#its only like a mile away and most of the walk is in shade

[charhounds]

i want to walk down to a nearby craft store and replace those needles i broke yesterday but

[selyeji]

conversations

joão félix x reader (requested)

summary : falling inlove with someone you barely knew wasn’t on your list, especially when a simple search could be done.

(based on “a dream with a baseball player” by faye webster)

warnings : none

friday afternoon, the park was quiet and almost empty. people still working their shift and high school students still not released from their classes. the only sound that could be heard were footsteps and gushes of wind.

you sat on a wooden bench, legs crossed, with your book on your hand. the tree that stood near provided shade, protecting you from the sun. your mind consuming each word typed out on the pages, eyes darting from line to line.

bark. bark.

snapping back to reality from your reading session, you turn your head to see a short brown dog standing beside you, the little bell on its collar ringing. the dog walks up to your lap, circling around.

a bit surprised, you started to pet him. scratching his chin, based on his expression, it seems that was his favorite spot. before you could move him, you heard gasping and footsteps.

“floki… sorry for disturbing you, accidentally let him go and he ran.” a young man approached “may i?” he asked, gesturing to the empty spot next to you. you nod.

carrying the dog, who is floki, to the mans hands. his paws started to reach out for you. “seems like he likes you alot.” the man pats flokis head while giggling.

“he runs fast for a small dog.” you mumbled, showing a cheeky grin. “i forgot to introduce myself, sorry, my name is joão félix.” he said, handing out his palm. his thick accent slipping out, you assume he wasn’t from around here.

“y/n, nice to meet you.” you responded. his soft moist skin meeting yours as you shook his hand gently.

“are you from around here?” you ask, once your hands separate from each other. “no actually, here for work reason.” he responded.

“oh, that makes sense.”

“how’d you guess?”

“the accent im pretty sure.” you giggle off.

before you knew it, the conversation kept on going. your book long forgotten and floki being ignored. you both leave when the sun was no longer in sight.

you sat in the bathtub, the hot water surrounding your body. you were thinking about the entire day, you couldn’t stop thinking about the man you met, he was handsome and was a nice person to talk to. his hair was a nice shade of brown, although he wore a cap the entire time. he had a nice bright smile, you could recognize it from miles away.

you splashed some water in your face, trying to bring yourself back to reality. there was no way you could meet him again, it’s more likely this would be the first and last time you’ll ever meet. you couldn’t fall inlove with a stranger, you barely knew him.

once you dried up, did you skincare and laid in bed. you shut down those feelings from earlier. you never expected yourself to like someone so easily, it was best to never have high expectations. you wrap yourself under the blanket, slowly drifting to sleep.

…

saturday lunch, you were in the bookstore, organizing the new stock. working here wasn’t all bad, most customers were quiet and humble, not too much problems aside from people not properly returning books in the right shelf. the job didn’t pay well nor bad, it helped you get through your last year of college.

the door bells chime, indicating someone entering. you still continue with your work, most people didn’t really want employees talk to them unless they approach first. you respected this privacy until you felt a small tap on your shoulder.

there it was, that white and straight teeth smile. “joão? i didn’t expect to see you here.” you said, disregarding the books you still didn’t place back.

“same here, i was actually hoping to see you later, the same spot.” he said, hands in pocket continuing to smile. he had his hood on, still covering his head. you were surprised especially with todays weather. you shrugged it off, continuing the conversation.

“and i was hoping to see floki, poor boy must miss me alooott…” you said, acting dramatic and sad for the dog. wiping away your fake and non-existent tears.

“hey im still here…” joao pouted and brows curved.

“you’re not a cute dog, but close enough.” you shrug, keeping your smile on. “no but seriously, joao can i help you with anything? i need to get back to work.”

“just need to buy this book actually…” he said, showing a picture on his phone. you immediately recognize it, it was one of the books you restocked.

“heres a magic trick actually,” you said pulling out the book without moving a step. your face showing a cheeky grin as you raise your eyebrows, before the both of you giggle quietly.

“thanks.” he said, leaving you to go up to the cashier. you quietly continued with your work, humming while joao walks pass. “i’ll meet you later?” he yelled once his hand held the door handle.

you hummed but loud enough for him to hear. he soon left, the bells still chiming. you guessed he heard your response. before going to the back for more stock, your co-worker elbowed you.

“ow… what was that for?” you said, annoyed. “i definitely did not expect you to actually fall in love with someone.” he said.

“i don’t like him like that, plus we just met.” you replied. ignoring his comments, it was always like this during work. both you and him gossiped about university, helping in removing weight from your thoughts.

hours passed, your shift ended. meeting at your new usual spot, he was already there waiting for you. you quietly sat down beside him. leaning your back relaxingly. this time you saw floki but sat between you too.

“you brought floki?” you said with a smile across your cheeks. petting the dog as he jumped to your arms. patting the brown skin and massaging his cheeks.

“of course. he likes you alot after all.”

the conversation passed, words exchanged and before you knew it, it was already late. even street lights started to turn on. illuminate a yellow light across the neutral blue sky.

you went back home, changing clothes and researching on some papers. but it felt like you couldn’t intake any information at all, no matter how many times you repeat it in your head.

it felt impossible when the only thing you could think of was the next time you met joao. you thought about what you two would talk about. would it be about food? music? art? sports? who knew.

you started to think about your co-workers words from earlier. perhaps he was right, you were inlove. but you kept how, there was so many things to unpack about him and how could you even fall inlove?

days passed, each and every day was the same spot, same time, and same person. each word that came out was filled with genuine emotions and truth. you two were each others personal journal, instead of writing it down.

wednesday, your co-worker invited you to a football match. it was hosted in the stadium nearby so you gladly accepted. you barely knew anything about it aside from the world cup and ultras seen walking in the streets.

you two sat near the field, getting a closer view of the match. at first you didn’t pay attention to the players, just watching the ball whether it went in the net or not.

the crowd cheered, goal scored for barcelona. the name felix was yelled around, that name rung a bell. there was no way, i mean, it couldn’t hurt to check? and you were horribly wrong, joao felix the same guy you talked to everyday celebrating. hugging his teammates and yelling.

you two locked eyes, you of course gave a mad confused look to him. he responded back with a wink and a smile. you rolled your eyes at him, until your co-worker looked at you.

“did he just wink at you?” he screamed through the crowds screams. “that fucker…” you sighed out.

“he was the guy yesterday!?” he kept yelling even more.

“i thought you knew what he looked like?”

“i wasn’t even wearing my glasses!”

you just laid back to your seat, covering your face with your hoodie. contemplating about every single word you said to him, how embarrassing it was. you didn’t even search his name just to find his instagram.

the match ended, people started to find their way out the stadium. the both of you sat still, waiting for lesser people in the exits so you could go out smoothly.

“hey! y/n!” a voice yelled. you raise your head to see joao leaning towards the railing.

“joaoo… you didn’t tell me you were a professional football player…” you whined out while walking towards him.

“i guess i told you everything about me except that.” he laughed it off.

joao took off his jersey, his hair wet from sweat and his arm muscles defined by the lights. he took out a marker and signed the jersey. wrapping the shirt around your neck.

“keep it for me.” he said, running off before you could say a single word.

“holy shit. y/n l/n with the joao felix. do not fumble that man.” your co-worker said, holding on both of your shoulders.

you walked out the stadium, still thinking about what happened. the two of you walk your separate ways, once you arrived home, you threw yourself on the couch.

unfolding the jersey, flipping it to see the back. joao felix, 14, his signature… and his phone number. you were wondering the past days whether you would exchange phone numbers, you immediately took your phone and typed in the numbers. texting with a simple hey.

you decided to take a shower, not expecting a response right away. after all he’s probably busy celebrating. the entire time in the shower, you thought about his message, aswell as your response. ready for any possible message.

once you got out, you laid in bed. reading his message and replying back. this went on for hours, quickly typing back as your phones brightness glowed in the dark room, lighting up his message. still wearing his name on your back. this was just the start of a prospering relationship.

daily click to help palestine

a/n : 2 jamal fics and a fermin fic coming up… im doing the requests i swear im just reaaaallly slow 😭😭

i’ll probably make a part2 of this but based off another song

[headspace-hotel]

The day before yesterday I got to try a ripe pawpaw for the first time.

Someone else was supposed to come in at the center, but I was in the mood to be alone, so I fucked off into the woods at the earliest available opportunity, looking to collect more hickory nuts.

I hiked about two miles down the trail, seeking to find a little-used path as far from the center as I could reasonably make it. I was five or ten minutes down a fork in the path heading down a valley when I unexpectedly smelled something familiar: the scent of ripe pawpaws. I only knew that scent from having come upon a rotten one several days back on the trail.

I had seen pawpaw trees on the way up, but I looked around and saw nothing. I indulged a beast-like impulse: I sniffed. I turned until I was facing the direction of the scent and moved towards it. And I saw, about 50 feet away down the hillside below...a pawpaw grove

Some interesting facts about pawpaws:

The pawpaw is the largest fruit native to North America, known for its "tropical" flavor. Despite being reputed to be delicious, it is not found in grocery stores due to the fruits being far too delicate to ship without spoiling. A few people farm them, but otherwise the only way to get one is to come upon one growing wild, which is rare, because the opossums love them.

Pawpaw trees are hard to grow and take 10-15 years to produce fruit, but you can see wild ones in mature and well managed woods of Kentucky. They are small, barely trees, only about 15-20 feet tall, with trunks only a bit bigger around than a circle you can make with your index finger and thumb. They almost always grow in clonal colonies, groups of many trees that are all clones of each other due to being propagated from the roots of existing trees. They are also strictly understory trees, growing in the shade of much larger trees.

Now, an interesting fact about Eastern Kentucky: At the fringe of Appalachia, and even into parts of the Outer Bluegrass, the terrain frequently turns into very steep rolling hills.

It's hard to notice if you are in more cultivated areas that have been leveled out more, but in wilder parts you can seldom just casually walk in a straight line through the woods. Unless you are following the contour of the hills, you are either sliding and gripping saplings to slow your descent or you are climbing on all fours.

Such was the hill below me, descending at roughly a fifty-degree angle into the pawpaw grove.

I was going to get me some fucking pawpaws.

I climb down the hill by a combination of scooting, sliding, and scrabbling. After a few minutes of struggle I am standing in the pawpaw grove, alone, scanning the branches with my eyes.

The ground is littered everywhere with pawpaws, some very rotten. I see only two or three fruits remaining in the trees, and I walk around giving each tree a good shake, thinking to myself about how this is certainly an experience shared by millions of years' worth of primate ancestors before me.

After nearly ten minutes of (literally) fruitless tree-shaking, I start to eye the fallen pawpaws on the ground around me.

Some of them are perfectly fine-looking. The skin hasn't even been broken into. I pick one up.

It is very soft, but not squishy like something rotten. It is about as long as my index finger (my hands are small) and oblong. Its smooth skin is pale green and spotted with brown like a very ripe banana. I tear the skin back and give the creamy orange insides a test lick.

Friends.

It was transcendent.

Imagine the most perfect ripe mango, but with a flavor that is more banana-like, mellow and creamy and mild instead of tangy. The texture is perfectly smooth and soft unlike any other fruit. You can lick it and it will just melt in your mouth.

I am autistic and a very picky eater due to the difficult textures of many foods, and this fruit has the perfect texture. Mangos are already one of my favorite foods and this is somehow even better. I remember, deliriously, that farmers are seeking to improve pawpaws for possible commercial production, and it seems like the height of foolishness there in the pawpaw grove. There is no possible way wild pawpaws could be improved. All of creation is tainted by the Fall of Man, except for fucking pawpaws, because they are beyond the earthly tier of fruits.

I lick it like a dog going crazy on a Kong full of peanut butter until it falls apart in my hands and start scanning the ground for another.

They are all perfectly ripe and mostly untouched by bugs or creatures. I start just squishing them in my hands and licking the creamy insides. I am just planting my face in these fruits like some kind of animal. My face and hands are covered in pawpaw squish.

I go through like ten of them before returning to my senses. I've been thoughtlessly wiping my hands on my pants, and they are now more soiled than the clothes of the messiest toddler. I feel primal and connected to my ancestors. I have truly earned my Primate Card.

My mom said in the car that I smelled very strongly of something (pawpaws) so it's safe to say that literally every person I passed on the way back down the trail got a good whiff too, and likely connected it to the Pawpaw Squish that was basically all over me.

Regrets: None

[bqstqnbruin]

Tattoos of You

Look, I know this gif is ancient but I love this one don't judge me.

ANYWAY here I am with my entry for @wyattjohnston's summer 2024 fic exchange! I had the pleasure of writing for @senditcolton so I hope you enjoy this because I have literally been thinking about this fic so much for the last like three months (yes I have been working on this idea for too long)

These following links are some of the tik toks that I used for inspo for this fic: X X X X X

Special shoutout to @nicohischier for reading this the entire time I was writing it, love you (I swear you'll get a happy fic at some point)

Warnings: Swearing, drinking, aNGST (Nicole you asked for it)

WC: 11k

________________________________

an open book with a sunset coming out of it

The sun was shining, children were running around and laughing, people were splashing around in the water.

Colette was under an umbrella, trying to stay in its shade as much as possible, with a hat on her head and her sunglasses on. 

“Can you please enjoy yourself?” Becca asks. 

“This is as close to enjoying myself as you’re going to get,” Colette mumbles, not looking up from the book that she was reading. It’s not that she hated the beach, it’s that she hated the sun, the sand, the heat, the noise, the crowds of people.

Maybe she did hate the beach.

“Do you want to go back up to the house?” The house was not much better: the AC barely worked when they got in last night, and Colette spent most of the night not sleeping because of how hot the room was. She was also pretty sure that there was a raccoon somewhere in the walls of the house, since the scratching she could swear was coming from behind her head when she was in her bed only happened at night, and magically stopped once the sun came up. 

“Do you want to go back to the house?” Colette asks.

“Not at all.” 

“Well, I’m not going to walk the two miles back alone, am I?”

Becca rolls her eyes, shielding them from the sun despite the huge sunglasses on her face. She looks out to the water and lets out a long sigh. “Everyone else is in the water having fun, why don’t we join them?”

Colette makes a face as she looks out at the rest of her friend group. They were playing some horrible version of chicken, given the fact that she was sure she and Becca were the only ones sober at this point. “Then when you get out of the water, the sand sticks to you because you’re all wet and it’s impossible to get off.” 

“You’re, like, the only person I know who hates the beach this much.”

“I wanted to go to a cabin near the lake we used to go to when we were younger, and you all wanted to ‘try something new,’” Colette points out. “I told you I didn’t like the beach, but you guys said you wouldn’t go away without me.” 

Becca rolls her eyes again, “That’s because we like you, Lettie. You’re the responsible one in the group.” 

Becca gets up without another word, going to join the rest of their friends in the water. “Great,” Colette mumbles, going back to her book.  

She loses track of time, her friends never even coming back to talk to her while she finishes one book and quickly moves on to the next. The people around her come and go, the beach slowly emptying out as people leave for dinner. She wasn’t sure how long her friends would last without food, given the amount of alcohol they had consumed and how little they had come back to their spots in the sand to even grab the snacks they ran around packing that morning. 

“Watch out!” she hears coming from her left, a ball hitting the book out of her hands and into the sand a few feet away before she even has the chance to react.

“You bastards,” she shrieks as two guys come running over to get the ball. “That’s a library book.” 

“Your book is fine,” one of them says, holding up the book with two fingers as if it had a disease or something else rancid oozing out of it. 

“Are you ok?” the other one asks, Colette holding up her hand to shield her eyes so she could at least see the guys she was scowling at with the sun behind them. 

Despite her anger at them for nearly probably injuring her, they were, unfortunately for her, attractive. Not that made her less angry, but if Becca were there next to her, she would somehow manage to force Colette to acknowledge it to their faces. 

“I’m fine, but my book is not,” she says, ripping the thing out of the darker haired boy. “You ripped one of the pages when you picked it up.”

The one with lighter hair looked behind his friend, scoffed and thrust the ball into his friend's chest to pick up the now missing page. “You’re giving her money to pay for a replacement book,” he says, handing Colette the page.

“Fine, I’ll give her the ten dollars.”

“This book cost twenty five,” she tells him, showing him the price from the back of the book.

“Books are twenty five dollars?” he scoffs. “For what?”

“If you could read above a fourth grade reading level, maybe you would know,” Colette mutters, earning a laugh from the lighter haired boy. 

“I’m not paying that much for a book.”

“You’re the one who kicked the ball that ruined her book. You’re the one who’s going to pay for her to replace it so she doesn’t have to. You get, like, a hundred and seventy five thousand dollars a week for your paycheck, you can handle twenty five dollars, you jackass.”

Colette nearly chokes when she hears the number he casually spit out, the two sending themselves into a bickering match over the money. She gets out her phone, wincing as she stands up for the first time in hours to hand it to the dark haired boy. “Send the money here.”

He starts mumbling something under his breath, Colette rolling her eyes as he does as instructed. One of the guys from their group calls for them, him running back to them with the ball.

“Sorry about Mat,” his friend says, standing over Colette as she sits back down.

“He seems like a delight,” she deadpans, trying to hide the combination of disgust and excitement as he sits down with her, laughing at her words.

“He’s an asshole,” he tells her, squinting as he looks out at the water. Colette couldn’t help but study him, the green of his eyes, the sharp angle of his jawline, his somehow perfectly styled hair, all combining to something she didn’t understand her need to look at. “And thankfully, my opposite.”

“People don’t talk like that,” Colette blurts out before thinking.

“Excuse me?”

“‘And thankfully, my opposite,’” she imitates him, lowering her voice and earning another laugh from him. “That’s something people say in rom coms.”

“You’re awfully judgemental for someone who doesn’t have to pay for a damaged book.”

Colette laughs, a smile forming on his face that, for some reason, she didn’t want to stop seeing. “It’s part of my charm. I’m Colette, by the way.”

“Anthony.”

Colette loses track of time again, not because of her now ruined book. Becca eventually comes back, as do the rest of the friends, letting her know that they were running to grab food before coming back to watch the sunset. Anthony’s friends had seemingly all but forgotten about him, at one point leaving without him realizing it, only to come back with Colette’s friends with food for both of them. 

“You guys came all the way to Canada when you live in Pittsburgh?” Mat asks.

“We go somewhere every year together, Lettie picked Vancouver for her turn,” Eddy says.

“I did not pick the beach, though,” she says, only loud enough for Anthony to hear. 

“Glad you did,” he replies, again, only loud enough for her to hear. He smiles at her, his hand inching towards hers in the sand as the sun sets over the water. 

a tent on the ground with a pine tree next to it, the moon and shooting star over both

“Those guys from the beach said they wanted to go camping with us this weekend,” Eddy says during their group facetime. 

Becca immediately started making plans of who was driving with who, Addison talking about the tents and sleeping bags she could borrow from her dad and brothers from their scouting days, Devyn talking about the food they would be able to bring, Franco talking about the beer. 

“Hold on, guys,” Colette interrupted, doubting that any of her friends was actually listening to the others. “Since when do we camp?”

“Since hot guys ask us to,” Eddy says.

“You liked those guys?” Colette asks, the rest of her friends laughing at her.

“Oh, come on, Lettie,” Addison teases her. “You ignored us for the entire three days we were there because you were talking to Anthony.” 

Colette rolls her eyes, thankful that her friends couldn’t see the rapid succession of texts from Anthony appearing on her screen at that moment. She didn’t want to tell them that they were right that she liked talking with him that weekend two months ago, so much so that she had been texting him almost as often as she was texting the group chat. She didn’t want to admit that she thought she was starting to fall for a guy she had only interacted with in person once, because who the hell did that? 

