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princip1914 · 3 years

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A few thoughts on writing longfic

I’ve had this post brewing for a while and I figured since today is a Friday I might as well let it out into the wild.

First off, this is not writing advice. I don’t feel qualified to give writing advice. This is a few observations I’ve made over the course of trying to write something that feels, well, long. Fandom is full of excellent authors writing long chaptered fic, but I don’t see a lot of people talking about how they go about producing such fics. I remember feeling like long fic was really out of reach for me when I started writing again in the summer of 2019 after not writing for years and years and I wanted to talk a bit about how that changed for me. Of course, this post comes with all the caveats that there is no need to ever write long fic if you’re not feeling it. Some of my favorite authors write mostly or only oneshots! But, if you are interested, here’s my lengthy, self indulgent, and entirely personal take on ~the longfic process~ below the cut.

First, to get this out of the way: long fic is anything that feels long or complicated to you, the author. “I’m working on my long fic” can mean that you’re branching out from microfiction to write something that’s 2k long, or it can mean you’ve got a multi-part 800k epic. There’s no objective measure of if something is “long fic,” Your own personal definitions can also change as you grow in confidence or change your focus as a writer (a little over a year ago when I finished Doubt Thou the Stars are Fire topping out at 31k, that felt very very long to me. Now it feels….still long, but not very very long.)

Here are a few specific things that helped me write something long. I don’t know if they will be interesting for anyone else, but at the very least writing these down has been a fun way for me to reflect on my own process.

Practice exercises. Ok, this is going to sound exceedingly obvious, but writing one shots prepares you for writing chaptered fic. Here’s what I mean more specifically: if you know you want to write (as a totally hypothetical example) a chaptered fic set in America in the summer that relies heavily on a nature metaphors, is written out of chronological order, and features a melancholy tone--it helps to write a few one shots like that before you embark on the Big Fic. Just like artists tend to do sketches before starting a big piece, it’s very helpful to write something small that gives you a feel for the ~vibe~ of what you’re trying to do in the long fic. It’s helpful for all the usual reasons--you get to know a specific version of the characters which helps plan out a character driven plot for the long fic--but it’s also helpful because you will learn if the tone and mood of the fic has enough staying power to capture your interest for the long haul. For instance, I have a few unfinished chaptered fics that have a humorous tone. I wish I had done more short humorous fics before starting them, because I would have realized that I don’t currently have the mental stamina to hold up a humorous tone for the length of a chaptered fic (hopefully that will change and I will finish Last Days some time this century!).

Plan it out ahead of time. I used google sheets for The False and the Fair. I do not think God intended google sheets to be used for fiction, but that was not going to stop me. On a more serious note, I think the best tool for planning fiction is the one you’re the most comfortable with--the notes app in your phone, handwriting, word, google drive, sheets, chalk board, summoning circle, the blood of your enemies, etc. The reason I chose to use sheets is that I knew from the very beginning that I wanted certain things to happen at specific places in the story--for instance, I wanted the first kiss to happen at the end of the first third of the story and I wanted the “reveal” about the mine accident to happen at the end of the second third of the story. But, I didn’t know what was supposed to go in between those elements. A traditional outline for a story at this point in development might have looked like:

Meet cute

Kiss

Reveal

Ending

But, what my brain needed was to preserve the blank spaces in between these story elements, and specifically to preserve the right amount of blank space between these story elements so that it didn’t end up, for instance, that the first kiss was halfway through rather than a third of the way through. In this way, I found google sheets an invaluable tool for pacing in the early parts of the planning process. I simply made 30 rows assuming 30 chapters, and started plugging in the elements I knew I wanted in the locations I wanted them. Then I filled in the blank spaces by asking myself “how do we get from X plot element to Y plot element in Z amount of chapters.” I’m not a mountain climber, but I’ve often thought about the first things that go into the spreadsheet in terms of mountain climbing terminology. In climbing, a crux move, which can be anywhere along the route, is the most difficult move of the route: if you can’t do it, you can’t do the route. I think of the first things that go into the planning spreadsheet as the crux moves of the story, the most important pieces around which everything else turns. It was not an accident that those were also all the first scenes of the fic that I wrote; if I couldn’t do those scenes, I couldn’t do the story the way I planned it so I wanted to know early on if I needed to make changes.

Make changes if you have to: even though it helps to have things planned in advance, don’t resist the story if it tries to change on you while you’re writing it. Usually the feeling that you have to make changes stems from having a plot that is not entirely character driven. As you write the story, the characters reveal themselves and sometimes the plot has to change to change with the characters’ motivations. Here’s an area where fanfic writers have a leg up on everyone else: if you write fic, you already know the characters really well. That means, (in my experience anyway) it’s less likely that you’ll have a surprise character development which leads to a rethinking of the whole plot. Less likely, but not completely unlikely, unfortunately.

Lie to yourself: The False and the Fair was supposed to be 90k words. I thought that sounded reasonable, a little less than 3x the longest fic I had ever written. Now it's 161k and will probably top out a little over 170k. Ooops. But I never would have set out to write something that long. I wouldn’t have thought I could do it, even though anyone more experienced looking at my plans for the fic probably would have laughed at the idea I could cover all those plot points in 90k. Ignorance is bliss. Protect your ignorance.

Scrivener: Long fic for me means “fic that is long enough you can’t hold all the parts of it in your head at once.” That’s where Scrivener comes in (or another app if you’d rather, but I really like Scrivener for the ability to see the project either linearly or as condensed notecards). You can put together an organizational scaffold in Scrivener that allows you to move back and forth between the forest and the trees. So, for instance, you might be going for a jog and come up with the perfect line of dialogue for chapter 27 when you’re only up to chapter 5 in terms of writing progress. With Scrivener, you can go home, and put that dialogue in the “bucket”/index card/whatever for chapter 27 without compromising your ability to see chapter 5 clearly or muddying up your google doc. You can then use the fact that you’ve started writing bits and pieces of the later chapters in conjunction with the tool of lying to yourself that, actually, you’ve written a lot more of the fic than you realize and that when you get to chapter 27 it won’t be as hard as chapter 5 because you’ve put in the groundwork already. In my experience, this lie turns out to be true about 50% of the time, which is better than 0% of the time.

Digestible mini arcs: The False and the Fair was originally broken up into thirds. I thought it would be 90k and 30k was the longest I had written, so thirds seemed to make sense. Also, 3 is a nice, time honored storytelling number. I think it’s good to give yourself seemingly achievable milestones along the way to completion. These milestones (for me anyway) lined up well with the “crux moments” I’ve described. If you’re someone who likes to write out of order, writing your way to an already written milestone can feel like sailing to an island where you get to rest for a bit from the stormy seas before setting out for the next island in the archipelago.

“It's all part of the process”: I’m categorically incapable of describing things without resorting to running metaphors, and so I apologize in advance, but I am now going to do the insufferable thing of comparing writing a long fic to running a marathon. Here’s the thing with a marathon. You are not going to feel good every step of the way. We all know this. It’s a marathon, it’s supposed to hurt a little bit, especially at the end. In the same way you literally cannot write something novel length or even novella or long short story length without, at least at some point, feeling bad about yourself and your writing. But you also can’t run a marathon if the whole thing is agony, and for most people, it’s not--your meat sack shuffling along the course is subjected to the slings and arrows of all sorts of weird body chemistry that only happens when you push it to its limits. So, you’ll be in agony and then the endorphins will kick in for a while and you’ll be thinking “this isn’t nearly as bad as everyone said,” and then you’ll drink some water at a rest stop and feel like a God for half a mile before you crash and you’re in agony again until that one perfect song comes up on the playlist...and you get the idea. Writing something long, for me at least, is a bit like that. There are massive ups and downs. The key for me is to just understand it’s all part of the process, a necessary step on the way to the finish line. If the fic is 10 chapters long, at some point you have to write chapter 5. Just like you have to write chapter 5, at some point you also have to go through a bit of despair before reaching the end. It is unfortunately non-optional. In fact, despairing is something you can check off your list each time you’ve done it. Cut dialogue tags, check. Feel awful about my writing for thirty minutes, check. Write ending section, check. Often I feel that the stress and shame and fear that come with bad emotions while writing are worse than the bad emotions themselves. It really helps me to remember these emotions are all part of the process and nothing to worry about. If I didn’t have them, then I would worry!

I certainly have plenty more to say about writing, but this ramble has gone on long enough. If you’re interested in any of this stuff, please feel free to send me an ask.

I would also love to know more about everyone else’s writing processes, so feel free to pop into my ask box to talk about your own approach too! I am very interested in this stuff!

#long post #writing #fic #princip's fic #princip writes #princip's musings #longfic #how make words go

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itsmeevie01 · 4 years

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A Moment in Time-Ch 5

I'm back! lots of things to come, and a slightly longer, Tim centered, chapter! and...the build-up to the Timari subplot!

Yay!

I know that is what everyone is actually here for lol.

Tim was tired of looking for Jason.

He wasn’t at any of his normal safe houses, and none of his usual contacts had heard from him in the last few weeks. Three weeks after the ridiculous scandal had broken, the press had all but forgotten Tim for the time being. As he ducked through alleyways, the teen couldn’t help but be thankful as he climbed back on his bike and sped back towards Wayne Manor.

He was done waiting for his brother to show up. There was something sketchy going on in their city, and if Jason wasn’t going to show up, then it was no longer his concern.

When he got home, Tim found Bruce waiting for him in the study looking over the side gardens. The older C.E.O.’s face was grim.

When Tim approached the desk, Bruce handed him a stack of papers. As Tim started to page through them, he had a flashback to when Jared Stone had brought the pile of tabloids.

As he flipped through the new stack, Tim realized that it was Jason’s credit card statement. And-was that…? “did he buy a ticket for Paris? Why didn’t we get notified about his passport passing through customs? Why is Jason in France of all places?” when he looks back at his adoptive father, the man’s face was grim.

“I don’t know, Tim. But we sure as hell are going to find out. Go to his apartment. I know you have a key. We need to see if he left anything out from before he left.” Bruce paused before adding, “he’s been gone for two weeks. There has to be a reason.” Tim nodded as he moved to stride from the room before Alfred spoke, shocking both Bruce and Tim.

“Maser Bruce, did you by chance call Master Jason? Last I remember, his cell phone was still working.” The father and son froze, before turning to the family Butler, slack-jawed.

“We really are stupid.”

Damian didn’t see anything wrong with Todd being gone. It was quieter around the Manor and it meant that the 13-year-old was allowed to patrol through Crime Alley by himself, something none of his predecessors had been able to do at his age.

As the young teen flew over the city, his mind raced. He found this the most relaxing part of his time with his father.

At the manor, there was always something going on and there was always someone looking over his shoulder. Here, as he went rooftop to rooftop, arching over this city, the boy was able to finally find some peace.

A sound over his earpiece broke Robin from his quiet elation. “Robin, how are you doing? Is everything clear?” oracle’s voice filtered through, bringing him to relax. Oracle he could handle.

“it’s a regular night, Oracle. A few of the regulars. Nothing out of the ordinary.”

“perfect. Finish up and head back, B wants you back before 2 because you have school tomorrow.”

The annoyed “Tch” that came down the line made the redhead laugh from where she sat at the computer.

Tim had texted Jason before he had left for patrol. When he got back, there was a response waiting for him.

Jason: in Paris. I’ll be back soonish

Tim: Jay, what’s soonish?

Tim: there’s a situation we need your help with.

Jason: kid, I'll be back when I can.

Jason: if B cares, tell him Gina kidnapped me. I’m staying with her right now.

Jason: otherwise, just wait. It's personal business.

Tim: Jay, we are your family. Doesn’t that make it our business too?

Jason: in this case, no. fuck off, replacement

Tim: See you when you get back Jay

The teen sighed. It was just like Jason to try and handle everything himself. This time, Tim couldn’t play interference either, he was stuck across an ocean. He just hoped this Gina person wasn’t as impulsive as his older brother. If she was, they would all be in trouble.

As he made his way to his room, having showered and gotten himself ready for the next day, Tim paused by his desk.

He had taken the time to compile a file on the girl from a few weeks ago but hadn’t read it yet. He knew that if he was to read it, it would be violating her privacy, but he did that every day, so was this any different? To Tim, the only difference was that this girl wasn’t someone to watch or take in. she was just a normal girl with a normal life, who had run into him for a split second.

It wasn’t like he was going to meet her, right?

The teen shook his head and flopped onto his bed. It wasn’t worth it tonight. He could have the moral debate with himself when he was properly rested.

Maybe he should have called in sick. Tim was definitely finding a way to leave early, as he looked at the list of meetings that he had been scheduled for.

Why had he agreed to this again? He could have sworn that he had told his assistant that Wednesday was his day to go home and work on his college classes. Instead, Tim had a feeling that he was going to be at the office late.

On his off night too.

Partway through the day, he noticed an email that he didn’t recognize in his personal inbox. The inbox that he probably shouldn’t have been checking on the company computer but…

After a moment of hesitation, the young C.E.O. had clicked on the new email and blinked at what pulled up.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Mr. Drake,

My name is Marinette Dupain Cheng. I believe that we ran into each other quite literally a month and a half ago, approximately. As I am sure that you have at least seen the fictitious stories floating through the media, I assume that you are aware of the interaction that I am referring to.

Originally, I had no intention of reaching out, but a friend of mine encouraged me to reach out. (had actually was the one to give me your email. Does the name Jason Todd ring a bell?) I do hope that this whole press fiasco hasn’t hindered you too terribly.

Kindest Regards,

Marinette Dupain Cheng

Tim blinked once before rereading the short email that the girl had sent. No. no way. She knew Jason? And what did she mean, Jason was the one to encourage her to reach out? Opening up a new draft, Tim hesitated before flicking his wrists to rid himself of tension and trying his reply.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Miss Dupain Cheng,

I was surprised to receive your email, but it seems that it came at a fortunate time. Yes, I do know Jason Todd. I know him quite well, actually. He and I were adopted by the same man, Bruce Wayne. If you don’t mind me asking, how did you meet my brother?

I must apologize, for the whole scandal from last month. I know that neither of us were directly responsible, but I do feel bad for any trouble it may have caused you. If it is not too much of an intrusion, I might also ask, how were you able to respond so quickly? The only reason I knew about the incident was Bruce’s old friend Jared. The man came into my office in a fit about the nerve of the photographer.

(if you ever meet the man, you will understand what I mean when I say that he never does things halfway. He had picked up a copy of every magazine or tabloid that ran a story about it. When he came in, he actually brought his crocodile as well. Fang scared the lobby staff more than anything has for the past bit, I believe.)

I hope this finds you well,

Timothy Drake Wayne

After reading through his email one more time to make sure it sounded professional enough, Tim hit the send button and let out a deep breath that he didn’t know he had been holding. He didn’t know why, but he had a feeling that this was the start of something important.

Suddenly, Tim was very glad he hadn’t read the girl’s file.

As he was preparing to head to yet another meeting later that afternoon, Tim glanced at his personal email again. To his surprise, the teen was met with another email from the French girl.

From: [email protected]

To: [email protected]

Mr. Drake (or is it Drake Wayne?)

Jason was sitting next to me when I opened your last email. Imagine my surprise when he panicked. Apparently, he had decided against informing any of his family of his departure. I must say, his reaction was quite entertaining.

Onto your question from your email, Penny Rolling, a good friend of mine, dropped off a box full of the tabloid trash that her husband, Jagged had shipped to her as soon as she got it. After my initial reaction, the two of us got a good laugh out of the whole situation. Especially when we heard that Jagged tried to bring Fang into your office! I guess to you, he would be Jared, but to me, he will always be my Uncle Jagged.

In other news, I thought it would be polite to pass on that Jason will be returning in the next few days. He has been fretting over a family emergency, not that he will tell me what it is but, there is only so much I can do. However, I thought it might be prudent to forewarn you that he will be bringing my grandmother back with him. Nona said it was something to do with one of his ‘side hustles’. Knowing those two, however, makes me think that Jason has gotten himself into something significantly illegal this time.

No need to apologize for something that neither of us could control! You did not ask for the photographer to take that ridiculous photo, nor did you ask for the fiction writers who work for the tabloids to write a piece of the photo. That said, I do feel that it has opened many new avenues. I know that Jason and I reconnected because of the photo, and it has given my lawyers something to focus on while we wait on proceedings for other matters.

Have a good day,

Marinette Dupain Cheng

Jason was coming home sooner than he planned. It seemed like Tim’s text had actually gotten through to his older brother.

With a sigh, he marked the email as important so that he would remember to respond to it before he started on his homework.

The teen C.E.O. snagged his thermos of coffee on the way out the door, he had a meeting to go to.

And...there it is! this week I'm going to try and work out my posting schedule. what did everyone think of the emails?

i know that there are a lot more people in the Wayne/bat family, so I'm going to work them in a little bit at a time. as far as Dick Grayson is concerned, btw he knows about the scandal but not about Jason's sister or that he's not in Gotham.

MasterPost

Tag List

@moonlitceleste @redscarlet95 @ultimatetornshipper @mochegato @liquid-luck-00 @maskedpainter

@trippingovermyfeet @nathleigh @m0chick0furan @susiej1118@t1dwarrior-of-earth

#a moment in time fic #miraculous ladybug #ml x dc #mlb #timari #timinette #sibling!jasonette #Cat!marinette

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bellaslilpapercut · 3 years

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Oh boy New Moon! I've got some Thoughts a brewin' babey:

1. Smeyer: you do not need to remind your audience what happened last book, they aren't stupid. Imagine if SC started catching fire with ANOTHER explanation of what the hunger games are and that's the vibe of the first chapters of new moon. We remember james, we know what vampires are, we know that Bella is white, stop reminding us!

2. Bella has the worst self esteem of all time. Every bad thing that has happened to her since the Van Incident has been Edward's fault but she still blames herself and idk if this is Intentional Insecurity or if smeyer is protecting edward's "character" or both but gdamn it's depressing.

3. The reason I said Jasper was Inconsistently Written jumped out at me again. Smeyer dedicated a whole paragraph to pointing out how terrible jasper is at the diet or whatever but in the guide, smeyer tells us jasper actively tried to starve himself in the past because of how difficult his gift made feeding. He was one of only two Cullens to show bella empathy, he smelled her blood before, why does he attack her? The weakness of this decision is pointed out in the exposition: if it really were likely that Jasper would attack Bella, she wouldn't have needed a superfluous paragraph dedicated to telling us how bad he is at self control. If the story had convinced us of that beforehand, we would have believed the attack without the addendum.

4. The party is my least favorite part of the whole series and I will die on this hill: edward should have attacked bella. Bella should have tripped into something glass and edward should have lost it because he tasted her blood before and couldn't help himself. That way: edwards self loathing makes sense and he's forced to recon with his superiority complex from the ending chapters of twilight AND bella's self blame makes sense. A vamp who was able to starve himself before he even heard of the cullens should not have lost it around someone he spent days in close quarters with, building rapport and friendship. Edward got too high and mighty after he fed from Bella in Twilight, that should have had real consequence.

5. The writing is getting a little better as we near Edward leaving. "Better" isn't a good word actually but it's getting closer to the prose in twilight (which was flowery and annoying but at least it didn't constantly feel like being spoonfed exposition every paragraph). Hm wrote this blurb while I was still on chapter 3 and the vibe of being spoonfed reminders has not really dissipated lmfao.

We remember Sam Uley, smeyer, you introduced him four chapters ago. Just quick question: did anyone proofread this?? I think it's fair to say: when she isn't reminding us of things that we remember the prose is more similar to twilight. A little annoying but interesting enough to forgive the errors (or at least move past them easily enough lol).

6. I'm on chapter 8 now (I'm gonna break this up into three parts so I don't forget stuff like I did during the twilight reread) and there's a very heavy Vibe that smeyer is setting Jake up to be a parallel for twilight-era Bella. This line here is a pretty clear parallel for Bella telling Edward not to hold his breath in Twilight when he tells her she might get tired of him.

7. This line here "almost happy in a shallow kind of way" really jumped out. What Bella's narration says about Jacob versus her conversations with him (and her one paragraph about his happiness being effortlessly contagious) are at odds. It doesn't read like shallow happiness when she's with Jake. However, Smeyer is also a bad writer, she thinks the story she's telling us is literally what the narration says and not what the action shows and I think she realizes this in Eclipse (but obviously I'm not there yet so I can't say for sure).

8. I really can't get over the drop in writing quality. I know that she had already mostly finished Forever Dawn by the time Twilight was published (or was halfway done, I think her website said she had over 300 pages of forever dawn complete when she found out Twilight was getting published). I think the writing quality really reveals that she was not prepared to write New Moon. It's sloppier than Twilight in a way I'm not able to articulate (by that I mean I personally have a more intuitive than technical understanding of grammar and syntax so I don't have the language to break down the differences). Twilight itself is ripe with technical errors and plot errors and awkward exposition so it's not an overt drop in quality but I think it very much reads like a rushed writing job. She was committed to forever dawn, her publishers wanted New Moon, it shows.

9. I think New Moon was when I first started physically editing my copies of the saga lol. Even reading it now I'm so tempted to open up a word document and cut half of the useless shit out and fix all the grammatical mistakes. I can't even talk shit because I am also a comma-abuser but I hoped an editor would at least catch the errors before publishing. Guess not! Brevity is very clearly not meyers strong suit and this would have been a much stronger sequel if she had been able to reign herself in a bit. New Moon isn't supposed to be as narration heavy as twilight, there's already more action in the first seven chapters than the there was in the first 19 of twilight but she always delivers exposition via awkward dialogue or Bella's narration. Again, we already got a lot of the exposition in twilight, we know how vampires work et cetera. You can show us how bella feels instead of making her tell us and the story would run a lot more smoothly.

10. I'll end on a nice note! Little treat!

This is my favorite part of the book so far. I whited-out the useless dialogue tag because the line reads better without it ( line originally ends with "I emphasized" but she could have been brief and just ended the dialogue with an exclamation point for the same effect). The dialogue is natural and shows the J/B relationship that lives in my head way better than anything else I've seen on the page at this point. Like, I literally love this line more than any dialogue that preceded it (including twilight) lol.

#new moon reread #its taken me so long to get through these first chapters because its physically painful lmfao #i think when jacob comes in it gets more enjoyable if im remembering correctly #though im sure the writing quality will be equal to twilight at best #i wish anyone else in the world had written jacob black #everything about his character from the jump has been to serve bella's story #and everything about bella was to serve edward #i think i will write a meta on that eventually

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little-kat07 · 3 years

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The Perfect Cake

[OH MY GOD GUYS LOOK WHAT I FOUND!!!

