#the way I would sing ballads up into his bedroom window if I could

[runraerun]

I think people really under estimate just how much I love jack kline

[phoebe-delia]

@julcheninred Jules, you seemed to like the headcanon of Draco singing "Don't Cry For Me Argentina," and I loved your addition of Harry drumming like Angel so much that I just had to explore this little world. I hope you enjoy it. <3

CW: there's a part of one of the songs where a dog dies; it's in the lyrics.

"I had to let it happen, I had to change. Couldn't stay all my life down at heel. Looking out of the window, staying out of the sun," Draco closed his eyes, allowing the water to sluice down his body and wet his hair like rain.

He wasn't in the shower, not really. In his head, he was dressed in his finest attire and standing on the balcony of the Casa Rosada, addressing his beloved descamisados and thanking them for electing his husband the president of Argentina.

"Don't cry for me, Argentina. The truth is, I never left you. All through my wild days, my mad existence; I kept my promise, don't keep your distance." In his head, the crowd was listening, rapt and teary from his moving ballad.

"And all you have to do is look at me to know, that every word...Is true," Draco held the last note, the sound resonating quite well against the tile walls of the shower. As he shampooed his hair, he imagined the swell of the violins, the applause of his grateful public, and the sparkling Argentine night sky.

****

Harry made sure that Draco was well into his shower before he connected his mobile to the speakers and turned up the volume. He pressed play and, while the intro began, grabbed the wooden spoons from the kitchen. He stepped into the living room right on cue, grinning.

"Today for you, tomorrow for me!"

He began lightly drumming on the walls, briefly regretting the absence of a ten-gallon plastic pickle tub to do Angel's song justice.

Alas, needs must.

"It was my lucky day today, on Avenue A, when a lady in a limousine drove my way. She said, 'Darling, be a dear, haven't slept in a year, I need your help to make my neighbor's yappy dog disappear!'"

Harry sang along with Angel, drumming on the coffee table, the back of the couch, the counter, the walls, and the door.

"Today for you, tomorrow for me. Today for you, tomorrow for me!"

Harry felt the beat of the music flow through him, electric and joyful as he recited the comedic lyrics.

"Now who could foretell that it would go so well? But sure as I am here, that dog is now in doggy hell!"

He moved into the kitchen drumming on the fridge and the cabinets.

"Today for you, tomorrow for me! Today for you, tomorrow for me!"

This was the best part—when he could just flow with the music, let himself focus on keeping with the beat, imagining he was wearing Angel's flamboyant costume.

"Today for you, tomorrow...for me!" Harry finished with a flourish, spinning back into the living room with one arm in the air above his head. He landed turned toward the door to the bathroom, which was open to reveal a smirking Draco with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Having fun?"

Harry turned off the music with a flick of his fingers and raised an eyebrow. "Sí, Evita."

Draco blushed, silent for a moment before he spoke again. "Wanna watch Chicago toni—"

"Yes."

"Good. I'll be Velma and—"

"I'll be Roxie, yes, like usual."

"Okay, yes."

Harry grabbed his coat and keys. "I'll get the curry."

"I'll get dressed and then move the furniture."

Harry smiled as he opened the door. "Good."

"Good." Draco nodded and turned to walk back to the bedroom when he heard the front door close. With Harry gone, he could imagine himself walking the rainy streets of Paris in peace.

"On my own..."

My ask box is empty!! Send me an ask about Harry Potter, broadway/musicals, The West Wing, and/or Taylor Swift! Or just about life in general :).

Also, I have a playlist of my 99 most listened-to songs of the year so far. Pick a number 1--99 and send me an ask and I'll write you a fic based on it!

[angrylittletrashpanda]

What if Locke snuck into Madoc’s bedroom instead of Taryn’s

Locke felt a chill running down his spine. After all sneaking into Grand General’s stronghold without getting caught is no mean feat! Stars flickered, the sweet scent of roses was floating in the air. The breeze was as warm and moist as sin. That night the boy turn into a brave knight from a ballad, a fearless knight going to save a fair maiden from the clutches of a genuine monster. Locke was definitely no fighter, so instead of sword he wielded just a beautiful lyre. Wasn’t it a weapon enough to conquer the girl’s heart and pluck the red flower of her virginity?

The lad looked up and grinned, noticing the balcony door was open. Locke climbed a blooming apple tree, hopped on the balcony and snuck into the spacious bedroom. Liriope’s son raised his brows, pretty surprised with severity of the chamber he found himself in. How could ladylike, gentle Taryn live in this cell, lacking in any decorations, except from banners and two sabers on the wall? There were a very few pieces furniture in the chamber – only a carved wooden closet, a bedside table, a massive mahogany desk and a chair that looked pretty uncomfortable. In the middle of the room there was, four-poster canopy bed. Locke looked again at the crossed sabers. It isn’t Taryn’s room! – He realized. It’s Jude’s! He couldn’t have committed  a luckiest mistake! The boy smiled to himself, took the lyre off his back and sat on a wooden chair. Yes, it actually was extremely uncomfortable. That was Jude all over! Beautiful, full-figured Jude, anxious to become a knight and willing to get used to harsh conditions.  Locke looked at the bed with amused indulgence. He wouldn’t have guessed dainty Jude snores so loudly. Liriope’s son uttered a mirthful laughter then hit the strings with his fingertips and began to sing.

Oh lady fair, daughter of clay

I came to wash your tears away

A slave enthralled with your bright eyes

Effulgent lips and well – shaped thighs.

I came to sweeten this lonely night

Aching to hear your lovesome sighs

Leaving behind all of my shame

I came to taste you, oh my flame.

The canopy billowed, Locke shivered with excitement. Just a little while and he’ll have one of Grand General’s precious daughters in his arms. The boy was glad that instead adorable mellow Taryn he would taste fierce, hard-hitting Jude, as tart as sour cherries. What a lucky mistake – Locke thought once again. He couldn’t have been more wrong!

From behind the curtains emerged a tall man of sturdy arms and tousled fair hair. His gaping nightshirt revealed countless scars on his broad chest, his golden, split-pupiled eyes were glinting like the sharpest of blades.

“Are you fuckin’ crazy?” – Madoc yelled, getting right up to Locke in a single bond. The boy tried to draw back,  making the Grand General even more furious. At the drop of a hat Madoc whipped Locke’s beautiful lyre off the boy’s hands. “How dare you break into my house in the middle of the night willing to solicit me, you pervy little shit!” – The redcap growled, taking a swipe. Locke sprang back, spun around and make a step towards the window. The Grand General followed him. “Have you no shame? I am married!” – Madoc exclaimed, “Married! Married!” – He gnarred, swinging the lyre as hard as he could. Locke, startled and panicked, apparently had stumbled the way to get out of Grand General’s bedroom. “Married!” – the redcap cried out, “And the fact that my lawful wedded wife went to see her mother does not entitle you to seducing, I mean harassing me!” This time Locke failed to avoid Madoc’s strike, the lyre hit his head with a thud.

“I’ll teach you a lesson you’ll never forget, you no good layabout!”- He exclaimed, hitting Locke again and again. “I swear, you’d never feel like breaking into decent people’s abodes and molesting the master of a house again!”

“Have mercy, Lord Grand General, Have mercy!” – the boy squeaked. “Trust me, forcing myself on you was the last thing I wanted! I came to visit your daughter Taryn!” Madoc froze, as though he was  stricken lifeless with a thunderbolt. Taking this opportunity, Locke  dived through the window and scampered off into the night. The Grand General sighed and picked up a sheet of paper that had fallen out of the boy’s pocket. To his displeasure, Madoc recognized his seal and Taryn’s handwriting.

“You have a son, you watch the son. You have a daughter, you watch the entire neighborhood”, - the redcap sighted and headed forward Taryn’s bedroom. It was with a heavy heart that the Grand General knocked at the door.

“Give me a second, I’m coming,” – the redcap  heard his girl’s sweet voice. Thank gods you’re not, -Madoc thought, not without malice. After a while Taryn, flushed and wrapped in her far-too-fancy dressing-gown, showed up at the door. She looked every inch a demure young lady, yet the Grand General was not that easy to deceive, at least not after he had heard Locke’s stupid, dirty song.

“What’s the matter, Dad?” – Taryn asked, innocently fluttering her eyelashes. The Grand General said nothing, just showed his daughter the letter.

“You have understand, Dad, that I am not a little girl anymore. And I can’t help I’m pretty popular with boys,” – She chirped.

“Yes, I agree, you aren’t a baby girl anymore, so you must be aware you put your good reputation at risk. You can also guess your mother and I don’t want our daughters to become an object of either derisions or malicious gossip. You ought to leave the Isles of Elysium for some time, I mean until the rumors die down,” – Madoc said matter-of-factly. To his delight the mortal humbly hung her head in shame. Corners of his mouth curled in a smile – it seemed like Taryn, essentially a good girl, realized her mistake, but the truth was the young woman lowered her gaze so that her father wouldn’t see immense relief written across her face. A trip to a foreign court? Is it actually a punishment?  - She though, surprised. He’ll probably send me to the Court of Termites, where I will be dancing at revels, dally with fairy knights, and most of all, Jude is not going to spoil my fun.

“Where am I supposed to go, Father,” – She asked with anticipation, hoping Madoc won’t hear happiness in her voice.

“Can't believe you’ve actually asked me this question, Taryn,” – the Grand General raised his eyebrows, “Of course you will head over to the Court of Teeth where your aunt will start teaching you the military arts and battle strategies. Admittedly Grima Mog doesn’t agree with many of my views, but she’ll certainly help you get this Locke boy out of your head and in your spare time, she’ll teach you how to cook.”

“Say what?” – Taryn exclaimed. “Anything, please, anything but that!”- She cried out.

“It’s already settled, my girl. Tomorrow you’ll pack up and go to the north. Off to bed, you need to get some sleep now,” – He said crisply and departed with the feeling of a well-completed duty.