But, this was an excuse to see him again, without her friends nagging her about her crush, that may or may not exist, in a way that wouldn’t be a date. 

“I’m not driving.” 

“Does that mean you’re coming?” Eddy asks, all of her friends faces’ way too close to their cameras for her to do anything other than groan.

“Unfortunately.” 

By the time they got to the camping site, the guys already had enough tents set up for a small army. Eddy stops the car, Devyn and Franco getting out and immediately starting to unpack the trunk full of their stuff. 

“Damn,” Eddy drools, Colette laughing. “I never knew setting up tents was hot.”

“It’s not.”

Eddy fans himself, taking in a deep breath. “It is once you realize that that active bakery over there is attached to your boyfriend.” 

Colette cringes, trying not to let Eddy see her looking at Tito with his back towards them, bent over at his waist, his ass right there. “Not my boyfriend.”

“Not yet, babe,” Eddy corrects her. “That could change tonight.”

“And how, praytell, do you see that happening?”

“You’ll share a tent with him, you’ll share all your secrets, fall madly in love, get married with me as the bridesman of honor, of course, have tons of babies, and die in each others arms like that one couple on the Titanic.” 

“You could eat and shit out a bunch of Scrabble tiles and whatever they spelled out would still make more sense than whatever just came out of your mouth,” she says, getting out of the car just as Becca and Addison pull up behind them. 

Eddy laughs, locking the car doors. “Just because I don’t make sense to you doesn’t mean I’m not right. I’ve never seen two people who align so well before you and Tito. You are so meant to be.”

Colette laughs. “I’ll remember that next time you’re fawning over Devyn and Franco’s relationship,” she tells him, gesturing over to their two friends who had already claimed a tent to share together. 

Eddy had a sly smile forming on his face, one that Colette knew was going to lead to something she hated. “Hey, Anthony,” he calls.

Anthony perks up once he sees who calls his name, Colette telling herself that it was simply because he heard his name and he had ‘golden retriever vibes’ in general, not because he saw her, despite the fact that he was looking at her the entire time he came over. “What’s up, Ed?”

Eddy visibly swoons at the sound of Anthony calling him a nickname, trying to collect his composure before Anthony actually notices or Colette calls him out for it. “Lettie here said that she wanted to share a tent with someone since she’s never been camping before.”

“What?”

“Ok?”

“Well, I snore like a jet ski, so I would never want to subject our girl to that,” Eddy continues, throwing his arm around Colette and pulling her close to him, throwing her off balance, “So we were wondering if you wanted to share with her?”

“Oh!” Anthony says, his face turning red. Colette tries to discreetly pinch Eddy’s side as payback, her heart racing as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I mean, I was going to ask you that anyway, but I guess you beat me to it.” 

Eddy walks away without another word, leaving an angry Colette and an embarrassed Anthony behind in his wake. “He’s lying, I’m fine on my own if you don’t-”

“You don’t-” he cuts her off, looking down at the ground, “You don’t want to share a tent?”

“No, I mean,” she starts, trying to find the right words. How do you tell someone you want to be near them without it sounding weird? “If you want to, I wouldn't say no to sharing.”

“Oh, I want to,” he says quickly, a small laugh escaping his lips that matched Colettes. “I want to.”

Colette could feel her face getting hot as she smiled at him. “Let’s go set up our tent?”

Their friends wander off again, just like the day they met at the beach, as the day wore on, leaving Anthony and Colette to finish setting up where they were going to start their fire for the night. 

“Hold on,” Colette says, trying not to laugh so hard that she couldn’t get the words out, “She threw what?”

“A dildo.”

“So that photo you sent me of your black eye from last season?”

Anthony’s face was bright red, biting his lip and nodding, “Yeah. yeah, it wasn’t from practice. It was from Tamsin throwing a dildo at me when she thought I was breaking into our apartment.”

Colette cackled, the ugliest sounding laugh she had ever heard bubbling up from her stomach. “I’m so sorry.”

“Like you’ve never had any embarrassing encounters with an ex.”

“The worst I’ve had is a guy named Mason sprinkled packets of those instant mashed potatoes around the lawn outside my apartment complex after a bad break up when we were in college.”

“How’d you know it was him?”

“He texted me right before it rained asking if I liked mashed potatoes, and then I never heard from him again.” 

Anthony laughs, the voice in Colette's head telling her that she wanted to hear that sound as much as she could. They keep talking about nothing as the sun sets, starting the fire before it gets too dark out.

“So,” Anthony says, sitting down on one of the chairs, the shadows from the flames illuminating every Colette had been mesmerized by the first time they met. “We’ve got Dildo Throwing Tamsin and Mashed Potato Mason as our exes.” 

“I think they’d like each other,” she laughs, plopping down on a chair next to him. Colette looks up to the sky. The stars streaked the sky like nothing she had ever seen before. She knew there were millions of stars up there, but she never thought she would see them. “God, you never get to see the stars with all the city lights. It’s beautiful.”

“You’re beautiful,” she hears Anthony say, his face red yet again when she turns her attention to him and smiles. Before she can say anything, he starts, “Do you think we can see each other?”

“Do you think I’m imaginary or something?”

“No, I mean,” he starts, the sounds of their friends coming back to start eating making him jump. He pulls his chair so close to Colette’s they practically overlap as he lowers his voice. “Can we go out when we’re back in the city? Just the two of us?”

Colette felt her face getting hot again, charmed by the nerves he showed around her. “Yes.” 

a mirror with an outline of a head in it, no face

“What are you doing right now?”

“I’m getting ready for work.”

“Do you want to hang out?”

“Did you not hear me?” 

Colette hears Anthony laugh on the other end of the phone. “I heard you, but I still want to hang out. I miss you.”

Colette cringed as she felt her heart skip a beat. She hated that she missed him too, and she wanted to see him, but, “I have to leave in the next two minutes if I want to be on time for my meeting, I can’t. What about tonight?”

“We have a home game at seven tonight. Tomorrow morning?”

“I’m watching my cousin and taking him to his soccer game for my aunt tomorrow.”

“What time?”

“You’re not coming to watch pee wee soccer.”

“What time are you leaving to pick him up?”

“You’re really bad at listening,” Colette says, grabbing the last of her stuff as she heads out the door. 

“What time?” he repeats, clearly not going to stop until she gives him an answer as she rushes out the door. 

“I don’t remember. Can I let you know after work tonight?” 

“Sure. Talk later?” he asks, alarm bells going off in Colette’s head about something she was sure he was scheming.

He hangs up before he can say anything, leaving Colette to stew as to what he was going to do. Anthony wasn’t going to show up at her apartment when she was supposed to leave to get her cousin, was he?

“Why do you look like that?” Addison asks once she sees Colette at work. 

Colette snaps out of the trance she didn’t realize she was in, looking away from her computer for the first time in a while. “I don’t know, genetics?” she asks, a slightly offended tone in her voice. 

“No, I mean,” she says, sitting down on Colette’s desk. “You look concerned.”

Colette shakes her head. “I was just working,” she says, leaning back in her chair and rubbing her eyes. She lets out a sigh. “Anthony was really adamant about hanging out.”

“Oh, no,” she says, fake concern dripping through her voice as Colette rolls her eyes. “The guy you’re dating wants to see you.” 

“He was kind of weird about it, though. He wanted to come over this morning, and I think he wants to hang out tomorrow.”

“Well, that’s not weird.”

“I’m watching Grayson tomorrow.”

“And?”

“And he knows that.”

“So?”

Colette rolls her eyes again out of frustration for herself. Why couldn’t she explain how she felt to her friend? “So we just saw each other, like, two nights ago. Isn’t it too soon to see each other again?”

Addison shakes her head. “Don’t you want to see him?”

“Well, yeah, but what if he’s only asking to see me because he knows I want to see him and he doesn’t actually want to see me? I have to take Grayson to his soccer game. That’s so boring. Why would he want to do that?”

Addison rolls her eyes. “Because he’s obsessed with you?”

Colette groans. “Don’t you have a meeting in a minute?”

The next morning, Colette wakes up to knocking on her door. She gets up, surprised to find Anthony standing on the other side of the door with coffees in hand. “What are you doing here?” she whines.

“You never texted me,” he tells her, pushing past her and heading to her room.

“I, uh,” she hesitates. “Sorry, I forgot.” 

Anthony sets the coffees down on her nightstand, pulling up her sheets as if he was going to start making her bed. “No you didn’t.” 

“I did,” Colette tells him, her voice sounding more sure of her lie. 

“You just didn’t text me.” 

“Look, I love taking Grayson to his soccer games when my aunt can’t, but they’re really boring for other people. Last time I took Eddy, he complained the entire time,” she explains, taking the coffee from him. “I didn’t think you’d really want to sit through that.” Colette starts to get ready, sitting in front of the mirror in her room to get her hair together. 

She makes eye contact through the glass with Anthony as he sits down on her now made bed. “I don’t do anything I don’t want to do.” 

a cartoon cinnamon bun

Anthony had his arms around Colette before they were even through the door, pinning her against the wall outside her apartment, his lips on hers. They had been like this since they were in the bar with the rest of their friends, them being teased that they needed to get a room. Since Anthony’s eyes got darker when he turned to her, his hands on her waist as he asked her who’s place was closer for them to get in a bed as soon as possible. 

They barely made it through her door and had it shut when Anthony’s fingers danced along the hem of her shirt, pleading with her to take it off and practically ripping his off at the same time. Anthony and Colette stumbled their way to her bed, nearly losing contact with each other when they collapsed onto her mattress, skin to skin and Colette already deliriously happy. 

They woke up the next morning, the sheets a mess, their clothing in a trail leading from her entryway to her bed. Colette’s phone was somehow on her nightstand next to her, buzzing continuously for what seemed like any hour. Anthony let out a groan, a result of the hangover he was probably feeling. 

“Don’t get it,” he mumbles into her pillow, his arm wrapped around her pulling her closer. She could feel herself relax as his heartbeat gently thumped against her back. It buzzes again, Anthony starting to kiss his way from the nape of her neck down her spine, a giggle escaping her lips at his attempt to distract her.

“If it’s going off this much, it has to be something bad.”

“One time it was Eddy melting down and calling to tell you he got water on his new shoes.”

Colette scrolls through her phone, multiple missed calls from her friend group as Anthony’s mouth works his way back up to her neck, propping himself up to try to get her cheeks. Another call from Eddy appears on her screen, her heart racing that something bad happened to one of her friends. 

“Hello?”

“Oh my god,” Eddy screams, “I thought Anthony murdered you.” 

Anthony and Colette laugh, Colette switching over to speaker phone even though Anthony had no problem hearing their conversation without it. “No, we were asleep. What’s wrong?”

“I’ve been praying to God all morning that you were ok.”

“Eddy, it’s like 9 am, and you don’t believe in God.”

“I found God so I could pray that you were ok.”

“I didn’t realize she was lost, but sure. What’s wrong?”

“Your parents are on their way. They said they’d be at your place at 9 am.”

Colette looks at the time at the top of her screen: 8:56 am. 

“Fucking shit,” she screams, dropping her phone on her bed and practically falling over the sheets as she launched herself off the mattress to collect the clothes scattered around her floor. 

“What, what’s wrong?” Anthony calls after her, picking up what he can and throwing on the shirt that was still sitting by her front door. 

“My parents are coming.” 

“And?”

“You’re here.”

“Do you not want me here?”

Colette whips around to face him, thrusting his underwearing and pants from last night into his chest while trying to get her own shirt back over her head. “Of course, I do.” She runs past him and back into her room to throw clothes on and panic make her bed. “It’s just, you don’t have enough time to leave before they get here. And, if you’re here, then they’re going to start asking questions about whether or not you’re my boyfriend, and probably a bunch of other things, too.”

“Then we tell them I am,” Colette hears, seeing Anthony appear on the other side of her bed to help her straighten up. 

She stops, standing straight up to stare at him. “What?”

“We tell them I’m your boyfriend.” He walks around to the other side of her bed to meet her. “Unless, you don’t want me to be your boyfriend.” 

Colette opens her mouth, no words coming out. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

Anthony throws his head back in laughter, pulling her in for a hug and kissing the top of her head. “Of course I do.” Colette gives him a kiss, a knock at her door pulling them apart. “You get more clothes on, I’ll go meet your parents.”

Colette scrambles to find something presentable enough for her parents liking, trying her best to fix her hair and the makeup that she never took off from the night before when she hears laughter coming from her kitchen. She finally comes out of her room, her mom’s hand over Anthony’s while her dad is animated talking to him, a pink bag from her favorite bakery near their house on the table filling the room with the scent of the cinnamon buns that made her mouth water. 

“Sweetie, we brought you some breakfast, but we didn’t know you had your boyfriend over,” her mom says, no hint of the fakeness Colette expected in her voice. 

“Why don’t we all go out for breakfast?” Anthony says, getting up from his seat, “My treat. Colette and I can have the cinnamon buns later.”

Her mother swoons as he takes her hand and leads her to the door, a wink from Anthony sent Colette’s way that made her cheeks burn. 

Her dad pulls her in for a hug, his arm around her shoulder as they follow Anthony and her mom down to his car. “Boyfriend, huh? Is he good enough for you?”

Colette hesitates, not sure why she did so before saying, ��I think so.”

What if she wasn’t good enough for him?

a phone with an incoming call, no contact on the screen

“Franco, please, you’re giving me a headache,” Addison groans, her hands on her head to massage the headache away.

“No, I don’t care, you guys don’t understand how amazing she was.”

“We do, babe, I promise, but it’s 1 am,” Devyn tells him, giving him a gentle squeeze on his thigh. 

“No, you don’t get it. She has only lost the all-around once on the national and international level in the eleven years she’s been qualified for elite,” Franco argues back, launching into a rant about Simone Biles that none of them wanted to hear when they wanted to go to sleep.

Eddy groans the loudest. “I think you talk this much about your fiance,” he points out Devyn taking a minute before she realized he was right and giving Franco a glare. 

The rest of the group launches into an argument when Colette’s phone rings, Anthony’s name coming up with a picture of the two of them from one night when they fell asleep on the couch together. Eddy had taken the photo and immediately gotten a bucket of water to pour over them to wake them up because he wanted to go out and get food with someone. Despite the aftermath of the photo, seeing it made her smile every time.

“Hey,” she says, walking out of Devyn and Franco’s living room without her friends noticing. “How was the game?”

“We won,” Anthony tells her. They were on a west coast road trip that was supposed to end tomorrow with a game against Seattle. 

“Why do you sound so sad, then?” Colette asks. Before they left, he told her they needed to do well this road trip in order to get into the wild card spot since the playoffs were right around the corner. They needed this win to get the cap between them and the next team even wider.

He lets out a long sigh. “I didn’t really play that well or that much.”

Colette could hear the sadness in his voice. She knew that he had been bouncing around to a few teams in the last couple of years, finally finding what he hoped was a more permanent home in Pittsburgh. “Did anyone score while you were on the ice?”

“No.”

“Did you get an assist or score?”

“Two assists, yeah.”

“Then what happened?”

She knew Anthony was scrunching his face. “I don’t know, I just felt off.”

Colette nodded. “I get that.” Anthony lets out a long breath. “Are you guys leaving after the game tomorrow or the next morning?”

“I actually don’t know. I guess I’ll find out when I’m on the plane,” he jokes, Colette laughing. “I can come over whenever I get in?”

“Yeah,” she says, smiling at the thought of seeing him. “If it’s tomorrow night, just wake me up when you come in.” 

“Nah, I’ll let you sleep,” he says.

“No,” she argues, “I want to see you.” Eddy comes up behind her, making kissing noises at her. 

“Tell Eddy I can hear him,” he laughs, Colette following suit. Anthony lets out a yawn. “Ok, I’m gonna go.”

“Bye, babe.”

“I love you, bye,” he yawns, hanging up before she could say anything else. 

Colette stands there, staring at her phone with her mouth hanging open. 

“What did he do? Do I have to kill him? I have enough gas in my car and money in my bank account to drive to San Jose and commit a felony,” Eddy starts, dragging her back into the living room with the rest of their friends.

“Lettie, what’s wrong?” Addison asks.

“Anthony just told me he loves me.”

The entire group’s jaws dropped, Eddy screaming loud enough that Colette was sure Devyn and Franco's neighbors could hear him. “What did you tell him?”

Colette shook her head. “Nothing. He said it and hung up the phone.”

“That rat bastard.”

“Eddy, say something helpful for once, please?”

Her friends start asking her a hundred questions, all coming at once. Why didn’t she call him back? Was she going to tell him she loved him? When was she going to tell him? When was she going to talk to him again in the first place?

Becca asked the question that made her stop. “Do you love him?”

Colette didn’t know what to say, trying to find the words. She knew she liked him, a lot. He was probably the person she could see herself loving for the rest of her life if he would let her. 

“We should let her tell Anthony first, not us,” Devyn says, Colette letting out a little bit of an exhale as her friend told everyone it was probably time for them to go to bed.

She spent the night on their couch, Becca and Addison in their guest room, Eddy bringing his own blow up mattress and snoring on the floor near Colette. 

She barely slept. Could she tell Anthony that she loved him? She could tell him anything, but if she did, would she mean it? It shouldn’t have surprised her that he would say it first, and it didn’t even surprise her that he said it at all. What shocked her most was that she wasn’t sure what she would say back. 

Anthony was the kindest person to her, the one she wanted to call and see and be with all the time. She would do anything for him, but did that mean she loved him?

What if her love wasn’t enough? What if he ended up loving her more than she was capable of loving him? 

“Eddy,” she whispers, trying not to scare him into waking up. She throws her pillow over to his mattress, hitting his face.

“The fish escaped,” he says, startled out of whatever his dream was. He rubs his eyes, groaning. “I was just about to save the country from the dinosaur fish.”

“You can go back to that in a minute,” Colette says, turning on the lamp on the end table next to her, despite Eddy’s groans. “When you were with Alex, how did you feel when you said ‘I love you.’”

“I think I was drunk and then blacked out.” Colette groans. “Lettie, if you’re freaking out about telling him you love him, then you don’t have to tell him right now. It’s ok for you to not say it if you aren’t comfortable with it.”

“That was out of character for you.”

“A stopped clock is right once a day.”

“Twice, Eddy.”

“Whatever, I’m going back to sleep. I hope this dream lets me play with kittens instead.”

Colette spent the next day stressing, running on pure anxiety due to her lack of sleep the night before. She hadn’t been able to watch Anthony’s game that night, falling asleep before it even started. She woke up Saturday morning to the sound of someone coming in her front door, hoping that it was Anthony and not an intruder.

“Colette?” Anthony calls, wandering into her bedroom to find her just sitting up, yawning and rubbing her eyes. “It’s nearly two pm, are you just waking up?”

“Don’t judge, I couldn’t sleep the other night. I guess it just caught up with me now.”

“I feel like I freaked you out after the game against San Jose,” Anthony says, sitting down. They had barely talked the day before, Colette purposely avoiding him under the guise of being busy all day with something at work. It wasn’t technically a lie, she just also hid her phone in her desk and forgot about it on purpose.

“No, you di-” she starts.

“I do mean it, though,” he says, pulling her in for a hug. “I do love you.”

Colette felt her heart start to race as she felt his hand on the back of her head. She could say it. She was sure it felt right. “Anthony,” she starts, feeling herself start to sweat as she pulls away to look at him. “I love you, too.” 

Anthony smiles, kissing her.