A couple days ago, i suddenly remembered that I HAVE AN AO3 ACCOUNT. I completely forgot I had one. So I went back and looked at my works and holy hell guys, I had a ONESHOT BOOK! BUT I DIDN’T KNOW WHAT ONESHOTS WERE SO I CALLED THEM ‘Sanders Stories’, BECAUSE THEY WERE SANDERS SIDES. THEY’RE KIND OF CRAPPY BUT ALSO REALLY NOSTALGIC AND I’M SO HAPPY I FOUND THEM!!!!

This one particular one is called “The Perfect Cake,” and i’m actually kind of proud of past me for it, even though it’s not that good. It’s fluffy Logicality with a gallon of Patton angst because that is literally all I’m good at writing.

So I’m going to leave this here, as well as a link to the book! GUYS I’M JUST SO HAPPY!]

[In case you’re confused, the link I send will be to the whole book so the first chapter isn’t the one that I’m pasting here. This chapter, The Perfect Cake, is the second oneshot and the first one is prinxiety]

Link to book

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Pairings: Logicality

TW: Baking, feelings of worthlessness, crying, birthday, breakdown

Summary: It’s Logan’s birthday tomorrow, and Patton is determined to bake the PERFECT cake for it (Even if he hasn’t baked that much before.) He’s trying his best, but he can’t do it alone.

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Patton stood in the center of the kitchen.

He often had the same feeling in his stomach before he cooked something big; He had to mentally prepare himself for hours of work.

Logan's Birthday was tomorrow, and Patton had to make it the best possible birthday! This was the anniversary of the first day Thomas went to preschool- the day Logan was formed.

Patton remembered that day like it was yesterday. He remembered a small toddler with an intelligent sparkle in his eye knocking on the door of the commons, he remembered how he swore Patton's hugs might suffocate someone. He remembered growing up with him, and slowly falling in love, and-

Shoot. No. These emotions weren't logical, it was impossible for Logan to like Patton back. He had to stop thinking like that.

Illogical feelings or not, tomorrow was Logan's day to shine, and it had to be perfect. Patton had to bake the most amazing, most beautiful, most delicious cake ever to grace the Mind-scape.

Patton took a deep breath and got to work.

After a few hours, Patton had been worked to death. He had been trying and trying to make the perfect cake, but it was always just wrong, or the product of a mistake. His pink apron was wrinkled and dirty, and he had streaks of batter all over his face. He had started at 6 am, and it was now 8. He sighed and rubbed his face, grateful that he still had his optimism.

"Patton? You ok, Padre?"

Patton turned to find Roman standing in the kitchen doorway, eyes sparking with worry.

Patton smiled. "Oh, I'm alright, kiddo. Just trying to bake a cake for Logan. I can't seem to get it right."

Roman smirked and came in. "Want some help? I've never baked before, but I'll help if it's bothering you."

Patton grinned and gave the Prince a huge hug. "Thank you so much, kiddo! I'm sure you will be a great help!"

Oh, how wrong Patton had been.

Virgil had often joked about how Roman wouldn't stop singing to save his life, and Patton was pretty sure that was true. Every 5 minutes, just as they started to get some work done, the prince would start belting out lyrics to disney songs or dancing around the kitchen. They got as far as perfectly mixing the batter before Patton had to stop him.

"Look, kiddo..." Patton started, rubbing his hands together and trying to find a way to put this nicely. "You helped me make the perfect batter, and I am so proud of you for that, but I think maybe you should clock out? You have been a great help, but you... Um... Sing a lot." Patton winced, afraid Roman was going to be offended.

Roman nodded in understanding and put a hand on patton's shoulder. "Hey, don't worry about it. I know I can be distracting. Do you want me to go see if Virgil will help you?"

Patton nodded, thankful. "That would be great!"

Roman left the kitchen yelling "HOT TOPIC! PAT WANTS YOU!"

Patton watched him go with a proud smile, and then turned to clean up the kitchen.

Just as he was halfway through cleaning, Virgil came into the kitchen with his hood up. "Sup', Pop star?"

Patton grinned and gave Virgil a big hug, which the emo reluctantly returned. "My dark, strange son! I am baking a cake for Logan’s birthday, and I need your help!" Patton pulled away from Virgil, smiling. "Roman already helped me make the batter, but he can be a bit much in the kitchen. Would you mind helping out for the rest of the process?"

Virgil shrugged. "I have nothing better to do."

Patton knew that that was Virgil's way of saying "I would love to."

Virgil was very helpful cleaning up the kitchen. He had a sort of efficient way of doing things, just one after the other, not saying a word. It was kind of satisfying to watch.

It got a bit hectic after that, though. Once they were done cleaning, they had to pour the batter into the pans. It was going to be a big cake, like, "Corpse Bride" big. So they had to use multiple pans and lots of batter. Virgil had violently shaky hands, and had lots of trouble pouring the batter in. In the end, Patton had to pour all the batter himself, and the kitchen ended up very messy.

Virgil's eyeshadow was darker than when he had initially come in. "I-im sorry... I didn't mean to mess up, I just-"

Patton smiled at him and pulled him into a hug. "No no, you didn't do anything wrong, kiddo! You just had a little trouble with steadying your hands. I'm very proud of you for helping me clean up, but maybe we should get someone else to help us here? Maybe Jan?"

Virgil smirked sadly. "I think maybe i'll duck out for now, but I'll tell Janus you want his help."

"Thanks, son!"

Virgil stepped out of the kitchen yelling "HEY SNAKE BOY!"

Patton sighed. This was not going the way he had wanted it to. He did realize that if Janus ended up being bad at this, his last choice was Remus, and he was terrified of going down that road.

He had just cleaned the batter from the stovetop when Janus walked into the kitchen. "Hey Pat, did you need something?"

Pat smiled tiredly. "Hey, Janjan. I was going to bake a cake for Logan, but i'm having some trouble. Roman and Virge weren't so good at it, so I wanted to see if you would help?"

Jan rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm tooooootally not disappointed that you worked with Emo and Sir Singalot before you thought about the second smartest person here," He said sarcastically.

"Mm-hm!" Patton managed to say before taking a deep breath to control himself.

Janus helped Patton bake the cake and even out the tops with a bread knife. The next thing they had to do was spread the buttercream filling on the layers so they could be stacked.

Jan looked in the fridge like Patton told him to. "I don't see the buttercream."

Patton walked over and scanned the fridge. It was gone.

He took a few deep breaths and ran a hand through his hair. "Where the heck is it? If I have to make more, I swear I will-"

"Make more of what?" Remus poked his head into the kitchen curiously.

"The buttercream filling for Logan's cake is gone."

Remus cocked his head. "Buttercream? Hmmm... OH! Yeah, I ate that."

Patton's eyes widened. "You did WHAT?" Remus smiled fearfully while Patton yelled. "THE ONE THING YOU EAT THAT IS ACTUAL FOOD, AND IT HAS TO BE THE BUTTERCREAM?"

For once, Janus looked worried. "Patton, are you ok? You aren't acting like yourself..."

The dad side breathed in and out rapidly, his hands running through his hair. He tried to calm himself down- He was the happy side, not the angry side. He could get through this. "I'm fine. I'm calm. I can do this."

"Gee, I'm sorry, Pat," Said Remus. He suddenly grinned. "I can throw it up for you, if you want!"

"NO! No, no. I think we will be ok," Janus said, pushing Remus out of the room. He turned to face Pat. "Patpat, are you ok?"

Janus sometimes called Patton Patpat, mostly as payback for Patton calling him Janjan. But when the two became good friends, they used them as nicknames instead.

"I'm fine, Janjan. I'm just having some feelings. Feelings are okay though! I'm ok."

Janus sighed. "If you say so."

They worked together to make a new batch of buttercream, allowing the cake to cool. The original buttercream had been baby blue, but Patton had no more baby blue dye, so they used indigo instead. They layered and stacked the cake with the buttercream, used support sticks to keep the cake from falling over, and then started to layer it with dark blue fondant.

Patton looked over at Janus. "Would you mind taking off the gloves? Sorry, but this is very delicate and I think you should use your bare hands."

Janus frowned. "I shouldn't. I have scales on my left hand, if I use it, it will leave a scale imprint on the fondant."

Patton blinked sadly at him. "Oh, ok."

Patton handled the fondant, and as he fit it into place, he thought the cake looked beautiful. "Only one thing left to do: DECORATE!!!"

Patton was an amazing decorator.

After years of theming cookies and cupcakes to each side, baking birthday cakes, and writing messages in crofters jelly for a scavenger hunt, Patton had a handle on how to make things look presentable. Right now, It was a giant 3-layer cake with blue fondant covering, but soon, it would be a masterpiece.

Janus coughed uncomfortably behind Patton. "Um... Since i'm not very good at this stuff... Can I go? I have my own present I wanted to work on."

Patton smiled at him. "Sure! Don't spoil anything to Lolo, ok?"

Deceit nodded and almost left the kitchen before turning back and saying, "Uh, hey, Patpat? Don't stress yourself out too much, 'Kay?"

Patton nodded back. "Of course."

Janus smiled, relieved, and left.

---

Patton was SO TIRED.

It was 8 in the morning on Logan's Birthday. Patton had worked all night on that cake and when he had finally finished it, he went right to bed without doing anything in between. He had just woken up, feeling groggy and confused, but he made himself get out of bed because it was Logan's special day.

Logan woke up that day happy. He knew that a birthday was pointless, it was a celebration of one year passing in an entities life, it made no logical sense. But if the other sides wanted to shower him with attention once per fricking year, he did not want to miss this chance.

Patton got out of bed the last out of all the others. Logan had woken up to the other four sides, Janus, Remus, Roman, and Virgil ready for him in the living room with gifts and treats. Logan had thought that Patton would be the first there, energized and grinning, the way he always was. But Patton was nowhere in sight.

When Patton did come out, he put on his best happy face and gave Logan the biggest hug he could muster. Logan smiled a little. "To this day, I swear, your hugs might suffocate someone!"

Patton laughed and grinned at him, just happy he had gotten through yesterday.

First, they made breakfast. Jan made waffles with crofters jelly and eggs, and they all sat around the table reminiscing about the past. They talked about when logan first got his glasses, when he had a stutter, and everything else that Patton could remember. Which was everything, since Patton kept every memory stored in his room.

Next, they had gifts. Roman gave him a lab in the imagination; with chemistry sets, a telescope, and books upon books upon books. It was his own little area in Roman's realm so Logan could enjoy himself every now and then. Virgil gave him a dictionary of every word in the world, in every language. Janus gave him a replica of the Library of Alexandria, with all of the scrolls and books still there. "The original one was burned down with all of it's knowledge," he said, "So here is-" "OH MY GOD I LOVE IT THANK YOU!" Remus gave Logan an animal to dissect. But it wasn't a real animal, it was something Remus had made to give Logan something to do.

Patton promised Logan that his gift would come after dinner. He felt as though his cake paled in comparison to all of the gifts his friends had given. I mean, the Library of Alexandria? Patton sunk lower in his chair.

After gifts, they had lunch in a beautiful field that Roman had created, where the flies ate grass instead of your food, and every bird was adorned with beautiful shimmering colors and tail feathers. They had PB&J sandwiches (with crofters, of course), Goldfish, and apples. They talked for hours about nothing in particular, every now and then asking Roman about the creatures that walked by.

Logan was having a great time, but something seemed off. He looked around at the group and his eyes settled on Patton. The more he looked at him, the more tired he seemed. Logan noticed shadows under Patton's eyes for the first time, and saw that his smile was beginning to look more and more forced. Logan began to worry that one of them had done something wrong. The usual bundle of joy and energy that was Patton looked a lot more docile and tired than before.

Once it started to get dark (because Roman had set a day-night cycle in the imagination just so they would know when to go) they went back to the commons for dinner. Janus cooked some brown sugared ham with peas and rice, while Patton left to get the cake ready.

As Patton walked into the kitchen, he took a look at the cake on the pedestal. Dark fondant with baby blue frosting in swirls, and a little fondant necktie decoration on the second tear to tease about Logan's necktie. The name "Logan" was scribbled in white frosting on top.

He remembered the tall pillars in the Library of Alexandria Jan had made, he remembered the sparkling equipment Roman had conjured. He remembered the giant dictionary, the animal-

Patton looked at the cake and sighed. He honestly didn't know what he was thinking. But this was what he had done. He would just have to work with it, and maybe make up for it with a different gift later.

He picked up the large cake in his arms. It was very heavy, and there was one whole room between the kitchen and the dining room; the living area. Patton just had to bring it over.

He left the kitchen with the cake, and he was doing well with it considering he couldn't see his feet, and then he tripped.

...and then he tripped.

His foot caught against something on the ground and he stumbled, causing the cake to drop out of his arms and onto the floor. It fell sideways, and broke upon impact, and the cake broke up on the floor. Bits and pieces everywhere. Patton had fallen, and he had scraped his elbow, but he didn't care. He didn't care anymore.

He had spent a whole god-forsaken day trying to get this right. He remembered Roman's singing, Virgil's shaky hands, Remus's eating habits, Janus' scales, and he could feel himself sinking into the ground. He just wanted this to be perfect. Logan deserved something perfect.

The cake was broken, and the world was quiet, and Patton wondered for a moment if he had gone deaf. The Mindscape was silent. He felt the tears on his cheeks, but he didn't cry. Patton was the joyful and happy side, so he didn't cry. Water fell from his eyes in waterfalls and rivers across his skin, but he wasn't crying, that's not how he worked. Even when sobs racked his body and made his chest hurt. He wasn't crying.

It was just a god forsaken cake, why the heck was he crying? It was just a cake. It was just a cake.

Shoot, this isn't ABOUT THE CAKE.

Logan and all the other sides sat in the dining room, talking happily about whatever came to mind. Patton had left to get the cake, but he hadn't come back yet. Logan had eaten his dinner and was now staring at the door. He tried to focus on the conversation, but he thought Patton seemed a little late.

"Hey, Nerd, whatcha' looking at?" Roman asked, walking up behind his chair, bending down, and following Logan's line of sight.

Logan didn't turn his gaze from the door. "I feel like Pat should have been back by now. Actually, Roman, maybe you could check on him?"

Behind Logan's back, Roman and Virgil exchanged a glance, and Roman understood immediately.

"Actually, Lo, maybe you should go check on him? It is your cake after all."

Logan stood up from his chair and walked out of the dining room. "I suppose so."

Virgil snickered. "Oh my god, he is so oblivious. I ship them so badly..."

Logan walked out of the dining room and almost choked.

Patton was on the floor, with his hands in his face. Was he crying? Patton didn't cry. He was too happy to cry. He was too fricking perfect to cry. WHO THE HECK MADE PAT CRY?

Then logan saw the floor. The cake, he realized, was broken up and smashed to bits on the ground. The fondant was ripped apart, save for a small black fondant necktie. Patton must have dropped the cake. It looked like it had been big.

Logan didn't hesitate for a second. He kneeled down beside Patton, wrapping his arms around him and quietly letting him sob.

Patton felt someone's arms around him, and they had glasses, he knew, because the glasses were pressed against his temple. But that meant it was Logan. Logan was here, and he can see the cake, and he is probably so mad. Patton wrapped his arms around Logan and cried into his shoulder. He didn't like Logan to be angry. Hugs fixed that. Right?

"Pat? Patton, don't cry, what's wrong?"

Patton could barely find the breath to speak.

"I-I dropped it. The thing... I-I mess-Messed up... It's all g-gone..."

"Shhhh. Shhh, it's not your fault, don't worry. Patton, I love the cake. It's looks like it was beautiful, thank you."

Patton just kept sobbing, his glasses getting foggy. Logan knew the side was emotional, but really, it was just a cake, and Logan wasn't even mad at Patton. In fact, Logan didn't think he was capable of being mad at Patton.

Patton was sad about the cake. Of course, it was horribly destroyed, and he had spent a long, tiresome day making it perfect. And now it was all gone, and Patton had no gift to give.

To Pat, this was bigger than that though. Logan was supposed to have the perfect birthday, but Patton had messed all of that up. He had nothing to give logan. Every day of his life, his goal was to give something, to be helpful, and to care for others. He had messed up today.

"I-i don't know wh-what to do. I just... I just wanted-d to g-give you something. I-It's a-all gone n-now. Th-the d-day is ruined."

Logan frowned. What would someone with a better sense of emotions say? Seeing Patton like this made him so sad, what could he do?

He remembered something Pat had said to him a long time ago, when he was getting used to emotions. 'When someone is feeling down, speak from the heart! The best thing you can do is tell them the truth, and if they don't like it, then they have a right to feel a little sad. But you should still try!'

"Pat, I know you are sad. I understand that you wanted to make this a good day, but it WAS a good day. I enjoyed every moment of today. Sure, the cake is messed up, but it's the thought that counts, and you are already the best gift I could ask for."

Patton looked up in confusion. "Me?"

Logan was usually really bad at emotions, but right now, emotions seemed to be all he could muster. "You are so caring and joyful. And sweet. And kind. And I don't care about the cake, or any gift you give me, the fact that you are so set on making me feel cared for is enough. I'm just happy you're here, ok?"

Logan brushed a tear from Patton's eye and smiled. "I'm just happy you're here."

#sanders sides #logicality #ts logicality #logans sanders #patton sanders #tss #ts patton #ts logan #logan x patton #patton x logan #tw crying #tw baking #tw breakdown

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the-sunshine-dims · 3 years

Text

amnesia rewrite! (chapter 4)

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 3 | ch 5 | ch 6 | ch 7 | ch 8 |

original fic

words: 2043

ao3

contents and warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, amnesia, kid!janus, Janus finally gets a hug himself, fluff,

____

Roman couldn’t help but exhale a breath as he finished up explaining the situation to Remus and Virgil, “Any questions?”

To his relief, no one said anything, Virgil just shrugging at the question. He counted that as a small victory, especially since he was awful at explaining the answers to most questions, actually, why did he keep getting posted at the task of telling people when he was so bad at it? both Patton and Logan would be better at it than him, he was sure of it.

His train of thought came to a halt when Remus spoke up abruptly, his voice both more steady and more serious than Roman’s ever heard it “if that’s the situation then I think I need to stay away from him if J-J started sobbing when he found out the old king-y dude was all-'' he made a slicing of his neck motion along with the noise to go with it -“then I can’t imagine what his reaction would be if my thoughts voiced themselves like they usually do, while around him. So unless he actually asks for me, which I don’t think’ll happen, I’ll just hang out in the dark side, ooh! and I can experiment with the stuff that got banned for melting the floors! I wonder what would happen if I put it in cupcakes-“ he giggled maniacally to himself at the realization no one would be there to supervise him.

Roman cut him off, “I think for the most part your right, I don’t know how much he can handle right now, and we don’t want to overwhelm him, so yeah okay, Though I’ll make sure they’ll be someone to check on you so your not completely to your own devices because I imagine Janus wouldn’t want his room smelling like chemicals and.. whatever else you use for your... art projects.” He told him, ignoring the last bit of what Remus said. Honestly Roman was kind of proud of his brother, he was a lot more caring and considerate than he let on.

he gave him a small smile before quietly going “I’m glad Janus has you as a friend, you care about him.”

Remus rolled his eyes like a petulant teenager, it wasn’t like he was doing something super amazing for Janus Afterall, he was just being a generally decent person, he knew his presence might hurt Janus currently so he wasn’t actively going to be around him for a minute and sure yeah he cared about him but he cared for the sentiment slime goop in his room too so it wasn’t that big a deal.

As Roman and Remus continued their conversation Virgil slipped out of the room silently, unnoticed. not offering a reason for leaving.

____

Janus walked down the corridor, fingers brushing against the walls, feeling the textures, every now and then the paint changed into a different color, he would guess it was Morality and Roman’s doing since it often went from soft light blues to vibrant reds, making only small breaks to show swirly designs in purples and dark blues. he liked to feel how the different paint changed the texture, even ever so slightly, it was kinda cool to him, and it was something to do while Roman and the others were busy-

he reeled back immediately as soon as he felt his face slam into someone, luckily it didn't hurt much as the crash was cushioned with soft fabric, regardless though embarrassment still curled up and made itself at home in the pit of his stomach as the realization of he ran into someone finally dawned on him.

After the initial shock subsided, he just started apologizing profusely “I’m sorry! I’m so so sorry!! I didn’t mean to run into you! Are you- are you okay?” He asked as he finally looked up to see who the side he ran into was,

Their face was pale and freckle-clad and.. he knew him!

He gasped excitedly as he began giddily clapping his hands “wait! Hi!! Anxiety I remember you!” He grinned, ignoring how anxiety still hadn’t spoken up, he used to be very quiet so maybe he’s just still like that, either way, he continued “actually Wait- I remember you with a different jacket.. but! I like this one. It's cool!! I like the purple patches!- oh!! Also, guess what! morality and Logic have names! Isn’t that cool?”

Virgil shrugged and Janus took that as an invitation to continue.

“Do you have a name too? I bet if you do it’s cool! Like Ummm… uh- what’s a cool name?” He pondered aloud, not able to think of anything besides names like thor-Bonecrusher or other stuff of that variety.

Anxiety once again shrugged and Janus accepted that well enough; maybe anxiety just didn’t have a name, so Janus didn’t push, but he did continue chattering on happily enough.

At some point, Virgil started to continue walking, if slowly, down the hallway, to where he was trying to go originally, Janus immediately following him like an excited golden retriever puppy as he talked about.. hell knows what, Virgil couldn’t keep track. But regardless of that, honestly, Virgil didn’t think he minded Janus’s presence as much as he thought he would, he was fully willing to just avoid him when He left the conversation with Roman and Remus, not because he would accidentally harm Janus like Remus- well he might Virgil.. tended to be way to blunt but sometimes with things that annoy him, and earlier he was pretty certain Janus would only annoy him, hell, earlier all he wanted to do was avoid Janus because he knew he was still Janus and quite honestly he didn’t want to deal with Janus.

Though honestly Janus himself, while kind of annoying and overdramatic, wasn’t.. awful, like Virgil pretended he was, he inwardly sighed before just ignoring that specific train of thought, something he was actually pretty accustomed and successful at doing.

As he got around to tuning back into what Janus was doing all he heard silence, which given any other time he may have been happy for But this silence is almost.. somber? He looked over quickly and found Janus looking at the floor as he walked, though much slower than before, hell now he was actually walking a distance behind Virgil.

He was already looking at Janus but he could only double-take as he heard a small voice go “I’m sorry…” it trailing off after a minute before continuing, obviously unsure of what it had done wrong but assuming it’d done something “I- I don’t know what I did but I’m sorry! I don’t wanna be mean I promise! If you just tell me what I did I won’t do it again I promise! I’ll be nice! I- ‘m sorry.. ’m sorry..” his voice cracked and got smaller as he wrung his hands nervously.