[ashtrayfloors]

Blue Ballads for (Un)Dead Girls

I.

How she haunts me. I could spit on my boot and slam a dance on rotten boatwood, and still I would see her, unluckier than a black catfish hanging over my head. I say shoo but she don’t spook easy. Ghost bitch, begone.

II.

See her sodden body there, singing from the reeds. She floats below the surface, her face an underwater moon, wobbling and blurred. Her flesh, pale as a fishbelly. The roots of rivertrees already twining bracelets around her skinny arms, claiming her as their own. She aches for it. See how swollen she is, how dripping wet.

III.

See her body there on the summer sidewalk. Next to the streaks of what seems to be gunpowder and blood. (Relax, it’s only melted cherry popsicles and firecrackers.) See her body there riding shotgun in the hot car. Her body on the bedroom floor. Her body in the bathtub. Her body blue and lovely beneath the ice of the pond. Her body, her body, her body. Has become a chalk outline of itself.

IV.

She’s a goner, a gone girl. She’s always gone too long but she don’t ever go all the way away and I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know I know, I know, I know, I know, I know I know, I know, I know, I know, I know I know, I know, I know, I know, I know I know, I know—

V.

For whoever is forgotten there is a riverbank. For whoever is forgotten there is a sidewalk. For whoever is forgotten there is a bedroom. For whoever wants to drown there is a river. For however she wants to drown there is a river. River of flame, river of pain, river of madness. Bathtubs, swimming pools, pillbottles.

VI.

Like most girls I dreamed of drowning. Longed to be swallowed by something blue. So I swallowed pills, flooded my veins with drugs that swooned me under, my oblivion. Wrapped razorblade bangles ‘round my wrists. Swallowed pills and sat under the bridge by the river, boozebottle in hand. Once I saw a foot floating in the river; a foot and part of a leg bobbing in the shallows. Once I collected bones I found in the mudreeds along the riverbank, bones bleached and sanded by riverwater. Fishbones, gullbones, swanbones, girlbones. I made a harp of hipbones and hair and my sister, she sang to me.

VII.

Oh my sister. Like you I longed for the things that terrored me, the serpents that wriggled at the edges of my darkest dreams. In my summernight bedroom, swimming in the heat that flooded through the window, I imagined killers slitting through the screen into my sleep. Imagined knives that could slice out the bones of a fishgirl and desperate hands plunged into the wetness of my guts. Dreamt of soaking in my own blood.

VIII.

I used to give my boys knives and ask them to cut me. I placed their desperate hands around my throat and gasped toward the choke that would stop up my lungs as sure as water. Waited for that moment of too-far, when they’d have to take my body to the river, feed me to the oil-drenched fish. They never got near it. Too afraid of their fatal potential to dip a toe into that desire.

IX.

They say if a man kisses a rivermaid, a rusalka, he can never cross back to our world. A caul grows over his eyes, turns them to milky opals forever seeing everything from underwater. But what of us? Girls who love rivers too much, who bejewel ourselves in the flash of fish scales.

X.

What of us, girls? We who braid willowbranches and weep, who dye our hair muddy blue, who name almost-daughters Mississippi, Colorado, Shenandoah. We whose bodies are bait. Who wade knee-deep into the rivers of our immolation.

XI.

We pray to Elise, Our Lady of Windowsills, and Sylvia, Our Lady of Stoves. And yes, we pray to Anne, Our Lady of Garages. But most of all we pray to Virginia—Our Lady of the Rivers, Our Mother of the Stones.

XII.

I heard her moan, I heard her bones. Under the bridge I see her face, ghost-bright. Her pretty fingers nibbled by minnows. My heart becomes a choking stone, stopping my throat.

XIII.

She died of an overdose. Of desire. She Houdinied herself, stayed below too long. She swallowed the river whole. She started the car, turned on the stove. She baited the boys and made them killers. Made them kill her.

Did I say kill her? She’s alive. She’s just so good at ghosting. She’s such an ace at that old disappearing act, she even fools me sometimes.

—Jessie Lynn McMains (2018)

[miracleonice87]

Begin Again

a Mathew Barzal song fic

a/n: a one shot based on “Begin Again” by Taylor Swift. obviously I don’t own any of Taylor Swift’s music/lyrics! I’m not even a big Swiftie anymore (edited: lol dying bc I wrote that before she released folklore and evermore and sucked me RIGHT back in) but I love her “Red” album and always listen to it in the fall. also, the NYC traffic/parking/location situation in this is purely fantasy BS, lol.

summary: Mat Barzal meets Hayden Parker (fictional) in a coffee shop, and they start something new.

warnings: swearing. talk of a concussion/migraines/weight loss — otherwise, complete and total fluff.

______

With a deep breath, you glanced at your reflection in the mirror hanging near your front door before you left your Brooklyn apartment. You hadn’t worn these heels for several seasons now — he hadn’t liked it when you wore high heels. You had let his opinions — on your clothes, shoes, music, books, movies, and friends — dictate how you lived for too long. You smirked now, admiring how the pointed-toe snakeskin stilettos looked paired with your raw cut black jeans and silky pink blouse. He would’ve hated this look (“too gaudy,” he would have said), which made you love it that much more.

You popped in one AirPod and flipped the inside lock on your door before pulling it closed. You made your way down the hall as the lyrics started to flow.

There is a young cowboy, he lives on the range

His horse and his cattle are his only companions...

You fought the urge to roll your eyes thinking about your former flame’s constant unwarranted comments about this classic ballad which often wafted through your apartment from the record player in the living room.

“I don’t get this song — like, is he singing to himself?” he would ask. You never bothered to tell him the real background and meaning — you loved the song, and you got it. You always had.

Emerging from the main entrance of your building, you hummed along to melodies from your favorite playlist, and walked the three or so blocks to your destination. Soon, you were stepping in from the bustle of the street to find solace in an only-slightly less busy coffee shop, one you had come to frequent because of its location — sandwiched within the six blocks between your apartment and the fashion magazine where you were interning this semester.

“Hi, one large double shot mocha, please?” you requested, stepping up after the man in front of you paid for his order. You tapped your AirPod to pause your music, just in time to hear: “Nice shoes.”

You lifted your head and glanced toward the pick-up section of the counter, where a classically handsome man in his twenties stood donning a well-tailored navy blue suit. Your heart lurched in your chest as you realized he was looking straight at you.

“Me?” you inquired softly, just to be sure, as you slipped your bank card back into your wallet. He nodded, smiling. “Yes, you. Nice shoes.”

You bit your lip involuntarily, slowly walking his way to wait on your coffee. “Thanks. You’ve got nice style yourself,” you complimented, and you were surprised by your own boldness in that moment. Something about his confidence made you confident, too. And something about his model good looks seemed unsettlingly familiar somehow.

He extended his hand as you took your position next to him. “I’m Mat,” he greeted. You couldn’t help but smile, nearly breathless from his innate charm.

“Hi, Mat,” you replied, engaging his handshake. “I’m Hayden.”

“Hayden. Pretty name for a pretty girl,” Mat mused, holding onto your hand for just a moment longer than was customary. You knew it was silly — God, was it silly — but you felt yourself blush at his flattery.

“Large Americano,” a barista called out. Mat stepped forward, thanking her and stuffing a bill — you couldn’t help but notice that it was a large one — into the tip jar atop the glass pastry display. He turned back to you as he unfastened the lid and blew gently on his coffee. Another thing you couldn’t help but notice — his perfect pink lips.

“So, Hayden, are you a native New Yorker?”

Hmm, you thought. Why isn’t he running for the door after getting his drink? You decided to play along, feeling more daring than you had in ages.

“I am not,” you confessed. “I’m from Maine, actually.”

“Ah, still an East Coast girl,” Mat remarked with a grin. “I’m from the West — near Vancouver.”

You arched your brows. “Wow, Canadian, huh?” Mat chuckled.

“Born and raised. You know what they say, though: opposites attract,” he commented, hazel eyes piercing into you even as he took a cautious sip from his cup. You studied his face — he seemed more familiar with each word he spoke.

“They do say that, don’t they?” you retorted, skirting his inference. Just then, the barista set your mocha on the counter.

“Thank you so much,” you said, also pushing a tip into the jar, thankful that Mat’s attention was on grabbing a cup sleeve from the island nearby instead of on the much smaller bills you had to offer the staff.

You turned toward the island, too, reaching for the cinnamon. Mat offered you a sleeve as if it was second nature, and you graciously accepted, trying to relax the muscles on your face that seemed to have permanently turned upward into a smile since you’d been in the man’s presence.

Suddenly, you gasped.

“Islanders,” you whispered under your breath as Mat watched you stir your cinnamon into your drink. He froze.

“What?” he asked with a nervous laugh, wondering if he had heard you correctly. Your eyes darted around, making sure no one within earshot was paying attention.

“You play for the Islanders. Right?” you asked softly. He nodded, silent, ducking his head a bit; you began to backpedal.

“Oh, God... I didn’t mean - I, uh... I promise I’m not like a hockey fangirl, or anything,” you choked out, cheeks flushed. Your hands started to shake slightly as you replaced the lid on your to-go cup. “I just, uh, my brother. My brother played hockey. He always talked about you, and, uh, I just realized that that’s why I recognized you.” You winced.

“This... this isn’t as weird as it sounds, I swear,” you insisted. “It’s just that, my brother played in the Q. He was good, and, uh, I knew about all the other good hockey players, because of him.”

Mat’s demeanor had quickly changed — from slightly uncomfortable to giddy. He was smirking at you while you sputtered, taking a sort of masochistic pleasure in watching you squirm. His grin was infectious.

“What’s your last name?” he asked when you finally stopped talking. “Parker,” you responded, the two of you stepping away from the island and taking up residence near the front windows of the cafe.

“Parker... Parker,” he repeated. You were distracted by how good your name sounded falling from his tongue. Then, he gasped, too.

“Oh shit, your brother’s Nick Parker? Damn, how’s he doing?”