Saying it felt just fine. She wasn’t sure if she was supposed to feel more. 

wheel of fortune tarot card

Colette was exhausted. 

The entire last week was spent with her and Anthony unpacking all the things they had into their new apartment, trying to figure out what to get rid of and what to keep when they realized that consolidating their things meant they now had two of everything they needed to share with each other; two sets of silverware, two sets of plates and bowls, two bedroom sets, two sets of living room furniture. 

Anthony was willing to get rid of anything he needed to, but Colette was having a harder time going through her things. She didn’t mind sharing, but she wanted her own stuff. What if she, for whatever reason, had to move out, or if Anthony got traded and had to take stuff with him and left her with nothing because the stuff he took was technically “his” and not her own?

“Hey, babe,” she calls into the apartment, a little bit of an echo following her through the few rooms they hadn’t finished unpacking yet. 

“In here,” Colette hears, following Anthony’s voice into their bedroom. He was standing in front of the bookshelf he had built into the wall (by someone who knew what they were doing, not by him), putting up all the books she had brought from her old place.

“I told you I would organize these,” she told him, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist, kissing his back. “I have a system.”

Anthony laughs, spinning around and hugging her back, kissing her on the lips. “Your system is ‘I have a bunch of books by this author, so they need to be together.’”

“And?”

“I’m not even touching your books yet,” he points out, turning her attention to all the boxes she left in the corner that were still, in fact, untouched. “These are my books.”

“I didn’t know you read.”

“Not all hockey players are illiterate, Colette,” he jokes, earning a laugh from her.

“No, I mean,” she starts, heading over to one of her boxes to start trying to organize them. “I know you normally don’t have time to do things other than, like, eat, sleep, and play hockey. Reading didn’t seem like something you had time for.”

“Well, you read a lot, so I thought I could do the same,” he tells her, his voice lower than normal. Colette looks up at the shelf he was putting books on; The Familiar by Leigh Bardugo and Gone Girl by Gillian Flynn amongst other books she loved and already had copies of sitting there on their own shelf. 

“I already have these, you could have borrowed them at any time,” she points out, feeling Anthony’s arms around her, his chin resting on the top of her head. 

“Yeah, but this way I can take them with me on the road and you’d still have your copies. I’d have a piece of you with me.”

What piece of him would she have with her while he was gone? She couldn’t think of anything as he spun her around in his arms to kiss her, feeling his smile against her lips while all she could feel was distress coursing through her.

a laundry basket full of clothes with a piece of clothing crumpled up in front of it

“What the hell?” Colette comes home from work to find that everything Anthony said he was going to get done was not done. He had promised he would get everything cleaned up before his friends came over tomorrow. “Anthony?”

Her boyfriend peers his head into the kitchen where she was standing, a smile on his face immediately fading when he sees the anger on hers. “Oh, shit.”

“Yeah, oh shit,” she says, gesturing around her. “This is the third day in a row that you said you would clean up.”

“I’m sorry, I got caught up.” He tells her, approaching her slowly, as if she were a tiger going to pounce on him with any sudden movement. “I’ll start now.”

Colette scoffs as he reaches out to her. He did this all the time. He would tell her that he would help her clean, especially when more than half of it was his mess to begin with, and then it always fell on her. “That’s not the point, Anthony,” she snaps at him.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

“No, you aren’t. You tell me that every time you do this. You said you would help with the laundry, and look at where all the clothes are, not even in the basket still sitting on front of the washer and dryer where you left them two days ago,” she starts, gesturing to the mountain of dirty clothes she could see in their little laundry alcove that she swore she could smell from where she was standing. “The dishes from dinner on Monday are still here because you promised me after I cooked that you would clean them, but you disappeared instead and didn’t come home until after I went to bed. You have your coffee cup sitting on the table with coffee in it that I’m pretty sure is from at least three days ago. What the fuck is going on with you?”

“Nothing,” he says quickly, his face getting red as he turns towards the sink to start the dishes. “And, to be fair, you do this to me all the time. I come home from road trips and find you haven’t taken out the trash the entire time, or the dishwasher hasn’t been started. I’m sorry I forgot the last couple of days, but I’ve been busy.”

Colette bit her lip, knowing he was right. She was picking a fight with him they didn’t need to have, yet here she was anyway. “With what?”

“My job?” he says, shrugging, despite the slightest hint of a wavering going through his voice. It wasn’t just hockey. They were in the middle of a homestand and he had the day off today anyway. 

Colette studies him for a second. “You’re lying to me,” she tells him. She could tell he tensed up from behind, the way he does when he’s not telling her the truth about something.

“I’m not.”

“Then what has been going on with you?”

Anthony hesitates, shaking his head and opening his mouth, clearly trying to figure out what to tell her. “Nothing. Like I said, I just got caught up.”

“With what?”

“Mat needed some help with something.” 

Colette scoffed again, walking out of the kitchen and to their bedroom. She knew Anthony was following her, but shut the door behind her anyway. “Why would Mat need your help so urgently that he, on Long Island, needed to take you away from cleaning for the entire day here in Pittsburgh?” she asks, sitting on their bed as he opens the door back up.

“I can’t tell you that, it’s Mat’s business.”

Colette nods, knowing he was still lying. She pulls out her phone, pulling up her boyfriend's best friend's contact. “Hey,” she says when he picks up, seeing the wave of panic flash in Anthonys eyes as he pulled out his phone and started typing furiously on his own phone. She knew he was texting Mat. “Have you heard from Anthony today?”

“Uh, no, why?” Mat says, Anthony throwing his head back, sucking on his teeth and muttering ‘fuck’ under his breath. 

“He just seemed a little off this morning when I left for work, I thought maybe hearing from you would cheer him up a little,” she lies to him.

“Oh, sure?” Mat tells her clearly confused before they hang up with each other.

“I can explain,” Anthony starts, sitting next to her on the bed and putting his hands in her lap. 

Colette waits for a moment. “Then do it.”

“Tomorrow, I promise.” 

She lets out a laugh. “No, now.”

“I can’t.” 

Colette stares at him for a second, him still not looking directly at her but a pleading look in his eyes. “Are you cheating on me?”

Anthony finally looks at her. “What? Of course not.”

“Then what the hell is going on?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Anthony, you know everything about me. I tell you everything,” she says, looking around at the room they shared that he filled with her favorite things. She still hadn’t figured out what she would do for him. She could feel herself starting to panic, a year since they moved in together and she still barely knew anything about him. Colette shakes her head, looking down at his hands still in her lap. “We can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“If we want to be in a relationship like this, we have to tell each other what’s going on,” she lies. She couldn’t do this anymore. 

“I told you, I can tell you tomorrow.”

“What is so important that you can’t tell me now?” she asks, getting up from the bed and starting to pace. Her mind started spiraling, thinking the absolute worst of what he could be hiding from her. She was self destructing, and blaming it on him was the easier way out. She knew it was. “You’re cheating on me, you’re going to break up with me, you have a child you haven’t told me about, you’re dying or you’re seriously sick.”

“Hey woah,” Anthony says, stopping her and standing in front of her. He puts his hands on her shoulders. “Colette, why don’t you trust me?”

Colette stares at him for a second, trying to find her words. “I don’t know.” 

Anthony’s expression drops, his hands sliding down her arms as he shakes his head. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t trust me like this.” 

Colette tries to hide the hurt that came with his statement. “I can’t be with someone who doesn’t tell me the truth when I ask him for it.” The two of them stare at each other for a few moments in silence. “Does that mean we’re done?”

Anthony nods, his eyes not reaching Colette’s again. “I think so.” 

a glass looking liquor bottle with a small amount of liquid inside, a solo cup on its side tipped over in front of it

The guy in front of Colette was so cute. At least, he was cute enough to flirt with while she was drunk and still wanting more drinks she didn’t want to pay for. The cup of rum and coke in her drink never seemed to empty for long enough with him standing there with her.

She wasn’t even sure what his name was. She wasn’t sure she cared what his name was.

She was pretending to listen to him while twirling a lock of her hair in her fingers, trying her best to make it look like she was intrigued so that he would get her a refill of her almost empty drink. It wasn’t how she normally flirted, but it was working for him, so why not? 

“Lettie, babe, come on,” she hears Anthony behind her, his hands wrapping themselves around her waist and pulling her ever so slightly towards him. 

A month ago, she would have done anything to feel his body against hers like this. 

Now, she wanted nothing more than to get out of his arms. 

“Anthony,” she tries to fight.

“This your bodyguard?” the guy asks her, looking incredibly pissed off. 

“Boyfriend,” Anthony corrects him.

The guy scoffs, running his hands through his hair. “Nice.” He walks away despite her protests, not listening to her as she tries to pry herself free of Anthony’s grasp. 

He laughs, leading her back to their friends. Colette sits down, a now empty cup in front of her since she didn’t get that last refill that she wanted. None of her friends noticed her not participating in their conversation, her anger toward Anthony increasing along with her sobriety.

“I think I’m going to call it a night,” she stands abruptly, nearly knocking over the table holding all of their drinks. 

Anthony gets up with her, Colette not hearing him say, “I’m gonna turn in too, I’ll walk her home,” before she pushes her way out of the bar and into the muggy air outside.  

“I don’t know how you could stand there and let him flirt with you when you made it pretty clear that you weren’t even interested in him,” Anthony whines, not noticing how annoyed she was with him. He was acting like a hero when he shouldn’t have been. “I mean, I can’t believe I had to step in and help you.”

“You didn’t,” she snaps at him, catching him off guard. “I was interested in him. He was nice. He was buying me drinks. That’s why he was flirting with me, because I was flirting with him.”

Colette thought that they were actually going to be friends, like they said they would be. They had been out together since they broke up. They had hung out with their friends in the exact same setting and had the exact same scenario happen but without this ending to the night. There was no reason why he should have stepped all over her like that to ‘save her,’ as he put it. 

“What? Oh, come on, I know how you act when you’re flirting with a guy.”

“Do you?” she asks him, followed by him giving her a confident, ‘yes.’ “Really? So what do I do?”

“You, you,” he starts, knowing that he dug himself into a hole. “You smile at him, you laugh at everything he says, even if it isn’t funny. You run your hands through your hair because you know that fucking collar bone of yours drives me crazy.” He stops, both of them shocked that he just said that. That isn’t how she flirts with anyone, that’s how she acted around him when they were together. “Fuck.”

“Anthony, you cannot keep doing this. We broke up,” she starts, not adding that it was her fault, even though she still felt like it was. “Stop interfering when I’m with another guy.”

“I’m just trying to protect you,” he tries to defend himself.

“From what? From who? What could you possibly be protecting me from? Other guys? Why, Anthony?”

“Fuck, Colette, you think it’s easy watching you flirt with another guy? Just because we broke up, that doesn’t mean I stopped loving you,” he spits out.

Colette stands there, trying to process what he just told her. She could feel her heart racing, the sound of it beating the only thing she could hear. “I didn’t know you still loved me.”

Anthony scoffs, looking down at the ground, shaking his head. “Of course I did. I do. You haven’t noticed that I haven’t looked at another girl since we broke up? I want you, and only you.”

“I didn’t,” she tells him. “Anthony, you’re just saying this because you’re drunk.”

Anthony raises an eyebrow, shaking his head and biting his lip. “Look, I might be. But I know that drunk or not, I cannot sit around and watch you flirt with every guy in existence, while you, the one who was supposed to be my best friend, didn’t even notice that I was miserable while it was happening.”

“What do you want from me?” she snaps. “What am I supposed to do? We tried. We didn’t work. As much as we both wanted to, we did not work.” 

They stared at each other for a moment, neither of them knowing what to say. He had to know it was her fault they broke up. It wasn’t mutual, not really.

“I guess, nothing,” he tells her, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Nothing at all.” He looks down at the ground and lets out a long sigh. “I’ll see you at the wedding,” is the last thing Anthony says to her before turning on his heels, leaving Colette alone on the sidewalk. 

a ring, not on the ring finger

“Devyn really picked the worst shade of blue she could find for these dresses, didn’t she?” Devyn’s youngest sister, Blake, complains to the rest of the bridesmaids.

Devyn had just stepped out of the room to do her first look with Franco, leaving the girls alone to finish getting ready. 

“She picked sapphire,” Becca said.

“You know,” Colette continues. “Her birthstone?”

“She should have picked a lighter blue. This dark blue totally clashes with my skintone.”

“Blake,” Kendall, her other sister scolds her, “Devyn didn’t give a fuck about your skintone when she picked her favorite color. Either you’re wearing the dress without complaint or I’m telling mom and you’re not in the wedding.”

The sisters keep bickering, Addison, Becca, and Colette slowly moving away from them. 

“I always forget that Blake is still in high school,” Addison says, grabbing her bouquet before checking her makeup one last time.

“I don’t know how you could when she’s constantly tagging Devyn in her posts,” Colette points out.

“Especially the ones she’s not even in.” 

“To increase her visibility,” Colette starts, reciting word for word what Blake had tried to explain to them during Devyn’s bachelorette party. “So she has more people who know her brand when she becomes famous.” 

“Teenagers make no sense,” Devyn appears, a nervous look on her face. “I think we’re almost ready to start.”

“What’s wrong?” Addison asks.

“Colette, we have a problem.” 

“What did I do?”

“Sebby thinks Becca is hot and wants to walk down the aisle with her.”

Colette could feel the color draining from her face at the realization of what this switch would mean for her.

“Is he Franco’s older or younger brother?” Becca asks.

“The older one.”

Becca turns to Colette. “I’m not coming back to the hotel room tonight,” she tells her, practically giddy. “Oh, wait.”

“That means Colette has to walk with-” Addison starts.

“Anthony,” the four girls say at the same time. 

“I’ll be fine,” Colette says, her voice noticeably higher than it should be. She clears her throat, trying to calm herself considering the last time she talked to Anthony was the night he told her he loved her. “I’m fine.”

Devyn’s wedding planner, Jax, comes over to tell them it’s time to line up to enter with the groomsmen. 

“I love you,” Devyn calls after her bridesmaids, all of them calling back to her the same sentiment. 

Colette nearly stops breathing when she sees Anthony in his suit, helping Eddy adjust his tie. The suit fit him perfectly, Colette silently cursing the fact that Franco picked dark gray as the color. She hated to admit that she still thought about that one suit of his that he wore on game day, one that looked identical to the one he had on now. 

“Hi,” she says, standing next to him, trying to not look at him. 

“Hi,” he repeats, staring straight ahead at the back of Eddy’s neck.

The music starts, both of them rigid while everyone else around them is relaxed.

“I thought this would be us one day,” Anthony breaks their silence as the first couple starts to walk arm in arm down the aisle towards where Franco was already standing.

“What?” Colette asks, caught off guard.

Anthony nods, still staring in front of him as they move closer to the entrance of their venue. “I had the proposal all planned out. Had the ring. Had the reservation for dinner. Had a photographer. Everything. And then, the night before I was going to ask you, we broke up. That’s why I couldn’t tell you what was going on. It was supposed to be a surprise.”

Colette looks at him, not noticing that they were next to go down the aisle, Anthony taking Colette’s arm in his as Jax tells them to start walking. 

a candle with a long wick, uncut, the lid propped up against the glass

“Are you sure you’re ok to come to this?” Franco asks her.

Colette hesitates for a minute. She hadn’t seen him in months, so she wasn’t sure why she was being invited to his apartment. She hadn’t been to his place since he moved in over a year ago, and honestly, Colette hasn’t intended on going. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you’ve looked like you were going to vomit since we picked you up for this?” Devyn twists her body from the front seat to face her. “We can take you back home if you want.”

Franco pulls up in front of Anthony’s new place, knowing that she couldn’t ask them now to turn around and drive the entire way to and from her place again. “No, I’ll be fine.”

Colette takes in a deep breath as Devyn and Franco get out of the car, leaving her behind in the back seat to stare up at the building they were all supposed to be heading into. There was no need for her to be this nervous. She and Anthony were friends. They talked still, occasionally. Maybe once a week. And the conversations were never more than half an hour long, just to check in, but that’s adult friendships.

Right?

She gets out of the car, jogging to catch up with her friends as they were already to the elevator. 

“You’re going to be ok, you know,” Devyn says, putting her arm around Colette.

“Yeah, we’ll kill him if you want us to.”

Devyn smacks her husband's chest with her free hand, scolding him as Colette laughs. 

She could do this. 

They make their way up to Anthony’s place, getting turned around and somehow ending up two floors above where they were supposed to be, thanks to Franco not being able to read a text message properly and upsetting one of Anthony’s elderly building neighbors. By the time they find his apartment, the place is full, their friends and Anthony’s taking up so much space they could barely move. Franco and Devyn break off from Colette, leaving her alone to scope the place out.

She wanders through his place, people in every single one of his rooms. She stumbles across what she assumes to be a guest room. It was way too neat to be Anthony’s own room, despite him always making her bed when they were together. 

Mat appears behind her, laughing at the sight of the room. “I guess it’s easy to figure out which room is Tito’s, huh?”

Colette lets out a small laugh. “I was just thinking that.” 

“How have you been?” he asks, sitting down on the bed. 

She goes to join him, sighing. “I’m at my ex’s place for the first time since we moved out of the place we got together. Clearly, I’m on top of the world.” 

“It could be worse.”

“Maybe,” she shrugs.

“Ok, what animal are you least afraid of?” Colette looks at him, confused by the non sequitur. “I’m trying to distract you.” 

“Fine, fine,” she rolls her eyes as he nudges her shoulder. “I guess fish?”

“No, I said an animal.”

“And I said a fish.”

“No, a real animal?”

“Are fish fake?”

“You can’t find a fish at a zoo. Have you heard of fish zoos?”

“Yeah, they’re called aquariums, you fucking walnut,” Colette tells him, laughing so hard she could feel pain in her sides.

“Oh. Oh, yeah,” Mat sits there for a second, looking down at his hands with a smirk on his face while Colette continues to laugh. “I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you laugh that hard since you broke up with him.”

“This is the first time we’ve seen each other since before he and I broke up,” Colette points out once she catches her breath.

Mat sighs. “I don’t think he’s laughed as hard as you just did since you two broke up.” 

“Yeah, sure,” she says, not believing him. 

“Colette, you make him want to live as long as possible so he can have as much time sharing the planet with you as he can. He has all of your favorite things in his Notes App on his phone that he will not delete. That one picture I took of you guys way back when we all met is still one of his lock screens, again that he won’t delete. I mean, look around his whole place. You are in every corner.”

Colette shakes her head. “Come on.”

“Look at that bookcase,” Mat says, bringing her over to the other side of the room. A picture of Devyn and Franco’s wedding party is framed on one of the shelves, one where he is looking at her so lovingly that someone in passing would assume they were the ones getting married while she was looking at the camera if not for what they were wearing. Her favorite candle scents were still unlit, sitting on the shelf next to all the books she loved by Leigh Bardugo and Gillian Flynn, the same ones from when they first moved in together, their spines now noticeably more worn, the copies loved by someone who had to have read them multiple times. She picked up the copy of Ninth House, seeing his writing in it and comments saying things like ‘remember when you said this to me?’ or ‘this has to be your favorite scene because’ left unfinished. 

“He was writing these to me,” she realizes, not noticing Mat leaving the room.

“Of course I was,” Anthony says, her turning around so fast she loses her grasp on the book in her hands to send it falling to the floor. “I can’t really read these books anymore without thinking of you.”

“Why do you still have them all then?”

Anthony looks at the book on the floor. “How could I get rid of them?”