And Virgil could only quietly go “shit I messed up.” because he could recognize the signs as much as anyone that Janus was halfway to spiraling, and honestly, Virgil couldn’t blame him after all they were walking a very long 15 minutes because somehow the hallway went on forever, and Virgil doesn’t know 90% of what Janus said because he just stopped listening and on top of that he hadn’t even spoken a word to the kid- and that was weird to think of him as a kid, but he was, he was an impressionable, anxious kid who desperately wanted other people to like him, and that on top of anything meant he probably thought Virgil was just ignoring him for something he didn’t even remember doing.

And he could only panic quickly as Janus’s eyes remained dead set on the floor, and he didn’t know if Janus was trying to disappear into it or if it was him trying to hide the fact his eyes were starting to get glossy with unshed tears because he wholeheartedly thought Virgil hated him- and oh fuck he really did fuck up.

He tried to think of what Patton did to comfort him and in an act of pure panic brain, he scooped him up in a secure hug and hoped that would help.

The result was Janus going almost limp before starting to dry hiccup as he tried to force the tears away after a moment he just confusedly went “but- but you didn’t wanna talk to me And you were ignoring me and you looked really annoyed and-“ he started wiggling from Virgil’s hold “no- wait don’t worry you don’t have to be nice to me if you don’t like me- I promise you don’t have to!” He rushed in telling him, trying to scramble so he wasn’t leaning on Virgil and Jesus this was almost as bad as when they all went to Virgil’s room with how anxious Janus was, he could practically feel the anxiety radiating off.

And he realized he really did have to actually talk to Janus, he wasn’t gonna get less anxious just by getting a hug, Virgil wasn’t Patton he didn’t have that magical ability, so he loosened his hold on Janus just enough to get Janus to stop trying to accidentally on purpose fall onto the floor before just going “I don’t dislike you,” and just those words alone made Janus go completely still, so Virgil continued “and I didn’t mean to Ignore you I just got lost in thought, though that’s definitely not an excuse, because even if I didn’t mean to I did, but the important part is i- I like you,” he told him, not confidently, because while he knew he would be lying if he said he disliked him he didn’t have enough time to sort through his emotions to confidently say he liked him.

But regardless of how uncertain Virgil sounded, Janus still looked up at him with eyes so filled with hesitance but also soft gentle hope as he shakily went “promise? No lies?”

Virgil offered a small smile, “promise, no lies.” He repeated and Janus barreled into him in a hug,

And As Virgil wrapped his arms around the shortest side for the second time in five minutes which has got to be some kind of record- he realized hey he was a lot better at this whole comforting thing than he thought he would be, which wasn’t really saying a lot but hey.

After a while of just standing there, the awkwardness and strain of standing still in a random hallway motivated Janus to unwrap his arms from around Virgil and retrieve his face from his being buried in Virgil’s chest.

And that only made it more awkward because now they were both just standing in the hallway literally just staring at each other.

So Janus, deciding he hated when stuff was awkward just went “do you know anything fun to do? I’m bored and morality and Logic and Roman are all busy.”

Virgil visibly thought to himself about options before going “are you in a movie mood or music mood? Or if you’re in none of them we might just have to kidnap Roman and see if he has ideas.”

Janus hummed before just happily going “I like music!” practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Virgil smiled before he got an idea, “do you like my chemical romance?” He asked and Janus seemed confused at what that was but eventually decided if Virgil liked it then Janus will like it too, so Janus just nodded in reply and just Virgil grinned.

——

Later Logan had to ask them to quiet down because he needed to work and couldn’t focus and he was almost certain that they were gonna damage their eardrums since he could hear the loud shouts of the lyrics coming from the speakers while in the kitchen, though, even if he failed at getting them to turn it down he was glad they were getting along, Janus was practically bouncing with how gleeful he was, even Virgil had a small smile on his face, so logan supposed even if later they had headaches from the blasting music as long as they were still happy it would be okay in the long run.

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elysiashelby · 4 years

Text

In Another World - T. Shelby Imagine Ch. 3.3

Paring: (Eventual) Thomas Shelby x Aliena Welsh (OC)

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Word Count: 4, 479

WARNINGS: Cursing

Summary: Aliena Welsh has been living in the universe of the show Peaky Blinders for 7 months now. Tommy and Aliena have worked out a bargain on how he should be dealing with his PTSD. Will it help him? Or will it just make everything awkward? Also, she travels to London with Ada, but ends up making a new acquaintance.

MASTERLIST CHAPTER 3.2 CHAPTER 4

A/N: This chapter and 3.2 are both considered extras. You can move onto chapter 4 without really reading them. I honestly wrote chapter 4 before 3.2 and 3.3. So, that will explain why Ch. 4 is a little different. THANKS FOR READING!

“Ali, wake up.”

Instantly, me eyes opened and Tommy was there towering over me with his hand on me shoulder.

“What?” I asked, kind of annoyed.

“Get in the bed. You have about 30 more minutes before you need to get up, all right?”

All I heard was get in the bed.

Say no more, sir, I will!

With me feet, I launched meself into his bed and pulled the covers over me body. Me left arm and neck ached like a mother, but I was determined to go back to sleep.

Through squinted eyes, I watched him leave and once he did, I closed me eyes.

When me eyes opened again, I checked the clock. I only had a minute left to myself. I sighed tiredly. I ruffled the front of me hair, playing with it a little bit then hauled myself up. I made up Tommy’s bed, then left.

I opened the door to me room, went in, and immediately walked to the mirror. I looked at me bruises. There was literally like no change. I sucked on me teeth before looking away.

‘What the kinel am I going to do now?’

I didn’t have another turtleneck dress. I huffed while shuffling through me clothes. There was absolutely nothing in me closet that would cover me neck. I picked a dress that had like a “mid-necklike.” It didn’t cover it fully, but it got most of it.

I got down on me knees, laid flat on the ground, and then pulled out me suitcases from under the bed. I opened them both up. I rummaged to find anything that resembled scarfs, and Lady Luck was on me side today ‘cause I found a couple!

I smiled in delight and chose the one that went best with me pale pink dress. I put it on, put back all the items I took out, and slid them underneath me bed. I got up only to take off the scarf because I had to do me hair.

Once I was done, I went downstairs. Polly was there, drinking her morning tea.

“G’morning, Pol.” I said while aiming for the stove.

“Mornin’, Ali.” Polly replied, “Today, I need you to go to get groceries.”

I nodded, but then it struck me. Lizzie’s been getting the groceries for John. I hummed while looking at Pol.

I started. “So, Polly about John’s groceries...?”

“Yes?”

“Last time I got them, the house was already packed.”

“What?” She asked loudly. I heard her cup clink on the table.

“Yeah. I think John found ‘imself a woman.”

“No shit!” Polly huffed before laughing. “Finally! I mean those kids of his have been needing a mother, Ali. They can’t have just you. Besides, you’re the nanny. Oh, I hope it’s someone who won’t break his heart. Did you see her?”

I couldn’t exactly lie to her outright. I mean this woman can tell when Tommy is lying, you think I’m gonna be the exception? Nah.

I nodded. “She had short black hair and was tall. Not taller than ‘im, but way taller than me. Like way taller.”

I heard her light a match then a puff. She chuckled. “Aliena, sorry to break it to you, but everyone is taller than you. Finn will end up passing you in a year!”

Oh, did that make her laugh!

I looked at her from the corner of me eye and made a “tch” sound.

She walked over to me with her arms open, so she could hug me. “Oh, I’m sorry. But you have to admit it. How short are you again?”

“5 feet.” I grumbled.

“What-? What was that?”

“5 feet.” I said clearer this time, but still soft.

Pol stepped away from me and patted my head.

“Ali, you’re only 5 feet?” Ada yelled while coming into the room.

I groaned loudly. I whispered to myself, “For fuck’s sake!”

“Yep, I’m only 5 feet and a quarter of an inch.” I said loudly.

A chair scraped against the floor. “Huh, how about that! I thought that you had to have been, what, 5’2. But, 5 feet, wow!”

“Yeah, shut it.”

Ada had a smug smile. I put her food down in front of her and then Polly’s. I had to finish making me own scran. Ada and Polly were talking. I was just swaying while cooking.

“Aliena, how would you like to have the day off?” Polly asked.

I twirled ‘round to face her. “Really?” The excitement practically dripped from me voice.

“Yeah. You and Ada should go into the city. Have a girls day! I’ll take care of the kids today.”

Me gaze shifted to Ada. Me excitement gone. She avoided me eyes. I sighed. “Okay, then! Thanks so much, Polly!”

I was halfway done with me scran when Polly got up and put her dishes in the sink. She walked over to the both of us and rubbed our shoulders before heading off.

I waited ‘til I heard the door slammed shut and then kicked Ada under the table.

“Ow!”

“What the hell are you roping me into, Ada?” It’s hard to shout and whisper at the same time! She wouldn’t look at me. “Is this about Freddie?”

Her eyes practically bulged out of her head. I poked the inside of me cheek with me tongue, folded me arms, and leaned back against me chair.

“Fuck, Ada! What do you need me for?”

“Pol has been watching me lately! She’s not falling for my stories, so I figured I’d start telling her that I want to spend days off with you. And hey, you get paid leave!” She smiled before getting up and putting her dishes in the sink. “C’mon. I’ll be with you ‘till the afternoon.”

I smoothed out me forehead, resting me elbows on the table.

I muttered. “You’re lucky that I needed to go and buy some new clothes.” I stabbed the fork in me omelet.

Ada and I took a train to London. We looked ‘round a few stores, but we were talking so much that I kept forgetting to buy clothes. True to her word, Freddie came to pick her up after we ate lunch. I was left all alone after that, sitting at a table sipping on hot chocolate.

Yeah, don't care for coffee or tea. So, I opt for hot chocolate. Luckily, it was always cold here, so I get to feel validated!

After finishing me drink, I went back into some of the stores that Ada and I went into. I bought three new dresses that had a turtleneck. I also bought two regular dresses and a nightgown. I would have bought some undergarments, but they were just too different and difficult for me to like understand. They did have cup sizes and yeah! I'm not going to explain it. I'm gonna need Polly or Ada for that adventure.

To be frank, walking around with no supervision was terrifying and liberating at the same time. I was deathly afraid of the possibility of a man dragging me into an alleyway and mug me or... yeah. However, it was also one of me rare moments where I'm being independent.

I was in London on me bill!

I was walking around with me new threads when I was tapped on me shoulder.

"Excuse me, can you help me?" The girl said with an American accent. She was absolutely beautiful despite the fact she looked absolutely bladdered.

"Ye wha?" I slipped out.

"What?"

I shook me head and said. "Sorry, um, I said Pardon. What did you need?"

She chuckled. "Oh, okay! You know I've never heard that accent before. Where's it from?"

As I answered I started taking in her appearance with more detail.

She had dirty blonde hair. "Liverpool. It's Liverpudlian. I can do an American accent, if you can't understand me!"

She was at least 2 to 3 inches taller than me and her eyes were blue.

"Really! I mean you don't have to do it, but I'd love to hear it."

She was quite thin. Her breasts were large, probably bigger than mine. Her body shape might be a pear like mine or maybe an hourglass.

I started to talk with an American accent. "Um, I don't know what to say. So, I'll just say Hi and how are you?"

Her makeup was smeared. Her eyes resembled a raccoon's and her lipstick dragged from the corner of her lip to the middle of her cheek. She had her heels in one hand, leaving her barefoot. Her hair had previously been kept up, but it was now mostly undone.

She giggled. "Oh my god! It's so good! Have you ever been to America? Is that why you're so good at it?"

I nodded. My analysis was over. "I lived there practically my whole life. I learned how to do this to like blend in. Kids are pretty vicious."

"Ugh! Adults too! I always get shit just because I don't have an English accent. I mean I wasn't born here, what do you expect? My dad was born here, though. We came here after my mom died and then he became an MP. So, I'm basically stuck here with no real fucking friends!"

She hummed while picking at the dirt under her fingernails. Then, she clapped and snapped her fingers. "Right! Can you help me get to the Ritz Hotel?"

I laughed and nodded. "Yeah, I can help you. Follow me. You were going the wrong direction, love."

I heard her mutter, "Fuck."

We started walking to the Ritz.

"So, what's your name? I'm Cassiopeia Johnson. But everyone just calls me Cassie."

"Aliena Welsh. So far my nickname has been Ali."

"Did you have a different nickname?"

"A friend who I considered to be my best friend used to call me Rosie. She said she would know I was coming because I brought the scent of roses with me." I smiled at the thought. It was a true story. The girl who I considered to be my best friend back home gave me that nickname because I would always buy rose fragrant stuff.

"How come she still isn't your best friend? Did you guys have a fight?"

"No, actually. It was because I moved here. It was a sudden move. I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye to her." I pretended to be saddened as I looked down at me hands.

Cassie put a hand on me shoulder. "Why don't you send her a letter or something?"

I shook me head before meeting her concerned gaze. "She's off becoming a nurse. I don't want to interrupt her with my drama."

She hummed and removed her hand from me shoulder.

"So, how far are we exactly from the hotel?" Cassie asked me.

I hummed as I wondered. "I think about 20 blocks. That's about a mile, I think."

She groaned loudly. "Fuck! God, that lame party was not worth all this." Cassie rubbed her face with one hand.

I smiled at the sight.

"How old are you, Ali?"

"I'm 16. I'll be turning 17 in January."

"Oh, really! How nice. I'm 17 too! I'm gonna be 18 in February. When? What day were you born? Maybe we have the same zodiac sign!"

I chuckled at her peppy attitude, I just told her me age and she forgot within a split second. "January 24th."

"This can't be real. Mine's the 10th! We're both Aquariuses. This has to be fate or something!" She clasped her hands together as if she was gonna pray.

That's when I gave her a face. I haven’t been around this much energy in a while!

She saw and stopped. "Sorry. I had a lot to drink last night."

I shook my head. "No, you're fine. It's just been a while since I've been around someone so cheerful. And someone who is crazy about horoscopes and zodiac signs. I had another friend who was like that. She used to swear up and down that she was an Gemini even though she was actually a Aries. I think her zodiac sign was correct."

Cassie nodded and smiled. "So, do you live here in London?" Her tone was meek and she kept twisting her hands.

"No. I live in Small Heath, Birmingham."

"Oh…"

There was a slight silence after that.

"Well," Cassie said, "you know where I'm staying at, so maybe if you want to chat sometime? We could?" Her face was red.

I laughed. "Yeah, I'd love to hang out. I work almost all week, though, so that'll be hard."

"You have a job?" She asked, quite shocked might I add.

"Yeah. My parents are dead, so I have to fend for myself. My bosses gave me a room in their house."

"That's just-! Wow! You know I always thought about teaching kids, or working in a flower shop if I ever needed to work. What is it that you do?"

"I'm a nanny-slash-maid. I take care of one of my employer's kids. I make sure they are fed, clothed, bathed. I teach them how to read and write. Then, I make sure that all my employers are fed and that the house all of us live in is clean. I don't do all of the cleaning in the house in its entirety. I get help from my female boss. Her name's Polly. Yeah, she basically splits up the work for me." While talking, I was gesturing with me hands and nodding me head a lot.

"Are they nice?"

"Yeah. Of course, they are. They have to be nice, if they don't want spit in their food." I looked at her and stuck out me tongue. We both laughed.

Cassie grabbed me arm and linked them together.

When I finally managed to deliver her to the hotel, she offered me a ride home. I took her offer. I had to wait for her to get dressed properly, though.

"So, you live here by yourself?" I shouted since she was in the shower.

"Yeah! I come here really on the weekends, or when I don't want to be near my dad! But believe me, Angelica's room is so much bigger." Cassie shouted over the running water.

"Who's Angelica?"

"Angelica Sallow! She's the daughter of Earl William Sallow! She's also been my friend here since I arrived. She's a nice enough girl, to be completely honest, but I don't know. She's so stuck up. She always goes on and on about never getting married. Or, the man needs to realize that he's beneath her for the relationship to work. I swear I pity the poor soul who falls for her. And God, don't even get me started on her shadow!" Cassie walked out with a towel wrapped around her body and another wrapped her hair.

I was sitting on a lounge chair with me feet up. "Too late, love! You already started. Get on with it!"

Cassie walked to her closet. "The name is Christiana King. She is the granddaughter of a Viscount. Angelica and Christiana have been since childhood, and it's known among high society that wherever Angie goes Tina is not too far."

I made the word "Wow" with my lips, but didn't say anything.

"I know right." Cassie said while buttoning up her dress. "Sometimes, I get the feeling that they are more than just friends. If you get what I'm saying."

I instantly tensed up. The next thing she says will determine if I ghost her or not. "And so what if they were?"

She shrugged. "I think it's Tina that likes Angie. But Angie is straight, she's been with a guy or two in secret. Meanwhile, Tina has never been with one! Even if they wanted to be in a relationship, they probably never could. High Society is too strict about a woman's image for them not to be married off. Or, they’ll have to be married off for political gain."

She passed.

"That's true. Poor Tina, then."

"Yes, poor Tina. You know, I've talked more to you than anyone else these past few years. I mean it's so easy to open up to you."

I nodded as I had me head tipped back on the chair. "Well, it's easier for people to rant when it's to a stranger." No consqeunces, usually.

Cassie laughed. "Oh, come now! Don't say that! We're not strangers anymore. I've told you loads of things." She paused for a moment. "I know, it's because you haven't shared anything. How about you get something off your chest?"

I brought me head back up and faced her. I had to sit on me knees in the chair to look at her though.

We talked the whole walk too. I felt a real bond with her. I mean if we decide to stay friends, then she'll be me first one here.

"Alright!" I said. "Let's see… Oh, well I find one of my bosses attractive."

Cassie gasped. "No way!"

"Yep! Oh, Cassie, if you'd only seen him. He is so fit! His eyes are so dreamy and his cheekbones are so defined!"

"Aliena, how old is he?"

"He's 28. We're 12 years apart."

"Huh, not too bad. By my luck, I'll never meet a decent guy and will be married to a guy three times my age."

"Eee!" I exclaimed in disgust.

She gave me the same face.

"Well, are you gonna pursue him?" She asked while doing her makeup.

"I don’t want to make the first move. Plus, I'd doubt he'd even see me in that way. He's not exactly an open book, ya know. So, you have to be slow and patient with him. He's barely let me in like a month ago and we've known each for seven months now. But you know what, that makes sense. I mean the man is 28 and if we did get chummy fast, that would've been weird, to say the least."

"That's true. But can't say it would be illegal. Age of consent is 16 here."

"Maybe so, but it goes against a lot of social constructs and moral values and ethical principles of our modern society."

We both hummed.

"Would you mind being with a 28 year old?" I asked.

"Nope. I wouldn't even mind a 38 year old as long as he was good-looking and wealthy." She smiled at me through the mirror.

Me mouth fell open in shock. The corners of me mouth turned into a smile. "Cassie, you're my fucking soulmate!"

We started having a big 'ol laughing fit.

When we calmed down, I said. "But I'm still not going to do anything! I admit he's very attractive, but he is my boss. I need this job and helping him find happiness is completely fine with me."

"Aw, aren't you a saint!" Cassie exclaimed, quite sarcastically.

"Was that sarcasm, Cassie?"

She stuck her tongue out at me.

I scoffed playfully! “Oh, I don’t play with sarcasm!"

I leaped for her and she screamed. Let's just say the fight ended in a draw. Yeah, a nice tie!

When we finished, we went down and Cassie had her car running to take me home. I felt pity for the driver who was probably waiting for a good two hours.

'I've done this loads of times. I've relinquished all of me troubles and secrets to a person who claims they want to be me bestest of all best friends, only for us never to contact each other again. It's disappointing, but again- I'm used to it.'

I hopped out of her car and waved her goodbye.

"Next time, I won't go for the back of your knees!" Cassie yelled.

"Ta' even though we both know that's a cheap shot."

She stuck her tongue at me and I did the same. Then, she left and I watched. A weird pit in me stomach formed.

'It sucks to get used to something so sad. I really just wanted that movie trope kind of best friend, but I never had it before. I wanted Cassie to be it. But only time will tell.'

I sighed heavily, kicking a pebble before turning around and unlocking the door. I heard the sound of shoes against the floor, but I didn't pay attention to it.

“And where the fuck have you been?” Polly shouted.

Me eyes almost came out of me head. She was yelling at me.

“Wha-?”

“Do you realize what time it is? Do you?”

“I, uh. Innit about 8?”

“It’s 10 pm, Aliena. 10 pm!”

I pursed me lips while looking down at me shoes. “Oh…” I let out a nervous chuckle.

“Oh. All she says is ‘Oh’.”

Tommy cleared his throat. “Ali, Ada said she lost you while youse were shopping. What ‘appened?”

I looked at Ada. She was biting her nails with her gaze trained away from me.

The little-!

I sighed, tightly closing me eyes before making up at lie. “Yeah, something caught me eye at a different shop. I just went out of the shop we were in without even realizing it. When I went back, she was already gone. Then, there was this girl who needed help with directions and I helped her out and I made a friend. She gave me a ride home.” I was switching me weight on each leg, bouncing like a divvy.

Thomas sighed. A ciggie in his hands. “There you have it, Pol. She made a friend.”

The crowd dispersed while Polly walked over to me. She put her hands on me arms. “Never run off by yourself like that again. Understand me?” She said.

I nodded. “Never again.”

Polly pulled me into her arms and hugged me.

“Go on. Go to bed.” She pushed me towards the staircase while a hand flew to her mouth, covering it.

I did as she wanted.

I was just abar done brushing out the tangles in me hair when there was a knock on me door.

“Come in.” I said.

The door opened ‘n Tommy walked in. I gave him a tight lipped smile.

He cleared his throat. “Are we doing this therapy thing t’night, or?”

“Yeah. Yep.” I put down me hairbrush and started walking toward him.

Tommy curtly nodded, turned ‘round, and walked into his room.

I’m not going to lie. It was very awkward.

Very stiffy, he sat down on his bed while I stood there, kinda just watchin’. Then, he rolled over to his side and laid down.

Once he did, I found me same spot. I sat down at his bedside, me arms folded and resting on a sliver of space on the bed.

I barely opened me mouth to start talking when I was rudely interrupted.

“No. I don’t like this. Get on the bed. I can’t have you falling asleep there like last time.”

He grabbed me arms and started pulling me into the bed.

I reflexively snickered. “Wait! Wait.”

“What?” He asked with his beautiful, enchanting eyes staring up at me.

I was standing on me knees on the bed, his hands still on me arms.

“Can I be on the other side?” I asked.