Your brow quirked as you watched the light flicker on in his eyes when he pieced it together. A National Hockey League star recognized your brother’s name, your name. What the hell was happening?

You cleared your throat, attempting to come back into orbit. “Uh, yeah, he’s good now. He, uh... it was a battle there for a couple years. He had migraines every day for about 16 months... lost a lot of weight. It was... it was tough,” you told him, your voice lowering noticeably. Mat watched you carefully, concern written all over his striking features. It was evident that Mat knew your brother’s story.

Your older brother Nick had been a top 20 prospect in the Quebec Major Junior Hockey League as a teen, playing forward for the Halifax Mooseheads. But after a nasty late hit during a playoff game, he had been left with a debilitating concussion and, after a long period of unsuccessful rehab, had been forced to walk away from the game just as he was entering his prime.

Those troubling days hung like a thick, black fog over your family’s history, and you suddenly recalled being 15 again, cross-legged outside Nick’s bedroom door for hours, begging him to let you into the dark room to hold onto him as he cried, both because of the pain and because of the weight of his unrealized dreams. It had taken countless neurologist appointments, physical therapy, and your parents’ unwavering insistence that he regularly see a sports psychologist for him to return to some semblance of normalcy after a long road to recovery.

Now, minus the occasional treatable migraine, Nick was thriving. You beamed at the thought, your well-polished black nail picking at the corner of the cup sleeve on your mocha as you looked back to Mat and continued.

“But he’s finishing law school now, seeing a therapist and keeps himself in great shape, which helps. He’s getting married next summer to this great girl,” you finished, pride swelling in your chest at how far your brother had come. Mat’s eyebrows lifted, his worried expression morphing into elation.

“No shit!” he exclaimed. “Damn, I’m so happy for him. Tell you what, lotta guys wanted nothing to do with him when he was tearing it up. And we were all gutted for him after it happened.” You gave him a grateful smile.

“Thanks,” you said softly. “I’ll have to let him know you said that.” Mat nodded, then pressed on. “Maybe I’ll get the chance to tell him myself one day,” he added brazenly, casually taking another sip.

No response came to your brain, so you curled your fingers around your own cup and took a long draw, eyes darting to the activity outside the window, Mat’s never leaving your unsure face.

The church bells chiming from a nearby steeple were the only thing that could pull Mat’s gaze from you, as he checked his large-face Rolex. He seemed angered by the time staring back at him, and he ran his hand aggressively through his hair as his eyes rolled just slightly.

“Listen, Hayden, I hate to do this,” Mat began with a sigh. “But we’ve got a game in Pittsburgh tomorrow night, and the team plane leaves in like half an hour.”

You’re surprised by how deflated you feel in that instant, casting a downward glance at the shoes Mat had complimented only minutes ago, before you’d started feeling like maybe you’d known him your whole life.

A quiet, “Oh,” was all you could muster, still not meeting his eyes.

His hand then came to rest on your upper arm, and it’s only then that you noticed how big it was, long fingers curling easily around your bicep.

“But hey... I’ll be back late tomorrow night. Whaddya say we grab coffee here the next morning? Wednesday. Maybe 8?”

You turned your eyes upward to take in his face. He looked hopeful. He was hopeful that he’d see you again.

You nodded. “I’d love to, Mat. I’ll meet you here.”

Mat beamed, a relieved breath falling from his lips. “Good,” he commented. “I’ll see you then.” He leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek, leaving you reeling when he pulled away.

“Bye, pretty Hayden,” Mat said with a wink before turning and exiting the coffee shop, walking down the block to the Cadillac he’d just unlocked. He was still in sight when he glanced over his shoulder and threw you another breathtaking grin. You smiled back, frozen in place as you watched him drive away.

_____

Mat was going to be late.

At least, that’s what you had convinced yourself at some point within the last 48 hours.

He was either going to be late or he was going to stand you up altogether. So even though you woke up at 5:30 and initially felt the need to rush through your routine to get down to the coffee shop as quickly as possible, you didn’t. You forced yourself to slow down. Because Mat was going to be late. Or, he wasn’t going to be there at all.

So you were surprised when, after throwing on a red chiffon dress with tiny white flowers and a cognac leather jacket, you walked through the coffee shop door at 8:02 and heard, “Hayden!”

Your head snapped up.

At a corner table in the back of the shop was Mat, dressed in a smart grey sweater and distressed black jeans, a silver chain looped around his neck, standing to wave you over with a broad smile across his face.

He came. And he’d arrived before you did.

You walked over to Mat and he embraced you warmly, the two of you exchanging kisses on the cheek. He squeezed your elbow affectionately as you stepped back from him.

“Oh, here. Let me,” Mat said as he pulled your chair out and motioned for you to sit.

“Thank you,” you said quietly, his chivalry catching you by surprise. Once you were seated, he pushed your chair in slightly before taking his place across the table from you.

“I got you a mocha,” he told you, nodding at the cup in front of you. “Double shot, right?”

You nodded. “You’re sweet. Thank you,” you said, the two of you beaming at each other for a moment, lost in a daze.

“So how was the game?” you inquired, pulling you both back to earth. Mat cleared his throat before answering you.

“It was good! We won. It’s usually a tough battle with them but we kinda dominated, which was nice for a change,” he spoke, looking pleased.

“You score?” you asked teasingly as you sipped from your cup.

“Uh, yeah, actually,” he told you with a nervous chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “Two goals and an assist.”

Your eyebrows lifted on your forehead. “Mat, that’s amazing! So my brother was right. You are good.”

Mat shook his head, trying to shrug you off.

“Ah, nah. I kinda think it had more to do with a good luck charm I met this week,” he remarked slyly. You licked your bottom lip before biting on it gently. Mat took notice, mirroring your motions as he stared at your lips.

“So, how’s work been this week?” It was Mat’s turn to deflect.

You told him how hectic it had been, with you arriving at the office around 9 and leaving at 6 on the day you’d first met, then departing after 7 yesterday, despite it being only a part-time internship in addition to the five classes you were taking online. He asked about your combination of on-campus and online learning throughout your college career in order to accommodate your dream internships, and he was already in awe of what a hard worker you were.

You pointed out that you weren’t the only one at the table with a crazy schedule, and you asked him how he balanced hockey with his personal life. He answered you easily, launching into stories about his teammates and his family and his friends who all kept him grounded in different ways. There was one name he kept bringing up — Tito. He told you that you’d have to meet him. Before you could hesitate, you said you’d like to. His visage brightened at that answer. He reminded you of sunshine.

He continued to regale you with a vast array of stories, stopping often to ask you questions and invite you to tell him stories of your own. It took a bit of time, but soon you were opening up about your own life — your parents’ recent and shocking divorce after 30 years of marriage, and your struggle with your grandmother’s death last fall.

It wasn’t all dark, though. In fact, most of it wasn’t. You also told him about the crazy theater actor roommate you’d had when you first moved into the city to study fashion at NYU, and how her frightening antics had eventually pushed you into accepting your uncle’s offer to pay for your own apartment in the city, as he was single and childless and had always delighted in spoiling you and your brother. You told him about your only two cousins on your dad’s side, two siblings bracketing you and your brother in age, and how the four of you were more like siblings than cousins. You told a slightly off-color joke at your own expense that most of your friends and coworkers would never laugh at, but it left Mat breathless, throwing his head back with boyish giggles flowing from his mouth like your favorite song. This caught you off-guard — you couldn’t believe he actually seemed to think you were funny. The last one certainly never did.

At some point, the conversation shifted to music. Mat’s jaw dropped when you told him that you own every James Taylor album on vinyl, after he told you that that’s one of his favorite artists of all time. He said he’s never met anyone who has as many James Taylor records as you. You simply shrugged. You explained that you and your mom have seen every tour James Taylor has been on since you were eleven and had started playing guitar. Mat’s eyes went wide — he told you that he dabbles in guitar, too.

After this, you quieted a bit. He noticed. It comes off to him as shyness, but you know what it really is. It’s fear. All at once you realize just how far you’ve let your guard down with this stranger. You’ve only just met this person, yet you have more in common with him than anyone you’ve encountered since moving into the city.

He sensed that something was off, so, in the silence, he reached a hand across the table and took yours in his grasp, stroking the back of it with his thumb. You looked into his mesmerizing eyes, and your hesitance melted.

After several more minutes of easy conversation, you check the time. You need to be at work in ten minutes.

“I’m sorry to be the one to break this up this time,” you started, and Mat sat back, looking understanding though disappointed. “But I’ve gotta get to work. Thankfully, it’s just right down the street.”

“Let me walk you,” Mat quickly insisted. You smirked at him, digging in your purse to find your office key.

“Didn’t you drive here?” you asked, chuckling. He simply shrugged. “Yeah, but if pretty Hayden works just down the street, I might as well walk her to the office and spend a few extra minutes with her,” he told you with a smug grin. You felt your cheeks get hot.

“Sounds good to me,” you admitted quietly. Mat nodded, then rose from his chair, reaching for his wallet to leave another tip.

“Thank you,” you said, putting your hand on his forearm tenderly. “For the coffee. For this.”

He smiled down at you. “You’re welcome,” he replied.

The two of you walked out the cafe door, which Mat pushed open even from behind you. You pointed in the direction of your office building and the two of you fell into step, side by side. Your heart leapt when Mat reaches for your hand. It felt unbelievably natural — which terrified you.

Your recent relationship history flashed through your brain all at once, like a film reel. Your brain screamed, “Slow down!” while your heart whispered, “Relax.” You weren’t sure which to believe. You opened your mouth to bring him up, to give a fair warning, to tell Mat that you might not be ready for... whatever this was.

Then, he started to talk about the movies that his family watches every single Christmas. You weren’t at all sure what had brought that subject to his mind — maybe your earlier questions about his younger sister back in Coquitlam — but you’re grateful for the diversion from your own messy mind. You decided to engage him on that topic instead, rather than bring up your last boyfriend who’d shattered you then walked away.