The two of them stand there in silence for what feels like forever. She wasn’t used to having Anthony in front of her and barely being able to find the words to say to him. She hated herself for losing him, but how could she have kept him? Colette takes in a deep breath. “We made a mistake breaking up, didn’t we?”

Anthony nods, shrugging. “Yeah, probably.” 

“I don’t think we could ever go back, either.” Anthony sighs, opening his mouth to say something when Colette cuts him off. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

“Do what?”

“I think I’m still in love with you, but we can’t be together. We don’t trust each other,” Colette hears herself say, shocked at the words that come out of her.

Anthony closes the distance between them, taking her in his arms and hugging her so fiercely she could barely breathe. “I still love you, too.” 

The two of them pull apart, both of them crying. They knew what this was for them.

“God, this sucks,” Anthony laments.

 “It’s kind of amazing, though, isn’t it?”

“What?” Anthony asks, shock in his voice.

“How lucky we are that we got to love each other so much, that a simple goodbye could feel as devastating as this.”

two sets of eyes, one opened set, one closed set

“Don’t panic,” Addison says, Eddy rolling his eyes behind her.

“Yeah, because only good things come from people saying that,” Colette says, handing her friends the drinks she bought them. Becca was somewhere with Devyn and Franco, the six of them out together for one of their increasingly rare nights when they could all be together without having to worry about anything outside the building they were in. 

“She thinks she saw some of Anthony’s teammates,” Eddy explains, guiding them back to the rest of their friends. 

Colette rolls her eyes, looking back to her friend who had already downed more than half her drink. She knew that Addison had a drunken habit of mistaking strangers for people she actually knew, or thought she knew. Just because she thought she saw some of his teammates, that didn’t actually mean anything. “I think we can save the panic for when we know we see him, instead.” 

“You’re already panicking about seeing him again?” Becca asks, overhearing only the last part of the conversation as they arrive back at the table. 

“We are talking about different people,” Colette says. “I was just with Carter last night.”

“That’s, what, almost every night that’s he’s not away for the last five months that you’ve spent the night together, isn’t it?” Devyn asks, stirring her drink with her straw.

“Yeah,” Colette sighs.

“Oh, no,” Franco groans.

“You guys seem really in to each other.” Becca points out.

“I mean, physically, it’s great. But, he just,” Colette starts, trying to figure out what to say. She knew exactly what bothered her; it was why she broke up with Anthony in the first place. “He doesn’t really know me.” 

“Holy shit,” Eddy says, nearly choking on his drink. The group follows his gaze to see that Addison was right; Anthony’s teammates were there at the bar, but so was Anthony. 

Not only was he there, but he had his arm around a girl, guiding her through the place to see if they could find an open table, the only one close to them being the one right next to them. 

“You make it worse if you freak out,” Devyn scolds him.

“Hi,” Anthony says when he sees her, standing right next to their table. 

“Hey, bud,” Eddy greets him, Franco punching him in the arm for the over enthusiasm. 

“We’re going to go get more drinks,” Becca says, all of Colette’s friends grabbing their clearly new drinks in front of them and excusing themselves from the table. 

Anthony awkwardly chuckles as they all leave, just him and Colette alone for the first time in what felt like forever. “So they haven’t changed.”

Colette felt a pit in her stomach. “You didn’t have to stop talking to them because we don’t talk that much. I mean, you were in Devyn and Franco’s wedding.”

Anthony nods, taking a sip of his drink before setting it down on the table in front of her. He was still standing awkwardly, Colette knowing that he wouldn’t ask to sit down with her. “Talking to them made me think about talking to you.”

The two of them sit in an awkward silence for a moment. 

“So who was-”

“I saw you-” they start to say at the same time, both of them letting out a laugh in hopes it would calm them down.

“You first,” Colette tells him.

“I saw you started seeing someone,” he brings up, leaning against the table as he looks down at his drink, a sad smile on his face.

Colette cringes, nodding. She forgot she still had him on her private story. “Yeah, but it won’t last much longer.”

“Oh.”

“I saw you were here with someone?” she asks, gesturing to the girl who was with his teammates.

Anthony looks over, waving at his friends and the girl. “That’s Mat’s little sister. She’s just here to visit.”

“So are you seeing anyone?”

Anthony shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” Colette hears herself say, gesturing to him to sit down next to her.

He waves her off, taking the seat previously occupied by Franco across from her. “It’s fine. I’ll find someone else eventually.”

“No, I mean,” Colette starts, taking in a deep breath and trying to figure out what to say after all these years of not saying what she wanted to. What she should have said. They both knew they had already found each other and they let it go too soon. “I’m sorry for ending things. I’m sorry for being the reason everything fell apart. I’m sorry I didn’t show you how much I love you the way you showed me.”

Anthony looks up from his drink, confused. “What are you talking about?”

“You knew everything about me. You have my favorite books, you always knew exactly what I wanted to get when we went out to dinner before I had the chance to tell you, you know my mood based on the smallest things I do. You showed me you love me with everything. I didn’t do that for you.” 

Anthony gives her a sad smile. “You always showed me you loved me.”

“Not the way you did. I feel like I knew nothing about you the way you knew me.”

Anthony shakes his head. “You know me better than I know myself.” Colette starts to shake her head, about to dispute him when he cuts her off. “If I had a bad game, you always had a cup of tea ready for me when I got home with a note telling me how you knew I’d be fine next game. You never tried to minimize how I felt after a game and listened to everything I told you. If I had to get up early for practice or to leave for a road trip, you had my coffee ready for me before I was even awake sitting on the nightstand waiting for me, even if you hadn’t slept great the night before. I’d open my bag and find the notes you wrote for me hidden in my suit pockets so I’d have them with me in the locker room. You still text me after games to tell me you’re proud of me. You think you didn’t show me you loved me? I’ve never felt more loved by anyone before meeting you.”

“I didn’t think those things meant anything.”

“They meant everything.”

I love you

Colette walks into the studio, paper in hand. She had booked yet another appointment with her favorite artist, Eleni, months ago, going back and forth as to what she wanted. Her left arm was covered in a series of small tattoos as it was, enough space right at the start of her forearm for one last small tattoo. 

“Hey, Let,” Eleni greets her.

“Hi, Len,” she smiles back, handing her the piece of paper.

“You want the words, ‘I love you?’” Eleni asks, eyebrow cocked. Colette swallows, knowing that this was the last thing she wanted on her arm. “Whose writing is this? I know it’s not yours.”

“Anthony’s,” Colette admits after what felt like too long of a silence for it to be anyone else's. 

“Are you sure you want this?” 

Colette forces out a laugh. “Every tattoo on my arm relates to him in some way, you know that. You put them all there. The book with the sun, the solo cup, the wheel of fortune. Might as well finish it off with how we feel about each other.” 

Eleni takes in a deep breath, getting Colette ready for her tattoo. “I don’t get why you two aren’t together.”

Colette sighs. “I fucked up. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to fix it. Not in a way that matters, anyway.” Eleni gives her a sad look, Colette shaking her head and waving it off. “Besides, just because you think you’re ‘meant to be’ with someone, doesn’t mean you’ll actually ‘be.’” 

[paintyoureyeswithavividmind]

close to home | chapter one

close to home | chapter one

plot: a nice introductory to the reader and a sense of who she is

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 1,287 Warnings: violence, blood A/N: thanks for checking out the first chapter! Just a nice quick introduction to the character :)

You’d woken to the sound of something thumping against the wood floor of your home and the loud meow of Tora. She’d taken it upon herself to catch breakfast for the two of you, a fat squirrel. After the unexpected meal the two of you shared, you knew what needed to be done. Today was run day. And you were out of water. 

So you geared up, an empty gray canvas pack on your shoulders, your one good gun strapped around your leg, a machete at your waist, and a few other knives hidden around your body. You were always prepared. 

The morning spring bite nipped at your cheeks when you stepped outside the tiny home. Your eyes scanned the ground below for any signs of the dead, and you listened for the rustling leaves of footsteps. But there was nothing. You were safe for now. 

It was easier climbing down the tree than up, though Tora made it look relatively easy. But you weren’t lucky enough to have claws to help you, so climbing down the rope was your only option. 

The rope slid easily enough through your leather glovelettes and soon your boots hit the ground. Tora was waiting for you, sitting by the main tree trunk holding your home. 

“Yeah, yeah,” You said to the cat, “Let’s go find water before we die of thirst, huh?” You said to the cat. 

It was silent as you walked towards the lake four miles from your home. The sky above you was full of puffy white clouds, and the trees around you kept you mainly in the shade. A few birds sang above in the treeline, and every so often, Tora chased a squirrel up the tree. By the time you reached the lake, you had two hanging from your belt, and the day was warming up. 

Licking the sweat off your upper lip, your knelt by the water’s edge and started filling up the empty plastic water bottles you had. Tora splashed around in the muddy, sandy mix of the lakeshore and chirped at the little fish that darted away from her. 

You chuckled to yourself and moved on to another bottle. The sun was now at the midpoint in the sky, and you scolded yourself for taking so long to get to the lake. The Georgia heat this spring seemed unforgivable, as if whatever God that sent this plague was sending another sick joke. The idea of summer being around the corner kept you up at night. You hated the heat. 

Just as the fourth bottle was filled, a branch snapped at the tree line. Then came the familiar moaning, and you looked up in time to see two deads headed your way. Tora hissed at the sight of them and darted toward the nearest tree. 

“Good girl, Tora,” You said, screwing the bottle shot and standing. It thudded to the ground, and you grabbed the machete and twirled it once in your hand. Your eyes darted between the dead as you worked out a plan. 

They were moving slowly, no doubt cause of the heat and decaying parts of their body. But still, they were persistent. The closest one attacked first, and you ducked, bending around its outreached arms and kicking it to the ground, just in time for the other one to reach you. Your machete hit the skull first, and the body dropped, giving you a second to pull it out.

Blood speckled your face like freckles as you turned and grabbed the last dead one by the throat. Its arms reached out to hold you, but you quickly ended it before it ended you. Its body joined its partner on the grass, and you flicked the machete before stabbing it into the ground, cleaning the blood off. 

You whistled a three-note tune and heard Tora meowing. The Maine coon cat was among the most intelligent animals you’d ever trained. 

“Come on, baby,” You said, “The day is just getting started.”

***

If your watch was correct, it was nearing four in the afternoon. This meant you had about four hours until sunset and were a long way from home. After the lake, you took the familiar southern trail to a small state park. A few abandoned RVs that you’d picked clean weeks ago told you that you were very close to a small town that was mostly deserted. 

You whipped the seat off your forehead as you approached one of the first buildings you’d have the courage to check out. It was a town hall building with nothing good except a few dead bodies. Apparently, small-town governments weren’t on the top evacuation lists. 

Tora trotted alongside you, her head just below your knee, and her hair matted from today’s journey. You’d have to brush it out for her when you return home. 

You ignored the town hall building and walked through the town's main street. It was utterly silent, save for the scuff of your boots and your cat's occasional meow or hiss. 

“Okay, last time we were here, we checked out the library,” You said to the cat, “I think we should check out the corner store next. Odds were that it’s been picked clean already, but it wouldn’t hurt to check. I also am going to need summer clothes….” You trailed off as you shielded your eyes from the sun. The morning clouds had grown darker, but the hot sun still managed to peak out. You heard some thunder in the distance but couldn’t tell how far or where it was coming from.

“If we need to make camp tonight, we can go to the library,” You said. You’d had to spend the night in the town several times, and the library was the safest place to get to. It was easy to climb to, and Tora was familiar with it. 

The corner store had a few things you could scavenge; a few Tylenol travel packets, some jerky you found underneath the shelves, and an assortment of lights and matchbooks. Tora even found something; the broken shopkeeper bell. 

Still, there was nothing you really needed. There was no ammo or water. Those were your top priorities. 

You checked a few other small shops; a gunshop, nothing, a bank, for the hell of it, and then finally a thrift store, where you found plenty of clothes. You took your time going through the section, trying to weigh out what was best for the summer heat. You needed to keep cool, but you needed to be protected. You found a couple shirts and shorts, new undergarments and socks. Your bag was filled to the brim, and you knew it was time to head back. 

“Crap,” You muttered when you walked back to the front door. Tora meowed in her own disapproving way. 

The sudden downpour and oncoming thunderstorm would keep you there tonight. Tora wouldn’t venture into the rain unless absolutely necessary, and you felt the same way. 

“At least we found some jerky,” You said. 

It wasn’t hard to build up a makeshift camp in the building. Dozens of once-donated blankets provided ample bedding for you and Tora, and there were enough books to get a small fire going in the back of the building. With only four bottles of water, you took ample care of gutting and cleaning a squirrel for dinner for the two of you. It wasn’t long before you put the fire out and settled in for the night. 

[actuallysaiyan]

Heart of the Fae- Chapter One: The Forest

warnings: mythical creatures? The fae pairings: Fae!Nanami Kento x Fem!Reader word count: 2.7k summary: you enter the forest that everyone has always warned you about and you find yourself in a new, mystical land. except it's always existed and you're the first human in centuries...or so they say. a/n: This is a collaboration between me and @seireiteihellbutterfly! We hope you enjoy! Dividers by the lovely @benkeibear and banner by me.

Taglist: @beneathstarryskies @an-ever-angry-bi @namikyento @adharadotcom (Please let me know if you'd like to opt out or join in!)

Masterlist

The forest always called you, its depths mysterious and igniting curiosity as you hear the alluring rustle of the leaves. Cool shade and soft breezes seemed to constantly sweep over you, pulling you into the lush greenness, tempting you to explore the path unknown.

There was a constant string of warnings being hissed into your ear. 

“Do not wander too deep into the woods. There are tales of young maidens such as yourself being consumed by the forest. Being taken away by beings that we humans cannot comprehend.”

“Do not follow the stray lights you see hiding in the trees. They will lead you off the path, and when they are sure no one can hear you, will suck the life essence out of your marrow and leave you hollow.”

“Do not listen to voices being spoken by unseen lips. They will whisper words sweeter than a mother’s lullaby sung to her babe, before they turn into the shriek of an animal and devour you whole.”

Despite the warnings, despite the promise you gave your mother when she was on her deathbed all those years ago, you couldn’t help yourself. The forest never felt like the monstrous place people made it seem to be. It was there in your sorrow, it provided the rivers and the water you drank, the readily available game that kept your belly full, and the sweet treats of the tart raspberries and honey carefully harvested by your skilled hands. How could anything so nurturing, so pure, mean you any harm?

One day, you forget the warnings, the whispers, the talk of how most unexplained disappearances occurred when one stepped off the marked trails in the forest and find out that there was some truth in the cautionary tales the villagers uttered, even if they were only partially correct.

Your eyes squinted as you tried to see against the glaring sunlight. It was a bright morning, streaks of blinding sun peeking through the gaps between the leaves. You had paused, almost certain you had heard voices. You couldn’t remember how far you had come away from the manmade paths of safety, only that dawn had just started to peek its head over the horizon when you began. Irregular little flashes of light zig-zagged over your head, too radiant to be a hummingbird, the movements almost liquidy, like lava made gold, seemingly having no specific direction to go. 

You had tracked them, your pack weighing down on your back, hypnotized at the idea of what they could be, going further into the forest, the trees becoming progressively more wilder and gnarled, bunching up together so closely that in some areas you had to find a way to squeeze through the thick trunks. And then it had opened up; the trees gave way to flat land, a clearing, no, a village, little cottages standing in neat rows for what seemed like miles. 

Curiously, you wander towards them, adjusting the pack now starting to grow heavy on your shoulders before spotting a woman hanging out her clothes to dry on a line. As you approach, your pace slows as you see she had the general shape of a human, but her ears…strangely pointed and large…then as the being turned around, you clasp a hand over your mouth. 

She had wings.

She was no human. Fairies. The tales the villagers used to say were true, that Fae lived in these woods. Your wonder grew as you watched her walk back into her cottage, unaware that you had been observing her. 

You notice a few of the Fae watching you from their spots in the village. One of them leans in to whisper in the other’s ear, and you begin to feel nervous. After all the warnings and the things you had heard, it was actually real. You had always wondered why people had such strong feelings about the forest, and you could now see why.

“Are you lost?” you hear a small voice asking you. You look down to see a sweet little girl standing there. Her eyes are so friendly and welcoming. She’s got the most cherubic face you’ve ever seen. 

“I-I guess I am.”

“Come with me.” 

You decide to follow her as she leads you further into the village. Your eyes wander as you take in everything. The homes and buildings all have a mystical air to them, but there’s also something royal about it. Something regal and fancy.

Before you even have the chance to look around the little girl’s parents are calling her over. She looks around nervously before she heads towards them. It has become very clear that you are an outsider. You knew the risk of venturing into the forest, but something about this makes you feel so uneasy.

“Halt!” You hear a deep voice calling. You look over your shoulder to see a fairy in armor.

“You aren’t one of us,” he states, grabbing your hand. 

“Let go of me!” You try to struggle free, but he’s not letting you go.

He looks at you with narrowed eyes, studying your features. He realizes very quickly that you aren’t a fae at all. He knew it from the start, but he had his doubts about you being human. Most humans don’t make it this far into the forest, so the guard had wondered if maybe you were another mystical creature.

“Don’t fight me on this.” He leans in to tower over you. “If you aren’t a fairy, you have no business here. Who let you in?”

You shake your head, “Nobody ‘let me in’. I just found this place by myself.”

He looks shocked. “That’s…that’s unheard of. It’s been centuries since any human has—no, I won’t settle for this.”

You squirm in his grasp. His tight hold was beginning to hurt you, and you could feel tears welling up in your eyes. Was this going to be trouble for you? Should you have just ignored your instincts?

“Just stop fighting me. You need to see the king. You have no choice.” He explains it to you. “Only the king can decide your fate now.”

He explains to you that you have no choice but to follow him. He’s going to be bringing you to see the king. You swallow hard as you seem to understand what your curious nature has gotten you into. 

Everything inside the king’s court is unbelievably magnificent. The candelabras are ornate, Phthalo, and gold in color. The flames are almost unreal. The rest of the decorations mimic the colors and appear like it’s bathed in a mystical glow. Your eyes take in every single detail as you make your way towards court. 

Two wide doors are flung open and you notice very few people in the room. The king, a broad and big man, sits on his green throne. He carries himself proudly, and with his long, luscious blond hair and deep brown eyes, you can see he is the picture of a regal man. He smiles at you softly, though you can see that he is trying to keep himself more neutral than the rest of the court.

His eyes are alight with curiosity as you make your way forward. You slowly approach him, observing the kind look on his face, though it does nothing to ease your nerves. Beside him sits a woman who has an icy look to her. Her eyes are like a pair of sapphires like someone plucked the most precious stars from the sky and placed them in her head. The tiara that sits upon her beautifully coiffed hair suggests she’s the queen. 

You keep your head bowed. Seated off-center from the king is a man who exuded a warm, kind, personality, his hazel eyes shimmering with curiosity. He holds a smile that suggests he would be the type of person you could whisper secrets to and he’d never tell another soul. He seemed to be eyeing you, displaying a sincere smile. His physique is tall and broad, his golden locks neatly parted and falling pleasingly at the edges of his face.

“State your business, young human.” The king says.

Sitting on either side the king and the queen is a panel of high Fae. One of them in particular shares a striking resemblance to the queen. His snow-white hair and brilliant blue eyes make you feel so inadequate, standing like a commoner in front of the regal-looking court. He smiles at you, but it leaves you feeling cold. Looking into his eyes is like looking into an infinite void that you could so easily lose yourself to. It’s almost like he can tell you’re nervous so you look away.