He blinked rapidly. “Why?”

“I don’t like sleepin’ so close to the door. If someone comes in, you’ll die first, then me.” I shook me head as if that was the most obvious piece of information that everyone knew.

Tommy laughed. He actually laughed at me. “Yeah, whatever. Fine by me.”

He let go of me arms and started shuffling back to where he originally laid. I, on the other hand, climbed over his lap to get where I wanted.

Once I was there, I sat criss-cross applesauce style with me hands in me lap. It was just for safety reasons. I didn’t want him to accidentally see me undies.

A silence enveloped the room.

I huffed before deciding to start talking. “Ok! The friend I made today was a girl around my age. Her name is Cassie ‘n she’s staying at the Ritz Hotel. It’s a real classy joint. Made me feel small, but whatever. She’s really air-headed like I coulda been a thief and nicked some of her stuff, but she let me into her room without a thought. But, you know a lot of people back home always told me that I looked really innocent despite me ‘aving a resting bitch face.”

Tommy snorted.

“It’s not funny!” I pushed him. “Kids at school wouldn’t talk to me ‘cause I intimidated them. Anyway, she told me that her dad is an MP.” His eyes darted to meet me own.

I scoffed and pushed him again. “You liked that bit, didn’t cha? Geez. Focus on going to sleep, dummy. Close your eyes. Go on! Close them.”

Tommy scooted his body down and did as I said.

“She was really nice. I don’t know if we’ll actually be friends, though. It would be nice. We got along really well, but could’ve been fake. You never really know when people are fake until after you shared a moment with them, if that makes any sense? Yeah.”

I didn’t know what to say after that, so I started to hum for a little while.

“Oh, I’ll try singing a song. And before you try resisting, it’s not any song that you would know. So, just shut up and listen.”

Just then an evil thought ran across me mind.

‘I’m not gonna lie. I’m dying in the inside!’

“Happy or sad, Tommy?” Me nails were digging into me palms. I was trying so hard not to tick. It would either be a bunch of snaps or I’ll clap me hands wildly. However, I didn’t stop the grin on me face.

His eyes never opened. “Sad.”

I instantly hated meself ‘cause the way this man said that one simple word broke me heart.

I cleared me throat and racked me mind for a sad song. I couldn’t really decide on one, so I went with my default which was “Bitches Broken Hearts” by Billie Eilish. I went onto sing “Crazy” by Patsy Cline and “Summertime Sadness” by Lana Del Rey. Then, I sang “I’m Not The Only One” by Sam Smith, and let me tell you even though I had fun singing it- it was still embarrassing ‘cause me voice kept cracking at some of the high and low notes.

I sang “ilomilo” by Billie Eilish. For me unexpected “final” song, I sang “The One That Got Away” by Katy Perry.

Even though I was sure he was asleep, I still sang until it was more yawns than lyrics. The difference was that I was singing anything I wanted. Since I was already singing Katy Perry, I sang “Teenage Dream.”

Me final song was “Boyfriend” by Best Coast. I gave up halfway, laid down, and fell asleep.

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tripleaxeldiaz · 4 years

Text

all was golden when the day met the night

chapter 5/5

read on ao3

start from the beginning

As the weekend wears on, Eddie feels more and more like himself. He chalks it up mostly to staying inside with Chris, Disney+, and takeout for two days straight, basking in the unbridled happiness that always seems to surround his son. He knows, though, that a big part of his feeling better is also because of Buck — he’s never had a catharsis like that with anyone, and he thanked Buck by essentially slamming the door in his face as soon as he tried to dig a little deeper. He wanted to help, Eddie wanted him to help, but it was too much and he was too raw, so he just shut down. Defaulted to being closed off as he usually was because it was safe and easy. But Buck is his best friend, one of the people he loves most, and he deserves someone who could be open and honest with him.

Eddie really wants to be that person.

He really needs to apologize.

He tries multiple times, writing and deleting texts, planning scripts in his head but never hitting the call button. The words keep getting jumbled and they don’t feel like enough, don’t feel like they’re fully expressing how much Eddie wants to tell Buck everything, wants to fully let him in, if Buck is still interested. If he’s not, Eddie’s really not sure what he’s going to do.

He braces himself on Monday, but Buck doesn’t come in. He sees him through the window as he parks and all but falls out of his car, hurrying toward Armageddon. He stops at the front door of the shop, knocks, smiles, and waves, before hurrying off again.

It’s fine. It’s fine. He’s just running late.

He doesn’t see him at all Tuesday, but gets a selfie of a sad looking Buck wrapped in a blanket with a mug of tea and a message reading sinus infections suck ))):. He smiles as he tells him to feel better, and things almost feel normal. Maybe this is just how Buck wants to play it — pretend that Eddie didn’t have a complete breakdown and go back to how things used to be, to how they used to be, whatever that was. If that’s what’s going to make Buck happiest and keep him in Eddie’s life, that’s what Eddie will do. He’ll smash all his feelings back into a box and set it on fire if he has to. Whatever it takes to make sure Buck never leaves.

The door above the shop rings on Wednesday morning, but Eddie’s too absorbed in trying to balance the numbers of a recent wedding to notice. A shadow falls over his laptop, and when he looks up, he’s face to face with Buck, backlit in the golden glow of the early morning sunlight, looking like an angel even in his usual all black. Eddie feels his mouth go dry and his heartbeat pick up.

“You know,” Buck says, his smile easy as always, even if his shoulders look a little tense, “you’re pretty cute when you’re trying to do math.”

It’s a knee jerk reaction to roll his eyes and shake his head, and he smiles too as he sees Buck relax. “At least I know how to do math,” he fires back, laughing at Buck’s mock outrage. Just like that, they’re back in their old routine.

“That’s what I have Maddie for. She’s the brains of the whole operation, and I’m the beauty.”

“What’s Chimney then?”

“He’s dead meat after he let my flowers die while I was gone for a day.”

Eddie snorts as he gets the craft paper. “Well, math might be hard, but replacing flowers is easy. Any requests?”

Buck just shrugs, smiling softly at Eddie now. “Whatever you’re feeling.”

Eddie’s been trying to figure that out for the past four days, but it’s so much easier when Buck asks him to do it with flowers. He wraps the bouquet and turns back to Buck, holding the flowers between them like a shield.

Buck cocks his head, confused. Eddie clears his throat and takes a deep breath. “I’m really sorry about last week. You were just trying to help, and I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’ve got...a lot of stuff to sort through, and I didn’t want to put that burden on you.”

Buck’s smile gets softer still as he reaches out to hold Eddie’s wrist. “It’s okay, I get it. But I meant what I said — I’m here for you no matter what. However and whenever you need me.” He takes the bouquet from Eddie, holding it in the crook of his arm. “Are these apology flowers to match your apology speech?”

Eddie laughs, trying to ignore the embarrassed blush he feels growing on his cheeks. “I guess so. Yellow roses literally mean apology, purple hyacinth means asking for forgiveness, and red carnations—” mean something that you absolutely can’t tell him, he finishes in his head. He freezes for a second, scrambling for any other reason for including them, before lamely landing on— “They just looked nice.”

Luckily, Buck takes it, no questions asked.

As he leaves, Eddie feels a weight go with him, feels more like himself than he has in days. Buck is still here. He saw Eddie at his lowest and it didn’t scare him off. And while that’s all well and good, it feels fragile and new, like something that could break the minute Eddie tries to make it more than friendship like he still so desperately wants.

Instead, he resolves to ball his feelings back up in his chest, hiding them away like he’s done for months and months now. He promised himself he’d do whatever it takes to make sure Buck sticks around, and he meant it.

~~~~~~~~~~

The sun is setting as he enters Armageddon, in a surprisingly good mood given everything that’s happened the past two weeks. He makes his way to the back, distracted by trying to figure out what to do with his weekend. Maybe they can go to the art museum Chris has been raving about, look at all the works that don’t make any sense to Eddie but can keep Chris enraptured for hours. Maybe Buck will come along to explain everything.

He’s distracted enough that he doesn’t register Buck and Chris’s conversation until he’s halfway to the table they’re sitting at in the back room. When he does finally tune in, he stops, just out of sight, and feels his whole body start to go numb.

“It says they mean ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Please forgive me’. Is that what Dad said they meant? Was he sorry about something?” Chris is reading from a school library book, the bouquet from earlier this week on the table between him and Buck.

Buck looks at the flowers, smiling almost sadly, before turning back to Chris. “Yeah, that’s what he said too. We just got into an argument, but gave me these flowers, so it’s okay now.” He turns back to the flowers, fingers playing with a stray stem that had fallen off as they wilted. “What does it say about red carnations?”

Chris flips through the book, eventually landing on the page he was looking for. Eddie braces himself as quietly as he can, because he knows exactly what Chris is going to read. “There’s a lot of meanings for different colors, but it says that if you give someone red carnations, it means you love them and feel something special for them. What did Dad say?”

His sharp intake of breath is completely involuntary, fueled purely by panic. Both heads snap toward him immediately, Chris’s face lighting up, Buck’s looking stunned. He tries to keep his own face as normal as possible, but his eyes feel wild and he’s hot all over and he just needs to get Chris and get out.

“Dad! I got a book about flowers from the library so I can know what they mean just like you!”

He really hopes his smile is genuine, because as happy as he is that his son wants to be anything like him, he also feels about 15 seconds away from passing out. “That’s great, buddy. Can you grab your stuff so we can go?”

Chris hops off the chair to pack up, filling the would-be uncomfortable silence with his usual chatter about school, what he’s reading, and what he did with Buck all afternoon. Eddie very pointedly keeps his eyes on his son the whole time, nodding and commentating more than normal so he’s not tempted to look at Buck and completely fall apart. Chris hugs Buck tight around the middle before heading for the door, forcing Eddie to acknowledge Buck without any kind of buffer.

“Thanks for watching him, we’ll see you later, okay?” he says, looking at a spot just over Buck’s shoulder. He doesn’t wait for a response, just rushes out, following after Chris even as he hears Buck call his name.

Surely, Buck will just brush this off. He won’t think twice about why Eddie actually included the carnations and just move on. They’ll be fine, Eddie won’t lose him because of his loud, dumb feelings, and the whole thing will blow over by Monday. He repeats it in his head over and over, willing it to be true.

They’re through the front door and halfway down the sidewalk before Buck catches up with them.

“Eddie, wait!”

Apparently, his force of will is not as strong as he thought.

Eddie skids to a stop, letting Chris run ahead to the store. He closes his eyes and prepares himself, because this is it. The moment he had been trying to prevent for months. He’s off the edge of the cliff, and there’s nothing he can do about it. He takes a deep breath before he turns around.

Buck is watching him. He looks confused and a little worried, and Eddie’s palms itch to reach out and somehow make it better. He jams his hands into the pockets of his jeans instead.

“The carnations weren’t just for show, were they?” Buck asks, slowly, quietly, like he’s trying not to spook a caged animal.

He could lie. He could tell him they didn’t mean anything, that they really just looked nice. He could deny it over and over, and he knows eventually Buck would give in and let it go. They’d go back to square one where they’ve been for so long that Eddie can see ruts forming in their routine.

He’s so tired, though. Tired of lying, tired of wrestling with his feelings and trying to keep them from cracking his ribs and breaking free. And Buck had already seen him lower than rock bottom, and he stayed. Maybe he would stay after this, too.

“No”, Eddie says, shaking his head. “They weren’t just for show. Neither were the gardenias or pink camellias or red tulips, none of them were. You can look them up if you don’t believe me.”

Buck freezes, eyes wide, still as Eddie has ever seen him. And for as much as Eddie is usually a coward, he decides this is the moment to be brave.

“I love you,” he says in a rush. “I’ve loved you for a while, and I didn’t know how to say it out loud, so I just gave you love in flowers instead. You’re everything, Buck, to me and to Chris, and I just didn’t want to lose you or scare you away because I don’t know what I’d do with myself if you left. We need you, in whatever way we can have you.”

He can feel himself shaking as he stops talking, face hot with a furious blush of embarrassment, he’s sure. He never stops looking at Buck though, waiting for him to say something, anything, even telling him to fuck off and never speak to him again would be better than silence.

He waits, and Buck just looks at him with an expression he can’t decipher. He looks and looks, and with every passing second, Eddie feels the world crumbling down around him.

The numbness is back, this time laced with the sting of rejection. He takes a few steps backwards as he feels tears start to prick at the back of his eyes, turning toward the store before they’re too noticeable.

He stops when he feels Buck’s hand wrap around his wrist, holding him in place. “Eddie, please,” he says, sounding close to tears himself. “I— I don’t know what to say, I—”

Eddie pulls his wrist back, Buck letting go without a fight. “It’s fine, Buck. Just forget about it.”

He walks away, tears falling without shame.

He half hopes Buck follows him.

He doesn’t.

~~~~~~~~~~

Eddie is not hiding. He is strategically avoiding.

He tries to process everything over the weekend, but come Monday, he still can’t bring himself to face Buck, to have the talk where he tells Eddie that he just wants to be friends and nothing more. Because he’ll say that, but things won’t go back to normal. They’ll be awkward and stilted and they’ll drift farther and farther apart until they’re no longer in each other’s orbit, practically strangers. He wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t know what he’d do with himself without Buck, and he really doesn’t want to try figuring that out now.

So Buck comes in every day like normal, and every day Eddie finds an excuse to busy himself in the back room and let Hen handle him. It only takes her two visits to catch on and pry every detail out of him.

“Eddie, I love you, but you’re the biggest idiot I’ve ever met,” she tells him when he finishes his story.

“Thank you for kicking me when I’m down,” he says, voice muffled from where his head is pressed to the table. She grabs a hold of his wrist, tugging it until he sits up and gives her his attention.

“Look,” she says. “I don’t know exactly what’s going on in Buck’s head, but he looks about as heartbroken as you do, if not worse. You have to talk to him. If you love him like you say you do, you owe him that much, at the very least.”

She’s right, of course, but that doesn’t mean Eddie is happy about it. Nor does it mean he’s going to jump headfirst into talking about his feelings like he did the last time. He tried being brave, and look where that got him.

He’s still biding his time (and licking his wounds) when he comes back from a delivery a few days later to an eerily quiet store. It’s late afternoon, when they’re normally busy with people picking up bouquets for date nights on their way home from work, but he doesn’t hear any voices when he comes in the back door or see Hen running around with fistfuls of flowers. He walks to the front and stops dead before he can call out for anyone.

Buck is there, once again lit up by the sunlight streaming through the windows, standing next to a vase holding the biggest bouquet Eddie thinks he’s ever seen. He looks nervous, biting his lip as he watches Eddie walk closer, no doubt waiting for a reaction. Eddie’s honestly dumbstruck, because not only is it huge, but he immediately registers the meaning behind each flower he sees.

Blue violets for devotion, forget-me-nots for true love, yarrow for everlasting love. Aster, red chrysanthemums, honeysuckle. Rainflowers asking for returned affection and jasmine for love without conditions. They’re all surrounded by moonflowers for dreaming of and hoping for love. The whole thing is an explosion of color and scents and emotions and it’s beautiful. Almost as beautiful as the man standing next to it.

“I didn’t know what to say last week,” Buck says quietly, gaze moving from the flowers to Eddie. There’s a blush crawling up his cheeks that rivals any rose or carnation. His smile unfurls like a lily in the summertime. “I figured I’d try speaking your language instead.”

Eddie turns to Buck fully, tries to say something, but the words get stuck in his throat as his mind tries to process the sheer amount of things he’s feeling. He has half a mind to pinch himself, make sure he’s not dreaming, but he knows he isn’t. This is better than anything in his wildest fantasies because it’s real.

He’s snapped back to the present moment when he feels Buck’s hands on his, slotting their fingers together. Eddie squeezes instinctually, holding on for dear life, because he feels like he’s about to crack again — not from despair this time, but from sheer, unfiltered joy. It only gets bigger when he looks at Buck and sees it reflected in his eyes, too.

“Eddie,” he says, a laugh bubbling out of him like the happiness is overwhelming. “I love you. I love you so much. I think I’ve loved you from the minute I ran into the store for the first time, and it’s been snowballing ever since.” He brings a hand up to Eddie’s cheek, wiping away tears he didn’t even know were falling. He leans into the touch, smile only growing because it’s warm and perfect, like he always knew it would be. “You said I was everything to you and Chris, but you two are more than everything to me. I want to be here, with you, for you, for as long as you’ll let me.”

And because he is who he is, because he’s been living with his parasitic self doubt for longer than anyone should, Eddie pauses. His mind flashes through all his shadows and darkness lingering under this momentary happiness, and while it’s overwhelming and good and true, he still doubts.

“I’m a mess,” he says, feeling Buck tighten his hold like he’s afraid he’ll try to run. “You saw it up close. I can’t guarantee it won’t always be that bad. Are you sure you want to deal with all this?”

“I want everything with you, Eddie. Good, bad, and ugly. You can’t scare me away that easily. I won’t let you.”

For once, there’s no rebuttal. He knows Buck is telling the truth, feels it in every part of him. If he focuses enough, he swears he feels a little less darkness around him. But there’s so much going on in his head that he doesn’t know what to say anymore, can’t figure out how to express to Buck exactly what all of this means to him.

He’s still not great at words, but he’s as good at actions as he is at flowers.

There’s no fireworks or angels singing when they kiss, and it takes a few tries for them to stop smiling enough for their teeth to get out of the way. But once they fall into a rhythm, Buck hands on Eddie’s hips, Eddie’s hands running through Bucks curls, the whole world falls away until it’s just them. It’s a slow, gentle thing, but Eddie pours everything he’s hiding into it, hoping that Buck picks up on how much and how deeply he loves him. If the smile he feels on Buck’s lips is any indication, he thinks the message is loud and clear.

They pull away eventually but only to rest their foreheads together, soaking up each other. Eddie’s still smiling as he leans in, placing kisses on whatever parts of Buck’s face he can reach, just because he can. He feels the rumble of Buck’s laugh in his own chest, and almost wants to cry again at the realization that he’s going to be able to feel that laugh whenever he wants, have it memorized and tucked away in his mind for when the darkness is too loud.

He always knew Buck had enough light in him for both of them. Now he gets to prove himself right.

He pulls back a little more, taking in every feature of Buck’s happiness, fingers coming up to gently trace over his birthmark.

“Does this mean I get free tattoos for life?” he asks. Buck’s laugh is sharp and surprised, and they dissolve into giggles and kisses and touches like they’re teenagers again.

Eddie knows that it won’t always be this perfect — things will be hard, they’ll be tested again and again, and sometimes things will feel too dark for either of them to bear. But the light will always come back, they’ll grow stronger, blossoming in ways they never could on their own.

Eddie has been hiding in the shadows for too long. Buck is finally bringing him into the sunshine.

#eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #buddie fic #9-1-1 fic #9-1-1 fox #i'm sad it's over except SIKE i have a lot of little fics planned for this #i hope you guys like it!!#the flower shop #ficcery

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kinetic-elaboration · 3 years

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100 Days of Writing: Days Twenty-Two - Twenty-Four

Going to try to catch up on at least a few of these 100 Days of Writing Questions. Not going to talk about specific fics because I’ve gotten distracted by work and life and stress and being tired so I haven’t done any writing this week, and decreasing amounts of thinking about writing. Mostly just obsessively thinking about old projects and tying myself into knots about them... The creative process continues to intimidate me WAY too much. Not good lol.

Tagging @the-wip-project and fellow participants @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold, @thelittlefanpire @hopskipaway @easilydistractedbyfanfic @dylanobrienisbatman.

22. Tell us about a scene you’re most looking forward to writing in your current project.

For the Sleeping Beauty AU: ...the last one? So it’s done? That’s probably a really bad answer and too indicative of my negative feelings.

More specifically, I do want to start on Chapter 6. I planned Chapter 5 so long ago, and it’s been in limbo for so long, at this point there’s not a lot of big-picture creative thinking going on with it. It’s just me writing out the plot points I decided on ages ago, which feels like (and possibly reads like) a slog. I’ve had a few new thoughts about it but not many. Chapter 6 was also outline ages ago, but in a much more general way... basically just me figuring out if I could actually bring it to a conclusion, really general plot strokes and so on. The most excitement I’ve felt for this fic this year was me figuring out some new ideas for that outline and picturing some specifics for scenes in it, so it would be nice if I could actually write that and see how that works out. Plus, those scenes have some different characters in them, which might be nice.

That said, I’ll probably freak out about actually writing Ch 6 too.

Outside of Sleeping Beauty...I don’t even know what I’m looking forward to or what I want. I’ve been mentally poking at some possible projects, ideas, old stuff and new. I can’t really say these thoughts are “fun.” But maybe something nice will come of them at some point. It’s so hard for me to TRUST any excitement I feel because there’s some dumb voice in my head that always says “You think this seems like a good idea now but you’ll avoid actually writing it because it will be too hard and then you’ll harshly judge it and probably hate it so what’s the point?”

Wow I’m really down today. A real downer on this positive question.

23. Have you ever read a thing in a book or seen in a show/movie where you thought: "Oh, this is bad, I can do this so much better!" What was it?

....Well. I mean one answer is that I don’t engage in fandom if I’m 100% happy or satisfied with the canon because then I don’t need transformative works. At this point I’m SO critical of my main fandom that I’ve gone too far in the opposite direction, I think...there’s no longer that balance of critique and love.

I feel like that’s not what this question is about, though.

The only experience I can think of that really fits this, and actually fits it really well, is watching STB. I love the AOS verse as a whole and I find it very inspiring (I’ve never written TOS because it’s too good and I’m afraid haha), but the only movie that’s actually good is ST09. And Beyond is like.....really, really bad. But there are only 3 films so like... I gotta watch it sometimes, there aren’t a lot of options.

So last February my mom (who is in fandom and knows I’m in fandom too) and my friend B (who afaik is not in transformative works fandom), and I watched Beyond together over Skype and afterwards my mom and I basically rewrote the whole film. It does have some good ideas! But wow does it suck at executing them at literally every turn. So glad people were paid huge amounts of money to produce S**** P***’s first draft submitted at dawn after an all nighter lmao. Anyway, we fixed it problem by problem and I saved all the notes and a part of me kinda.... wants to turn it into a whole-ass outline and then write it, fic-style. A dream!! A dream.

24. Have you ever read a thing in a book or seen in a show/movie where you thought: "Oh, this is good, I'm gonna steal that!" What was it?

Not anything specific-specific, but I’m basically mining everything from RL experiences and moods to books and tv and movies and music, for inspiration at all times, so in general, yes. Usually, I’ll watch (or read) something that I really like and that makes me feel a certain way and I think “I want to create something else that will make me--and others--feel just this way.” Like “that was a good, creepy atmosphere in that film. I want to write something creepy too.” Or “oh the nostalgia of adolescence! let’s write a high school AU.” Basically just a childlike scream of “I want to do it too!!! Let me play too!!”