And for the first time in eight months, you decided to leave what’s past, in the past.

Like a pinball machine, Mat had already bounced to yet another new topic — his practice later this morning. As he finished a story about pranking Tito in the locker room after a skate last week, you bubbled over with giggles. He watched you with admiration and wonder coursing through his entire being. You eventually observed how he was gazing at you, and you sensed that he had something more important to say than his joke on his teammate.

“Hey, so, uh,” Mat started, clearing his throat. Your suspicion had been correct. “What are you doing tomorrow night, after work? We have a home game tomorrow at 7:30 and I, uh, I wanted to see if maybe... you wanted to go? I requested a ticket for you... just in case you want it. If you do... I was thinking maybe we could grab dinner after?”

The sentences Mat spoke seemed to be rolled into one giant question mark. His unwavering self-assurance had seemed to falter slightly for the first time since you’d met him, surprising you. You only needed a moment to consider your answer.

“I’d love to come watch you play,” you told him, wrapping your hands around his upper arm affectionately. You watched him exhale, a smile slowly overtaking his face.

“Thank God,” Mat breathed, making you both burst into hysterics as he leaned his head down to touch yours for a moment.

Bewilderment overcame you as you realized that you hadn’t felt this way about anyone in... you couldn’t even remember how long. You’d thought it might never happen again. That for you, this feeling might just be... gone.

You couldn’t believe that on a Wednesday, in a cafe, you’d watched it begin again.

[justasparkwritings]

Merry & Bright: Baby, Please

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Previous: Beacon in the Night

          Jungkook stares out the window of his bedroom, snow falling lightly, the only sound, his breath, slowly in and out. His phone, volume on, twirling absently between his fingers. In the distance, he can hear the other members laughing and yelling, their conversation and dinner prep echoing. The Yoongi’s space is attempting to be filled with their joy, as if laughing twice as hard would make up for his absence. Jungkook knows soon he’ll have to go out, pretend to be fine with the situation, and eat dinner. He’ll play make believe for as long as he can, but somewhere between dinner and the first movie or round of whatever game his hyungs force him to pick, Jungkook’s mind will slip.

           As he slips, his five hyungs will turn to the only thing that loosens him up, making his sadness bite a little bit less… Christmas Karaoke. They’ll queue the tracks, mixing in group songs with power ballads, a few hip hop and R&B tunes to balance the candy-coated sugar coma of the season, and for an hour or two, Jungkook won’t be swallowed in despair. But then, your favorite song will play, an accident, they didn’t know, and you will be the only thing on his mind. The tears will flow, mixing with whatever alcoholic beverage he’s consuming, and Jungkook will disappear into his bedroom, try not to call you, and force himself into an empty slumber.

           Instead, he’s staying on his bed, watching the snow fall in increasingly larger flakes, flurries swirling and sticking softly to the ground, building upon one another to form snowbanks.

           It’s in the middle of his reverie that his phone rings, your photo popping up.

           “Honey,” He says softly, doe eyes staring into yours.

           “Hi,” You sigh, his voice always feels like a warm embrace. It’s familiar and kind, steadfast in its ability to sooth you.

           “You look beautiful,” He smiles, eyes not crinkling at the edges.

           “Thanks, you look ethereal as always,” You smile, faltering as yours refuses to reach past your cheek bones.

           “Ethereal?” His expression is quizzical.

           “Yeah, I feel like it typically describes Jimin, but that hazy snow filter you’ve got going is just making you look so… heavenly,” You shrug.

           “You’re making me blush,” Jungkook’s smile moves closer to his wide eyes, nearly reaching as his cheeks turn a soft shade of crimson.

           “What are you up to?” You ask.

           “Sitting, feeling pathetic,” He says, the hint of a smile disappearing completely. You watch as his expression completely falls.

           “Kook,” You say, sympathetic to his pain.

           “I’m trying not to be so, sad, but it’s too hard,” He runs a hand through his hair, tussling the locks to one side, his undercut on full display.

           “I’m trying too, it just fucking sucks,” You say, instinctively adjusting your ponytail.

           “We had a plan, you know? We had a plan, we had arrangements, we had so much fun last year, and I was just so excited to share this Christmas with you, here,” His words are tumbling out of him, succinctly and organized.

           “I was looking forward to it... I bought a new hat,” You offer.

           “Oh?” He asks, happy for any sliver of joy.

           “Yeah, let me get it,” You stood up quickly, showing Jungkook your mid drift and legging clad legs as you moved through your bedroom to find your new beanie.

           “Aye, what are you wearing?” He asks, staring at the space your face was just in.

           “What? It’s a long sleeve cropped athletic shirt thing,” You answer, eyes narrowing. “Why?”

           “You look so sexy,” He says, a smirk on his lips, lust flickering in his eyes.

           “Jungkook,” You gasp.

           “Y/N,” He says eyebrow cocking.

           “Isn’t my new beanie cute?” You deflect the rising tension by placing your new cashmere beanie on your head. You bobble, showing the plush toggle on top.

           “It’s very cute,” Jungkook laughs.

           “I sent a few things to you,” You say, taking your hat off and sitting back down. “And by a few, I mean two boxes…”

           “Two boxes? How big are these boxes?” Laughter was in his voice as he waits for your response.

           “They’re standard, Jungkook,” You’re a little embarrassed by the amount of humor he’s finding in this admission of your Christmas splurge.

           “Standard? Oh my god, they’re huge!” Jungkook can’t stop laughing.

           “I got carried away, okay?” Your tone is defensive and chaste, a blush in your cheeks.

           “What’s in them?” He asks, the crinkles in his eyes present as his bunny teeth part to laugh again.

           “Goodies,” You say, trying to hide your smile by glaring at him.

           “Mm, what kind of goodies?” Jungkook settles down, taking a deep breath to tuck his laughs away.  

           “Get your mind out of the gutter, Jungkook,” You respond, faux shock laced in your words.

           Jungkook rolls his eyes at your gentle scolding.

           “What’s in the boxes?” He asks again.

           “Well, something for your hyungs,” You tell him.

           “You didn’t have to,” He’s always amazed by your generosity.

           “I know, I wanted to. It’s nothing big... I don’t know if they’ll even like it. They’re all wrapped, with their names on them. And I sent a few gifts for you, one from my aunts, one from my mom, and a few from me,” You rattle off the list, which seems far longer than Jungkook thought it would be.

           “You didn’t have to get me anything,” He says, a soft smile on his lips.

           “Jungkook, it’s Christmas,” You remind him.

           “I know, but they’re just items,” His words are delicate, he knows how you feel about the holiday.

           “I put a lot of thought into them okay?” Your annoyance is clear in the way your lips punctuate okay.

           “Hey, you know I’ll love them,” His eyes are trained on you, watching as you soften.

           “And you know, some cookies that will probably be smashed or stale… and a few, other items,” You shrug, a flirtatious look in your eyes.

           “Other items?” Jungkook raises his eyebrows, smirk on his lips. Had you sent him what he hoped for?

           “Mm, oh and something for your parents and Jung-Hyun.” You nod, signally the end of your list.

           “Jagi, you’re too sweet.”        

           “I know, my thoughtfulness is unparalleled,” You shrug at the compliment.

           “As is your humility,” He chuckles.

           “You love it,” You smirk.

           “I sent you something too,” Jungkook says, leaning back against his headboard.

           “Oh?” You’re not entirely surprised, but Jungkook has a way of getting you the perfect thing that you’d never in a million years pick for yourself. Your favorite cashmere sweater, the Chanel purse you vowed to yourself you’d buy when you made any money (which frankly, you never did), your favorite winter coat, a ring with gems from your birth months, a 14k white gold necklace with his initials, a tribute you were sure was tacky, but always made you feel closer to him… a photo album filled with your most precious memories… The year he created an entire journal full of art, poems, lyrics, that reminded him of you… You wanted for nothing, and Jungkook gave you everything.

           “Yes, it should be there soon,” Jungkook’s smile begins to falter.

           “Mine will be too,” You look down, picking at the piece of paper sat on your desk.

           “You’re not going to surprise me and send you know, yourself?” He whispers, knowing the answer.

           “No, I’m not shipping myself to you,” Your voice is hollow, eyes still downcast.

           “But can you?” His voice is small, fragile, weak.

           “Honey,” You sigh, shaking your head. “I can’t keep having this conversation, it hurts too much. It’s just one holiday. We spent decades without each other, can’t we make it through this?”

           “It’s been months, Y/N. I’ve tried holding back the tears, I’ve tried to sing and deck the halls with everyone, but it doesn’t feel like Christmas. I miss you in my bones,” Jungkook’s free hand clutches his chest, his eyelids becoming heavy as the tears start to form.

           “I feel it too… We’ve never gone this long without seeing each other,” You admit.

          The isolation of being apart from your lover for nearly a year… a year of fear, of anxiety, of sleepless nights and terrors as the world became overwhelmed by a pandemic, and the states were thrust into another round of Black Lives Matter protests coupled with an election that could be deemed as one of, if not the most, important election on American soil. All you wanted was Jungkook. His presence, ever calming, his joy, always contagious, was what your soul craved. You spent hours on video calls and phone calls, which often devolved into video sex, any form of intimacy you could muster to tie you to one another. The promotional work of BE, paired with the success of Dynamite and their Bang Bang Con and ONE concerts, Jungkook had zero ability to even try and find his way to you, or to chart a course for you to find him.

          It wasn’t fucking possible. He knew it, you knew it, and few things had been as devastating as realizing you were going an indefinite amount of time without each other.

           “Who am I going to kiss at midnight? Jimin?” Jungkook scoffs.

           “You’re performing, there’ll be so-

           “No, it won’t be you. I’m not kissing anyone except for you and our children,” Jungkook’s remark is flippant, a call back to a conversation you’d had months ago, wherein he asked where you thought your lives were headed.

           “Jungkook!” You say, eyes wide. You’d vowed to put talk of babies or marriage on the back burner until he had an idea of when he would do military service, before 30 or after. You hadn’t caught baby fever, but with Jungkook you knew it would hit and hit hard.

