something—‘put your pinkie rings up to the moon’—and everyone’s excited, but now what? What does the bass sound like, or the drums? If ‘24K Magic’ is supposed to sound like I’m having the time of my life, you gotta hear me smiling on the record.”

There’s no bigger stage than the Super Bowl halftime show; Bruno Mars is one of a few performers who have played it twice. In 2014, he played during a rare northern excursion, as the 48th annual game took place in New Jersey. “Rehearsing in the cold sucked,” he says. “We got lucky on the day, it was 50 degrees, but two days before it was -9 or something.” His action-packed performance was the highest-rated halftime show ever (since surpassed by Katy Perry and Lady Gaga) and earned widespread raves, especially considering that his career hadn’t quite reached the spot’s usual mega-A-list status. 

Then last year, on the heels of “Uptown Funk,” Chris Martin of Coldplay invited Mars and Beyoncé to join the group’s halftime set. “I told Chris, ‘This is your Super Bowl performance, you deserve it, go kill ’em,’ ” Mars says. “But he’s such a sweetheart and he kept saying, ‘Bruno, this is a gift I want to give to everybody.’ He talked me into it. He’s a sweet talker, that guy. And she signed up, and all of a sudden I’m in rehearsal dance-battling Beyoncé—what the hell happened?” 

Mars is proud of his work ethic and dedication to every appearance, something Corden can attest to after they filmed a Carpool Karaoke segment last year (the clip has had nearly 40 million views on YouTube since airing in December). “My biggest memory of that day was that the second it ended, I got a little depressed,” says Corden. “Like the last day of vacation, where you’re on the plane home and feel sad that it’s over. It was so euphoric, I just wanted to do it again. There’s a moment at the end of ‘Uptown Funk’ where we’re just sitting there and breathing heavily, and that was real. His commitment was everything—we left it all in the car. 

“I think he’s 100 percent on his way to being one of the greats,” Corden continues. “There are great showmen who get by without always having great songs and great songwriters who aren’t great showmen, but he’s both those things. He has this unquantifiable energy, where you want to watch it and be a part of it somehow.” 

Hernandez notes that his brother works tirelessly, showing up for every sound check, sometimes arriving before the rest of the band. “He sees something lacking in the business, maybe something we were influenced by as kids that’s missing today, and he sticks to his vision,” says Hernandez. “He’s put that work mentality on the rest of the band, where he makes us want to be great.” 

The rain has stopped and as the sun goes down over the Santa Monica Mountains, Mars heads to the restaurant’s back patio for a cigarette. He seems in no great rush to get back into the scramble of preparing for a tour and keeping the business humming. With the long process of an album finally complete, he says that although he’s open to the idea of more new music or another collaboration, he wants to be careful. 

“I just don’t want to feel gross,” he says. “It’s as simple as that. I don’t want to feel gross, I don’t want to regret any decisions. Even if I turn down a sweet check because I don’t want to be on that billboard, hawking some shit to the world—I just don’t need to do that. Because you get one shot at this. 

“I’m not a model. I’m not an ice skater. I’m not a chef. I’m here to do music. And I want to be able to look back and say, ‘Yeah, I did it the way I wanted to do it.’ Whether it triumphs or fails, I can live with that.”