I also do this to some degree with themes... like I finished Roadside Picnic and pretty much immediately stole the concept of the final chapter for a fic I planned out but didn’t write. Part of the reason I didn’t write it was intimidation at attempting to come at the same question/concept in an even halfway decent way--even though the point wasn’t to copy but to engage in a different and deeper way with the original text. Like, it gave me so many thoughts, I wanted to get into those thoughts using, instead of a discussion or a piece of meta/essay writing, a different fictional universe. In other words, some works make me really engage in a particular question and I want to think more deeply on that question in an entirely new fictional story I write myself.

I really do have a long habit of engaging with art through other art but I feel like I’m...losing that a little, in the sense that barriers like a hyper-critical attitude and low self esteem are keeping me from doing that right now. I could describe it a million different ways but basically... I don’t believe I can do it, so I psyche myself out.

#100 days of writing #my 100 days of writing #100daysofwriting

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florenceandthemachine · 4 years

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the (very exposition heavy) second chapter is up! happy halloween 10th, everybody!

Chapters: 2/5 Fandom: 9-1-1 (TV) Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)

When Eddie started to wake up the next morning, it wasn’t to a start, jerking awake like he had after so many nightmares. It wasn’t to a pounding headache, as he had become accustomed to after a night with one too many drinks. Hell, it wasn’t even to his alarm clock, which would have gone off in about sixteen minutes if Eddie had the ability to crack an eye open and locate it.

No, it was to a warm, wet heat, a barely there pressure at the base of his dick as a tongue wrapped around him.

He wasn’t even sure if he was awake, honestly, eyes slipping back closed as he tried his best to avoid bucking into the mouth so willingly lapping him up. The noise that Eddie made was entirely not of his own accord as he felt himself get absolutely swallowed, his lips curling into a smile.

Eddie managed to open his eyes halfway to stare down his body, another groan ripping through his chest as a pair of pretty eyes looked back up at him, and—

Wait, blue eyes. Who did he know with blue eyes?

Finally getting enough blood to his brain to think, Eddie hissed and sucked in a breath, nearly falling out of bed once he regained his own major motor control.

Buck.

The bartender from last night was in his bed.

The bartender from last night was in his bed, and was openly laughing at Eddie’s flustered panic, hiking up his sheets like he and Buck hadn’t already become explicitly familiar with one another’s body.

Buck, who was licking his lips. Eddie absolutely did not watch his tongue.

“Good morning!”

Objectively? Sure, it was a good morning. He woke up with a blowjob, of course that was a good morning, but his now flagging erection was at the absolute back of his mind.

“What are you—why do I—where... wait, are we back in my house?”

Eddie’s panic trailed off as he snapped his head around, taking in the familiar scenery. It was definitely his room, but... he couldn’t remember how they had gotten there. Actually, come to think of it, he couldn’t remember most of last night—there were bits and pieces, but nothing made sense, nothing clicked together—even as he very resolutely stared at Buck’s face, doing his best to ignore his very naked body.

He wasn’t sure if it hurt, having Buck laugh at his confusion, but it certainly didn’t fucking help anything, even as Buck reached down to help him stand back up. “I thought it would be more comfortable if you woke up in your own home, I know that the contract an be really taxing on your poor mortal body.” Buck said, without an ounce of sarcasm as he pulled Eddie upright.

Eddie pulled free from Buck’s grip once he was steady on his feet, immediately turning, trying to find a pair of shorts—briefs, pants, hell, at this point he would have settled for a swimsuit—finally pulling on a pair of boxers. “Okay, Buck, what the hell happened last night?” Eddie asked, vaguely aware that Buck was still naked as he followed Eddie into the kitchen, where—fuck, was that breakfast?

What the fuck was going on?

“Okay, you seriously need to sit down and take a few deep breaths. After you passed out last night, I brought you home.” Buck said, and Eddie groaned, hiding his head in his hands. “Look, we can get to how you knew where I lived and got in here in the first place later. What... what happened before that?”

Buck blinked, looking like the question was literally the last thing he expected, his surprise melting into a teasing smile as he bent over the counter. He reached forward with a hand, sliding a finger beneath Eddie’s chin, tilting Eddie’s chin up with a laugh. “Don’t tell me you forgot the best part of the night.”

Eddie felt his face burn under Buck’s gaze, shaking his head. “No, I—you—stop distracting me! I meant about after, what the hell was all... that?”

Buck’s teasing smile didn’t fade—if anything it only widened, and he winked at Eddie as he opened the oven door, the scent of cinnamon and maple filling the kitchen as he reached into the oven. “Eddie, for me, that was the best part of the night. We made a contract. You made it very clear to me what you wanted, I offered you my price, and you agreed. Cinnamon roll?”

For a moment, Eddie could only stare at the pan of rolls now sitting on his stovetop like they were the offending beings in whatever the fuck was going on, shoving himself away from the counter after a long moment. Buck sighed, plating one of the rolls for himself and sliding another over to where Eddie was sitting, taking a chunk out of his own as Eddie started to ramble.

“I’m dreaming.”

“Yeah, never heard that one before.”

“I am, Buck. I’m dreaming or maybe I was in an accident, or maybe—maybe you drugged me!” Eddie said, the hopeful tone of his own voice at complete odds with the offended look on Buck’s face. “First of all, that’s rude as hell, if you weren’t of sound mind then we never would have been able to seal the contract.” Buck started, leading Eddie back down to the barstool at the counter, pushing him to sit down, Eddie’s eyes unfortunately level with Buck’s very… muscular abdomen. “Second of all, will you please eat your breakfast? I realize that—“

“Oh god why are you still naked.”

Buck sighed, shaking his head as he took a few steps back. “Well, excuse me for thinking that you actually liked this form. You seemed to enjoy it plenty last night...” he grumbled, and Eddie felt another flush cross over his cheeks. “But if you’d prefer, I can change. I can be taller, or maybe shorter?” Buck asked, and Eddie felt his jaw drop as Buck’s body shifted seamlessly, gaining and then losing inches like his body was made of rubber.

“I can be a brunette, if you prefer? Or a redhead. Pale skinned, or dark? If it would be easier for you, I can also take the form of someone from your memories. There’s a few people from your firehouse you get along with, I—”

“Not with your dick out, you don’t!” Eddie sputtered as he closed his eyes, feeling dizzy as he kept up with Buck’s instantaneous transformations, well aware that the only thing that would make this morning less comfortable would be if Buck suddenly took up Bobby or Chim’s body.

“...Oh, how about this!” Buck said, voice suddenly lighter, and Eddie was hesitant to open his eyes. Where Buck once stood, there was a smaller, lithe frame, dark hair trailing over her shoulders, hands on her hips easily—if it weren’t for the necklace around her neck, resting against her chest, Eddie would have thought there was an entirely different person in the room.

But no, it was still Buck. Just... lady Buck. Still very, very naked.

“No, your—your original form is fine, just, can you put on some shorts or something?” Eddie finally griped out, and Buck sighed, body melting away into what Eddie was familiar with, soft curves disappearing into firm musculature.

“Trust me, Eddie, you would not like my original form, but fine. I’ll keep this. And fine, I’ll put something on.” he said, like it was physically paining him to do so, fabric weaving into existence around his legs. “Now will you please eat? Everyone knows that cinnamon rolls are only good while warm.”

Eddie’s legs felt weak as he finally looked down at the cinnamon roll on the plates before him, hand shaking ever so slightly as he tore a chunk from it, chewing it slowly. It was warm, and gooey, and delicious, and somehow that was it, that was the final straw that sent Eddie crashing into his own body, somehow more real than anything else he had seen that morning.

“This is real. What happened last night really happened.” he murmured to himself, chewing slowly before swallowing. “Buck, what... what happens next?”

Eddie couldn’t tell if Buck picked up on his voice wavering slightly as he spoke, or if Buck finally realized what Eddie was asking about, because his expression twisted from something supremely put out to a small smile, sliding his hand across the counter, letting it rest right beside Eddie’s—close enough to hold, though Eddie was supremely glad that he didn’t.

“Now, Eddie, I keep up my end of the deal. I will spend every moment, every ounce of my power—and that’s a lot of power—keeping Chris happy, and healthy, and safe. I can’t undo anything that’s been done,” he clarified, not that Eddie would have taken that risk even if it were an option, “but from here on out, no harm will fall to him. Of that, you have my word.”

Eddie struggled to look up to meet Buck’s face, but when he did, he found not a trace of lie, no suspicion, nothing that would have caused Eddie even the slightest doubt. He felt himself slump over the plate as he let out a breath, nodding his head, happy that at least that much weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

As he popped another piece of the roll into his mouth, Eddie’s voice was soft, chewing slowly. “So, what does that mean for me? My life is going to be a living hell now, but Chris will be safe and happy?” His eyes snapped up as Buck laughed again, shaking his head.

“Eddie, if I had any plan to make your life a living hell, would I really have woken you up by sucking your cock?”

Eddie almost choked.

“Anyway, no. You agreed to sell me your soul, which I collected last night. Besides, your kid loves you—making anything hard for you would not be cohesive with making life better for him. Turns out, keeping you happy and keeping Chris happy pretty much go hand in hand.”

Swallowing again, Eddie cleared his throat, turning on his stool as Buck finished off his own roll, sliding the dish of the rest of them into the fridge. “Wait, so... there’s no catch while I’m alive? I mean, after I’m dead, you’ll have my soul, sure, whatever, but there’s no other... requirements until then?”

Buck hummed as he popped his thumb into his mouth, sucking some icing off of his nail. Eddie was absolutely not watching.

“Well, even though you still have free will, and emotions, and all that shit, most people consider the loss of their soul as a pretty big deal, but I should have known you wouldn’t be normal about it.” Buck started, his voice strangely fond. “That aside, I have to stay close to you, as the contracted party, or to Chris, as the subject—let’s call it within shouting distance. I’ve already arranged to be at his school while he’s at school as a personal aid, so days are taken care of. Nights, I’ll hide away or whatever, I don’t care. I know he’s not going to be in any harms way while he’s with you.” Buck said with a shrug, either oblivious or ignoring the way that Eddie’s cheeks pinked up at the compliment.

“Other than that, nope. No other needs, no wants, just a mission to keep Chris safe and happy and healthy, like you said. And like I said, that could include making you happy...” Eddie tensed up as he heard Buck’s voice dip low, into a growl that had filled Eddie’s ears all last night. Buck’s hand came down onto his shoulder, turning Eddie around on the barstool, standing in front of him in all his glory. Eddie thought for sure—not hoping, but not necessarily dreading—that Buck would kiss him when he leaned in, but instead, Buck’s lips met his forehead in a small peck.

“...but only if you’ll let me.”

Just like that, Buck was gone, walking out of Eddie’s space easily, like he hadn’t turned Eddie’s entire world upside down in the course of 24 hours.

“Now hurry up and get dressed! We’ll pick up Chris from his sleepover, you can introduce us, and then you have to get to work.”

For what it was worth, Eddie thought that he was taking this—all of this—well. Very well, honestly.

“So, you’re a demon. Like, a prince of hell, thing that goes bump in the night, demon.”

“Demon, yes. Prince of Hell, absolutely not. As for bump in the night…”

“Never mind, god, forget I asked, you pervert.”

Sure, part of that might have been thanks to Buck, painfully willing to indulge every one of Buck’s encyclopedic questions, but Eddie still thought he deserved at least half of that credit.

“How long have you been in the demon business, anyway?”

“Just over ten years.”

“Wait, seriously? You’re not some ancient, mystic, all powerful—“

“Eddie, I’m literally a nineties kid, calm down.”

… Okay, maybe a little less than half the credit. Maybe closer to a third of the credit, but still. Credit.

“So, what do you do with my soul when you take it? Do you, like, eat it or whatever?”

“Are you—Eddie, no, that’s disgusting.”

To Buck’s credit, at least, he lasted a full week before he realized which of Eddie’s questions were serious, and which were utter bullshit.

“What? I’m curious!”

The weirdest part of all, by far, was how little Eddie’s life changed. He still went to work every day, he went out on calls, he came home to his kid.

And… Buck.

It was a little alarming how easily Buck fit himself in their regular routine. It was literally like Buck had been there all along, sliding into the shoes that Eddie had been trying to fill with specialists, staffers, and his Abuela—Abuela, who liked Buck more than she liked Eddie, once she learned that he was the reason she was off of permanent Chris-catching duties, and would be able to just enjoy the time she spent with her great grandson.

Buck had worn glasses when he met her, every ounce the good, state employed aid that would care for Chris in any way possible. Glasses. It wasn’t fair how cute that was.

The biggest downside—which was insane to think about, considering that he had technically sold his fucking soul, was the way that Buck looked at him. It was the way Buck looked when he ‘picked Chris up’ in the morning, in the way that his eyes followed Eddie whenever they were together, in the way that Buck would lean forward when Eddie would walk in the house after one of his shifts. He would lean in and smile, his voice would be low, and he would ask the same thing—every night, for nearly three weeks now.

“Is there anything else I can do for you, Eddie?”

(Buck had called him Mister Diaz all of once, and Eddie almost swallowed his tongue—he put a quick stop to that.)

If that was the biggest downside, the biggest upside was, by far, how Chris and Buck got to interact with one another. Buck was basically a giant kid himself—he was young, Eddie had to continuously remind himself, likely Eddie’s age if not younger, and the way that he got along so easily with Chris… well, Eddie would be lying if he wasn’t a little jealous, to start. As selfish as it was to say, when Shannon had died, he was more worried about his son than anything else. Chris was soft, and he was smart, and he was sensitive—meaning, he was everything that Eddie wasn’t—and Eddie had to put in the time, double time, to make sure that he was giving Chris everything he possibly could. He did everything he could, and even then, he was still worried he was fucking things up half the time.

But Buck, Buck had swooped into Chris’ life and Chris had a new best friend in zero seconds flat.

Chris adored Buck, and honestly, if Buck was trying to hide the fact that the inverse was true, he was doing a shitty job of it. Any hesitancy that Eddie had initially (which was few to begin with) had been dispelled the moment that Buck had brought Chris to the station for lunch in that first, fateful week, happily chattering Eddie’s ear off about all the things he had learned at school thad day, and as a new bonus, how cool Buck was.

“Dad, Buck says that seahorses can have a thousand babies at once, did you know?” Chris asked, almost levitating with excitement.

“Really? That seems like a lot of babies.” Eddie said, looking up at Buck, who looked appropriately pleased with himself.

“He also says that its the dad seahorses that carry the babies until they’re born, and then they have all their babies!” Chris said, talking happily between bites of a peanut butter sandwich.

“Oh, does he now?”

Buck smiled innocently as Eddie rose a brow, his face flushing bright red at the look that Bosko was shooting him over Buck’s shoulder, very clearly looking between the three of them, turning on her heel before walking away.

Eddie loved Chris, and Chris had made Buck his best friend in the entire world—which is why it was easy one night, after Buck leaned in and asked Eddie, yet again, if there was anything else Buck could do for him…

“Stay for dinner.”

The look of pure surprise on Buck’s face? Honestly, Eddie would have sold his soul twice over.

“I… Eddie, you don’t have to—“

Eddie sighed as he rolled his eyes, calling over his shoulder. “Hey Chris, you think we should have Buck stay for dinner?”

Chris’ response was as quick as it was exuberant, echoing from the living room as he leaned over to peek around the corner. “Yeah!”

Eddie smiled as he shrugged a shoulder, looking back to Buck. “Seems like it would make him pretty happy. That was the thing, right? Happy, healthy, et cetera, now come on. I may be a shit cook—“

“Oooh, you said a bad word!”

“—but I’ve always been good at ordering out.”

“You know,” Eddie said, rinsing off a few plates as Chris diligently trudged himself down the hall to brush his teeth. “If I would have known that selling my soul would have been so beneficial, I would have done it forever ago.”

He was already smiling, but the scandalized look that Buck shot him only made him smile wider. “Eddie, don’t joke about that! It’s your soul, you’re not supposed to want to lose it. And for the record, I’m a very scary demon, so if you could at least pretend to regret selling me your literal mortal soul I’d appreciate it, you ass.”

Eddie had to turn his head to hide his smile as he shook his head. “I dunno, Buck. I’ve wound up with help for my kid, an immortal safety net, and I’m back in Abuela’s good graces, and all for the low low price of one soul. You still got the better end of the deal, though, you get to spend all day with Chris. That’s literally the dream.”

Eddie rose his brow as Buck snorted, shaking his head, idly scooping some lo mein into a Tupperware. “Eddie, if I knew just how hard it would be to keep Chris safe—you know I had to redirect a whole tsunami when you took him to the pier on your day off last week?” Buck asked, his smile a little smug, obviously proud of himself despite his complaint.

“Wait, what do you—there was a tsunami? What happened?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I had it wipe out some assholes private island further south along the coast. He had insurance, the island broke up the wave, and some lucky surfers caught some gnarly waves, it’s fine.” Buck said, popping a piece of chicken into his mouth as Eddie stared at him, mouth literally hanging open. “…you honestly think I’m supposed to regret my decision after hearing that? Fuck, walking into your bar was the best thing I’ve ever done.”

“Eddie…” Buck groaned, shaking his head as he threw a dish towel at Eddie’s head. “What? I’m serious, you’re like a… Buck?”

Eddie’s smile fell a bit as he looked over to Buck, hand still extended in his throw, his eyes wide and glassy, the bright blue of his irises pulsing in the light of the kitchen.

“Buck?”

“Eddie, are you expecting company?” Buck’s voice was low, staring through what Eddie realized were the walls between the kitchen and the front door, a half second before there was a loud knock, echoing through the now emptied living room.

Eddie frowned as he walked to the front door, Buck’s voice guiding him (“two people, a man and a woman, no weapons—“ “Buck, stay in the kitchen.”) as he looked through the peephole, his heart sinking into his stomach as he opened the door.

“Mom? Dad, what—what are you doing here?”

#911 #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #halloweenfic #demon!buck #demon!au #flospeaks

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nebulawritings · 4 years

Text

Birthday Massage

This is pure, unabashed, indulgent smut, people. Re-write of The Nanny Affair Chapter Four. There is dialect and writing taken directly from the Choices app, which they own the content and characters of. MC is Anna. Enjoy! Written in the Second Person (like the app). First time I’ve written in that style.

Choices Stories You Play: The Nanny Affair

Pairing: F!MC (Anna) x M!Sam

Reading Time: ~ 5 minutes

Warning: Mature content. Buckets of it. If you’re not old enough, behave and don’t read.

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“Goodnight, everyone”. Fuming, not looking back, you return to your room and sit heavily on your bed, still unsure of what happened. You’re holding the massage bar you bought for Sam, having not put it down after trying to tidy a little, just before Sofia arrived. Huffing, you pull out your phone to text the one friend you know who’ll understand.

OMG Sofia is here – Anna

WAT!!! – Jenny

She dropped in unannounced during Sam’s bday dinner. She’s freaking terrible! You should’ve seen the way she was treating everyone. She LITERALLY called me the help – Anna

Gross. Wat did Sam say – Jenny

Nothing. – Anna

EXCUUUUUUUUSE ME?! – Jenny

He tried. But Sofia kept talking over him. Honestly, I think Sam was too shocked to do more – Anna

I hope so. Cuz otherwise. WTF – Jenny

I don’t know, Jen, there’s no way I can compete with that. She bought the boys Armani watches. ARMANI, JENNY, ARMANI– Anna

Listen, babe, u gotta sho him wat he’s missing out on. Remember the bar boy in Miami? – Jenny

OMG when are you going to stop using Miami guy against me?! – Anna

All I’m sayin is dat you worked harder for that, and he wasn’t a hot stuff multi-gajillionaire! Did Miami guy leave the gala with Lucy Street? Nuh uh, gurl, he left wit you – Jenny

You‘re halfway through responding when a knock on your door pries you away from the phone screen. If it’s Sofia with dry cleaning or something I swear I’m not accountable for my actions you think to yourself, before opening the door to find that Sam is standing in your doorway, shirt unbuttoned and chest bare, looking tired and dishevelled and yet, somehow, still incredibly sexy.

“Anna…”

“Sam, hey…Is everything okay?”. You’re surprised to see him at your door, and you try to push the thoughts of why he’s turned up, looking like that, to see you from your mind.

“Can we talk? Sofia is gone, and the boys are down for the night”.

At the mention of her name you feel anger bubbling up, and your expression hardens. “I was about to go to bed, actually”.

“It won’t take long. I need to apologize for what happened”.

Sam touches his neck tenderly and releases a heavy sigh. Your hands itch to help him relieve some of that tension, to stroke him, to touch him…His gaze meets yours, pleading with you.

“Please. I don’t like how we left things back there”.

Your resolve wavers, and your mind flicks back to the conversation you had with Jenny. To the small, delicate package folded neatly in your bathroom, an impulse buy when you’d been out with the boys earlier that you’d hoped would be an extra surprise for Sam, should the night have gone that way. It hadn’t, not with the entrance of Sofia, but she was gone now. After a lingering look, you step back and give Sam space to enter the room. You close the door behind him and turn, gasping softly when you find him surprisingly close.

“I’m so sorry, Anna. I never should’ve let Sofia talk to you that way. I should’ve been more insistent that she stop immediately, instead of trying to wait for an opening ”.

Sam reaches out and places his hands over your shoulders. You tense, wanting him to touch you and leave you alone all at once. “Sam…Why didn’t you stop her right away?”. You feel a little betrayed, although the goosepimples rising where his warm hands rest on your skin do nothing to hide your other feelings about him.

“I didn’t want to cause a scene in front of the boys…But that’s no excuse. Especially since Sofia ended up doing that anyway” he replied, remorseful.

“She made me feel like I wasn’t even there, Sam”.

“I told her that was completely unacceptable as soon as I finished putting the boys to bed”.

Despite everything, a smile tugs at the corners of your mouth. Of course she didn’t put them to bed, wouldn’t want to break a nail. You try not to be too smug, although the thought of her wrestling them into bed makes it hard not to smile more. “Oh?” you say, trying to sound nonchalant, “Aunt Sofia didn’t want to do it?”.

Sam hesitates. “She…struggles with them. I decided to save us all an hour or two and take over”.

You meet Sam’s gaze, and feel yourself start to thaw a bit. His hands slip away from your shoulders, causing you to shiver as they go.

“Sam…I forgive you”. You smile softly. “You make it hard to stay mad at you”.

“Good”.