           “I didn’t know I would hurt this much, if I did, fuck, I would’ve flown you out sooner or come to you-

           “Jungkook you couldn’t have come to me, and there’s no way the government would’ve let me in.” Your tone is stern, moving quickly towards your limit of heartache.

           “I don’t fucking care!” Jungkook’s tears are flowing freely. You wonder if it was possible for anyone to cry us much as the two of you have in the past ten months.

           “I miss you every second of everyday,” Jungkook’s heartache punctuates every word.

           “Write me a song,” You suggest.

           “What?”

           “Write me a song, or five, fuck an entire album. Put your anguish into music, sing for me,” Your eyes are bright with possibilities.

           “I can do that,” He says, the idea sweeping over him like a wave in the pacific.

           “I’ll be here, embroidering and puzzling my sadness away,” You offer a smile. “Might as well put it into something productive.”

           “What if it doesn’t work?” He asks.

           “It won’t, I know it won’t, but can’t we just pretend it will?” You assured.

          “It’s hard to pretend my heart isn’t breaking over and over and over again.” Jungkook wipes his eyes, slightly alarmed at the number of tears he’d produced.

           “Mine is too,” Your words were soft, almost an echo of his hurt.

           “So, just, find a way to come home. Baby, please, just, come home for Christmas.”

Next: Pretend That We’re There

[missingartist]

The Witcher’s Mate Chapter 22

-Geralt was struggling. It was not something he liked to admit, but being so close to Adva and not being able to touch or talk to her was the most intense pain he had ever felt. He had taken her at her word and left his mate alone, giving her a wide berth, all the while staring longingly as she went about her business. Thankfully, she spent most of her time with Ciri, training or in the library. Geralt could barely contain it when Vesemir spent more than 5 minutes in her company, let alone Jaskier. The way the bard slide in next to her as she worked at the table or slung his arm around her shoulder had cost several clay mugs and three chair arms. The bard was doing it on purpose he was sure of that, even now Jaskier was strumming out some filthy ballad.

‘Here she saw little Smitty Jones, walking in the crowd "Come home with me, little Smitty Jones, come home with me tonight. Come home with me, little Smitty Jones, and sleep with me till light"’ the brunette cooed in an off-pitch warble.

The gentle giggle tinkled out into the air, and her eyes light up in a bright glare as she laughed. A surge of unbridled jealousy roared within him. She hadn’t some much as look at him like that since that night. That fatefully night. Throwing a glare across at the singing minstrel, Geralt slammed closed the book sending Triss and Vesemir into a series of splutters as a cloud of dust billowed into the air as well as sending the various scroll clattering across the table and scattered onto the floor before and storming out the room.

The Witcher flew out of the room into the main hallway. Unfortunately, the first thing he saw was a grand antique cabinet, the poor thing was wretched from the wall and sent screeching across the polished floor, a thick gash cracked down the main body of the wood. Grunting, Geralt pulled his hand down his face, a roar vibrated from his chest, echoing across the hall as his hand caught sight of the blue sweat that glistened in the weak sunlight that beams in through the stain glass window. The blue substance that Triss had been painting across his body no coated the majority of his body. It was another constant reminder that Adva had rejected him. Everywhere he went, he left a trail of blue. Despite only wearing the thinnest material he continued to drip with sweat, the sticky ooze had lost most of its potency, barely giving him an hour of relief. Soon he would have to leave, the last of his control was ebbing away. It took all his strength not to sweep in, throw Adva on the table and rip her dress off before burying himself in her thighs and sticking his teeth into her tender flesh. The hours he had spent imaging the bonding, it would happen in several stages, and all of them lead to Adva becoming a panting puddle underneath him, begging to be his. There was only one thing he wanted more than that, and that was her marking him, her longing for him to be hers. But no, at the current situation that would not be happening, and he would need to leave soon before he became feral and gods know what he would do if that happened.

‘My, My, such an angry Witcher! It seems your little mermaid has gone off you.’ Yennefer purred as she revealed herself from behind a stone pillar.

Turn round golden eyes trained on to the mage, a silent sigh running down his body. The dress was, compared to the other he had had to endure, was relatively tame. A velvet halter strap encircled her delicate neck and a tight correct displayed firm breast and a toned waist before the black velvet fell over her hip in a billowing skirt. At least she was wearing clothes this time.  For the last ten days, he had seen his former lover naked eight times, the last time sprawled in his new bedroom down by the lake. Since her last attempt to seduce him in the armoury, Geralt took sanctuary in the old lake hunt to rid himself of the mages unwanted advances – and not to tempt himself with any midnight strolls past Adva room.

‘Yennefer don’t.’ Ciri bite in rolling her eyes at the older woman.

‘He needs to know Ciri. She has barely said anything to him since we have arrived. I was just trying to get a rise you when I said she preferred Jaksier but seems I was right all along she does like that singing turd.’ The purple eyes mage pushed, resting her hand on his chest, nails scratching likely against his sensitive skin.

‘Fuck off Yennefer.’ Geralt sneered, flinching away towards the courtyard.

‘You have been ignoring me. I don’t get ignored Geralt; you know that.’ Yennefer snapped, trailing after him, an ugly sneer forming on her face as the Witcher dodge all of her grasps. ‘Geralt…please, we used to be good together.’

She knew she sound despite, but she was too far gone to care. It had been a long time since she felt rejected; her transformation made almost certain of it. She was after all sculpted by the best artist, so why was she being cast aside by Adva. She was no great beauty, passing pretty at the very most yet Geralt was in love with her, and no matter how she demined herself, he didn’t so much as falter. Hitching up her skirts, she trailed after him, grasping at his arm.

‘Geralt…Geralt please.’ Yennefer winced at her needy voice as forced herself in front of him.

Geralt growled down at the bronzed woman in from; the annoying mage had pushed herself in front of his path. Glaring at her, he felt a pang of guilt as she stared up at him desperately with big pleading eyes. He had understood her pain, but every time he felt the first blossoming of sympathy, he remembered Adva, bloodied and battered after being pushed through the floor and the barbed comments forced towards his timid mate.

‘We never were, you never cared enough; I just didn’t realise. Enough Yennefer. Enough. THIS stops now. GO!’ Geralt snarled lowly, before storming off down the path.

‘Great. It's your fault, you know.’ Ciri prodded ‘If you hadn’t manipulated and used him for your own selfish things, he wouldn’t have left and properly would never have stumbled across Adva in that backwater town.’ Ciri snapped.

‘Are you seriously blaming this on me.’ Yennefer yapped as she blinked away, angry tears.

‘Yes. You should be happy for them. Instead, you're making both their lives miserable.’

Ciri loved Yennefer; she would always be her mother, raising her from a scarred little princess into the strong Witcher she was now, soothed her through her trials, fought her corner when Geralt was being his gruff self and refusing to treat her like the adult she was becoming. However, now she felt like the parent of a petulant child, throwing a tantrum because someone had picked up a toy they were no longer bothered with.

‘Don’t I deserve happiness. I knew she would take everything from me, and I was right. First, she takes Geralt, then Triss and now you. The little bitch is up to something I can see it.’ Yennefer yelled.

‘She didn’t take us away. You pushed us. Adva would never take Geralt away; he would always be there for you, and so would she. That’s your problem; you can never see something good in someone. Someone Geralt who can worship without getting cast away. Adva is Geralt soulmate, someone who will love him in the way he needs, selflessly and unconditionally. Can you say you have ever done the same? Adva is a good person; you just have to look into her eyes and see that?’ Ciri pushed

Yennefer let out an unholy scratch as she conjured a bright yellow ball of fire and launched it into the air. Ciri watched silently as Yennefer blasted out a wave of energy knocking down two poor trees that stood innocent at the side before marching off into the forest.

‘Yen…’ Ciri started on after her, but something stopped her. Inhaling deeply, she caught the scent again; it was faint, so faint that it was almost hidden under all the others, almost. It was suspicious, not that the scent was faint or even that it mingled with the other to the point that is was almost undetectable but it what it smelt like. Like the sea, well like seaweed, that healthy smell of salty vegetation mixed with clean cotton. In passing, she might have brushed it off as Adva fragrance, but this was distinctly different; she had spent enough time with her mentors’ mate to know every note of her aroma. Narrowing her eyes, she gave one lingering look towards the path the raging mage had made through the wood before shaking her head and making her way off after the scent.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Yennefer growled as she sent a ball of fire across the tops of the trees. The smell of burning foliage pulled at her nose as she eyed the smouldering treetops, now all scorched in a perfect line, blacked and charred. A grin of satisfaction stretched other her face as she squared her shoulders and launched the biggest ball of fire she could at the largest tree closet to her which coincidentally looked the most like Adva head.

‘Such a pretty for a beautiful creature like yourself to be cast aside for such an unworthy thing as the Adva girl.’ A lone voice purred behind her.

Whirling around Yennefer was met by a man with a vivid green eye of a suave nobleman. Violet eyes rolled over him, with deep mistrust. No one, NO ONE came up to the mountain, the forest was too thick, impenetrable, filled with all sort of monsters and danger. Merchants and bandits stumbled up from time to time but never this far and never wearing something that fine. The man was dressed in the finery of a king, a rich quilted jacket in a mix of leather and silk. It sat tight against his chest, showing a toned and crafted body from hours of torturous training. He was tall and lean, learning cockily against the tree staring intensely at her.

‘And why would you care?’ Yennefer reeled back, hand posed and ready as she observed the man.

He let her take him in, unmoving from his positions on the tree as he spoke softly ‘I am what you might call a concerned member of society. I dislike jumped up usurpers.’ The man smiled, pushing himself off the tree and slowly, ever so slowly making his way to stand in front of her ‘I am here to propose a plan..’

‘And what makes you think I will help you with your plan.’ Yennefer snorted, edging herself to the corner of the clearing.