“I…I am sorry for intruding. I got lost as I walked into the forest.”

The king motions to the pack on your back, “And you don’t suppose you might have been looking for us?”

You try not to get flustered. “Not intentionally. W-well…I can’t say I wasn’t curious. I have heard stories about your people.”

There’s a bit of chatter as you explain yourself. You notice the man with the hazel eyes is smiling at you. 

“It has been said that humans are quite curious by nature. But let it be known that your kind isn’t welcome here. We have set boundaries and traps to keep humans out of here.” The king sighs. Then he takes a second to mull over the information. “I suppose you’re not really at fault considering you found us by accident.”

The queen leans in to whisper in his ear, and the king frowns as he considers her words. He thinks about it for a bit. A few more of the Fae chime in, but you can’t make out what they are saying. The king listens to his court before continuing. 

“However, we cannot allow you to remain here. This is our sanctuary and humans aren’t welcome here. We’ll have to take precautions if we are to send you back since we can’t let you leave with knowledge of our location and existence.”

“Come here,” the queen beckons, and you know better than to disobey. Once you’re in front of her, she snaps her fingers and another fairy comes to her side. They exchange words you can’t quite make out either. Then the second fairy, an older man with graying hair, comes closer to you. He presses his fingers to your temples, making you shiver at his touch. His eyes are golden and sunny.

“Just relax, okay?”

You nod your head before you start to feel a strange tugging sensation in your mind. It’s almost like someone is going through your memories and trying to erase the ones that you’ve recently made from discovering this place. Your eyes close involuntarily, and your breathing becomes a bit more shallow. Your heart pounds in your chest as the sensations get more intense. Then suddenly, everything stops.

Muttering fills the court. The elderly Fae looks puzzled as he peers into your face. “I’m sorry. I have never had anything like this happen,” he explains. “She was supposed to forget everything she saw after coming here.”

The queen scowls at him, “Are you saying you cannot perform this simple task?”

He shakes his head, “As strange as it is, no I cannot. I won’t be able to perform this on her.”

More chatter erupts in the throne room. No human has ever withstood the memory charm. This would be the first time in history that a human was able to deflect such a powerful spell. All eyes are on you, and you can’t help but look away from the crowd. 

“Silence! She will have to stay until we find another method.” The king then looks at you, “Let’s hope someone from this court is kind enough to take you in. You’ll need shelter for the time being. Perhaps…you?” The king points to another one of the Fae of the court.

“N-no, I couldn’t. My wife is with child,”

The king sighs. “I need a volunteer. Please, we need someone to shelter this human.”

Another Fae pipes up, “Couldn’t we just maybe—”

The queen says, “No, no human in the dungeons. That’s reserved for prisoners.”

The beautiful amber-eyed Fae looks at you and he feels his heart thumping hard in his chest. He raises his hand and the king spots him.

“I will shelter her. I can do this.” He speaks so eloquently. The king cocks an eyebrow, “Are you sure? We could find someone else to–”

The blond Fae speaks up again, “It’s fine, uncle. I promise I can accept this.”

The king thinks about it for a moment, then he faces you again. He knows that you could be some sort of spy that could ruin you all, but when he looks into your eyes he sees this curiosity that isn’t any sort of malice. He finally nods his head.

“You should be grateful that my nephew has a heart. Then it’s settled, you will stay with him.”

You all look towards the man who was smiling at you earlier. The man blushes and looks away shyly. Your heart races when you look at how adorable he is from being so flustered. You feel a blush creeping up on your own cheeks. The king notices everything, but keeps his face impassive. The thought of his nephew taking in a human does not bode well with him. Despite this, the choice has been made and there aren’t many others who have volunteered for your cause.

The king smirks, though he does well to hide it. He then leans over to consult with his wife. She looks at you, then at the man. He approaches you slowly, considering all the options at play here. Then he extends his hand out to you, and you shake it.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Kento,” He brings your hand up to his lips and places a delicate kiss on it.

“F/n L/n,” you offer a hasty introduction. “The pleasure is all mine,” the words flow from your lips. You surprise yourself at how charming you can be at this moment.

The king’s voice fills the room, “Are you sure this is what you want, Kento? You could have someone else house this young lady.”

Kento shakes his head no, his beautiful locks swaying as he does so. “It’s no trouble at all.”

“Then it’s settled. You can stay with my nephew.”

You look over at Kento, and though you have just met him, there is something so comforting about his presence. Was he really the king’s nephew? He takes your hand and guides you outside of the court. You notice a few Fae from the court following you. The tall, lean Fae with the piercing blue eyes seems to have become interested in the matter. He smirks at you and at Kento, elbowing your company in the side.

“Ahhh, so the spring Duke has his pick of the litter, hm? The first human in centuries and you get to lay claim to her?” He pokes fun at Kento.

Kento frowns. “This isn’t what this is about. She needs somewhere safe to stay. It’s not like you were jumping up at the opportunity to let her stay with you.”

The other Fae ignores him and he smiles at you, “I’m Satoru by the way. Kento here pretends he has manners, but really I’m the one you should be staying with.”

“Your kind isn’t in court right now. Just because you happen to be a distant cousin to the queen doesn’t mean you have any right to lay claim on someone. Besides, this isn’t for your own personal greed. She needs our help.” Kento explains, pressing his hand on your side to keep you behind him.

Satoru laughs sarcastically, “So what happens when winter rolls around? You just going to pass her off like some ragdoll? What happens when the spring is gone and your family has to resign their ruling for the next court?”

This causes Kento to emit a low growling noise causing Satoru’s eyes to widen and then suddenly he begins to laugh. Kento almost seems like a guard dog about to attack. The hair on the back of his neck is standing on end.

“Come on, Kentooo, I’m only joking.” Satoru teases once more. 

“It’s not funny. Now if you’ll excuse us…”

And with that, Kento pulls you closer to him and he begins to lead you towards his quarters. 

[canarydarity]

(Thought a little bit too hard about Romeo and Juliet ranchers...)

Keeping his head low and his tread light, Tango ducks from tree to tree under the cover of dark from the canopy, protecting him from the spotlight of the moon and therefore his discovery. Behind his back, leftover laughter from Skizz and Etho drifts further away; the volume of Skizz’s last protests, however, remains annoyingly the same as it continues to plague his mind, as does the memory of Etho’s agreement that Tango was—for lack of a better word—fucked. 

Louder than all of that, though, more insistent, more pressing, was the ghost of Jimmy’s lips against his. The sole force of it drove him on, his heart tripping in anticipation when around the trunk of a tree he’d glimpse the stone of the house of Solidarity, or through a break in the leaves he’d catch a glimpse of light from a brazier. 

Voices draw near just as the treeline breaks at last, and Tango ducks behind the nearest trunk as two servants meander by, following a worn path toward the back of the manor; his courage returns to him as they fade, and as if pulled by some rope falling taught or some string being coiled, Tango draws as close as he dares to the base of the stone without giving up the shade of the last tree. He kneels.

Now that he’s here, he must admit, his mind draws blank of any possible plan for continuing on. It’s not like he can wander the house of Solidarity unattended, making it clear in every way that he did not belong, and, on top of that, with one of Verona’s most recognizably unwanted faces. 

Idiot, Skizz had called him; blinded, his friend had laughed. Always the most cautious of them, Etho had recalled that even a masquerade hadn’t been enough to conceal his presence from Grian. 

And Tango hadn’t really until now heard a word. 

Movement in the far window, the unmistakable shifting of the curtains, drawn by an imaginary force—the manmade wind of someone passing through. After a moment, a more permanent form takes shape, and Tango finds himself wondering how he could have stayed still for so long, how the sun could possibly have risen while he had been unaware. 

But it of course is not the sun. He blinks and darkness is restored around him as his eyes adjust to the sight. 

Jimmy, framed in beiges and creams and white—the masonry, the curtains, his blouse—fair as any portrait, as any bolt of silk, as any fine jewel. The slightly damp flop of his hair, the color like spun gold; the curve of his shoulder, the tan glow of skin shimmering beneath the cotton—he’s breathtaking, breath-robbing, even at such distance away, and Tango wobbles enough in his stance that he places a hand on the ground for stability. 

How clear it is that this is a setting in which he doesn’t belong; how envious must be the moon for how dull it shines in comparison. Its colors—silver, the cool tones it usually accompanies—they were despicable in their wrongness. Tango thinks he’d be suited more enveloped by heat; in open fields of flowers, stranded in miles of wild wheat and tall grass, in places without trees, without shade, without reprieve. 

The masquerade, Tango thinks, was not to foster intrigue amongst the guests, but to shield them from such raw beauty, to protect them from its temptation. 

Jimmy’s chest bellows with what Tango imagines a sigh, and he continues on, momentarily disappearing from Tango’s view only to appear again in the following window, and then the one after. Tango follows, and they walk together along the length of the manor, albeit separated by its walls.

Bound, tethered, Tango’s heart tugs him along. 

A corner is turned, and instead of a further row of windows through which to watch, Tango finds a balcony jutting out of the stonework, grand and open to the air. He swallows as Jimmy steps out onto it; stares, enraptured, as Jimmy wanders over to the railing, balances his elbows on top of it, and then drops his head into his hands. 

Through the stillness of the moment comes an unmistakable and truly inspired groan, and Tango startles and glances around expecting to be caught by a rather resentful servant before realization alerts him to its source. 

Jimmy drops his hands and sighs again, and this time Tango can hear the puff of his breath as he exhales.

“Stupid,” he mutters, “so incredibly stupid. Why did I…” He shakes his head and decides better than finishing the thought, squeezing his eyes shut tightly as if he can will the arrival of more to a complete halt with just enough concentration.

Tango is familiar with this method, and, he’s gotta say, it is not as successful as he’d like it to be. 

Jimmy’s lips move again, but too little sound comes out for any of it to be heard, and Tango finds himself wandering closer before he can arrive at any of the reasons why he absolutely should not—too distracted by the thought of those lips touching his mere hours before. 

Just as he’s braving closer ground, Jimmy’s voice rises to exclaim “Tango!” and Tango’s foot finds false purchase over a well-placed root and he slips, catching himself on the cool dewy grass. His head raises slowly, ready to be forever expelled from the grounds—or more likely stuffed and made to decorate Grian’s quarters—but Jimmy’s gaze remains safely away, off into the distance beyond. “Why did it have to be Tango?”

Tango does not dare move. 

Jimmy grabs the balcony railing with both hands and leans back, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath through his nose. When he opens them, he draws himself back in and lets his arms go slack. His brow furrows in thought, his nose forming a little scrunch by the action, like his tutor’s just posed him a particularly troubling set. “But…it’s not Tango that’s the problem, is it? It’s just his name…Tek.” 

Should he be listening to this? Tango doesn’t bother thinking about it, he already knows the answer; not that that stops him, or compels him to turn around and proceed the way he came—for how could he when he’s hearing the echo of his own musings? An utterance of reciprocation for the feelings to which he’s fallen victim? Shared dismay at the grandeur of their circumstance?

“Maybe…maybe if he weren’t Tango.” 

Even before Jimmy drops his head in defeat, Tango knows that line of thinking is for naught. Maybe if he wasn’t Jimmy, maybe if his cousin wasn’t Grian, maybe if his name wasn’t Solidarity and his very existence meant to be an offense. Maybe if the sun didn’t shine, or the moon didn’t beam, or resentment didn’t flow through the streets like blood spilled. Maybe did not stand the test of time nor outlast the memory of a grudge. 

“Perhaps, should I not call him Tango, but assign him some other name…”

If only Skizz was there to witness Tango blurt out, “You can call me anything you’d like.” Idiotic and blind would not have been the only adjectives he was assigned if he had. A few immediately come to Tango’s mind himself—stupid, insane, absolutely and completely screwed. 

He has no memory of deciding to speak, but the words have undeniably come out of his mouth, and there’s no hope of them not having been heard based on the way Jimmy rises to attention. 

“Hello? Is someone there?” Alert and understandably perhaps a little frightened, Jimmy's eyes scan the treeline in which Tango dwells.

Intelligently, Tango replies, “uhh.”

“Who are you?”

Tango flounders, his voice raising a dozen octaves, becoming high and stringent as he at once wheezes out, “God, why has that question become so complicated all of a sudden?”

Jimmy shuffles to the corner of the balcony, his waist pressed against the perpendicular juncture of stone as he leans over the railing to squint into the orchard. “Wait—Tango?” 

Tango is left with no other option than to abandon his haven of trees and shade and step into the torch light of the Solidarity’s garden, lest he’d rather Jimmy lean so far over the balcony that he falls. He catches the moment that Jimmy sees him—the softening of his features, fear being overtaken by the more welcome feeling of surprise, the nervous tightening of his jaw, the biting of his lip. 

If he thought revealing his presence would mean less of Jimmy’s precarious balancing act, then he thought wrong; Jimmy doubles over more, if possible, and Tango throws his hands out in a gesture he hopes is universally interpreted as stay put while some sort of alarmed squeaking comes out of his mouth. But Jimmy just fervently whispers, “What are you doing here? Are you crazy?!”

“Are you?!” Tango whisper-shouts back. “You’re giving me a heart attack here, lean back wouldya?”

Jimmy thankfully returns his upper body to a standing position safely behind the balcony’s edge, but his voice gets no less intense, his words no less urgent. “They will kill you if they see you here, you know that right?” 

In return, Tango can only nod as if this realization has only just, for him, come to light. Of course, it hasn’t—Skizz and Etho had been trying to tell him since they left him outside the Solidarity’s walls, and by instinct alone he knew to hide if he suspected someone walking too close by, and yet. His frantic nodding does not cease as he says, “You know, I hadn’t really thought about it…to be quite honest.” 

“You hadn’t thought about it?!” Jimmy grabs at his hair, incredulous, and Tango is momentarily distracted for the amount of time it takes to imagine doing it himself and wonder at what it would feel like. “I can’t believe this.” 

Shaking his head, desperately trying to restore function, Tango delivers the only defense with which he’s come equipped. “I just—I had to see you!” 

Once more, Tango curses the moon for its inadequacy, for what must be its deliberate hindrance to the wonder of this scene. Because, though it’s too dark to really tell, firelight falling much to short, Tango swears that Jimmy begins to blush. 

Since he can’t completely be sure, he’ll have to make due with admiring this: the way Jimmy tucks his head down, closer to his shoulder, the shifting of his weight from one foot to another; how his eyes seemingly impossibly get a fraction of an inch bigger, wider. 

He doesn’t quite look back at Tango when he says, “You really mean that?”

Tango smiles, “I do, I swear it.”

Whatever modesty was held in his expression before disperses and Jimmys face holds room for little more than mirth when he turns back and demands, “On what?”

“On…” Tango draws his shoulders higher, his hands raising with them as if attached by puppeteers string. They suspend there momentarily, waiting to be released by the arrival of a coherent thought that unfortunately never comes. “I don’t know…” 

Tango bites the inside of his cheek. “What would you want me to swear on? Name it and it’s done.” He holds his hands up in pure complacency, a promise and an offer; take me, im yours.

Jimmy laughs at his near madness, and Tango swears that it moves like wind through the orchard, rippling across all the branches and leaves of all the trees; he sways on his feet to the music of it, doesn’t bother to curb the urge to smile harder at it—his face a perfect mosaic of every feeling he’s every felt. 

With a shake of his head, Jimmy admits, “I dont know either.” 

“Ah, an impasse.” 

Though his head doesn’t move, Jimmy’s eyes duck away again, seeking safer purchase as he instills the night sky with his reply. Tango doesn’t mind, for it’s easier then for him to continue to to watch. “Maybe just…say it again then. Instead.” 

“I came because I had to see you, Jimmy.”

Jimmy’s eyes dart back and then away again, needing to see Tango to truly be sure, but needing privacy to be able to comprehend. “Alright…” He glances back into the room behind him, whatever is beyond the curtains that are all Tango can see. “They’ll come looking for me soon, you really should go.” 

Playfully outraged, Tango sputters, “What! That’s it, I don’t get anything in return?” 

The dramatics earn Tango an eye roll, but Jimmy also begins bouncing a little in place—resevoired anxiety that lets Tango know he was serious about the chance that someone would soon seek him out. Whatever stolen time they had managed to accrue was fleeting and not a second more. 

Even so, Jimmy plays along. “And what am I supposed to give?”

“I don’t know, something!” 

“You’re very helpful, has anyone ever told you that?”

Tango laughs, “A fair hit.” He watches as Jimmy turns around again to assure their privacy once more, understands for both of their sakes the importance of not overstaying his welcome, and his hands tucked behind his back, comes up with, “alright, just tell me this: are you glad I came?” 

Jimmy turns back to him, and this time Tango is absolutely certain of the blush present on his cheeks by the way Jimmy raises a hand as if to feel his own temperature on instinct, or to hopelessly pat it away with the back of his hand. He’s smiling, but it’s clear he’s trying not to, and that’s all the answer Tango needs. 

Before Jimmy can, in his bashfulness, form a verbal reply, from inside a voice does indeed call “Jimmy?” 

Bliss turns to panic in an instant, and instead of earliers soft tone Jimmy near hisses when he says “Tango!” 

If he was smart, he would heed the warning and go, but Tango is still drunk on their proximity alone, on the events of the night—all of which were set in motion by the taking of a chance on an innocently shared kiss. He figures if this is where one chance has gotten him, then he can stand to risk another. 

“I mean, I’m perfectly content to wait, Jimmy.” Tango steps to the nearest tree and leans against it like he’s planning to stay for some time, tries not to laugh as Jimmy’s eyes practically bug out of his head. 

“You—” Jimmy’s head swivels back and forth, caught between the harmlessness in the tease and the actual realistic harm in its consequences if Tango legitimately followed through. Of course, he isn’t going to—the second Tango sees another silhouette in the window he’s out of there, blending back the way he’d come into the trees—but where was the fun in it if there wasn’t just a little bit of real life pressure? “You’re insane,” Jimmy berates, but before he turns and disappears behind his walls that are meant to keep out Tango and Tango specifically, he whispers, “Yes, I’m glad you came.” 

Jimmy’s already gone, but when Tango says, “That’s all I needed,” its more to himself than anything as he turns to go back the way he’d come. 

He did not imagine when the night began that he’d find himself betraying the one rule his family had ever demanded he follow, nor did he expect to feel little concern for himself in spite of this fact, but he did know he’d be helpless but to do it again had the situation started anew, because Tango doesn’t know what greater purpose he could have than to love this man. It wasn’t just the remembrance of a kiss that drove Tango to Jimmy’s window, but the sense that it was only the first, and where there was one would come more. Of this, Tango was certain: attending the masquerade, glimpsing Jimmy through the party-goers, risking following him through the crowd and delighting in that first, perfect kiss had set off more than the events of tonight, one singular night, but rather of whatever was in store for him—for them—all the rest of their lives.

(gonna put "can translate Shakespearean English into gamer speak" on my resume under special skills. [read on ao3 here])

[strangerhawke]

hostage - a short horror story

hey all, fancied doing some original writing and wanted to give short stories a go. not sure how scary this is haha, but i really enjoyed writing it. if you give it a read, let me know what you think!

There aren’t many people who remember as early on in their life as crawling. It’s a vacant part of the memory, something that becomes so innate that memories aren’t needed to know how to do it. To crawl, once achieved, was a movement that carried you forward towards a goal of your choosing. Food. Sleep. Safety. Entertainment.

When Amber crawls on the floor as a baby, she doesn’t have the capacity to know the importance of these things; just that she needs them. 

As an adult, crawling on the floor was rarely done out of enjoyment; and almost entirely done out of need.