Your expressions sours. “It’s not the same as an apology from her, though. Also, why isn’t Sofia here, talking to me herself? Is she too good to apologize to ‘the help’”. You make speech marks in the air, and Sam winces a little, clearly uncomfortable at you referring to yourself like that.

“I told her to go home. I just…”. He sighs. “I just wanted to enjoy what was left of my birthday. Everything had been so perfect…until she got here”.

You notice how he looks tense, as he rubs his shoulders with a pained expression. “I just got these knots out, and they’re already back”.

Your mind flicks to the massage bar, to the package wrapped up in your bathroom, and you make an instant decision. In the short time you’ve known him, you’ve seen Sam as a thoughtful, kind person who wants to make the world a better place; and someone like Sofia was not going to be anywhere near good enough for him. Or the boys. Aside from that, he was gorgeous; and Jenny was right. You knew how to play the game, and play it you would. “Maybe I can do something about that for you”. You move behind Sam and slip your palms over his shoulders, digging your thumbs into the tense muscles. He groans loudly, and you relish in the sound.

“Ohmygod…That feels…But you’ve already done more than enough, Anna”.

You smile, kneading harder. “Not as far as these knots are concerned”. Sam moans again and you shiver at the noise, resolve hardening with every passing moment. Your lips find his ear, speaking just above a whisper. “Tell me where it hurts”.

“A little higher. Almost – Ohhhh…”.

You dig your thumbs harder into his back, and you feel him melt into your touch. “You should get on the bed” you whisper into his ear boldly. You see Sam swallow, and he looks at you for a long moment before obeying. Your mind wanders, and you can’t help but wonder what he’s thinking. You watch Sam stretch out on the bed, facing away from you, and you smile. “I’ll be five minutes” you promise, “could you take your pants off?”. You slip into your ensuite before he could ask questions.

A little more than five minutes later and you emerge, Sam still facing away from you.

“You know” he muses, hearing the ensuite door open, “I think you’re one of the only people who’ve kept me waiting and I’m not…”. His voice trails off as he turns to look at you, and he swallows hard. “Anna…”.

You blush at the way he stares at you, but you stand firm. Slowly you move over to the bed, the white silk dressing gown you’re wearing not doing anything to hide the lacy, red bra and matching thong you’d changed into, nothing else covering you. You’d chosen the deep red to compliment your skin, and you looked killer, if you did say so yourself. Then again, by the look on Sam’s face, you didn’t need to tell yourself that he liked what he saw. “Would you like a massage, Mr Dalton?” you purred, licking your lower lip as you approached the edge of the bed, slipping the silken gown off painfully slowly.

“I…You-“

“Shhh” you whisper, smiling softly. You reach over to the massage bar and straddle his back, a warm wave of pleasure rippling through you as your bare skin touches his, pleasantly surprised that he’d obeyed, and was now only wearing his boxers (the shirt also discarded on the floor). You rub the bar over your hands, making them slick with the sweet-smelling oil, before you splay them on his shoulders. Sam groans immediately, and you bite your lip, mapping every contour of his toned back and shoulders; admiring the tanned skin on show.

“You feel…That feels…” he mutters, shifting and squirming under your touch as you move your hands lower, daring to slip beneath the material of his boxers, toying with his hips and butt. Sam inhales sharply, and you note his toes and fingers curling. “Ohhh…Christ, Anna…What are you doing to me”.

You shiver, the way his voice aches your name making a pool of excitement rise up within you. “Good things, I hope” you replied, bending down. Your breasts press against his back as you whisper in his ear. “Sam, I…” you couldn’t say anything else, as his lips caught your own in a passionate kiss. All thoughts of what you were going to say drifted away and you allow yourself to be pulled down, the room spinning as he flips you over; now looking down at you with hungry eyes. The way you watch them rake over your body makes you giddy, and you shift beneath him. “No fair” you mutter, placing your hands flat against his chest. “I wasn’t done”. You push back and Sam lets you, laughing a little as you settle on-top of him again, facing him this time.

“You look incredible” he muttered, daring to slide his hands over your body. “Is this part of my birthday gift?”. His voice is husky with want, his hands toying with your bra.

“It is” you reply, sliding down his front. “Now, let me show you how else I can work my hands”.

Sam inhales sharply and swears under his breath as you rub the front of his boxers, delighted at his obvious excitement. Slowly you pull them down, your face now next to his hips, and you gasp softly, feeling that desire building up in your core again as you looked upon him. “Why, Mr Dalton” you muttered, gently taking him in your hand, “you kept this quiet, didn’t you?”. You watch gleefully as he opened his mouth to respond, only for his reply to melt into a guttural groan, your hand now pumping his cock, thumb swiping over the head where a bead of pre-cum had appeared.

“Don’t stop” he pleads, “that feels so good…Don’t stop…”.

His voice and his words spur you on, your own anticipation building and building. You bend your head and lick the tip of his cock, a sudden gasp from Sam all the permission you need to take him into your mouth. You bob up and down, moaning around his girth, your mouth full and dripping with saliva and precum, dribbling down your chin. Unable to take it anymore, you slip a free hand underneath the lacy material of your thong, and you run gentle circles over your clit; moaning harder.

“Anna, I-I can’t-!” Sam groans, his hips bucking into your mouth. You moan louder, preparing for his release, when you suddenly find yourself being flipped over. You gasp as his fingers find your soaking core, and he starts to rub, desperately, making you squirm and cry out. “Sam!” you beg, melting under his ministrations. Your cries were smothered by a desperate, passionate kiss and you eagerly returned it, your tongue swiping over his as he positioned himself over you, all the while moving his fingers in just the right way to make you putty in his hands.

His eyes, dark and foggy with lust, found yours and you nod in answer to the silent question. You wrap your arms around his back, clinging onto him desperately as he slips inside you, groaning loudly as he pushes in, slowly, savouring it.

“Ohhhh God….Sam, please” you beg now, bucking your hips in time with his as he thrusts in and out of you, again and again, hitting that sweet spot oh so deep inside. You’ve never felt anything like it, stars already blinding your vision but still riding the high; building over and over. “Please…!”.

“I’m not…I don’t” he says, voice strained, shaking his head.

“It’s okay!” you promise desperately, tugging him close and being forever grateful that Jenny had talked you into getting an IUD. “You can trust me, I swear just – Don’t stop. It’s okay, please. I need you to..! Please, Sam!”.

His resolve wavers and his lips meet yours again in a crashing embrace. “Anna-!” he cries out, finally, pressing himself into you fully as he comes undone, thrusting and groaning as he finishes deep inside of you.

Your own orgasm follows soon after, and you shiver uncontrollably, writhing beneath him as your nails dig into his back, shaking as you desperately cling to eachother, each one of you moving and grinding in sheer bliss

You slowly come down from your high, although you stayed connected for a while, laying together and enjoying the comforting silence and comedown.

“I’m glad these walls are insulated for noise control” Sam mutters, absently mindedly playing with a strand of your hair. “I wouldn’t want you to stay quiet if that’s what’s in store…Your voice is so damn sexy”.

You laugh and slap his chest, before running your hands over the skin. “I take it this means your not mad or…Gunna chuck me out?”.

Sam sits back, stared deeply into your eyes. “I would never” he whispers gently, stroking your cheek. “But what this means I…I don’t know”.

You nod, understanding, and rest your head against him. “Can we just enjoy this?” you ask softly, as you feel his grip tighten around you.

“I would like nothing more” he replied.

You feel a gentle kiss on your head and you sigh, content, slowly drifting off to sleep in his arms.

#choices stories you play #choices fanfiction #fanfiction #sam dalton #mc x sam #tna #the nanny affair #choices #choices tna

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syndianites · 4 years

Text

The After; The Athar: Chapter One

Chapter 1/?

Chapter 1 [Here] - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5

AO3: This Chapter - Full Fic

Summary: Post Season 2, non-Mianitian Compliant. The crew finally land back into the world after the events of Ruxomar. That should be a good thing, right? But Wag is feeling the burden of everything that has happened to him, and he didn’t even get his magic back to boot.

It’s hard to be happy when life has been so shitty.

Relationships: Sparklington (end-game), Marthlington (temporarily), Sparkanite (Spark x Ianite) (past, mentioned), Motanite

Content Warnings: Death Mentions, Implied Depression, Implied PTSD, Self-Deprecation, Breaking up a Relationship (Marthlington)

AN: I’ve been working on this since September? of 2019! I have 5 chapters done and still going. I wanted to wait to post this until I was done with it, but my impatience has gotten the better of me.

@the-moon-pal I’m coming for your crown king >:)

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They’d made it home a couple weeks ago, to the land of Mianite. It’d been such a relief. They got to meet the rest of the alts, got to watch Dianite meet the other gods- and cringe at the tension that crackled between them- got to find all their homes again. For once, in the past-however-long, there was peace. They could relax.

So why did Wag feel like utter shit?

Right. Because he literally got the worst part of the deal.

He thought his powers would come back when they got home. And they did, for a few hours. Not the full range, but a lot of it. It felt good to be full of magic again. It felt like he was himself.

But then things started to fall apart. Martha grew distant. His powers fell away in fits and bursts. He realized that the rest of FyreUK had moved on after they made amends in Ruxomar. They found their way on. Without him.

Nothing was the same, he realized, as he spent more time around the place they had called ‘home.’

Spark had done what he did best: built a city. Well, more like a village. What had once been a place of buildings thrown about at random and mostly open plains was now sparsely populated. Neatly arranged shops and a few houses took up the space next to the beach. New people had even begun to show up.

Everything was changing around him, yet he was stuck holding onto the past. Holding onto his wizardhood, to his brotherhood, to a partner that was farther now than ever, and- worst of all- he was still holding onto the hope that everything would just… go back. To how it was.

To when he was important.

Well, like fuck is he was going to sit around and loathe his existence. He could at least try to do something. Swear to Athar, he wasn’t going to turn into a lump of depression just because he couldn’t handle change! He’d rather be a walking mass of depression! That way he could at least pretend he was being productive.

Potions or spellbooks? A question as old as time. Potions were a staple in his life. If there was one thing that would never leave him, it was his ability to make fucking potions. Like, fucking make potions. Not potions to help people fuck. On the other hand, the more he poured through spellbooks, the more likely he was to get closer to finding out how to get his powers back.

Maybe his powers left when FyreUK left, taking all the glory of Athar with it. But that was too terrible of a thought, so that got chucked in the ‘not-today-bitch’ bin. Which was a handy dandy mental bin that stored all of his worst problems.

He never could fit himself in it, though.

So potions it was.

Now that he was out of the business of magic, most of his money came from his potion making. He had made yet another little wizard- alchemist? Potion master?- tower. Plopped some advertisements in el Pueblo de Spark and took orders to pass the time. He had to fund his botany experiments somehow. Someone had to introduce weed into this world, that might as well be him.

If he was going down in history for something, that wasn’t ‘Word Renowned Wizard Extraordinaire’, then ‘The Guy who Made Weed’ would sure as hell work.

Wag pulled up his log of orders. Luck, luck, dexterity, healing, luck, love- yeah, those didn’t really work but he’d make it anyways-, strength, luck, yadda, yadda, yadda. Lots of luck. He could probably get away with making a batch or two of luck potions, then work through the rest.

He spared a glance outside. Spark’s little hut-square town was beginning to develop into a pleasant little fishing hole. Surprisingly- or not, given how deep the waters were nearby- the place was actually a fairly hot place for single fish to mingle. Warm waters, nice and deep, lots of cover, and not much human interference. Until now, anyway.

Either the fishermen were starting to get a fair amount of revenue going or they really needed help. Luck potions were among his most expensive. The ingredients were hard to acquire regardless of how you made it.

Rabbit’s foot? Morally and physically hard to get a hold of. Rainbow trout? Terribly rare. ‘Star-light Fruit’? Not even confirmed to exist.

His method was a little more straightforward. A butt load of four-leaf clovers, a tiny bit of alcohol, and a fuckton of glitter. Clovers for the magic, glitter for the look, and alcohol for the feeling of being lucky.

It was a very bullshit potion.

It took forever to find the clovers, let alone collect them.

Athar give him strength.

Giving one last look outside, he tucked his log book in his cloak. Then he went and rummaged through his chests.

Monotony here he comes.

~~~

Wag was halfway through his second batch of luck potions when a distant knock came from his door, followed by the sound of bells. If not for the bells he’d have ignored the knocking. With a stretch, he putzed down the stairs. The many flights of stairs.

He missed being able to make elevators.

Opening the door revealed one Mr. Sparklez, hair tousled but otherwise neatly groomed. He was relaxed, if not a little winded from his trek up the hill Wag claimed as his own.

Wag smiled. “Hey Sparklez, what brings you up to my tower of terror today? Here for a chat or a swanky danky potion?”

He gestured for Jordan to head inside and get comfortable, but the man waved him off. “Actually,” Jordan started, “I was wondering if you’d seen Martha? I needed to ask her something and I haven’t seen her all day. Figured she’d be with you.”

Ah, so Jordan wanted to find Martha.

Ouch.

Doing his best to ignore the squeeze in his chest, Wag kept his smile firmly in place. “No, I don’t think I have. She, uh.” He paused, going for a nonchalant shrug. “She doesn’t come around the tower all that often. I’d ask Spark instead. She tends to hang around him more. Her good ole pops and all, y’know. They do have a lot to catch up on.” Wag tried to ignore how weak his words sounded. He didn’t want it to sound weird that Martha wouldn’t come around, but instead he just sounded pathetic.

Great.

Jordan gave Wag an awkward smile, seemingly uncomfortable with the sad display. “Ah, alright. I’ll ask around for Spark.”

He turned to leave but caught himself before he was fully turned away. Jordan chewed on his words. “Are you-” His eyes swept over Wag. “How have you been? We don’t see you as much anymore. Other than Tom, I guess, but it's hard to get rid of Tom once he decides you’re friends, y’know?”

“I’ve been,” Wag wanted to laugh, but pushed through the sentence, “swell, thank you. I would get out more, but I’m always so busy potion making. Gotta pay the bills somehow.” The words tasted bitter on his tongue. It wasn’t the exact truth, but he did spend a lot of time on potions.

Letting his shoulders settle, Jordan gave a small laugh. “Who would press a wizard to pay bills? Someone who wants to catch on fire, I’m sure.” He opted for a friendly smile. “If you ever want to hang out or something, let me know. I’ve been getting kind of bored between Spark telling me how to be a better champion of Ianite and living in an actual, peaceful society.”

Wag waved after Jordan as he began his descent. Yeah, a wizard. A frown tugged at his face while he shut the door.

A real fucking wizard.

~~~

Making potions was rather methodical. Each step took a certain amount of time, each item had certain effects, meshed certain ways with other items. It was like following a recipe, but with bigger consequences for messing up. Cooler results, though.

Wag had just finished melting down the clovers he’d gathered and extracting the essence- which is to say he lit it on fire after sprinkling a generous amount of blaze powder on it- when Jordan had stopped by. Which was convenient, since he needed to wait for the weird half-liquid half-slime to cool off enough to move it. The awkward potions, glitter, and alcohol were already prepped. Now all he needed to do was mix shit together.

Oh joy.

At the very least, it was satisfying to roll the clover essence into little balls to plop into an awkward potion and then watch them dissolve. The clover gave the essence a natural, healthy green color while the blaze powder, which clung to even the most thoroughly washed slime, gave it something of a yellow highlight. Golden glitter gets dumped in to make it feel like you were about to drink something special. Yes, the glitter was edible. No, most people didn’t realize he put glitter in this shit. Then the alcohol was for that background buzz. It was meant to dull the senses just enough to trick people into believing, wholeheartedly, in whatever god-forsaken abomination he just made.

Sorry. What ever divinely crafted, totally safe potion he’d just made.

Sure, he didn’t test it himself, but it seemed to work well enough for the people he gave it to. So where was the harm?

It was fine.

The next part was perhaps the most boring. And he’d spent all day yesterday crawling on the ground looking for four-leaf clovers.

Tagging and packaging. Writing names on slips of paper, tying them to the potion, putting it in a small, padded box to prevent any breaks. Rinse, repeat. It was annoying, wasted money, all that jazz, but it helped the look. Who wants to be handed a regular old potion, by hand, when you can get it in some majestic looking box to really add some sparkle to your magic?

Maybe Ruxomar rubbed off on him in a bad way.

In any case, the look was important, and by Athar was he going to make it look fucking fantastic.

Unfortunately, this task was also terribly, horribly monotonous. Worse yet, it left room for thinking. And thinking was Wag’s least favorite pastime since floating in the Void. Especially since floating in the Void.

It lead to him thinking deeply about himself and Athar knows that most of his life problems could be traced right back to that. His mistakes, his fuck ups, his shortcomings, all of it came back to him thinking way too hard about himself.

Gross.

Instead, he tried to run over potion recipes in his mind. Or any recipe, really. All the different ways to make a fire resistance potion when you don’t have magma cream. Counting how many potions used lemongrass. Figuring out what potions would make it more likely to catch fish. Literally anything. As long as it was potions, it was fine.

Not about himself, not about Athar, not about wizards, and not about… Martha.

Yeah, that last one would be a one hit k-o.

But now that his mind had touched on the subject, it dug in. Sunk it's claws into the delicate stability of his mind. Dramatic, he knows, but that’s how it felt. It was like the more he tried to get the thought out of his mind, the further it burrowed into him. Awful, painful, and not even worth the effort.

Martha… clearly didn’t care about him anymore. Or, well. He winced at the thought. She didn’t love him like she used to. If she, uh. Did in the first place. But this was old news. This was something he pondered after she seemed to avoid him like the plague, seemed to grimace when she looked over and saw him and not him.

Steve.

The name sat heavy in his head. They hadn’t meshed well, ‘specially where Martha was concerned. But they managed, for her, because they loved her.

Wag felt guilty, looking back on it now. For stealing their time together, for messing with their relationship. They hadn’t gotten to be together enough, had lost too much time before-

Yeah, he didn’t like thinking about Steve more than he didn’t like thinking about Martha. Wag didn’t feel like he deserved to think the name, let alone put himself up against his image. Steve was a hero. He rebelled against Helgrind in a cunning, intelligent way, he was selfless in more aspects than any of the heroes that appeared in Ruxomar, and he was the one to sacrifice the most. To sacrifice it all.

Where did Wag stand against that?

Honestly, it was no wonder Martha couldn’t stand to look at him. He was just a reminder of Steve, a reminder that she didn’t have Steve. That she had him instead.

Had she ever loved him?

That wasn’t the point. The point was that Martha was hurting, trying to pick up the pieces of what she left behind in Ruxomar. What she had lost. And Wag wasn’t doing anything to help. He was stuck up in his tower, making potions, trying to forget about everything that he wasn’t.

He should try to look for her.

But the last time he did, he got turned away. She was “catching up with her father.” She was “busy settling into the new world.” She was “trying to get a grip on her new goddesshood.”

Wag was persistent, but even he could get the hint.

By Athar, he got the hint. “I don’t want to see you.” “Don’t come near me.” “You can’t help me.”

He wondered if Spark was doing anything to help her or if he was also caught up in everything that had happened. From what he had learned about the man in Ruxomar, he was devoted to his wife. No, he gave everything for his wife. Learning she was dead after working up everything to see her again?

He had played it well. When he heard the news, Spark kept strong, only letting his tears show. If he had gone home later after parting with Martha, who had her own grief and guilt, crumbling on the inside no one would know. And if he had locked himself away and let everything loose, let himself break, none would be the wiser. But they could guess, they could give him a passing glance, a thoughtful frown.

Wag wondered if he still carried that grief around with him.

Spark had taken to trying to discipline Jordan to be a better champion of Ianite. It had made the man uncomfortable with getting told he could be a better follower and all. Or rather, having it implied that he wasn’t the best follower. Spark was stubborn in ‘training’ the champion of Ianite to be a full fledged follower.

Still, Jordan didn’t appreciate the sentiment.

Wag understood. Having the husband of the very goddess you watched die get on your case about being a better follower? When the crushing weight of guilt hadn’t fully let off your shoulders? He wondered if Spark hadn’t taken to coaching Jordan to make himself feel better, to remind himself that he would have kept Ianite safe, that he would have fixed the world before it broke out from under them.

It sounded like torture.

But it helped settle Wag. Call him selfish, but he felt better knowing other people had real problems, real grief, to deal with. Sure, Wag had his hang up with Martha. Yeah, he had his issues with being-a-wizard-yet-not. But he wasn’t as close to neck deep as Spark was. Like Martha was.

He wished belittling his problems made them feel less suffocating.

Martha. Martha was still pushing him away. And he was letting her. What did that say about him? About their relationship?

A sigh heaved out of his chest. It was like someone stuck a large rock right in his rib cage, tucked neatly between his lungs. Hard, heavy, and an all around burden. Potions. He needed to think about potions.

His hands betrayed him with a subtle shake. How many names did he have left to write? How many boxes did he have left to pack? Fuck if he knew. He had to keep counting, to find a way to wrap up all his issues, his panic, his fear, into a nice little package and tuck it away like a forgotten gift.

Athar help me, Wag tried to control his thoughts, I might drive myself insane by the end of the year.

As if on cue, another knock at his door broke his thoughts. He tried not to feel relieved to rush away from his potion packaging. He was fine, cool as a cucumber.

Throwing open the door, he came face to face with his second visitor of the day. Tom.

Tom was standing in front of his door almost uncertainly, like he wasn’t quite sure why or how he got there. He took one sweep over Wag’s unhidden face and a determined, focus look set in on his own.

“We,” Tom looped his arm around Wag’s in a sudden movement, “are going out somewhere. No if’s, and’s, or but’s.”

Eyebrows shooting up, Wag let himself be dragged from his house with an aborted motion to close the door behind him. He mournfully watched his door stay ajar. Hopefully no one else ventured up the hill today, otherwise he might be down a few potions.

“Why?” Wag turned his attention back to Tom, who was resolute in his intention of pulling Wag away to Athar knows where.

A grin was shot in his direction. “You look like you need to get out of the house. Also, I’m real fuckin’ bored and you’re clearly in need of some company.”

A wry smile snuck on Wag’s face. “Oh lucky me. We should get some tea, live up to our trademark.”

Tom nodded. “Absolutely. Let’s hit town. Fuck it up. Flaunt our hero-ness and get shit faced.”

“Let’s not get shit faced, and especially not get kicked out of town for making a ruckus.” Wag fondly rolled his eyes. “I do quite like living here and it’d be a shame to have to follow you around to make sure you don’t die.”

Tom gave a mocked offended gasp, free hand coming up to his forehead as he leaned away. “How dare you! I’ll have you know I’d never die if I didn’t live in a community. I’m a rogue, don’t you know.” He sniffed. “I can easily hold my own in the dangerous wilds.”