Yennefer did not like it. Not at all, the man was too clean-cut, to pristine. And while Geralt was not in her favourite list right now, she still did not want Kaer Morhen besieged by some arseholes, that would put Ciri in danger since she would rather die than leave. Yet, he stood in front of her arm out. Palm facing her, if he was some assassin or enemy he was a very poor one, he had let her have the advantage the second he made a move Yennefer could send out a deadly blast or teleport him to some unknown fair corner of the world, and that made him interesting and worthy of her attention.

‘My plan permanently gets Adva out of the picture.’

‘And how do you think you would do that? She is protected by two highly skilled Witchers, the Lady of Space and Time, a powerful mage and singing idiot.’

‘With your help, of course. What do you think?’ The man smiled widely, and he inched towards her.

Being a court mage for many years had taught Yennefer to remain impassive, the slight glimmer of emotion would reveal you are true indention and immediately set off a chain reaction of those who opposed your idea or intention. To say there wasn’t a burning desire to rid herself of that kitchen maid was putting it lightly however even before she became a mage she had learnt that if a man offered you something that you truly desired that it was always too good to be true. She did not like him at all; he gave out a claggy feeling, the sort of person who clung to you link a leech and didn’t let go till she had drained you of what he needed.

‘I think… I would go warn them so we can all kick you well-polished arse together’ Yennefer hissed as a purple light bubbled up from her tanned palms and gave off a humming glow.

‘Don’t disappoint me. I have spent so long appreciating you. We are much alike; we know what we like, and when we want it and we have both been cast aside by that wretch. I will kill Adva one way or another, but this way…this way is easier, cleaner and this way you get what you want.’ The man whispered, softly taking her hand and kissing it.

Lowering her attack, she watched as he once again retreated back before answering ‘And what is it that you want?’

‘I have the discretion to breathe life into that barren void between your legs and all I require in return is your help in getting rid of a pest, a blight on the face of the earth. The death of a creature, a deformed halfling who should never have been granted life. In exchange, you will be given the Witcher and a baby. All you have to is isolated and distract the little thing.’ The man said as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

‘If you can do what you say…., that is powerful magic. Why do you need my help? It’s not like she some skill warrior Mage.’ Yennefer quarried.

‘You underestimate her, you all do. You have no idea truly what she could be capable of, and if we continue to let her breath, she could find out. ‘The man purred, reaching out to touch her face in a soft caress. ‘I will make it look like an attack, and that you fiercely tried to save her, it will be clean a quick, just lure her to the edge of the forest on the northside.’

‘And how do you know that you’ll honour the agreement?’

Pushing himself back, the man pulled a small silver blade from his belt and drew it across his palm. The blood trickled down the pale silver skin, the droplet of blood where brighter than any ruby in almost look like poppy juice and it run down his hand and dripped drop by drop onto the forest floor but it had that smell of blood, of bitter copper mixed with the tangy scent of freshly forged iron.

‘I solemnly swear, that if you help me get rid of Adva, I will ensure your womb is restored to you, and the girls claim on Geralt will be void. I give this oath in honour, and if I divert from our deal, I shall be struck down.’

The man held out his bloodstain hand to hear the hum of the blood know gave out a near ear-deafening vibration as the blood thicken and turned sticky on his palm. Blood oaths where primitive magic but effective, if the oath promiser diverted from the agreement in any shape or form the magic would strike him down without mercy or thought. That is why people had stopped using it; they were too deadly, the magic took the promise very literally with often deadly consequences. Plus it left a hideous reminder to both parties in the shape of a bloodstained on the hand, a stain so deep it could never be removed, only when the oath was fulfilled was the stain washed away. A troubling thought cross Yennefer’s mind, several in fact but the most concerning thing was the deal, he made no mention of her making the same deal, to pledge herself to his cause. Instead, it was entirely on him; he asked no reassurance he was either very stupid, which she didn’t believe if he had slipped into Kaer Morhen without either of the Witchers noticing meaning he was at the very least he was intelligent enough to remain undetected. Which meant he was desperate, either running out of time or, willing to trust a stranger, to aid him in his quest for end Adva, believing her hatred for Adva would be enough to ensure loyalty.

Narrowing her eyes, she reached out her hand grimacing as she gelt the stick liquid seep into her hand. ‘How do you propose to lure her away?’

‘With this’ the man smirked and pulled out an emerald scroll.

I am so sorry! I had this chapter all planned out then my summer completely went up in flames, my lovely summer of reading and writing is now cancelled. Updates might be patchy for now as my school is trying to get ready for reopening in September and honestly no one knows what is happening and everyone is panicking. I am also trying to find somewhere to live as if and when we go back, I can’t risk taking the virus back to my family who is very vulnerable with not much luck. So as you can imagine, everything is a bit unstable, but please be sure that I am always thinking about my next chapter and nothing make me happier that people want to read my ramblings.

Thank you to everyone who said congratulation. It was so lovely.

The next chapter is planned just need to find time to write it. Stay safe!

@threepupsinapuddle @broco8 @introvertedmouse @luxyash @vikingsbifrost @pastelblogsposts @wastingmypotential @whitespring21 @ayamenimthiriel @wonderlandfandomkingdom @shesthelastjedi @fandom-lover-4 @sageandberries-png  @just-a-sad-donut @alicia-d-o @dreamerwithapen1 @evangeline73aster

[zombieratt]

Alright so forewarning this is LONG as FUCK specifically because i came up with this idea in early high school and was just today POSESSEd By the Spirit Of Musical Theatre to put it to paper— er Tumblr.

So without further ado:

DEAR EVAN HANSEN BUT EVAN ISNT A TERRIBLE PERSON AND CONNOR LIVES.

the beginning is the same, canon diverges just after waving through a window.

*this ended up getting written is script format? i also just sorta ignore alana’s whole exsistance bc in this version of the play she’s unnecessary*

In the moments before he talks to Connor evan decides to omit Zoe from his letter, having resolved himself to move on from her. (instead of being a hella creep.)

Connor: “dear Evan Hansen,” what are you writing letters to yourself? *he laughs*

Evan: its, uh, its for my therapist. its just a stupid little assignment that she says is supposed to help me process my feelings or— uh or something

Connor: hm. here. * hands Evan the letter*

Connor: your cast. no one’s signed it.

Evan: uh no. no one has.

Connor: gotta sharpie?

Evan: huh?

Connor: gotta sharpie? im gonna sign it.

Evan: *handing the sharpie to Connor* w- whuh uh why?

Connor: *shrugs* feels right.

Evan: i wish i could do that

Connor: what?

Evan: UH, IMEAN—

Connor: no wait- dude.

Evan: i mean uh, i meant that i wish i could just be, y’know impulsive like that.

Connor: Why Cant you be?

Evan: i uh, my heads pretty messed up, and stuff like that just, makes it worse i guess.

Connor: well theres some thing we have in common— were both fucked up in the head.

*the bell rings*

Evan: oh shoot! i missed the bus—

Connor: i’ll give you a ride.

Evan: are you sure i mean i can walk its not far-

Connor: all the more reason, i probably have to pass it on my way home anyway, cmon.

——

they meet Zoe in the parking lot

Zoe: I have Late practice today

Connor: whatever, gotta passenger.

Zoe: who the fuck would be crazy enough to trust your ability to drive?

Evan *being Brave*: Me Apparently?

Zoe: Uh, Evan Right?

Evan: yeah, uh, yeah.

Zoe *holding her hand out to be shaken*: i’m Zoe, we’ve met though right?

Evan wipes his hand on his shirt and shakes it: yeah, uh, nice to formally meet you, Zoe.

Zoe: i’m off, don’t kill him stoner.

Connor: i wont Princess

Evan breathing heavy: that was,, an eventful ten minutes.

Connor: oh fuck— you cool? or—

Evan: Panic Attack.

Connor: Right, uh

Connor: can you get in the car?

Evan: yeah

*car nonsense*

Connor: Can i start driving or do you want me to wait

Evan: Distractions are good,, Can Uh, Can you Talk about Stuff?

Connor: What stuff!??

Evan: any Stuff!

Connor: Is Zoe okay??

Evan: Sure?!

Connor: Uhh we don’t get along as well as we used to?

we were really close as kids, shes a huge asshole now but *fully venting now*

i kind of miss it you know? having someone to talk to and care about— and i still care about her— but its scary and i always fuck it up! not to mention the fact that our parents hate me— make her see me as some alien and not just a fucked up kid who wants to talk and — (more ranting that i dont feel like writing, but its a whole monologue bro)

Evan: Connor

Connor snaps his mouf shut: yeah

Evan: thanks

Connor: oh that, uh actually helped?

Evan: yeah focusing on your voice and whats real and stuff— it makes a difference.

Neither of them noticed that Connor was just sort of Driving. they end up at the park where in canon Connor commits Sewer-slide.

Evan: i didn’t know there was a park here.

Connor: huh, oh, yeah i guess i just sorta auto piloted, i come here to think.

Evan: About stuff?

Connor: Yeah, Stuff.

*the convo lulls*

Connor: do you have a laptop?

Evan: no, i uh, i left it at home? why?

Connor: give me a second

Connor walks to the car and grabs his back pack out of the back seat

Evan watches Quizzically from the swing-set

Connor pulls out a Sketch Pad and Pen, flipping to a clean page.

Connor: So tell me how to write one of those letters of yours.

Evan: uh, well you start like any other letter- just addressing it to yourself

Connor writing: Dear Connor Murphy,

Evan: and uh, my first one was supposed to be about my ideal summer vacation? since i started in middle school- but you don’t have to—

Connor: thats perfect.

Connor starts to sing for forever,

eventually Evan joins in there is a minor gay moment where they’re holding hands face to face.

the song ends with Connor hugging Evan.

Evan: its- its pretty late.

Connor obviously crying: just— just a couple more minutes.

Evan lets go and grabs Connors sketch book of the ground, closing it and handing it off to him: then how about this, labor day weekend- we actually go.

Connor: what are you talking about?