When Amber crawls on the floor as an adult, the tendons of her ankles slashed and bleeding, her knees raw from the burn of the carpet beneath her, all she knows is what she needs. Safety.

She looks back at the chair she’d managed to escape from, dull and basic and unscratched in all her thrashing. 

The rope that had wound her arms and legs lay wrapped around her ankle still, dragging with each of her crawling steps, trying to decide if it would loosen its grip or pull her back. It manages to linger, extending slowly out with each movement forward. 

She didn’t know where she was. She didn’t need to know; not if knowing would make things worse for her. The scratchy burgundy carpet beneath her hands rubs at her palms, as though walking over a steel scourer for miles on end. 

She’s almost grateful when the endless burgundy turns a shade darker, and the texture grows viscous under her fingertips; cool against the raw skin that ached for a reprieve. 

The walls don’t change. An off-white shade most often found in office blocks, peppered with markings along the bottom. Every few meters or so, she’d notice another mark; the same length, the same amount of space stretched out between each. 

She began to count them, for a while - but as she continued to crawl, that never-ending need in her gut that pushes her forward took over any semblance of clarity, and the mission to escape became more essential than ever. 

Her ears are filled with the sound of her struggling movement, the desperate breaths that fall from her lips, which grunt and whimper as the ache of her ankles flares up once again. 

Her sounds drop to a silence at the recognisable shift of a bolt lock. Breath has all but vanished from her as she waits for another sound - the door opening, the heavy boots upon the floor, something, anything - but all falls quiet once more.

She begins to move, a new desperation to her attempt. There was no time to think, no time to draw conclusions about who or what had decided to keep her as their hostage - only time to move.

The viscous carpet beneath her gets deeper as she goes, until she feels it brushing past her kneecaps, up to her elbows and thighs. 

The deep red tendrils of the carpet brush against her like coral. They do not harm her; they flow as against her as they do away, as though moved by the arc of a wave above, swallowing her deeper and deeper into the red roves before her. 

The off-white walls vanish from her vision, and soon all she sees is the deep dark burgundy; all she can feel is the warm caress against her aching skin. 

When she cries, like each and every time she has before, she’s met with a brush to her cheeks, her tears wiped away, with red markings in their place. The markings hurt, as most things do in this strange and weary world, but she knew she needed them. 

The tendrils offer marks that weep so she does not have to. 

And as the darkness grows, burgundy fading to black, the soft warm fingers fade away with it.

Until she is alone. 

Not a sound of her knees scraping the floor as she crawls, nor the pules of pain that escape her dry rasping mouth were allowed in this space that surrounded her. Words had been taken from her, had she even wished to use them; and even the sound of her racing heartbeat had been silenced. 

And still. She crawls.

What else is she to do? The pain would always remain, whether she could hear the sounds of it or not - her existence would not falter, regardless of the walls and floor that surrounded it. She would crawl, and crawl, and crawl, and crawl, and crawl, and crawl, and crawl until she found what she needed.

Safety.

She reaches out as she goes, looking for something to touch, something to hold onto, something real. She feels something as she does, and with a jolt of surprise she clings on with all her strength. She grips it tightly, able to wrap her hand around it until she can feel her own nails digging into her skin. As she crawls towards it, her other hand finds another; a life ring thrown into an empty pond.

With a determination she had left long before the carpet had taken her, she steadies her hands against it, and finally, finally, tries to stand. 

The pain in her ankles is unbearable as the stretch of her leg pulls the wounds apart. She keeps going, unrelenting in finding her feet.

When she’s finally standing, the breath of relief that escapes her is just another fantasy. 

An explosion of pain in the back of her feet, as raw and agonising as it had been the first time, and she’s falling once more. 

She scrambles for the fixtures she’d held onto, and manages to shift towards them in time to catch herself on something. Something other than the skin-scraping carpet, or the burgundy tendrils, or the empty escapeless void. A cold, flat, wooden surface.

Her back meets the back of the chair, each press of the engraved wood sinking into the indented marks in her back, as though it had been formed to fit her skin perfectly. 

She longs for the tight embrace of the rope against her wrists, a preferable agony to the scrape of the flesh from her hands, and finds it already slithering onto her lap, wrapping around her slowly like a python catching its prey. 

There was ample time to slip beneath the ropes as they began to secure around her; but she didn’t attempt to escape. Where would she escape to? 

The safest place was here. With these tight arms around her, the cold and uncomfortable wood encasing her, the trickle of hot blood warming her barely circulated feet, she had no need of anything. 

At least this safety was known. This safety was understood. 

And as the off white walls fade back into her vision, her feet suspended above the scratchy, burgundy carpet, and the minute markings spaced along the wall appear once more, she wonders, for a single moment, what keeps her here. 

[anonymouslymadebydesign]

Nocturna

Fandom : Welcome Home

Ship : Wally Darling x Male ! Novelist Reader

Word Count, Chapter 1- : 2324

Content Warnings, Chapter 1 : N/A

Synopsis : You, a well published author, have just moved to The Neighborhood, a cozy little place in a tiny town that barely made the map. As you settle in and begin your latest novel, you learn more about the residents that already reside within the Neighborhood. Everyone is very nice and polite, you fit in perfectly !

The only difference between you and your new neighbors is your fine touch of heavenly temper. But they know you’re the nicest neighbor a puppet could ask for, right ?

✿ ⌂ ✿ ⌂ ✿ ⌂

You stretched your arms high above your head as you watched the trees wizz by from your window seat. The train you sat in was currently slowly but surely slowing down, signaling your upcoming arrival. You had moved to a small town with an even smaller population with the help of your most recent selling novel. The extra cash you got from the novel was just enough to break your lease and get out of the city. Moving from a crowded townhouse to an actual stand alone home was exciting, but also daunting. You didn’t know anyone here, hell, you hardly even knew the town you were going to, only from sleight of mouth or when used as a landmark when traveling to further locations.

A voice from the front of the train announced that you had finally come to a full stop and were free to grab what items you had brought on. Unsure of how long they’d stay, seeing as you were the only one getting off at this stop, you quickly thanked the train attendant as you snatched your little luggage bag off the top rack before jogging off the train.

Things hadn’t worked out quite how you wanted them to, schedules didn’t like up, and people were unwilling to compromise, which ended up with you having to send all your stuff ahead and hopefully all arrive accounted for. Not being able to supervise your items, leaving them in the hands of complete strangers, made you nervous. Not only had you just bought a new typewriter, but all your manuscripts, outlines for various projects, and an obscene collection of books were in the hands of people you don’t know. Oh god, even thinking about finding your brand new typewriter with even a dent made you restless.

As the train began to pull away from the stop, you took in a deep breath as you squared your shoulders. “No time like the present. Besides, if the movers were kind, all our items should be in our new home.” You said to yourself aloud.

Other than the inhabitants of the forest around you, you were completely alone. Seemed like this place didn’t get enough stops in town to warrant anyone supervising the train stop. Briefly wondering how those who live here come and go, you began walking on the only path available. An old sign, easily twenty years your senior, said the Neighborhood was just up ahead, an easy half mile right up the street.

With just your carry-on bag that contained your previous day's clothes, you had to stay in a little motel the night before your train departed, the walk to the main part of the town wasn’t so bad. The forest that surrounded it was lush with life, beautifully captivating, and it was enough to think about how hardly anyone lived here despite its wondrous surrounding life.

As more and more buildings came into view you realized suddenly you weren’t sure which was yours. You had remembered the address for it but upon entering the town you realized you weren’t quite sure where it exactly was.

“Oh, a little shop!” You perked up upon seeing the bodega just ahead. “I’m sure the shopkeeper knows the way.”

The building was a vibrant shade of blue, large red and white striped awnings that draped over the entire front, cutely named “Howdy’s Place” in nice green lettering. One of the massive windows that shown toward you displayed a variety of items, some household objects and other things, while the window adjacent had multiple types of produce neatly stacked in their respective bins.

‘This must be the town's bodega, like the one back home.’ You thought as you stepped inside. The air inside was still, soft music from the overhead radio crackled in and out, and distant sweeping could be heard from across the aisles.

“Excuse me?” You called out, cupping one hand around your mouth to carry your voice. “Sorry to bother you, but I need a bit of help.”

“Be right there!” A man's voice replied to you, the audible smack of the broom he had been using hitting the wall, and footsteps clicking on the linoleum floor all sounded within seconds of each other.

“Oh!” He paused upon rounding the corner and locking eyes with you. “You must be the new resident!” He smiled widely and his eye shown with excitement.

‘Ah, dammit all.’ You thought the minute he greeted you. Irritability crept up your throat and you felt your eyebrows twitch, nearly feeling inclined to scowl at this man. So word of your arrival had been passed around, no big deal, a new resident probably was exciting for them, only god knows when the last person came and left. ‘Swallow it.’ You followed your own command while putting on your best face.

“Yes, that would be me!” You matched his cheery disposition, walked towards him, and stuck out a hand. “A pleasure to meet you, I’m (F/N) (L/N). Thank you for having me.”

“I’m Howdy Pillar, a pleasure to meet you as well!” He chuckled as he shook your hand. “How can I help you, young man?”

“If it’s not trouble to you, see, I just got off my train and don’t seem to know the layout of your town very well.” You rubbed the back of your neck feeling slightly guilty. “I’m lookin’ for 1904 Cherry Street, you wouldn’t happen to know where that is, would you?”

“You’re in luck, cause that’s exactly the street right behind here. Cmon, I’ll show you how to get there.” Howdy gestured to you to follow him as he left the shop, opening the door open for you with one of his many arms.

“Don’t…you need someone to watch the shop while we’re gone?” You asked, looking around the empty store. It seemed like Howdy was the sole person who worked and operated the place.

“Don’t you worry about that, neighbor. I've got the keys right here.” He patted his bright orange apron pockets.

Letting out a knowing ‘ahh’ you thanked him as you exited the bodega and he locked the door behind you.

As he began walking you to your new home, he pointed to the various houses that surrounded the Neighborhood. “You’ll see the town is more in a circle shape than anything else. Although, this street that connects to the train station makes it look like a tree from a map's view. The bodega is two floors, upstairs bein’ my house and downstairs bein’ the shop. We’re all pretty spread out around here so you’ll have plenty of space to yourself.” Howdy explained as he took you along a smaller path of stones and pressed grass.

‘People will always carve out a desired path, even with one already present.’ You mused internally as the two of you strayed off the main path and to the adjacent street.

“Those two houses we just passed back there belong to Sally and Poppy’s, both who I’m sure you’ll run into soon enough.

“Who’s was that in the center? The one a bit further from here, near your shop?” You asked feeling curious.

“That’s Home! Wally lives there, Wally Darling.”

“Wally Darling,” You parroted back tasting the new name on your tongue. It was nice. “What a charming name.”

Howdy laughed a deep hearty laugh at this. “He lives up to his name too, although he can be a bit rambunctious. He’s my main customer when it comes to apples, I’ll tell you what, for such a little guy he can sure pack em away.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his description of the man. At first, especially upon arrival, you were anxious to meet those who lived here. But now, chatting away with Howdy, you felt at ease. How he spoke of his neighbors and friends made the knot in your stomach unravel.

“Ah! Here we are,” Howdy stopped suddenly, two arms on his hips and the others pointed at your new home. “1904 Cherry Street.”

It was a simple house, really. Unlike the houses you had passed before, many which seemed to be two stories like Howdys own, this sat at a single floor. What it lacked in height, though, it made up for in length. It was exactly like your realtor had shown you before you moved, and within the house you could see dozens upon dozens of cardboard boxes, hopefully, containing every single one of your belongings.

“Thank you for walkin me to my new home. You have a very lovely neighborhood.” You nodded in thanks as you pulled the house keys out of your bag.

“It’s no problem,” Howdy said while putting a pair of hands on his hips. The other arms fiddled with the hem of his apron seemingly anxious. You quickly looked from his hands to his face, seeing a familiar expression.

“You got a question?”

Howdy chuckled. “I don’t mean to sound intrusive but, ah, what made you move to our little town? I mean, what do you do for work?”

“Oh, I’m a writer. I’ve been writing books for a couple of years now, and uh, my latest novel gave me enough push to move outta the big city.” You explained, jerking a thumb back to the mountain of boxes shoved against the living room windows. “Those boxes there will hopefully have my typewriter and scripts in em.”

Howdys expression changed from that of anxiety to curiosity. “An author!” He exclaimed. “That must be a lotta fun.”

His boyish like happiness made you laugh. “Yeah, it can be. Although,” You turned your body slightly towards your house to glare at the unsuspecting boxes. “I’m about to find out if those jackasses were able to keep all my shit together and not loose anything.” Your voice dropped flat, sounding upset.

You had heard stories of people moving and somehow between point A and B, boxes seemed to vanish into thin air. The idea alone of movers loosing your items, even a single box, was enough to cause that familiar feeling of anger and irritability crawl its way back up your throat. How could someone be so careless with your items, anyone for that matter, to loose a few items between moving? Isn’t that their job, moving you and your things from one place to another? You could feel yourself getting heated.

‘Don’t loose your temper, (Y/N).’

“O-Oh…” Was all you heard from Howdy.

You had to remember where you were quickly. Who you were, when you were, and what you were doing. “Ah- Sorry! Sorry, gosh, lost myself a little there.” You returned back to facing him once more. “I’ve, uh, got a bit of a temper that I’m working on. Also, I’ve got a lot of important and expensive stuff in there. If anything’s lost, I’d be awfully upset.” You found yourself apologizing and trying not to vomit too many words while backtracking.

Howdys body seemed to relax at this, and it wasn’t until he loosened up visibly, that you realized you were holding yourself just as tense. “I see,” He nodded understandingly. “I wouldn’t move outta here, but if I absolutely had to and found my things had up and gone, well, I wouldn’t blame ya for getting upset.”

“Sorry about that..”

“It’s okay,” Howdy placed a hand on your shoulder before patting it. “If you ever need me, you know where to find me.”

The two of you said your goodbyes before you waved him off and back into the main section of the town.

“Alright. Let’s check if we got all our stuff.” You mumbled, watching the caterpillars silhouette disappear over the hill. Turning around and fiddling with your keys, finding the main house key, you finally let yourself inside to get to work.

✿ ⌂ ✿ ⌂ ✿ ⌂

Unbeknownst to you, your simple arrival in town had gotten everyone excited. You were quite literally the talk of the town.

“You spoke to them!” Sally had cried out, sprawling herself dramatically against Howdy's front counter. “What were they like? What’s their name? How old are they? What do they like to do?”

“Hold on, hold on!” Howdy held up his hands defensively. “I only helped him find his house is all! I didn’t pry like a nosey Nancy, now.”

“Learn anything neat?” Sally asked, peeping out from her shirts puffy sleeves, her eyes full of fake unshed tears. The theatrics never stop.

“Well, he’s a writer. An author! He didn’t say what kind of books he writes, other than that whatever his latest novel gave him enough money to move here.” Howdy said. “He mentioned he’s got a bit of a temper that he’s working on. Maybe livin’ in the city was no good for him, ya know, bad for his mental health.”

“That’s so cool, being from the city!” Julie pipped up. “Now I really REALLY wanna meet him.”

“Everyone does,” Barnaby agreed. “But it’s best not to crowd him all at the same time. Everyone trying to get to know him on his first might scare him into never comin’ out. And if he’s workin on not being so snippish, then crowding him might make him worse.”

Julie and Sally groaned at this, but they knew Barnaby was right. Everyone in town trying to clammer for your attention might freak you out, and who’s to say if they make a good impression or not. Howdy made a good one, that’s for sure, but the rest of the Neighborhood all at once?

“What do you think, Wally?” Barnaby asked.

“Hmm..” Wally hummed thoughtfully looking out the window in the general direction of your house. “I think Barnaby is right…what if he’s nervous? It is his first day home afterall.”

Howdy clapped his hands bringing everyone’s attention towars him. “Alright everyone, we’ll introduce ourselves slowly, over time, ease him into it.”

✿ ⌂ ✿ ⌂ ✿ ⌂

[strayfoxxchan]

Girl's Best Friend

Pairing: Non-Idol!Seungmin x f!Reader

Genre: Fluff

Content Warning: None that I can think of… pulled heartstrings?

Word Count: 1k

Prompt: You came here to adopt a dog and got a boyfriend instead!

Tag List: Message me to be added!

MASTERLIST

A sigh leaves your lips. “It’s time.”

Being an adult could be lonely. You have contemplated adopting a furry companion for months, but as you sit on the couch with a drama, crying in the dark, you decide it is time. So you pick up the stuffed dog you’d been squeezing for emotional support to look into its shiny plastic eyes.

“You’ll have a new friend tomorrow, don’t worry, buddy.”

In the morning, you scroll through your phone, browsing a list of shelters in the area. Most of them have pages full of animals available to be adopted. You catch sight of a few animals and set your eyes on a shelter nearby. 

As you drive to the shelter, listening to music way too loudly, you wonder if you’re making the right choice. You aren’t home during the day sometimes as your job is still working hybrid, and you wonder if it’s okay to leave a dog alone for extended periods, but you decide this is best for you and your mental health. 

The facade of the shelter is little more than a giant concrete building, painted in shades of blue and white, with silhouettes of little animals running across the edges of the walls. The walls are lined with vines and greenery, making it seem inviting. Walking into the building is more of the same. At the front desk, a kind woman greets you. 

“Hello! What are you looking for today?”

“Oh,” you say, “just thinking of adopting a dog. Where can I find them?” 

The woman points behind her to a big glass door. “The kennels are out the door in the courtyard. Feel free to flag down anyone in a blue apron if you see a pup you like!” She smiles warmly at you.

“Thanks!” You can feel the excitement growing as you try not to skip to the door.

The courtyard is big and green, trees scattered about randomly. There are kennels lining the edges of the yard, big open kennels that allow the dogs some room to move around. Men, women, and children walk about from kennel to kennel, patting dogs on their noses and talking in baby voices to them. 

The only problem with going to an animal shelter is that you can’t rescue them all. The puppy dog eyes and happy pants, the tail wags, and the tippy tapping of toes fill you both with elation and grief. There was no way you could fit 40 dogs into your one-bedroom apartment, but that doesn’t stop you from considering it. 

Before you know it, you’ve found yourself plopped down in front of a kennel, beginning an interview with a particularly cute mutt, a mix of something that’s given him floppy ears and a mottled coat of brown and white. He almost looks like a golden retriever but splotchy. 

“So, what makes you think you’ll be a good companion?” The dog stares at you blankly, panting away and wagging his tail a million miles a minute.

“I’m very warm, and I’m the best cuddler.” A voice comes from behind you, and you stifle a giggle, choosing not to turn around and continue the very important interview.

“What can you offer that another dog can’t?” You stare at the dog expectantly as he considers his answer.

“I’ll give you morning kisses and sing when I’m hungry.”

“Ah, good answer.” You nod at the dog, who has continued to stare blankly at you. “The final and most important question…” You pause for effect. “Are you a good boy?”

The voice from behind you doesn’t speak, but the pup in front of you replies with an enthusiastic bark. You respond in kind with an enthusiastic fit of laughter.

“Well, that settles it. You’re hired. Any questions for me?” 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” You snicker at the voice behind you.

“I am as single as they come.” You poke the dog’s nose through the kennel, earning you an excited woof.

You pull yourself up from the ground, grunting slightly and turning to meet the dog’s translator. 

The man wears a white polo with a blue apron tied around his waist. His hair is a little long, highlighted with streaks of blonde. He’s handsome, though his big round eyes look at you with the same happy but almost blank expression the dog had.