“Without anyone to pester and annoy?”

“I can pester anything!”

Wag bit his lip to stop a laugh. Tom always brought such energy with him. It was refreshing. Maybe he was right, he just needed some company.

He wouldn’t say that to his face, though.

“I suppose so,” Wag continued, “You are rather persistent. I bet you could annoy the sun into setting early.”

“Nah, I’d blow that fucker up instead.” Tom winked, snuggled back up to Wag, effectively trapping his arm. “I still think we should get shit faced. Drink our sorrows into the drain, throw them up another day.”

Wag mock gagged. “I’d rather keep them down the drain, thank you. Besides, what a waste of alcohol. If I’m drinking, I’m drinking to keep it down. Not!” He quickly cut Tom off, “That I want to go out drinking.” He eyed the sky, giving a disapproving look to Tom when he saw that it was still early afternoon. “No one should be getting drunk before the sun touches the horizon.”

With a pout, Tom leaned into Wag’s side. “Lame. I suppose,” he drew out the word, “we could go get some good old fashioned tea. Call it a pre-game without the game.”

Wag rolled his eyes. He wasn’t looking to out game his issues. That wasn’t a solution. It’d just make him turn into a sad drunk and give him a headache in the morning.

This is why he needed weed back.

But also, he didn’t want to develop another problem. Gotta keep it clean. For now.

Tom still had his own plans, alcohol or no alcohol. “I find when I’m feeling down that doing something batshit stupid makes me feel better. We should go fishing with our bare hands- no, with only our teeth- and no shirt on. Attract ladies and gents to us alike. Are they looking at our finely chiseled chests or our daring courage? Who’s to say.”

“You are far from chiseled my friend. Try soft.” Wag poked Tom in the stomach jokingly. “And who said that I’m feeling down?”

“Hey!” Tom swatted his hand away. “I’ll have you know I’m more ripped than you’ll ever be!” He huffed, squeezing Wag’s arm. They walked in silence for a moment, now upon the town. After wandering the street for a second, Tom spoke again, quieter. “I had this feeling.” Wag eyes him. “It was weird. My gut was telling me to check in on you. And then when you opened the door it was written on your face. Even I’m not dumb enough to miss that.”

Wag heard the unspoken I was worried carried in Tom’s words. Talk about soft. He squeezed Tom’s arm back. “Oh wow, a gut feeling?” He teased lightly, “I think it was just you missing my magical presence. It is hard to go too long without seeing me.” If only that were true. “But I’m here now, and we can go do something absolutely stupid, just for you.”

They share a smile, a quiet thank you floating between them.

Tom gets a glint in his eyes. “Does this mean we can go catch fish with our bare hands?”

“I suppose so.” Wag drawled. “How else are we going to show off our toned figures?”

That got him a laugh, one concerningly maniacal, and he was dragged between houses.

Yeah, he might regret this.

Tom turned and gave him a smile that was all teeth and no common sense. He paused next to the shore, a little ways off from the docks. Shucking his clothes, one Tom Syndicate stood proudly in his underwear, unconcerned about the effect of sunlight on zombified skin. People gave them a look of distaste.

Oh, he was definitely going to regret this.

~~~

Soggy was one way to describe how Wag felt. Wet as shit was another. All in all, he was rather pleased with himself and the rather large, shiny fish sitting in his lap. The fish which so happened to be a fair amount larger than Tom’s.

“Oh fuck you.” Tom spluttered around a mouthful of fish, laying down an arm’s length away. He had gathered quite an amount of fish, a solid number for catching something with your mouth alone. None of them were that large. In fact, most were an average, if not slightly below, size.

Wag eyed the pile smugly. He may have only caught two, but damn if he didn’t go big.

“Well, it seems that I’ve caught myself a winner.” He tried not to look too pleased. The look on Tom’s face told him he failed.

Tom scoffed, letting the fish fall to the sandy floor with a wet fwop. “You got lucky! Clearly, quantity wins the game here. Sure, you caught one big, old, dumb motherfucker, but I caught a dozen other dumbass fish! I should get the win.”

“Wasn’t size the goal here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, I think you do.”

Before Tom could fire back, a voice from behind interrupted him. “I think the two fools sitting in their underwear soaked to the bone are both losers.”

Wag tilted his head back to see Tucker standing with his hands in his pockets, back slouched, and an easy smile on his face, standing just where the sand turned to grass. Next to him was one lovely fox lady, Sonja herself, and one Sparkle butt, Jordan.

Nice to see the gang all here.

Tom sat up. “How dare you! I’ll have you know we are the best fishers on the island!”

Tucker raised a single eyebrow. “Really now? Are all the other fishers out at sea today?”

“Well excuse you, Mr. Boner. I’ll have you know we caught all of this,” Tom sweeps his arm across their score. “And I think that’s quite the haul.”

“How long did it take you?”

“Fuck you.”

Tucker snickered, moving closer to poke his foot into Tom’s side. “That’s what I thought.”

Wag, meanwhile, was carefully moving his prize to the side so he could stand up. Brushing the sand off himself, he exchanged a smile with Sonja and a nod with Jordan. Sonja gave him a good natured headshake. “And here I thought you were smarter than this.”

Jordan’s eyes trailed down Wag’s chest before flittering away. “Right down to your boxers? Tom must have gotten you good.”

“Well, I was fairly set on getting a nice cup of tea and walking across the beach, hand in hand like real lovers, but Tom was far more intent to go all macho and catch fish with his mouth alone.” Wag leaned in with a hand against his mouth to give a stage whisper. “Between you and me, I think he’s trying to step up his oral game.” He winked.

Jordan groaned, giving Wag what he thought to be a rather dramatic eye roll. That wasn’t even the worst he had to offer, and he’d given him such an easy setup! Sonja waggled her eyebrows and giggled when Tom butted in. “It’ll never be as good as yours dear.” He batted his eyelashes mock innocently.

The group burst into laughter. Tucker stepped closer, swinging an arm around his vaguely damp shoulders. “Hey, it’s nice to see you out and about man. It’s been a hot second. Almost thought you’d drank the wrong potion and kicked it or something.”

Wag nodded seriously. “Quite the real possibility. Why, just yesterday I almost drank real glitter! The kind you’re not supposed to eat.”

“Been there,” Sonja added, “I thought I was going to die when I did. Just gave me a very colorful trip to the bathroom.”

Tom grinned as he moved to elbow Jordan in the side. “I bet our good ole Captain here wouldn’t know the difference. How else did he get his namesake, right Mr. Sparkley Butt?”

“Hardy har,” Jordan gave Tom a fondly disgusted look. “The name’s Captain Sparklez, that ‘namesake’ came from you giving me a stupid nickname.”

They fell into more chatter, giving Tom and Wag the time to put their clothes back on, Tom not caring that he was still wet as he put his suit back on, while Wag just slung his cloak over himself. No point in putting pants on over wet underwear.

The group, all now clothed to some extent, began to wander back towards town. Wag was more than content to listen to Tom ramble on. He would get interrupted by Tucker when he said something ‘incredibly stupid’ and, more rarely, by Jordan, who would correct some technical thing that Tom clearly did not give a shit about.

Sonja drifted next to him, giving Wag a conspiratorial smile. “You’re looking mighty fine in just a robe and boxers. Is this the bedroom Wag special? Or is that sans boxers?”

“The bedroom Wag special is whatever you want it to be.” He winked. “It’s magic all around.”

They exchanged a laugh, falling silent again.

Wag knew that wasn’t what Sonja really wanted to talk about.

She looked back at him, a warm look in her eyes. “It’s nice. To see you out. Been a while, y’know?” Sonja stretched her arms out in front of her. “It really has been a bit since we’ve talked. And since you’ve left the house. But honestly?” Her tail swishes behind her. “I could have made a few more treks up that damn mountain myself.”

Shaking his head, Wag elbowed her side lightly. “It is a fairly tall hill, but I think mountain is a bit of an overstatement.” It was, in fact, a bitch of a climb, but Wag didn’t think it was that bad. He’d put the tower just on the other side of the Glowstone Forest, across from the Priest’s house. (What was it called again? Forest of the Void? Abyss Forest? Obsidian Trees? Yeah, he didn’t know or care).

Left unsaid was a ‘That’s okay, you don’t have to go out of your way’.

He received an eye roll. “Please, the only trek worse than that is up to where Tucker’s first house was. I was so happy when we moved it down the mountain. Well, into.”

It’s no trouble, her words left hanging, I don’t mind.

Wag huffed. How dare she be considerate. “You know what’s worse than a trek up a mountain? A trek up a mountain to get some rare flower, only to be spited by the universe and have not a single flower growing up there. Honestly, I could use some help from someone so used to climbing mountains.” A smirk pulled at his face. “Or maybe just send someone up there for me.”

We could always hang out when I’m playing master botanist. If you’d like.

Sonja smiled at him, but couldn’t resist getting a dig in. “Aw, did you skip leg day? Have some chicken legs over there? That’s alright, I’m sure someone,” she tilts her head, eyes sweeping past the buildings around them, “would be willing. Get a nice little lackey so you can rest your old bones at home and complain about how the cold makes your joints stiff.”

“How dare you,” Wag sniffed, hand held up to his heart. “I’ll have you know, my joints are just fine in the cold! Some of us just aren’t made of the cold, little miss fox.”

Sonja, ever so mature, stuck her tongue out at him.

They kept up some conversation, occasionally stopping to listen in to whatever Tom was saying. Wag, for a moment, realized that he had missed this. Missed them. That even though he wanted to avoid all the new things in this world, he’d always have his friends.

A quiet, hopeless voice asked if they’d leave him too.

~~~

There was nothing quite like hiking up a hill, in only your boxers, a little buzzed, during the night time. The pure amount of skeletons that had sniffed around looking for a cheap shot alone was bad enough, but the fact that his legs already hurt from struggling to fish with just his mouth without drowning? Yeah, it felt more like he was climbing up a mountain that was near vertical.

Fuck gravity.

A pit of warmth had settled in his chest a couple hours ago. Whether it was the alcohol that Tucker, of all people, had got the group into drinking or just the effect of being with friends for a while, Wag felt content. Not a common feeling in recent times. It was nice.

Really nice.

Upon reaching his door, his mind scrambled to figure out why it was left slightly open. He shrugged. As long as nothing was missing or stolen, he didn’t really care.

He made his way inside- making sure to actually close the door behind him- and wandered over to the stairs. Ah, his mortal enemy. Between being a wizard way back when and the magic rampant in Ruxomar, he had gotten way too used to avoiding stairs. Now it was a chore to move up and down the tower. But his bed was upstairs and he was not sleeping on the crappy couch he shoved into the lobby for guests or customers again.

So stairs it was.

By the time he got halfway up the stairs, he wanted to quit. Why, in Athar’s name, did he put his room on the third highest level? Stupidity, that’s why. The view was so not worth it.

When he actually made it up to the correct floor, he pushed the door to his room open, chucked his clothes to one side, and collapsed in bed. Now this, this was worth it. Soft, plush, warm, and very much without skeletons.

The less arrows being shot at him the better.

A soft chuckle caught his attention. Or rather, killed the peace he had wrapped around himself mere hours earlier.

He didn’t move. Not because he was scared. No, he knew who was in his room. He just wanted to pretend, for a moment, like this was something he was used to.

Like coming home to his lover being home wouldn’t surprise him.

The bed dipped beside him and his robed and boxer-ed glory. A hand ran through his hair. Wag tried not to tense.

“Seems like you had a good night out.” Her voice was like silk, soft and pleasant on his ears. “Hopefully they didn’t hassle you too much.”

Wag breathed. His chest was tight, emotion punching at his ribs. “Yeah,” he said, “It was nice to have some time with them again.”

All of this felt so forgein, now. To have her here. Was she here? Or did he drink more than he had originally thought. Shit.

Martha scratched his head. “I do have to say, I’m surprised that you actually left the tower. You’ve been holed up here for so long I thought I’d have to drag you out.” He could hear the smile in her voice. Or maybe he was imagining it. His head was a mess and he wasn’t quite sure what he was making up and what was real.

It was kind of pathetic.

He laughed. “Yeah, Tom showed up and dragged me out. Not complaining though, I had a lot of fun. It was nice to take off from work. Making potions gets boring.”

So did sitting in your own depressing thoughts, but that was more exhausting than boring.

“Oh,” Wag turned his head to face Martha, looking up at her. The darkness made her hair stand out. It looked like a halo around her face, bringing out her lovely lilac eyes. She was just as beautiful as the last time he’d seen her. But there was something heavy in her eyes that she tried to wipe away when his own reached her. “Jordan was looking for you earlier. Did he ever find you?”

Martha blinked and the heaviness was gone. Ish. He knew it was there. Somewhere.

“Ah, no.” She frowned. “I’ll have to see what he needs tomorrow.”

He nodded. To be honest, Wag wasn’t convinced Martha was actually sitting here with him. Which was kind of sad. Very sad.

“I can come with, if you’d like,” Wag rushed out, trying not to sound desperate. “We haven’t had much time together, which is understandable with your dad being around and all the stuff you need to do. And, y’know, it’d be nice to walk with you for a bit.”

Oh, he sounded so desperate.

Yikes.

A smile graced Martha’s lips. “Sure, I’d love that.” Wag let out a breath. “We’ll take a stroll, get a nice scenic view of the beach as we go, call it a date-” She cut off. The heaviness came back to her eyes. Wag knew what she was thinking. Who she was thinking about.

It hurt.

“I’m going to go take a shower before getting ready for bed. You can go ahead and sleep, if you’d like. I know you’ve had a long day and you’re probably tired. Don’t force yourself for me.” Martha stood as she said this, fingers trailing in his hair. Then she left.

Reluctantly, Wag got up to do just that. Changed his boxers and hung up his cloak. Buried himself back into bed, under the covers.