Evan: being spontaneous?

Connor: o-okay.

and it cuts to black.

theres a small montage here, as the set changes to Connor and Evans bedrooms

sincerely, me is a lament in this context, Connor and Evan are duetting from their respective rooms, writing to themselves.

(the lyrics are completely different and i will not be writing them here because thats too much fucking effort.

but they’re duetting from their bedrooms about making a connection to another person, feeling seen, for the first time. what it felt like and how they really want to keep it up but are afraid of making a mistake and ruining it.

its got some themes of waving thru a window, and a little bit of for forever, but its still largely the same notes just in a different key.)

after wards, Zoe knocks on Connors door to tell him dinner is ready to find him peacefully asleep.

requiem is the same, Zoe sees Connor as Dead to Her instead of actually dead, so some of the wording changes, so and so about how a monster doesn’t deserve peaceful rest etcetera.

school day happens, Connor doesn’t die, but the hot goss is that everyone saw Connor and Evan go home together after school, jared makes a shitty homophobic joke to Evan and Evan kind of tells him off about it. they argue and it culminates in Evan saying “well god forbid I’m friends with someone who isn’t YOU!” or smth like tht and it hits jared right the fuck at home man.

Connor says from the side lines: damn that was pretty hard core dude.

Evan: you have, no idea how long i’ve wanted to do that.

Connor honest to god l a u g h s, theres a number of people who hear it and lose their shit, Zoe being one of them: i have a pretty good idea, wanna get some lunch?

Evan: yeah, sure.

this general routine continues until labor day weekend, when they plan to go on their little escape. theres a short scene of Connor leaving the house with his keys and a backpack.

Connors mom confronts Zoe about his oddly upbeat attitude and hows he’s seemed differently lately Zoe Shrugs but decides to investigate his room.

she finds the letters. the first one is for forever, the theme plays as she reads it frantically, and is signed “Sincerely me (connor murphy)” so she knows its him, i f i could tell her begins but its a real duet between Connor and Zoe and at the end she resolves to try harder to connect to him.

Evan sings disappear to Connor after breaking into a formerly public park, in this context its him confessing that he broke his arm attempting su!c!de. Connor records it, for personal reference.

jared hacks Connors phone and steals the video, posting it to yt, in an effort to ruin their friendship.

Evan and Connor get in a little fight about it, and in the meantime Evan is called to the school to give an assembly because hes a phenomenal speaker and Disappear got like 1000000 views over night.

Zoe and Connor bond a little bit in a short scene before the assembly

Zoe: wheres Evan what happened?

Connor: Kleinman Did!

Zoe: what?

Connor: Why Do you care?

Zoe: because! you look happy around him!

Connor: i, i do?

Zoe: yeah? he could tell the worst joke ever written and you’d crack up. i haven’t heard you laugh like that in years Connor, maybe ever.

Connor: oh.

Zoe: Come back inside?

Connor: y, Yeah.

they all perform You Will Be Found together.

end act 1.

(no more dialogue from here i got tired)

to break in a glove is Connor’s dad trying to reconnect with him, it goes mediocrely, but Connor feels like hes being seen by his dad for the first time in years. its said in metaphors, but this is Connors dads way of saying that if Connor is willing to put in the work, so is he. they hug at the end, things are looking up. some talk of therapy is sprinkiled in the dialogue as they walk of stage together.

Only Us is Evan and Connor saying that they saved each other. its loosely romantic, as its a love song, but they don’t out right say that they’re in love or anything, they don’t know if theyre ready for that. its a promise. the song ends with Connor finally apologizing for pushing Evan over at the beginning of the show.

good for you is sung by jared only, as a power ballad, about losing people you didn’t treasure. its his attempt at an apology, but it ultimately fails, since jared is unable to take responsibility for his own actions. this is where jared and Evan go their separate ways.

Evan’s mom comforts him, as he sings words fail, which is about specifically jared, and how their rocky friendship is ruined and Evan pegs himself as the cause, instead of parents or perfect girl he uses metaphors that apply to best friends— maybe more. and talks about how he didn’t try, he was happy so he ignored that jared was hurting, and how that was really shitty of him. but instead of it being a generally somber song the end is lighter, because Connor is there— waving through his front window.

Evans mom sings So Big/So Small as Evan steps out the front door to embrace Connor and they mime talking about jared, hug and take hands. the house moves off stage in preparation for the finale.

Connor and Evan open the finale saying each others names, and sing it together as the test of the cast (minus jared) joins in, Evans mom taking his hand and Zoe Taking Connors, Evans mom the Murphys and Zoe break off to the back where Evan and Connor finish the final “all i see is sky for forever” while looking into each others eyes, and finish the musical by embracing (maybe kissing if thats ur jam).

[alpaca-writes]

Mystics, Chapter 27

When Arch becomes hired on at Mystics by the strange shopkeeper Lyrem Nomadus, everything seems to be going well- in fact, their life nearly becomes perfection. Soon enough, however, Arch realizes that perhaps not everything is as perfect as it seems….

Read Chapters 1-26 and more HERE

Taglist: @myst-in-the-mirror, @livingforthewhump

CW: Drugs and drug mentions, manhandling, swearing, violence, and gore mention

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: TEENAGE WASTELAND    

      Arthur remembered well how to find Benji’s house. He had to pick up Arch from the narrow condo a few times in the past. They would always emerge from there a little bleary eyed and tipsy. He never said anything to Charlotte. Not once. To him, it was just a normal part of the teenage experience. He’d try to sober them up and send them home with a good enough excuse that their little bender would be over-looked as an innocent sleepover- without the sleep.

      Persephone had used all of her remaining strength to launch him back into the mortal world, and Charlotte would have to remain behind for now- until they were able to open a door to the Labyrinth from the Underworld.

      At least he wouldn’t have to worry about his sister. She would be safe with the gods.

      At least Persephone dropped him in the middle of the city this time. His first visit plunked him in the middle of abandoned farmland and it took too much time to steal a truck into the city to kill Lyrem. He ended up finding Arch in the back alley instead. It felt like it was only yesterday he was stabbed in the leg while trying to rescue them.

      The creaking of a window shutter opening nearby filled the courtyard with a familiar Bob Dylan song and the poor mimic of a kid trying to sing along to it. Ballad of a Thin Man, and it was definitely Benji.

      Arthur walked up to the window, feeling like there was nothing that would stop him from getting to Arch and he rapped on the open shutter.

      “Benji!”

      The drifting smoke and strong skunk smell made Arthur back off from the window again. Benji didn’t hear him.

“And somebody points to you and says, ‘It's his’”

        “Benji!!”

“And you say, "What's mine?" and somebody else says, "Well, what is?"”

                    “BENJI!”

        “And you say, "Oh my God! Am I here all alone?!"

         At this point, Arthur stuck his head through the window, and watched him in the corner high as a kite with a tall bong sitting on a table in front of him. The boy continued singing and acting out the lyrics with impeccable quality of a stage performer.

        “But something is happening and you don't know what it is

Do you… Mr. Jones?”

        At the last line, Benji turned toward the window to see Arthur’s scraggly face, impatient and red as a brick with the anger of not being heard. Benji jumped back, eyes wide.

        “Benji, finally! I’ve been calling you from outside!”

        “Dude,” Benji swallowed, growing pale and looking sickly. “Not again man, I don’t know what drug you forced into me, but I do not want anymore.”

        Arthur scrunched his face, “what are you talking about?”

        Benji shut off the music from his phone, and approached the window wearily.

        “Look man, I know you and Arch are close so I’m not gonna play this game with you. I don’t have any, and I don’t deal opiates. I’m not telling you who does, either. You gotta get clean.”

        Arthur hopped up, and popped himself up through the window. Jumping down, he landed in a pile of dirty laundry.

        “I’m not here to deal,” he explained, “I need your help with something.”

        “I said I don’t wanna be the guinea pig for your shitty mushrooms, dude! Get out!” Benji opened his bedroom door. If he needed to make a break for it from the crazy man, he would.

        “I’m not trying to give you drugs!” Arthur reached out, and pulled Benji in by the arm. “Last night at prom you were sent to a different world. I need you to help me get there.”

        Benji was plopped down on his old bed, and he didn’t try to move any further. He rubbed his arm where Arthur had held him and massaged the bruises that he had started forming. This man was crazy; he was insane and his timing was WAY off.

        “Prom… was like, a week ago, dude,” he said meekly. “And I don’t know what you’re talking about. I got super high that night and I saw some really crazy shit, and I don’t want to think about it anymore.”

        Arthur sighed and scratched the top of his head, only then realizing how disgusting his hair had become. He probably didn’t smell too great either.

        “Look, kiddo, I’m really sorry that you’ve been dragged into this- but right now, I need you to listen to me.

        Arch was taken by that creature that I lit on fire. That wasn’t a bad trip, it really happened. And now I need to get to where Arch is. The only place I can think of that they were sent is the same place that you went that night at prom. That’s the working theory, anyway. I’m not giving up on it.”

        Benji interrupted. “But I don’t… I don’t understand… I know that there was a point in time I got really muddy… or I fell into a puddle of oil or crude or something sick like that, but…”

        His nails lifted toward his teeth, and he started biting between words. His breaths shortened.

        “Nah, nah man. I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

        Arthur nodded. He couldn’t expect Benji to understand or believe him, so he gave up. Instead, he focused his energies toward creating the portal. Whether Benji had believed him or not, shouldn’t matter. The kid was still sent to that realm whether he chose to remember it or not.

        “Dude?”

        Arthur’s eyes were closed, and he was holding out his hand to hopefully create the portal as Benji watched on.

        “Dude! I told you to get out”-

        Nothing was happening yet, but Arthur continued to concentrate the best he could with Benji’s distracting shouts. He grabbed Benji’s arm, hoping that it would be enough.

        “DAD HELP! There’s a crazy junkie in my room!”