“He’s very talkative, though.” The man says to you. “And clingy.”

“Maybe I like talkative and clingy, Mr. Translator.” You can see a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. 

“I guess I should give up, then.” The man turns to leave.

“Wait, give what up?” He stops in his tracks and turns back to face you. 

“The interview.”

“I didn’t realize you were also a dog up for adoption,” you do your best to look serious, but your heart flutters. 

“Meong Meong,” he replies, deadpan. You choke a little on your laugh. 

“Okay then, what makes you think you’ll be a good companion?” You raise your brows expectantly. 

“I’ll keep the house clean and sing you lullabies.” As he speaks, he moves past you and kneels on the floor to unlock the kennel. 

“Hmm,” you pause. “I do love a good lullaby, I suppose. What can you offer that another… dog can’t?”

“I’ll cook breakfast and hold your hand when we walk.” The dog walks out of the kennel and sits quietly beside the man, looking up at him with a goofy smile.

“You have him beat there; I can’t argue with that. And what’s your name?”

“Seungmin,” he finally smiles. “And yeah, I’m a good boy.” He tries to say this without laughing but fails spectacularly. The two of you are in fits of giggles, and the dog at your feet taps his front toes, tail wagging as if to join in your laughter. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Seungmin. I’m Y/N. Any questions for me?” You wipe your eyes and sniffle, having shed a tear or two after laughing so hard. 

“Am I hired? Or just Oliver?” He points at the dog.

“I think I have room for two new hires.”

[sharp-silver4795]

CAN YOU PLEASE DO A HEADCANON DUMP OR A STORY DUMP PLEASE 😋

I tried to do a dump, but I ended up being on only 1 subject- I’m so sorry!!!

For some reason my little ADHD brain is great at being random irl but not when I’m writing abt my hyper fixations-

I hope this is good 🥲

Death HC’s

Writing this part at 6am I am not sure what will be ahead as I usually write a wall of text and edit the rest later T.T

This is legit all about death, so… I guess take these warning.

Least sensitive? > Mild > Most?

Death

I made a whole lore for death just for creepypasta.

If anyone plays sky here, it will be very helpful for the guardian of the Nile 🙃

So, there are 3 areas after death: Xenos, Delta, and Hydra. (All are Greek words)

Each is ruled by a guardian that has the skull(?) of a different animal.

There’s a river in each that aids the shades in some way or another.

General Idea of Death

The way this works is, when a human is born, they begin an hourglass that flips and turns depending on their actions and deeds while living.

Frame is made from wood that looks like roots coiling around each other and gold laced within them.

When the person dies, one of the guardians (either with the bull or rabbit) will break it in half and turn it into a balance for judgement.

The “sand” inside of it is actually the ashes of the person’s soul.

As long as the person does not have a neutral level, they’re soul has to be burned so they can’t escape their fate (more on this later)

Even though they seem like heaven or hell, both can be seen as punishments

Each guardian has a staff that they use to hold the balance.

Xenos, Rabbit, and The Nile

Xenos is the equivalent to “heaven”.

It is guarded by death with the skull/head of a rabbit.

Its staff is made from granite and bone.

Remember when I said ppl who play sky would have a better picture of the head? Yeah- in days of fortune there’s a rabbit mask, kinda like that.

I used a bunch of different mythologies from over the world to make these realms after death. Xenos is based more on Egyptian myth.

The Nile is supposed to provide life to the land behind its gate.

Speaking of the gate- it’s made of gold and obsidian with the (actual) skull of a rabbit over the middle.

It’s called “Xenos” (Greek word for stranger) because once you go in, you are NOT coming back out. So no one who has seen it will ever be able to tell what it’s like. Whether that is good or bad is up to the person.

It can be so repetitive for the shades there that they want to leave just for a chance at something new, but the gate just gets farther away the closer they get.

Delta, The Bull, and Styx

Delta is the idea of Hell.

Delta is the Greek word for difference or separation. The area is called Delta because it is a complete separation from any other being, even other shades.

It is guarded by Death with the skull of a bull.

Its staff is made from pyrite and deer antlers.

The Styx acts as a trap of sorts. It is the opposite of the Nile. Those who drink from it burn their bodies from the inside out, only to be resurrected within the river itself.

Death (bull) only wants to see the shades suffer.

The gate is made from petrified wood and the bull’s skull sits at the top of the cast iron frame.

When the shades step past the gate, they are immediately met with heavy but dry air.

They walk for miles to reach the island that death resides in. The Styx surrounds it.

It is during this walk that the shade may dare to attempt at an escape.

If it tries, their journey to the gate will be 20x longer than their walk to death itself. It will choke out from exhaustion seconds before meeting the gate.

Its “body” will wither to sand as the shade is trapped in the dry soil where it laid, to be trampled by the other spirits that will walk across.

If it chooses not to escape, it will be more bearable for a while…

The poor tired and thirsty shade will drink from the river only to be met with pure agony as it feels itself corrode.

It starts to beg and plead for mercy. Though this is only the beginning on its misery.

Depending on the person’s actions they will suffer within Styx differently.

Hydra, the Fox, and Phlegethon

Phlegethon is from Dante’s inferno, described as a boiling river of blood.

Death (Fox) is the only form of death that does not reside within its realm.

Hydra is for demons and vengeful spirits.

Though there are a few exceptions.

The Fox is meant to be the true neutral with judgement.

If there is a disagreement or bias, the Fox will take over.

The fox’s staff is the only one that is two sided. It is made from clay and vines.

Hydra’s gate is a typical wooden gate with (instead of a lock) the skull of a fox.

The only “punishment” part of Hydra is going into it. The spirit has to be dragged through phlegethon. Considering it is a boiling river of blood, it would be painful.

One big difference is that the hourglasses are made from clay, steel, and bronze and the sand is made from tiny crystals of their pain.

And their souls are not burned. They can redeem/condemn themselves if they ever choose to permanently leave Hydra, though it is unlikely.

Hydra is much more pleasant due to the fact that The Fox doesn’t reside there. It rarely interferes with the natural flow of the area.

So, yeah? Is this ok-

[lovebombs4life]

new romantics - l.r.h.

BLURB - got the idea from my girl t swizz. i love taylor swift. and i love luke hemmings. so this is a luke hemmings blurb with new romantics as the main inspiration.

cw: mentions of alcohol and sex

fluff

———

i laughed as i ran through the bright city lights. my friends following me close behind, trying to avoid people on the streets. from a glance, you’d think we were drunk. in reality, we were just high on life.

we stopped on the side to catch our breath, still laughing. “hey look! there’s a bar down the street!” one of my friends spoke. we all cheered and decided to go to the bar.

the instant i walked in i could feel the bass in my heart. my girls and i walked up to bar, ordering a few drinks. we settled down at a table for a minute while we sipped on our drinks.

one of my friend grabbed my hand and dragged me to the dance floor, spinning around and jumping to the song that was playing. i really shouldn’t have started jumping when i was already getting a buzz from my drink. i stumbled and fell back, being caught by someone quickly.

my heart was racing from the sudden movement. i looked to see who had caught me. there he was, the most gorgeous man i’ve seen in my life. his blonde curls fell down onto his forehead, his wide eyes looking down at me. i saw the glitter in the corner of his eye, making him even hotter.

nothing was sexier than a man in touch with his feminine side. he wore a red button up shirt that was pulling out from its tucked position in his black pants. “are you alright?” he breathed out, worried i had been hurt.

“yeah, i’m alright, thanks for catching me.” i smiled at him as i stood up straight. i turned my head to look for my friend, seeing she had wandered off somewhere.

“of course. do you need anything to drink? need to sit down?” he asked, still slightly worried. i laughed at his kindness.

“i’m alright, don’t worry.” i giggled. he smiled at me, observing my face. “you’re beautiful, by the way.” he complimented.

“and you’re gorgeous. what’s your name love?” i questioned. his cheeks flushed a bit at the nickname.

“luke, and yours?” he bounced back. “y/n, lovely to meet you luke.” i said, holding my hand out for him to shake it. he grabbed on squeezing my hand firmly. i smiled up at him as i dropped my hand back down.

“want to go do something fun? get out of the crowd?” i asked him. he tilted his head, eyes slightly wide. “already trying to take me home?” he spoke. i laughed loudly, shaking my head.

“i’m sorry, i don’t mean to laugh. that’s not what i was trying to imply. i just thought maybe we could run around the city, y’know? be free?” i replied. he sighed in slight relief and what i think was a bit of disappointment.

“yeah, that sounds great,” he started. “wait but what about your friends?” he worried. i waved my hand around.

“they know that im safe. they’ve got my location at all times when we go out, just incase i need to walk off and get some air.” i smiled at him. he nodded.

i grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the bar. “so, you take strangers on walks a whole lot?” he questioned. i giggled at his slight jealousy.

“no, usually just with the girls back at the bar. but usually we go running around the city and dancing around freely in the streets.” i explained.

i hadn’t realized i was still holding his hand until my palms started getting sweaty. i pulled my hand away, wiping it on my skirt. “sorry, i get nervous around pretty blondes.” i spoke, grabbing back on to his hand.

he turned a deep shade of red, trying not to let me see. i pulled him as i started quickening my pace on the street. he laughed as i drug him along, now at a running speed.

we ran for what felt like miles, when really it was only two blocks away from where we were at the bar. we stopped next to a brightly lit alleyway. “i know we’ve only just met, but i think im catching feelings.” he confessed to me.

i smiled up at him. “well how about we go find a restaurant to go sit down at and we can get to know each other?” i suggested. he nodded eagerly.

“we’re the new romantics darling. now let’s go on a little date.”

[bigdvmnhero]

summary:

Donnie follows his new friends down NYC's rabbit hole. Makes them shiny things that go BLAM, fast things that go VROOM. Sometimes lethal things that make no sound. His friends cheer. His friends push pretty drinks into his hand. His friends call him The Man. It's in his blood, to give so completely.

The Hamato Clan, four generations apart, the same old song.

word count: 2.7k words

sequela, n. /sēˈkwelə/ a condition which is the consequence of a previous disease or injury.

::

Yanked by the scruff into the past by the only father he knows, Casey thinks under the panic: sure, I guess!  

Deep down, he felt it coming. This is how every story starts. How all Hamato are made: in unmakings so absolute. The body a blade too bloodied to turn over. Casey doesn't have to hear the stories to know; he's lived through most of them.

On the other side of the timegate is a world skewed to the side, smothered in smog and strange lights. Miles and miles of it, rending the breath out of him. He feels flat-footed and wrong. He has a hurting in his chest with no exit wound, and no one to blame. And every time he looks at Leo—sixteen and several shades off—he wants to run. 

So he does. 

(This too is a Hamato specialty.)

Casey doesn't know how to live outside a war yet, and at this point he's too afraid to ask. I wanna see what's out there, he lies, walks away. Leo doesn't stop him. Casey looks back to check anyway.

Funny kid; he thinks his pain is unique. If only he looked a little further down the family tree, peered a while into its dark alleys, he'd find his answer. 

::

To find his answer Donnie stumbles down the dark alley and skins his human knee. This whole night is the sequela of one terrible question: what would it feel like, to be loved by someone not of your kind? 

All Hamato are born foragers, and Donnie is no different. He leaves the lair to hunt down the origin of his hurt. Topside scintillates like a motherboard, and maybe if he can just slot himself into its circuitry—and why not, when he talked like them, dressed like them, danced their funny Tiktok dances better than anyone had any right to? 

So he wears the cloaking brooch into the city.

Then he lets the city wear him.

Donnie follows his new friends down NYC's rabbit hole. Makes them shiny things that go BLAM, fast things that go VROOM. Sometimes lethal things that make no sound. His friends cheer. His friends push pretty drinks into his hand. His friends call him The Man. His friends want to see him drink this whole city clean. 

It's in his blood, to give so completely. 

He was so ready to be under-appreciated in his time, but maybe this is the way out—how he breaks the family curse. 

When April finds him puking in the alley, he throws her finger guns and pushes her hand away. April wouldn't understand. April doesn't have three brothers and a distant father who never call him The Man. 

Donnie thinks his loneliness is novel, but if only he pressed his ear against the bottom of the vodka bottle, he'd hear it: the way home, whistling.

::

Yoshi's head whistles when the white man's fist cracks against his skull. Then he grins, like someone who just figured it all out. 

This is what it means to be accepted into this city: the rough and tumble way you hold your guns, your girls, your liquor. The beet-red glow of his cheeks is impossible to hide, but Yoshi is starting to realize he was never meant to disappear. Sorry, Grandpa Sho, not sorry. Yoshi is many things, but he is not like his mother; he will not fold himself into tiny wishful cranes.

A flash of momentary genius—yelling HOT SOUP! loud enough to startle two executive producers at the booth—and Hamato Yoshi hurricanes through his very first New York bar fight and fails. Lou Jitsu walks out, busted nose up, a brand new gash of a man. 

Now he's fast food and quotable, the pulp of all-American superhero flicks, nothing too fussy. He learns to shapeshift, because he is Hamato still, and all Hamato must make it through the winter. When he fights, he fights completely. When he loves, it's to the point of blindness.

Alone and battered in the Battle Nexus cage, Yoshi unfolds a photo of his mother from his pocket and shrinks. His cell smells like piss and day-old gore. Sorry, Grandpa Sho; maybe he was meant to fade into nothing, after all; just like his mother, and the mother before her—an endless queue of martyrs living inside each other like frozen-smile Matryoshka dolls. Yoshi checks himself for a pulse.

He prays for forgiveness, but who would understand betrayal like this? Made gladiator-slash-slave by the love of your life, who actually turned out to be a six-eyed enterprising spider-beast in disguise? 

(Admittedly, this is... new territory for the clan.)

But if only he looked past the bars, followed the gentle wrist of light the hallway offered—how it persisted in the deepest hollows—he'd remember his training.

::

Karai watches her own father die in a starburst of ancient light and forgets all her training. The armor's work is absolute; it twists him into something vile and blood-starved. She flees into the forest when it lurches four-legged after her. 

She has no weapons. No shields. No time to bury her own mother and sisters. Cold bites into the deep gashes on her back where the beast clawed into her, leaving a bloody trail in the snow. Daughter, the Shredder singsongs, where are you going? No matter how fast she runs the forest is a wet grave pulling her down, down, down—

Please, she prays, I cannot do this alone. And the seed unlocks and greens inside her. 

All Hamato are born harvesters; now is time to reap. Karai is several seasons early for this task, but she will not carry it alone. 

Beneath her, the grave spits out a spade as white as bone.

Karai stops running. She turns to face the demon. Up close the armor's illusion is clear; beneath the smokescreen of fury it is still her father, kind and soft-spoken, his hands the very same that sheltered her as they traveled through the snow-chromed world; their twin laughter tangling.

I love you, she thinks with a smile. Grounds her feet. They cannot bury it. 

Widening her stance, Karai thanks her family for the gift. Then she fashions the spade into a long, crackling spear that flies straight into the future and never stops. 

::

Lou flies into the wall and the hits never stop. His arm is broken in two places and his spirit too, in more ways than he can count. The jeers hail down on all sides. Officially, this might be his newest low: ex-action superstar, now laughing stock of all yokai-kind, and he's not even getting any dental for it.

On his 178th match, he finally makes peace with dying. That's when the voice lances through him. All the hairs on his arms stand on end.

This is not your grave. Get up.

And a second voice, gentler under the tone: no, you are not meant to disappear.

Lou's heart snags around it, never lets go.

Without looking he blocks the strike meant for his jugular and bends the yokai's palm back onto itself. Holds it for three, until the satisfying CRACK! Now for the last, honorable blow. The crowd howls. That was child's play; all in the fingers. His mom taught him that trick. Lou can't believe he'd forgotten; all his best moves come from her.

Across the arena, Big Mama stares at her crowned champion and feels something akin to remorse. 

This man does not yet have the four great loves that will animate him in his second life, but for a moment the future and past bleed into the present—it's her old Lou, grinning unabashed, invincible in the sun of his love. She averts her eyes with a grimace.

The Champion considers his options: Lou Jitsu feels too much like a dizzying skyscraper view. Yoshi a sleepy town, too small to keep living in. So he renames himself Splinter—to honor the mangling of all his past selves, as he folds them together into one proud paper crane. 

All that's left now is to lift his wings; he flies out of that story and into a new one.

::

Donnie yelps as he's flung out of a window and into a new one. The holographic armor he wants to build won't hold. His mind's stuck in a morass. And newly escaped from its government cell, Kraang Two is loose in the city to lay its judgment.

While Donnie was nursing his broken pride, building stupid playthings in the city, his brothers were warding her off. Now his mystic power is failing, and he needs his anger now. It's the key to his power. That's what Draxum said at least. 

The first time he'd grazed the ceiling of his potential, they were taking Leo away into the prison dimension, and Donnie was so furious it shut down his heart and all coherent thought. So Donnie gets angry, because anger is easy. Simple, one-line code. 

He imagines: his brothers, broken; his tech, a dead man's error; his hands, a mistake. He hates and hates and hates. Kraang Two tears through a billboard like it's paper. He needs the drill, now. The biggest it can ever be.

The shape forms in the air once. Then it scatters in a blitz of purple.

No, no, no. He pulls at the hurt in his chest. The one with no exit wound, the thorny half-seed, half-bullet that he suspects someone planted in his brothers too, only no one ever talks about it. Why don't they ever talk about it? He needs his rage but only grief comes out. He wishes he had more of him to give. He wishes he had more time to tell his brothers, regretful sigh; guess I was the dum dum after all?

He's about to give in to exhaustion when, like lightning, a bolt of energy plows through him. The voice almost sounds like a laugh: 

No, your power has never come from anger.

On the next mid-rise building, April is climbing up the rungs of the emergency exit to throw a bat at the approaching Kraang. It glances uselessly against its exosuit. One blistering eye turns.

April shrieks, "Run, I'll cover you!"

"Have you lost all your marbles," is what Donnie wants to say but doesn't, because his chest is finally flowering with his answer. Nodes glow. Separate systems connect. Donnie counts: one stupid sister, one rat-father, three dum dum brothers—and all the pieces click into place.

Oh, I love you, he thinks. How could he ever think he would bear this distance? It's in his blood, to love so completely. 

Above Donnie's head, a massive cannon powers up its barrel, its mouth brimming with ultraviolet. Something greens in Donnie's chest; he'll need to invent the word for it. Anger dies in this new garden. 

Donnie folds his hand into a gun and lifts the length of his arm. He mouths, blam. 

—and the Kraang shrieks as its side detonates. A containing net swallows her whole and lists off the building's ledge.

As the smog clears, April finds him on the roof. April always finds him, especially when he doesn't want to. She holds her hand out, says, "So... you done being stupid or what?"

"I make no such promises," Donnie replies. But he takes her hand and never lets go.

::

When the Purple Dragons hold out their hand, Casey can't let go. Joining a street gang wasn't in the plan, but it's the Hamato in him, to seek out belonging; whatever takes to make it through the winter. 

The gang artist flicks his tattoo gun. "All settled?" he says, and around Casey his members leer, imagining all the terror they'll take into town with this crazy-eyed new kid in tow. Casey shrugs. He rolls up his left sleeve.

Then something soft knocks against his chest and plants a seed there. They cannot bury it, the voice says. Remember? And Casey jolts in his chair, gasping.

"I have to go," he tells them. He's better than this. He throws on his coat and pushes past the pissed-off Dragons who spit at his shadow. He runs out into the streets, through the confounding cacophony of street activity, between stalls of chicken halal rice and piping-hot samosas, leaping through rails streaked with pigeon shit, until his heart stops pounding, until night whittles away into the early morning chill and Casey thinks he's found what he's looking for. 