Yeah. It’d be a date.

~~~

Martha didn’t like to get up early. Neither did Wag. Normally, this lead to them sleepily cuddling until one felt so inspired as to get up. Normally.

Ever since the group returned to the land of Mianite, Martha didn’t sleep as well. Between nightmares, being a fledgling goddess, and the… absence of certain people, she found herself waking earlier and earlier.

Wag had his fair share of sleep troubles. Where sleep troubles stopped Martha from sleeping as much, it led to Wag sleeping more. The less he slept the more exhausted he was. The more exhausted he was the more he slept. It was a vicious cycle and actually the reason Wag didn’t leave the house as much.

Nonetheless, both found themselves getting ready to leave just after dawn. Martha moved like last night didn’t end awkward and uncomfortable. Bright, cheerful, and painfully affectionate with Wag. Like she hadn’t been avoiding him for the better part of their stay here.

The worst part was that this wasn’t the first time she came back like nothing was wrong. It was almost like she could tell when he was starting to doubt their relationship. Except, he was constantly doubting their relationship. Even when things had been going well. But this time, it was like she knew when he was thinking about how much of a relationship they didn’t have.

Which was concerning if she actually knew what he thought.

Wag, on the other hand, moved like a zombie. Tired, groggy, and barely awake. The picture of early morning beauty. It wasn’t far off from how he used to act, but now it was like someone had chained weights to his feet.

Damn, he was tired as shit.

Martha had set about making some breakfast from the little food he had. Some eggs, some- thankfully not spoiled- fruit, and milk. Wag was pretty sure he didn’t have milk, but he wasn’t going to question it. She was the more magical of the two, now, so it was within reason that she could get milk in the few minutes he’d lagged behind her in getting out of bed.

He, on the other hand, was on the task of making coffee. Coffee was something of a luxury here, since it was so new to the land. It wasn’t grown naturally on the island and Wag wasn’t sure if it was imported from some far off place or if it had been introduced by the earlier dimension hoppers that still hung around. Spark, for sure, seemed to run on the stuff.

That didn’t really matter to Wag, though. He had a plant of it in his garden, for ease of access, but more importantly to see if it could be used to help crossbreed weed into existence. No far off land had procured the plant yet, so he would still strive to be the maker of weed.

Not the best plan in the world, but that wouldn’t matter once he actually made the plant.

He really shouldn’t be encouraging substance abuse.

Surely, coffee would wake him up. Then he could go on a walk with Martha and do that thing they seemed to do where they avoided those topics and pretended like everything was fine. And maybe, just maybe, they’d enjoy the conversation. Maybe they’d feel something again, feel whole for the brief moment where they let themselves forget about the person who was missing, the person that clearly held more place in Martha’s heart for it to have torn so much when he-

Maybe Wag would get his shit together and let things die between them.

Maybe he’d decide that fighting an uphill battle wasn’t worth it.

For now, though, he was content to pretend things were the same. It was better than being entirely, wholly alone. And, deep in his heart, he still loved her. So, so much.

Enough that he knew it would hurt no matter what he did.

They chatted over the food Martha cooked. She complemented his coffee, the beans from the plant he owned, and he told her that the cooking is just as good as it’d always been.

Neither mentioned that it was usually Steve, not either of them, that did the cooking.

They tossed little affections at each other with ease. Like it was second nature. A brush of hands, a quick smile, a peck on the cheek. It was like a dance. As though they were trying to make a show of how much they still cared, how much nothing had changed despite the fact that everything had changed.

Hands loosely held together, they left the house as a unit, holding up a conversation with ease. If either of them tripped up in their speech as they avoided that topic or this word, neither called each other out for it. For all that everything was off and wrong, they made it work. They found a way to shove a cube into a round hole.

Whether it was because they wanted it to work so bad or because the hole was a giant chasm with space for miles was up to debate.

The beach was calm in the early morning. Fishers were stocking up their ships to start up on their daily trip, tightening a rope here, making space there. Few people walked about the town, the kids either asleep or getting hassled to eat breakfast. With so few people out, it felt like they were on the outskirts of life, just the two of them. Like viewing the world through a painting.

That illusion was helped by the sheer height of Jordan’s tree. It was still there, despite the damage it had received when Tom got to it. If he looked closely, Wag could see the remains of burn marks and grooves held in the thick bark. He had heard that, after the heroes had left, Ianite had nursed the tree back to life in honor of her lost champion.

He ignored the fact that Ianite had sent them into the void in the first place.

Wag himself had left before that, called on to help the heroes that he had watched over as a distant wizard. Even now, he wondered if it had been worth it. To lose everything because he was asked to. In his weakest moments, he wondered if it hadn’t been the gods’ way of throwing him out.

That thought hurt the most out of everything in his life and he never let it linger.

It wasn’t long before they made it to the base of the hill that Jordan’s tree- sorry, Jerry’s Tree- sat beside. They weren’t that close to getting inside yet, but it was a milestone.

As they climbed the hill, massive roots stretching out below them, Wag started up some conversation about the different species of trees. He never once mentioned apple trees. It was part of his botany, after all, and important to keep track of. The types of trees, not apple trees. Apple trees were just one of those topics and therefore something they made an unspoken agreement not to talk about.

He pondered, during his ramble, that Martha could have just flown up the tree. She could do that, after all. Wag couldn’t. Not anymore. The worst part was that he’d help build this tree, or, well, make it. Way back then. That was a sore spot to think about, but even still he was in awe of the tree. Not because of the fact that he's contributed to it- no, he had felt a sense of pride for that a long time ago. Rather, because of how it’d regrown.

Ianite’s gentle hand had turned it from merely a large, enchanting tree to a behemoth of divine wonder. Its branches had spread further, with more room between them and the tips reaching towards the heavens. The leaves had shaped up and gotten fuller, surely the size of a full-grown adult by now. Fireflies could be seen lazily hovering about clusters of leaves, giving the tree a pleasant, natural lighting.

Many more platforms and walkways had been built, new buildings having been added on top of that. They stretched from one end to the other. The most daring teased the edge of a branch, hung firmly along the length of it. The walkways were either long rope bridges made of braided vines that shimmered a faint purple or ramps made and reinforced by the same wood the tree was made of, the bottom featuring fancy swirls alongside the support beams.

Other vines, flora, and bushes lined the branches and platforms. Though they looked like they were leeching off the tree at first, a closer inspection- granted you were on the tree to get an inspection- showed they were delicately wrapped around the branches and sneakily planted in hidden pots for a more natural look. The flowers ranged from all sorts of purples- fitting. Buddleias enclosed doorways, Hyacinthus were wound along lanterns strung along pathways, and an abundance of Jacaranda could be found wherever space was made for flora.

The more he looked the more nature there was to see, the more connecting walkways there were strung along, the more everything there was. It felt like the whole world was home under the canopy.

The tree had gone from the house of a solitary man to a city of nature.

It didn’t feel like the same tree.

Wag pushed aside the nagging thought that it was better than anything he could have ever made. Ianite was a full fledged goddess, Wag was- had been- a mere wizard with the idea of godhood in his head. What he made had been incredible for mortal standards, and was still incredible for the standards he had held himself to. It would do no good to compare himself to Ianite, especially when all she had done was repair what was already there.

As they made their way up to the crest of the hill, following the path from the town to the tree as it curled around Jordan’s old home, Wag spared a glance at the birch and quartz house. It was simple, sleek and minimal. It suited Jordan. Of course, Jordan himself had made it, so why wouldn’t it?

Compared to Jerry’s Tree, though, it seemed rather dull and insignificant.

Actually.

Wag spared a closer look at the smaller home. It looked lived in. A frown pulled at his lips. Was someone living there? Who else, other than Jordan, would?

Martha had picked up the conversation now, adding in details about trees that she had seen in her travels long ago, ones he’d never have had the chance to see. There were many interesting species, some magical in the same sense as Silverwoods, some as plain as a simple oak tree, but all more than enough to satiate Wag’s desire to know more. His mind kept getting pulled back to the Casa de Sparklez, though.

A thought struck him, one he’d had just moments before.

Jerry’s Tree looked and felt so different, now that Ianite had tended to it. Like it was a different tree. Did Jordan think the same? Did it feel less like home, after being away for so long and having watched it burn?

Was Jordan living in his older house because the tree felt so forgein?

Martha was going on about a beautiful tree known for the lights its seeds shone, especially during the night hours. It really sounded like a sight to behold. More than that, the gentle, awed look on Martha’s face pulled at Wag’s heart.

Take care of her.

There was a sour taste in his mouth. Wag decided not to mention what he had just noticed. That was Jordan’s business, not his.

Martha was looking at him now, a small, shy smile on her lips. Wag felt like if he said the wrong thing it’d disappear in an instant. Like Martha was used to having her interests pushed aside, or used to pushing them aside herself when people didn’t seem to care about what she was saying.

Take care of her.

He offered a smile back, a genuine one. He really did love her. More than anything, he wanted to keep loving her. But something told him it wouldn’t work. That what they had had started to decay sometime around the end of Ruxomar, around when he left.

No, around when Martha almost became Mrs. a instead of a Ms.

Bitterness clutched at Wag’s heart. For all the love he held for her, he wondered, again and again, if she held the same. If she ever held the same, if she even held something close to the same.

Take care of her.

Looking up at Jerry’s Tree, Wag remembered what it used to be. He remembered watching it burn, the pain he had felt in seeing his hard work get tarnished, in seeing a friend’s home wither away.

Now, though, it was different. Not quite a home, anymore, but reborn. Alive. And maybe, in the future, it’d be a home again, or maybe not. Maybe it needed to burn for it to become what it was now. Jordan would have never built it up to this, but Ianite had.

Maybe that was the secret, Wag pondered. Maybe you had to let things burn to be able to build them up stronger.

He looked at Martha again, at the softness in her face and the hardness in her eyes. His heart pulled in so many directions. Love, anguish, love, despair, love, hurt, love love love.

Yeah, he was going to have to let this relationship burn.

35 notes · View notes

vivwrite · 4 years

Text

With the Ghost of You(When the Sun Goes Down We All Get Lonely)

Maybe he’s just imagining, maybe its just another fantasy he pictures, but Luke seems semitransparent, a halo casting around his figure, holy, angelic.

“The night was very long but it didn’t seem long to the Snow Man; he stood lost in his own pleasant thoughts, and they froze until they crackled.”

or: Ashton meets Luke in a library, and the story tells itself. (AO3 link👇)

ooookay so my first fic for lashton and 5sos . Thanks for reading it. And tbh I'm extremely nervous because English's not my first language. So sorry for the mistakes lol.

One thing: I read Marquez's work in my first language, and I can't find the English version of it, so I translated the title and first sentence to English. There might be a mistake so sorry again lol

Ashton has always loved the library.

It isn't the school library, which is always so grand, demure, solemn, much like a robot- no, too cold and inhuman.

What he prefers, rather, is a smaller one run by a group of retired professors. It seems determined to hide itself in the northeastern corner of the campus, made up of three small but never crowded reading rooms. No matter when he walks through the doors be can find lamps shading yellowish circles on wooden tables, rows and rows of bookshelves up to the ceiling, and seats, beside small windows where the sunlight outside leaks in just perfectly on sunny afternoons.

To him it's always a getaway, a secret hiding place from the stressed and sometimes too fast school life, the only friend he can turn to when he isn't that enthusiastic about life, a comfort when facing another rock bottom. He's already studying a too rational subject; he'd love spending some time being just sensitive in here.

He'd spend hours and hours wandering among the bookshelves, picking one when he feels like it, skimming a few pages before deciding to read on or not. By doing this he feels just like a boy on the beach, amazed by an emerald or sapphire brought on shore by waves from time to time- what matters isn't just the book he gets. It's more of the communicating, the chore he gets to strike.

Unsatisfactory experiment result, loads of homework, a long and tiresome discussion with the professor about his research orientation- which he thinks is too early for him to consider, but she insists that as he has already got postgraduate recommendation he needs to consider it fully right now- and Ashton finds himself wandering in the library again, walking aimlessly, not for finding books, just to feel the connection.

It is a strange feeling, really, to be connected with books. Most of them on the shelves just seem to be books as they are, silent, quiet, lifeless. But, well, maybe it’s just his imagination- but some particular ones seem to be staring back- especially that one.

His hand automatically moves to pick that book out of the column.

It is quite delicate, a hard back small enough to be held on one hand, the title shimmering under the dim lights.

Ann’s Diary.

He remembers reading it in his teen years.

“Sorry, but that's mine.”

Ashton springs from the bookshelf. The book slips straight from his hand, hitting the wooden floor with a thud, as a boy rounds up from the other side.

He's tall- even taller than Ashton. And quite young, a freshman or sophomore, maybe. He is staring at Ashton from behind those strands of blonde, messy curls falling off to his face, piercing pale blue eyes met with his hazel ones, and that made his breath hitch for a second- although those eyes are definitely showing dismay.

"I... I don't really understand." He tries his best to cover all the confusion and fear- dealing with strangers always makes him uncomfortable (although he can manage it by acting cheerful and shit), especially with a pissed one.

But the boy seems determined to stay silent and on edge. He just flips the first page open, gesturing to a mark on it.

It's a two-word initial. Must have written quite a long time ago, as the lines are a bit blurry and the ink has faded into light gray. But he still recognizes the word, written in Italic, reading "L.H.".

Wait. The librarians never said that there is a place for personal collections.

Before he can ask about it the boy swirls around and walks off, leaving alone a dumbfounded Ashton.

He goes to ask the librarians, then the curator(because the librarians know nothing), about books with a L. H. written on it.

"This is a long story, darling, but it's late." Mrs. Hemmings' voice is collected and calm as always, but Ashton can tell that there is something as her eyes are a bit dull, "Maybe the other day."

His favorite spot in the library is a small table tucked behind seven rows of bookshelves of English literature(yes, he counts how many bookshelves are there), just besides a small window. Others rarely find it- unless they're crazy for novels by Adeline Virginia Woolf or they're just too bored to do anything else.

That's why he chooses here- There's no disruption, no noise, only the random shuffle for a person searching for books and pages being turned. Being alone.It suits him.

The sound of a chair pulling broke the silence,ripping him from the novel plot- someone has slipped into the chair opposite of him.

Well, fuck.

Ashton lifts his head from the pages, slight agitation rising from his chest, which shifted to utter surprise as his eyes meet a strangely familiar shade of blue.

Before he could say anything the boy blurts out , "Please... I want to explain."

For a moment Ashton just sits there, staring. Thoughts cloud his mind, tangling messily, laying conflicted- He was so senseless but now he seems so sincere! He won't trust his own voice right now, afraid that something stupid pops up all of a sudden. So he decides to just nod, a silent permit for the stranger to go on.

The boy clears his throat, looking a little nervous, "About the incident yesterday... I'm sorry. Got into something stupid and was shouted at all day long- but, I mean, fuck, even that isn't the reason I became such a jerk to you. I'm not trying to defend myself, but please don't be angry... Oh my fucking god, I don't know what I'm saying." He groans, pushing a hand through his curls, messing it up a bit.

Well, isn't that adorable.

Ashton hears himself chuckling, "I understand, no worries. Everyone has a bad day, don't we?"

He watches as the boy visibly relaxes with the reassuring words, a smile slipping on on his face, "Yeah, I guess. Thanks... Um, what's your name, by the way?"

Oh, right.

"Ashton."

"Thanks, Ashton." the boy's smile widens, "I'm Luke."

So the initial does belong to him. The L. H..

It's not until silence falls that Ashton realizes he may have stared at those sea- blue, sincere eyes for a bit too long. Hastily he ducked his head into his novel, flushed, trying to pick up the stream of Woolf's consciousness again.

"Virginia Woolf?" Luke's voice cuts in, and to Ashton's surprise- filled with pure interest.

Everyone else just thinks he's crazy and nerdy fancying Woolf's works.

"You like her?" He can't help but feel hope lighting up.

"One of my favorite!" Luke's literally buzzing with excitement, like a puppy finally getting some fresh air after a long lockdown in the house, "Never found another person to discuss, though. Everyone just say it's too hard to understand and shits."

And with that their conversation swiftly shifts into a heated discussion about stream of consciousness novels, to Woolf, then Proust, Faulkner, all way up the history, even to Freud- and Ashton finds, surprisingly, that they can strike a chord in every part of it- and the way Luke talks relentlessly, smiling so broad, eyes shining and hands waving- tells him he holds the same feelings, same thought, same passion.

His throat's sore- he hasn't talked that much in like, forever- but that doesn't stop him from being smug like an idiot when he leaves the library.

He's been alone for a long time, But it seems that he has finally found someone.

He starts to spend more time in the library- first just to do some more leisure reading and writing stuff there, then he starts bring his textbooks and laptop there to finish his homework, then even starts to stay there as long as he neither has classes nor needs to go back to the dorm. Yes, he admits it's kind of strange one's never tired of a library- especially that he has already ploughed through every part since he first stepped into it- but he knows why- a cute boy with ocean blue eyes and a smile is always there now.

It has become a routine. Luke accompanies him every day, sometimes already halfway through a novel when Ashton arrives, while other times Luke shows up merrily when he’s buried in the middle of projects and homework, bringing in a sense of cool breeze and fresh air before peeking over and ushering him to take a break(well sometimes the work has to be done, but Luke’s so sweet that he can’t refuse). Their time spent together is usually quiet, Ashton either typing away on his laptop or on a book, while Luke is immersed in his own novel, just piping up from time to time to discuss the plot or asking about the author. Topic wanders- books, school life, bands, music (seriously, how many same hobbies do they hold?).

They have went through so many fields- Stream of Consciousness to Science Fiction, Agatha Christie to Akudagawa, Shakespeare's Sonnet to Samuel Ullman's prose, but the list still seems far from ending. To Ashton's surprise Luke have read most of the writers not only by representative works but also less- famous chapters- many of which he only knows but has never read. He had thought he's an English Literature student, but Luke amazed him again by saying he studies Math actually- the same amazement occurred again when Luke discovered the chemistry paper Ashton's working on.

He can’t recall the last time he felt this content -Well, he can’t even remember when he has become so silent and depressed, on edge and under pressure.

But seems Luke has already become the solution.

Ashton sighs, recoils back in his chair, takes off his glasses and rubs his eyes- He never learns the lesson of not leaving your homework to the deadline, fuck it.

Besides him Luke rises his head, a slight smile tugging at his lips, "You finally done?"

He just groaned, eyes shut."I wonder how the fuck you can even finish your homework. You never seem to be doing anything related to math."

"Maybe that's because all can be done quickly if I want."

Smug idiot.

"Wait till you're a post graduate and you'll know what's torture."

"Will quit right after four years, then."

Ashton scowls, cracks open one eye and spares a hand to flip Luke off, to which he ducks away (he always does) and giggles, "You're of no fucking help."

"What do you want me to do, then?"

"Don't know. Tell me a story. Or just read something. As long as I'm not thinking my head off about the synthesis route of some stupid fucking molecule I'll be fine."

He heard a light chuckle, "Aye- Aye, Captain, here we go."

The sound of pages turning, Luke clearing his throat, then,"'It's so bitterly cold that my whole body crackles!' Said the Snow Man."

Ashton lifts an eyebrow wearily,"Now you're telling me an Andersen's Fairy Tale?"

"Shh. Shut up and be a good boy. It's my favorite one." then, "This wind can really blow life into you! And how that glaring thing up there glares at me!" He meant the sun; it was just setting..."

Luke reads on, and Ashton finds himself relaxing, sinking into the familiar tale he’s read hundreds of times as a toddler, following the thread of the story, recalling the dialogue, how the Snow Man calls the Old Watchdog “my friend”.

Luke's voice fades for a brief second, then returns, slightly changed, softer, “Then the Snow Man looked, and he really saw a brightly polished thing with a brass stomach and fire glowing from the lower part of it. A very strange feeling swept over the Snow Man...”

Here comes the part- tracing the memory he can still feel it, the confusion when toddler him read to this part, then realization and excitement for no reason when he picked it up again, just for one time, before he come to this city.

He thought a new place brings a new life. That he would finally leave that old black and white town. He thought he knew what life was all about, what love was.

So ambitious, so young, so dumb.

Ashton blinks furiously, shaking the thoughts flooding up away from his mind. He’s here, in his favorite place, with an adorable boy who keeps his company, reading a tale to him. He’s fine, they’re fine, it’s fine.

His eyes lands on Luke.

The small lamp on the table is tilted slightly, soft golden light casting gently down on the boy’s right side, splitting a silhouette, leaving the left side of his face in the shadow. Curls falls off his face, dangling. His long, thick eyelashes turns to an almost-silver color under the light, trembling slightly, dancing altogether with the little particles floating in the air, as those blue eyes, clear as the sunny day but still deep as the sea, moves with each line, each word on the page. Maybe he’s just imagining, maybe its just another fantasy he pictures, but Luke seems semitransparent, a halo casting around his figure, holy, angelic.

“The night was very long but it didn’t seem long to the Snow Man; he stood lost in his own pleasant thoughts, and they froze until they crackled.”

The story’s still going, coming to an end, and Luke’s voice, a little raspy now, is merely above a whisper, like if he tells it any louder the fragile, beautiful tragedy will be destroyed.

“Come out, dear sun! Come often, skies of blue!

And nobody thought any more about the Snow Man.”

And with that Silence falls, a sad love story coming to its end.

For a while they just sits, looking into each others eyes.

The atmosphere’s changed, he knows it, can feel it. It’s a brand new feeling, one he has never felt, the rising urge, the need, the want, to get closer to the boy in front of him, to truly know him, to be with him, go through everything with him, feel the same with him, to like him, love him.

Hesitantly, he reaches out, slowly, hand trembling.

For a moment Luke seems to be on the same page with him, eyes fluttering shut and automatically leaning in, but suddenly he gasps, like being reminded of something he has long forgotten, and recoils back sharply, Ashton’s hand touches nothing but air.

Why.

“It’s late, Ash.” Luke whispered, not looking him in the face, “Maybe the other day.”

Something’s changed between them.

Not that the intimacy has changed- no. They still meets at the very table, reading and chatting, Luke still listens to his bickering about homework and fucking lab life- but something’s there, like The Sword of Damocles, hanging dangerously, but both just choose to ignore it.

Luke’s still Luke, sweet and gentle, cute and caring. But he’s somewhat quieter then before- he’s still chatting when it comes to their hobbies, but he always stops abruptly after the topic’s over, cutting the conversation.

It’s only that Ashton’s confused, confused about fucking all of it, confused about why Luke refused his invitation, why Luke takes a step back while he finally decides to step forward. It’s like an invisible barrier is built, all things suddenly turns indefinite without reason.

He hate it. He fucking hate all of it.

It’s only worse that he’s stuck in the library right now- it’s pouring outside, he’s left his umbrella at home, his jacket has no hat, and Luke’s oddly quiet.

He’s reading, more of scanning automatically, mind crowded with uncomfortable thoughts, screaming at him to at least find out what’s wrong with Luke(he don’t know how when they’re in this awkward state), to pluck up his courage and try again(well look what a coward he becomes when it comes to pining), to get this mess sorted (to which he has absolutely no fucking idea).

Fucking shitty day.

He doesn’t know how much time has passed- the sky is darkening, pure black seeping into pale gray, as the window starts to mirror the lighted lamp, making it unable to see the outside.

He hears a sigh, then the sound of book shut.

He can see those clear blue eyes from the corner of his eye, a little dim than usual, like the eyes of a sad puppy, and that almost break his heart. He wants to get close to the boy again, tell him it’s okay, he’s here, no need to keep those shit all alone and stuff- but instead he stares intently at the screen, so hard that his eyes starts to water, cursing himself inwardly.

A pause. Then, “Ash.”

Ashton gives himself a slap in the head, then puts on his most cheery face, “Yeah?”

Luke shakes his head furiously, “Don’t... Don’t act in front of me. I know you’re not well these days, and it’s all because of,” He waves his hand impatiently, then pulls his curls, casting out another deep sigh, “Yes, I... feel there is something I need to explain.”

And again he finds himself lost of words, exactly like the last time Luke made an explanation. But Luke’s acting different- strange. He’s frowning, shifting in his seat, hands tightly clasped together, teeth tugging at his lower lip, eyes filled with... fear.

Luke has never gone frightened in front of him.

“Hey, hey.” He reaches out, trying to grab Luke’s hand, but the boy squealed and pulls away abruptly again- so he just sighs, being as comforting as possible, “It’s okay, Luke. All okay.”

Finally the boy seems to have made the decision. He points to the book he just finished, which is lying on the table now, “The second short story.”

“You’re making me a puzzle through Marquez? Typical.” Ashton picks up the book, checking the writer. He’s trying to make a joke, but it came out weak and not funny at all, as Luke just sighs again and rests his head in his hands.

“I don’t know how to say it, so.” God, he hates how Luke’s voice sounds, all hurt and in pain.

“Luke, I mean, I’m not forcing you, but you know you can tell me everything-” panic’s rising, and he feels the urge, that they’re coming to the crossroads-

“Um, Ashton?”

He’s never hated life- the approaching librarian as well- more than now.

“Yes?”

She comes to stand beside him, a hand on his shoulder, “It’s ten now and we’re closing in five minutes. You need an umbrella?”

“Um, just a minute. We have something to discuss. I promise it’ll be quick.” He gestures to the seat across the table, where he knows Luke’s sitting.

He expects a nod, but her face is puzzled, coated with a layer he can’t read, “We? But Ashton, there’s no one across the table.”

“What?”

His head whips around, so quick that he thinks he must have strained his neck. He closes his eyes, then opens them again- yes, Luke is sitting right there, in the chair, totally frozen besides the nervous act just now- but he’s there.

“But...”

She only shakes her head, “You’re the only one here all day, Ashton. No one else feels like coming on such a stormy weather.”

With that she leaves.

Ashton turns back to Luke frantically, “What the hell-”

He’s met with a stony face and watery blue eyes. Luke seems defeated and in total grief.

“Tell me, Luke. Tell me!” Panic overcomes him, his voice three octaves higher than usual. It can’t be real, it’s just his fantasy, things like this can’t happen in real life...

Luke holds out his trembling hand, and very slowly, reaches over, linking it with Ashton’s.

A wave of icy cold rises up- from his feet up to his spine, overwhelming him, drowning him, making his head dizzy, the world turning, the sense-

The sense of not being touched.

Luke’s hands go straight through his.

“Because they can’t see me.” The silhouette figure whispers, voice barely audible.

“I’m not as real as you see me, Ash.”

The next three days come and go like a blurry scene.

Ashton remembers it just vaguely- he remembers fleeing out of the library, running alone the dark campus path till his chest burns and every breath becomes a burden. He remembers the rain, pouring down and hitting him relentlessly, flowing off his face, mixed with some warm fluid he didn’t dare to think about. He remembers walking back to the dorm, all worn out and broken down, throwing himself on his bed and crying till weariness finally came over. He slept, then woke, then ushered himself into sleep again, like only in dreamland he could forget all of it, until he was really not able to sleep anymore.

He pushes himself up from his bed and stumbles into the bathroom, eyeing himself in the mirror. He looks like shit, even worse than a hangover, purple bags hanging from his eyes and hair sticking in all directions. He sighs, turning to walk from the bathroom, cursing as he nearly trips over something on the ground- but the word died halfway in his throat.

It’s that book. The Collection of Marquez’s Short Stories. He must have thrown it on the floor that night.

Ashton swallows, hesitant- he’s not that sure if he’s ready to face it, that memory, that typical boy- but his hand does it for him, already flipping through the pages.

The second work, what is the second work......

He sees the title.

Someone Messed up the Roses.

He takes in a breath.

Today’s Sunday, the rain’s stopped, and I want to pick some red and white roses to my grave...

His eyes is welling up, but he reads on, about the story of a boy’s ghost and his sister, a wish never coming true, a story of love and regret.

There’s a note, written in Italic, at the corner of the page, end of the story, black ink suggesting it’s freshly written.

You have given me the happiest moments my whole life and beyond life, Ash. It might be like a cheesy novel, but I love you and I’m sorry.

Luke Hemmings

He’s crying before he knows it.

“Fuck, Luke.”

The scenery outside the window’s changing, fading from concrete jungle to fields and woods. On the end of the road, a hill’s approaching.

He’s sitting in the bus, hand clutching at Marquez’s Collection and a piece of paper- a piece of paper Mrs. Hemmings gave him, showing a route to the place he wants to go.

The vehicle stops and Ashton stands, hopping off the bus, going for the iron door just beside the muddy road.

He pushes it open, the rust on it sticking on his hands, the scent of soil coming up to greet him. As he keeps walking stones appears- delicately carved, yet lifeless.

An oak. That’s what she told him- an oak beside him.

He lifts his head, looking around, and found it- an oak, already tall, rising from the soil, pointing straight to the pale-gray sky.

Uncertainty and fear echoes in the back of his mind, trying to stop him, as he just goes on.

He’s already experienced lost once. He doesn’t want to lose it again.

He stops in front of the oak, hesitates before sitting down, cross- legged.

“I don’t know what to say, Luke.”

He stops, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“A part of me is telling me to forget all this, deny it, wave it off as a dream. It’s all just a fantasy, something I pictured, and I’m supposed to, I should...”

“But, Luke, every minute spent with you is so real.”

“They would say I’m crazy, everyone will; I mean, who would believe a person falling in love with someone already gone- and supposed to be in the state of nonexistence? But... you’re like someone I finally found, a person in this world who could understand me... Who I’ve searched for my whole life.”

He sniffs, blinking away the tears welling up, “You know, during my years alone I’ve learned about not to expect, not to hope; but you... you bring the difference, like a light suddenly cracking in. I mean... if you’re there, if you’re really there... please, just please, give me something to hope, to wish for, and don’t just go away like that.”

“Because I’m so lonely,” He finally let it slip, “So lonely, Luke.”

A soft wind picks up, leaves rustling, like an answer. But as he listens on everything just stays silent, like they’ve always been forever. No silhouette, no soft voice belonging to a boy.

The sky’s getting dark, so he just pushes himself up and leaves.

He continues with the life. Attending classes, finishing homework, finally deciding his research orientation. His professor says something about “A big step” and “I know you can do it”, which he just brushes it all off, not truly listen.

He continues to go to the library- but not sitting in that very table anymore, and just stays there for less then an hour each day. He’s read Someone Messed Up the Roses again and again, like all of the other works have suddenly lost their attraction to him.

The pages are all dog-eared and worn out, but he just goes on with it, flipping the pages, ready to read the short story for like the twentieth time.

“I wouldn’t treat a book like that, you know.”

He jumps from his seat, eyes widening, turning around.

Someone turns up from behind the bookshelf.

Messy curls, sea- blue eyes, the lips curling up in a slight smile.

It’s like a dream. He’s in a dream.

Like he can read Ashton’s mind, the blonde walks straight up to him and extends his arms, wrapping him into an embrace.

He feels warmth.

Still no feelings of being touched, the figure still semitransparent, but warmth.

“It’s real. Don’t doubt it.” Luke’s voice is soft, reassuring, barely above a whisper.

Just like he remembers.

The warmth doesn’t fade, like when he’s standing under the afternoon sun, closing his eyes, feeling the hope coming up.

He finally believes it- tears are sliding down his face before he knows it.

“Luke."

#lashton #5sos fic #5sos fanfic #5sos fanfiction #5sosfam #5sos fanart #5sos fandom #5sos slash #first work and I'm nervous as hell

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