Leo is dangling his legs down the edge of a condominium down central. He's dressed in a black hoodie, no gloves. There's a shadow in his face, draped over all of his sixteen years, but Casey would know him anywhere. 

For a beat, Casey considers leaving again. But then he imagines Leo's hands hurting in the cold, and suddenly he wants to cry.

After a month of absence Casey Jones Jr. appears on the roof, bearing cup ramen. Leo is surprised but makes no show of it.

They exchange greetings. Leo fidgets, while Casey loosens the noodles with wooden chopsticks and stirs. Leo watches him for a while, eyes wide. And then, voice tempered as if not to spook him, as if any wrong move will scatter Casey back into the streets, he says, "Dude, I love this flavor."

"I know. It's your favorite." Casey smiles, then wavers. "Was. Um. Here."

Leo curls his hands around the cup and drinks in the steam greedily. "Aw, yeees. Wanna help me out here though? It's a big boy."

"Sure, just leave me the last bite or something."

"You mean the best part? With all the tiny noodle bits and soupy sodium goodness swirling at the bottom? Oh, I see your strategy." Leo takes a sip. "Respect."

"Uh, I wouldn't say strategy. I've only had two cup ramen in my life. The first time, Master Michelangelo crunched up the noodles, sprinkled the packet in, and voila. Ate the stuff—"

"—with your hands, yeah! Yeah. Like finger food."

"Obviously," Casey says.

"Obviously!" Leo crows. "Trust Mikey to have good ideas. I've got plenty more ramen hacks, if you're curious. And you must be. My family are big devoted noodle fans, I'm sure my reputation has preceded me. Just stick around, Case, I'll show you how it's done. First, you wanna start with your foundational—"

"I missed you," Casey murmurs.

Leo's jaw closes so fast it makes an audible click. Casey drags his gaze from his scarred hands to Leo's face. "Thought it'd pass. But... Yeah." He exhales, sheepish. "Guess I'm still figuring this whole thing out."

The quiet collects. Traffic streams below their feet. After an eternity, Leo says, "One time, I put an egg in my cup noodle and thought I invented the thing. Raph didn't like that. We got into a whole fight, because he said he'd been doing it first." Leo laughs. "Turned out we were both wrong, and Dad's been doing the egg hack since we were itty-bitty green babies. Fried, poached, dropped in... you name it. Probably an unlocked core memory or something. And guess who taught him?" 

Casey thinks about it. "Uh, Mikey?"

Leo's laugh is a bell. "No, dummy. His grandpa did. And who taught his grandpa? His mama. Anyway. What am I saying—yeesh, sorry, my point is—what was my point—?"

"I think I get it," Casey says, chest tight with remembering. He thinks of Leonardo, from the future that will never be, teaching him to throw a punch, the way uncle Raph did; just how grandpa Splinter taught him. How once Casey insisted on a solo mission, because he was young and foolish and needed to prove himself; how Master Leonardo never once faulted him for what happened next.

Take me with you, Leonardo said instead. And just like that: another way. I've gone down this path before. 

"I get it," Casey repeats, and startles to see Leonardo's face in Leo's. And in Leo's face, his own. "Maybe we can figure things out together?"

"Maybe," Leo says, eyes wide. He's oddly quiet for a moment. Steam curls and curls around his face.

Casey follows his thousand-yard stare. He does one sweep around the empty roof. "You... good?"

"Huh?"

"You look like you saw a ghost."

Leo laughs, and does not tell Casey how, just for a moment, the floor was green with life, a whole coterie of people, watching over them. "Nah, I just," Leo says, "remembered something funny."

Casey lets that be that. They sit side by side, watching the city turn warm, happily haunted.

[unclewaynemunson]

I finally tried my hand at Ronancetober! Today’s theme is autumn so I wrote a lil hurt/comfort about it

The chill of autumn was back in the air. It made Nancy shiver for more than one reason. Until 1983, she had loved the fall: the way the colors of the trees changed, the coziness of big scarves and warm knitwear, the comforting feeling of a steaming mug of tea or hot chocolate between her cold hands… But more than all that, she had loved the fall for the endless amount of movie nights, huddled into a blanket fortress with Barb. Barb, who disappeared in the autumn of ’83. Barb, who would never be huddled inside a blanket fort with Nancy anymore. The only place where Nancy could visit her, was at a stone on top of an empty grave, nothing but cold ground underneath it. And this autumn, she couldn’t even do that. She was miles away from that grave, from her last connection to her best friend. The fall had lost all its comfort, no redeeming qualities to counter the grayness and the endlessly pouring rain and the smell of decay in the air. It could only remind her of Barb in all the wrong ways.

Nancy heard the door of her dorm open and close, accompanied by the sound of a familiar pair of footsteps.

‘Hey, that looks cozy, you in there?’

She watched how Robin’s bright smile immediately disappeared when the girl crouched down and peered into the blanket fort to find Nancy. She must look terrible, curled into herself, hands clasped around her pulled-up knees, with a tear-stained face and red, puffy eyes and the memories that were haunting her written all over her.

‘Nance. What happened?’ Sorrow dripped from every word she said, from every pore on her face. She crawled into Nancy’s space on hands and knees, until she was close enough to wrap her arms around her.

‘It’s almost November,’ Nancy said in a choked voice.

‘I don’t understand.’ It sounded cautious.

‘It’s almost been three years.’

Robin uttered a quiet gasp; she understood, now.

‘I went outside in the rain and the air smelt exactly like it used to do in Hawkins, when we were younger and would wear our rainboots and jump into the biggest piles of leaves… And then we would get back inside and build the most awesome blanket fort to hide in. And she feels so far away right now. I can’t do it, I can’t be here without her, Rob, I –‘ she cut herself off when a strangled sob escaped from her throat.

‘It’s okay, Nance, you can cry,’ Robin whispered softly before she pressed a kiss onto Nancy’s temple. ‘I’m right here, let it all out, I’ll hold you for as long as you need to.’ Her hands were rubbing calming circles over Nancy’s back – but what helped even more than that, was the smell of autumn finally being replaced by the scent of Robin; the scent of familiarity, of safety, of comfort, of home. And Robin patiently waited as her sweater got stained by Nancy’s tears, and she didn’t let go of her until her breathing went back to normal and she mumbled an embarrassed “sorry” against Robin’s shoulder.

‘Don’t you apologize to me,’ said Robin. She slightly leaned back to tenderly wipe Nancy’s cheeks. ‘You want me to make you some chamomile tea?’

Nancy grabbed Robin’s hand. ‘Can’t we just – I wanna stay in here forever. Or at least until December comes around.’

Robin ran her hand - the one that wasn’t holding Nancy’s - through Nancy’s hair, a worried frown between her brows. ‘I don’t think that’s gonna make you feel much better,’ she said. ‘How about we take a walk instead? You don’t have to go out there alone, we can do it together. I’ll be right by your side, holding your hand.’

Robin was right, of course: she could hardly hide in the blankets in her room for two months. She had to flip that switch and get used to the chill in the air. So she let Robin guide her outside of the fort, she obediently blew her nose and drank her tea, and then she took her jacket and her scarf and followed Robin outside.

The sun was nowhere to be seen: the whole sky was colored an icy shade of gray and the chilly wind cooled down Nancy’s face, pulling her slightly out of her head and into the real world.

Robin took her hand and peered down at her. ‘You okay?’

She nodded.

She let Robin choose the route. The woods surrounding the campus of Emerson were nothing like the woods back in Hawkins, but there were still plenty of paths to pick from. As they walked, Robin kept tirelessly pointing out to her everything that caught her attention in the scenery: the beautifully colored leaves, the squirrel running up an oak tree, the deer tracks in the sand… It helped. It always did, simply listening to Robin’s stories pulling her further back into the real world, making her see the beauty of what was going on around them again. By the time they circled back to the campus, she didn’t only feel normal again, but she actually started to feel something resembling happiness, able to appreciate the beauty that the autumn had to offer for the first time in years.

‘Look at that!’ Robin pointed at the enormous pile of leaves on the side of the dorm building; it was almost bigger than Nancy herself. There was an excited, mischievous sparkle in Robin’s eyes and Nancy couldn’t help but smile back at her.

‘Are you thinking what I’m thinking?’ asked Robin while wiggling her eyebrows.

Nancy didn’t say anything; she just sprinted towards the pile of leaves, pulling Robin with her by her wrist, and jumped right in.

As if the weather gods had been waiting for them to do just that, the sky burst open and thick drops started falling down right on top of them. Nancy laughed incredulously as she looked up to the sky and then into Robin’s wet and stunned face. She pulled Robin in for a kiss which lasted until they were soaked to their bones.

Nancy would never love autumn in the way she used to before ’83. But maybe, with some help from Robin, she could learn to appreciate it again.

[outoutdamnspark]

A Thousand Miles Away (pt 1)

For @psidontknow~

part 2 -> (not yet available)

This isn't... quite what I started out to do?? It started out as a request fill but then it got a little bit out of hand, so now it's going to be its own little stand-alone two-shot thing.

Setting is my amazing bro's Lagtrain Verse (please go read it, they're a phenomenal writer!), with my OC Tee (on the right) as the stranger on the platform.

(cw: none. themes of loss and mourning.)

It's taking all my will just to run alone, when are you coming home?

-'Die for You', Starset

***

The station is silent, the last train having long since left for its final docking, and Emmet feels the weight of the quiet like a stone around his neck. He hates how the station becomes a lonely liminal space at night, the once-bustling platforms now echoing nothing but his own footsteps as he finally calls it a day.

He barely looks around himself as he walks towards the exit that will spit him out closest to his home; he keeps his gaze on the floor beneath his feet and doesn’t focus on the lack of a matching pair beside him, doesn’t let himself drown in his own too-quiet footfalls, no longer in perfect synch with another’s. He rounds a corner, heading for the staff door beside the turnstiles…

…and nearly jumps out of his skin.

There, sitting utterly still on a lonely metal bench, is a silver-haired man in a long black jacket.

Emmet chokes. 

He takes a faltering step in the man’s direction, shaking hand raising slightly as if to reach out. “…Ingo?”

His voice, already flat and low, comes out like a breath, like nothing; his brother’s name is barely a word on his tongue and what little there is quavers just as badly as his hands. But it’s enough. The man on the bench must hear something, because he lifts his head as though waking from a trance and looks to Emmet with a glassy grey stare.

It’s not Ingo.

Emmet suddenly feels like a complete and utter fool. Of course this person isn’t Ingo - looking at him now, Emmet sees that the man’s only similarity to his brother is the color of the coat he wears. 

The man is thin; even sitting, he looks like a reed in the wind, with a graceful neck and long-fingered hands tipped in sharp black nails. He uncurls from his shallow hunch with an almost inhuman smoothness, turning his face to reveal high cheekbones and silver piercings in his nose and lips and brows. His hair is black on the bottom, a dark undercut accenting a tousled top and fringe the color of a storm cloud, not the pale silver-blond Emmet mistook it for at first. 

But lastly, and most tellingly, are his eyes.

Behind a pair of thick rectangular glasses, the man’s eyes are a shade of grey too dark to match with Emmet’s - more steel than silver, deeper, duller - framed by smoky black shadow. 

The man watches him curiously, seeming to search for something without so much as shifting his gaze.

“…Hello,” he says at length, finally breaking the bubble of impossible silence. His voice is calm, quiet, soft in both tone and pitch, and nothing at all like the one Emmet has missed for three long years.

Emmet bites down the sickly wave of disappointment that rolls inside his stomach, savagely swallows it down, feels it corrode into anger instead. He narrows his eyes at the stranger, the not-Ingo, and says, “Can I help you?”

It’s said with heat, with teeth. The words themselves are helpful but the sound they make is irritable and mean.

(He regrets it instantly; it’s not the man’s fault he isn’t Emmet’s brother.)

But the man simply smiles at him, painted lips stretching into something laced with a familiar kind of sorrow.

He shakes his head slowly and looks down towards his lap, at a spread of three tall, black cards balanced atop his thighs. “…Just waiting for someone.”

Emmet takes a second to school his tongue before speaking again. He presses it tight against the roof of his mouth to keep any more harshness at bay, and only once he’s certain no more will leak out does he respond with a tight, “The last train has already left.” 

Again, though, the man just smiles. It touches the corners of his eyes, brows drawn down, and for a single brief moment, Emmet thinks that the man is about to cry; he doesn’t. 

Instead, he brushes the tips of his long nails along the edges of a card, before delicately tucking them under it and flipping the card over. 

“…I know,” the man says. 

Emmet’s mouth flattens out into a thin, straight line. He can feel the irritation bubbling anew, and is about to tell the man to kindly leave, since the trains won’t run again until morning, but the man sighs mournfully before Emmet can speak. He flips a second card over and trails his fingertip over its paper face.

“They’re late, aren’t they?” He reaches for the third and final card, flips it over, picks it up between his fingers to hold in front of his face as if examining it. His expression saddens even further as he slowly looks from the card back to Emmet, then finally through Emmet to the tracks beyond. “Both mine and yours…”

Emmet doesn’t know how to respond. Habitually, he feels his hackles raise at what can only be an allusion to his missing brother, but then the man’s face crumples into something like grief for a long, agonized moment, and it’s too real a reaction to have been anything malicious - leaving Emmet with the realization that this odd stranger might just be missing a loved one of his own.

And now Emmet really feels like a dick.

Before he can properly ask if he can help, the man’s expression smooths back out into the eerie, controlled blank slate it had been at the start, with glassy grey eyes staring far ahead into nothing. The man blinks, and for just a tiny sliver of time, Emmet could swear the man’s eyes have changed to a glowing, brilliant gold; the man blinks again, and the steely grey returns.

Without another word, the stranger stands and sadly tucks the cards back into their deck before slipping the whole thing into the pocket of his jacket. He picks up a hat from beside himself that Emmet hadn’t seen a moment ago - black felt with a round, broad rim and a curved, tapered tip, accented by a braided band of white and black and grey leather. 

“The waiting isn’t even the hardest part,” the man murmurs, slipping his hat onto his head. He exhales, deep and slow, breathing out what might be a faint plume of dark smoke despite his lack of cigarette. “...It’s that I can’t see when it ends.”

The man glances up once more and gives Emmet a tiny, raw, exhausted smile. “All I know is that it does. One day…”

He turns then, pivoting on his heel and heading towards the exit, while Emmet tries to think of something to say that isn’t everything he’d never wanted said to him after Ingo disappeared. 

By the time Emmet unsticks his tongue the man is already past the turnstiles, a little purple espeon now trotting along beside him and nuzzling at his shins. Together, the pair moves soundlessly out of the station and disappears into the lonely night beyond. 

The sky rumbles with distant thunder when Emmet finally follows suit, and the whole walk home he can taste the oncoming rain like blood in the back of his throat.

[youwouldntlietopapa]

Uccellino

The last days of summer had faded into the autumn and the intolerable heat gave way to the calm, quiet afternoons of cool breezes and the rustle of dry leaves across the stone paths. Secondo’s day had been, uncommonly relaxed. For once everything wasn’t an emergency, there wasn’t a stack of papers as tall as Terzo waiting for him to deal with, there were no fires to put out. Just a few things he’d done so many times, he could have done them in his sleep. When the sun dipped just enough to shine through his window, the warmth on his back combined with the uneventful day settled him into an almost sleepy, contemplative mood.

Turning his chair around, he leaned back and rested his hands on his stomach. The Abbey grounds were lovely this time of year. Primo had been working hard to make sure that the garden always looked perfect. The changing of the leaves painting everything in reds and oranges and yellows. Birds gathered around one of the stone baths, making a tiny ruckus that he couldn’t help chuckling softly over. Others flew around, chasing one another or keeping an eye out for something to eat. Oh to be so free.

The bang against the glass made him jump and, for a moment, Secondo’s anger flared thinking someone had thrown something at the window. But when he stood up to try and spot the culprit, what he was faced with instead were a few tiny feathers still stuck to where they’d collided with the invisible barrier. His stomach sank and, all work forgotten, he rushed out of his office and down the hall to the outer door.

The entire hurried journey, he told himself he was being ridiculous. The poor thing was probably fine. Already flown off to some new adventure. And here he was, acting like an idiot over nothing. Still, he needed to see. To be sure.

As he reached the other side of his office window, Secondo saw. He was sure.

And it was not fine.

Crouching down, he carefully scooped the tiny thing up off the ground where it lay, silent and unmoving. So light in his hand and so small, it didn’t even fill his palm. For a long moment, he stood there, staring down at it, desperately searching for some small sign of life. But it remained still, limply resting in his hand.

Numbly, he walked across the grass to one of the benches scattered around the grounds and the garden. The nearest one set in the shade beneath a tree who’s branches had yet to give up their leaves. Secondo sat heavily, cupping both his hands to hold his most unfortunate passenger. His eyes itched and he swallowed hard, trying to shift the lump in his throat. Such a small, delicate thing, to slip past such carefully constructed armour.

Gently, he ran his thumb over the tan and brown feathers. Smoothing down the red patterning over its head and chest. Its thin legs curled close to its body, pin like claws clutching at nothing. It wasn’t fair. Satanas, he hated hearing that, life wasn’t fair. No one ever promised fair. But staring at the tiny broken body in his hands, the only words that would come to him were… it’s not fair.

His eyes drifted to the stone bath and the birds still chattering away. Oblivious to the loss, too caught up in their own tiny world. He wondered when they would notice, if they would notice… Which of them would call and wait for a response that wasn’t coming.

Secondo looked down again, delicately closing the empty black eyes staring back at him.

“Mi dispiace.” He whispered, closing the warmth of his hands protectively around the bird.

It was a long moment of silence that he sat there, his thoughts all a million miles away, when a familiar hand touched his shoulder. Secondo looked up at Primo, watching him with a small, sad smile. He held up one of his gardening trowels and nodded off toward the greenhouse, before turning and heading in that direction.

“Venire.” He said simply, without looking back.

Obediently, Secondo followed. Past the greenhouse itself, to a small patch of earth near a berry bush the birds favoured. Primo crouched and carefully dug a small hole while he watched. Once he’d finished, he stood and dusted himself off, nodding for his younger brother to continue. Secondo sighed and followed his lead. Taking great care in laying his small charge to rest. Primo offered the trowel and he took it almost reverently, brushing the earth back over the spot until it seemed as though it had never been disturbed at all.

Standing again, he gave the tool back. Eyes still on the place that looked so… ordinary now that it was done. He forced a frown and tried to stand tall and aloof. The practised mask of strength he’d worn most of his life.

“Questo è sciocco.” He said quietly, but the bitterness sounded false, even to himself.

Primo only sighed and patted his arm. His voice as soft and gentle as the breeze. “Non è stupido preoccuparsene, fratellino.” He turned back toward the greenhouse. “Non è stupido avere un cuore.”

Secondo stood in silence, listening to his brother calmly going back to his work. Tending his plants and making things grow. Bringing life to the grounds in a way he’d never had the skill or the patience for himself. His eyes wandered from the small grave to the few remaining berries of the season. Gently plucking one that looked especially juicy, he bent down and laid it like an offering over the tiny body hidden below.

“Mi dispiace.”

___________________________________________________________

Mi dispiace. = I'm sorry

Venire. = Come.

Questo è sciocco. = This is foolish.

Non è stupido preoccuparsene, fratellino. = It's not foolish to care, little brother.

Non è stupido avere un cuore. = It's not foolish to have a heart.