        Shit. Arthur didn’t have any more time. He broke his concentration and wrapped a hand over Benji’s mouth to stop his yelling, but it was too late. Footsteps that were loud and heavy started pounding down the hall from the kitchen.

        “Fuck!” he shouted out. He released Benji reluctantly, and his face was splattered with regret. He turned back toward the window. Instead of seeing the trees and the grass and the cars lining the street, he saw black. A void into the next realm that was just large enough for him, and it was shrinking.

        “Benji? Everything okay bud?”

        Benji froze. As he had turned to show his father the man who had tormented him, he saw the pitch-black void that had erupted in his room and the man standing before it, hesitant to step into it. The wide shouldered man who was Benji’s father pulled his son away and stepped back. Neither of them, completely able to comprehend what was in front of them.

        Arthur stood still in front of it, fearing the way forward. Then one hand emerged along with another. Grabbing Arthur by the shoulders, they pulled him in, and he was finally consumed by yet another void.

        He fell, crashed into the dark glass that carpeted the expansive land of rolling hills and flatlands. Arthur only hoped he had ended up where he needed to be, and that the hands that pulled him through were at least, friendly ones.

        Supporting himself with his arms, he looked up from the ground and saw a familiar set of legs standing in front of him. Then one of them kicked out, landing into his side and he fell again, this time, laying on the ground completely. After wincing through the sudden blow, he blinked, seeing the last of the void turn to nothing and a deep orange sky took its place. He groaned, clutching his ribs.

        “That, was for stabbing me,” Lyrem’s face came closer into view as stood over Arthur.

        Arthur wasn’t really in the mood to argue with the dead man, but he didn’t seem to care terribly.

        “Worth it,” he mustered, and rolled back to where he was before.

        “And you can finish that sentence by thanking me for saving you from the Depths of Despair,” Lyrem sniffed. He looked around, mildly paranoid that Paimon wouldn’t be far behind.

        “I’ll thank you when I’m good and dead,” Arthur stood, brushing himself off, and pulled some of the glass from his calloused fingers. “For now, I need to find Arch and bring them home.”

        “Not so simple a deed-” Lyrem said simply. He turned, heading towards the mouth of an open cave. But Arthur had different ideas, and pulled the old man up close, by the collar of his shirt until they were nearly nose to nose. He growled into his face, but Lyrem was hardly put off by the close contact.

        “Don’t fuck around with me, because I am not in the mood!” Arthur studied the man’s face as it was still inscrutably unfazed.

        “Listen very carefully, Arthur. Arch trusts Paimon now- quite possibly more than they trust me or you. I’ve been here long enough to see that their bond has strengthened. We need to play this wisely or else Arch will become Paimon’s next plaything. He is too strong for either of us to defeat on our own,” Lyrem spoke calmly, lowering his voice until it was just a little more than a whisper. “We need Apollo.”

        Arthur pushed him away and pulled out the jar of holy water from one of his cargo pockets.

        “Arch wouldn’t trust a demon more than me,” he said with confidence.

        “Ah- Paimon isn’t a demon.” Lyrem countered. He straightened his shirt collar and pointed toward the jar in Arthur’s hand. “He’s a god. And you would be wise to put away the jar of lynx urine before you spill it on yourself.”

        Arthur looked down at the jar. It was a tinge yellow. He scoffed, exhausted though he was of talking. He unlatched the top, popping the rubber seal and sniffed. He grimaced, and held it far from his nose.

        “A god? And hold on- this is lynx piss?” Arthur questioned. He latched it again. Lyrem didn’t seem to be lying. He seemed to be quite sure of himself, in fact. “Why… Why did you have a jar of lynx piss in your back room?”

        Lyrem waved him off.

        “I needed it to summon a Goddess”

        “Why were you summoning a Goddess with lynx piss?”

        “Because my wife had cancer”

        Arthur stared at him blankly until Lyrem decided to explain himself in slightly more detail.

        “The urine is solidified into a crystal under several moon phases and then engraved with- you know what”-

        Lyrem hushed him at this point, wondering if it would be easier to just put him asleep and drag him to Paimon himself. He thought better of that and ushered the man nearer to the mouth of the cave. Arthur placed the bottle inside his pocket again.

        “If you want Arch to come out of this alive, then you must follow my lead. Paimon is powerful here and if we want to avoid suspicion, then we must play the parts convincingly. Starting,” he said, poising himself, “with this.”

         “What? With wha”-

        Arthur received a blow to the side of his head. One strong enough that it forced him to keel over onto his side, and before he had any time to recover, Lyrem’s knee connected with the front of his face, knocking him flat on his back. He wheezed out.

        “You… asshole!”

        “Nice and bloody just how Paimon likes,” Lyrem winced a bit as he walked around his backside and rounded him. Finding the jeweled knife on his belt, Lyrem took it away from him. “I know you would do anything for Arch- that is the one redeeming quality of yours.”

        Next, he pulled up to Arthur’s right side as he was busy nursing his nose. Lyrem licked his lips and then pressed a foot down into his thigh. Loud, agonizing howls filled the air, and Lyrem relished in it. He didn’t let up until his was certain his leg had fallen back into disrepair.

        “But the question, I think that is on everyone’s mind, Arthur,” Lyrem picked him up, and dragged him forward. “-is whether or not Arch would do anything for you.”

        Lyrem lifted up his eyes to the opening. Seeing the figure of Paimon stepping through the threshold, he grinned wickedly.

        “I believe I’ve found a little gift from your uncle, and Arch’s next carving project.”

        Paimon tilted his head, hiding his excitement with a smirk of mild amusement and crouched down. In his left hand he presented Arthur’s strained looks with his own bowie knife.

        Arthur shook as the knife approached his face, threatening to make the first cut deeply against his cheekbone- but Paimon pulled it away just in time. Arthur let out a relieved, heavy breath and stared down at the obsidian carpet as the sweat dripped off his temples. He heard the gritty voice of Paimon above him.

        “I think we’ll have to place a little bet.”

        “Oh? What are you thinking?” Lyrem asked, adjusting his collared shirt around the nape of his neck.

        “I bet you that Arch can carve out his heart in five minutes or less,” Paimon proposed, “blindfolded.”

        Arthur’s head snapped up in alarm, eyes wide and blinking through blood.

        Lyrem raised an eyebrow, “and if they fail? If they take longer than five minutes?”

        Paimon considered all of the things in the world that Lyrem could want. He wanted the bet to be interesting, after all. Taking a tour of Mount Olympus, giving him a vial of water from the fountain of youth, or bringing him Phillip as a fun little reward would be all great and wonderful ideas but-

        “Let Arch go…” Arthur interjected, “If they can’t do what you say in five minutes or less, then let them go- Back to Earth and back to their real life.”

        Lyrem hesitated- not something that he often did. His eyes darted to the man and up to Paimon, gauging his reaction. Would Paimon take it?

        It wouldn’t be so easy, would it?

        Paimon held a finger to his lips in contemplation, then swiftly brought a hoof down on Arthur’s back, forcing him into the jagged slices of volcanic glass. He grunted and seethed into the ground.

        “I accept the bet, although it will take me some time to decide what I want when I win; when Arch succeeds well beyond my expectations and rips your heart from your chest,” Paimon smiled. “Oh, you would have been so proud, Arty. I do wish I had taken a picture for you of what they did to young Marcus… For now, I’ll have you locked in a cell until I make up my mind about what I want.”

        Paimon lifted his hoof off of Arthur’s back. He let out a sigh of relief in that there was at least some hope for Arch after all.

[this-life-so-far]

Title 1

Growing Up: The Early Years  

The earliest memory I have of growing up is being in the back of my dad’s white GMC truck and hearing the opening guitar riff of “Sweet Child O’ Mine” being blared on the cheap speakers that were in the back seat with me and my sister. I’ll never forget just looking out the window and being “happy” when hearing the music and not having to care about what was going on in my family. In this memory I have, I vividly remember my father driving down the mountain heading towards Marion NC. In my eyes, the window was the perfect frame for a stage and every blade of grass that was outside the window were dying fans wanting to meet me. It’s odd that I’ve recently just started thinking about this memory lately, however it seems to be one of the few memories I can think of from my childhood that actually aren’t filled with some kind of dread. Whether that’s good or bad, it’s honest. There’s a certain innocence behind the memory and I think that’s why I cherish it so dearly. Within the innocence is something magical and I think I’ve always carried that feeling with me throughout my life.  

Growing up, my family was poor. We lived in an old run-down trailer that had holes in the floors and busted-out windows that had plastic put over them to makeshift a window. We never had money, sometimes no food and sometimes no love. I know my parents tried their hardest and I’m just grateful that they provided a roof over our heads. The trailer would decline in shape over the years, but growing up in it, I never noticed how poor we were at certain times. I had toys, I had video games, but sometimes I wouldn’t have food. The necessity that any child shouldn’t have to worry about; however, one thing that I had was music. Music would become, and still is, the foundation of how I view the world in many different ways. One of my fondest memories was when my mother surprised my sister one Christmas with a CD/Cassette player. The CD player was the nicest thing in our trailer for the longest time. Along with the CD player, my mother bought her a bunch of CDs from one of those weird subscription services that were in the back of magazines in the late 90s. My mother and dad had picked out a bunch of 80s hair -metal CDs from the 20 something CDs you got from this subscription service. After seeing all of the Def Leppard, ZZ Top, and Guns N Roses CDs that were littered through the box, my sister came across her portion of the CDs. My sister’s portion of the CDs consisted of Spice Girls, NSYNC, Jordan Knight, Britney Spears, and a CD that she quickly tossed away that would later become one of my most prized possessions which was a Backstreet Boys CD.  

After my sister neglected the CD for some time, I would slowly start listening to it and getting that feeling I had looking out the window of my dad’s truck and pretending there was an arena of people out there waiting for me. When I would hear songs like “As Long As You Love Me” or “Quit Playing Games with my Heart” I would dance and sing in my home and people would notice me. I never had that much attention growing up, so imagine what was going through the mind of a six-year-old performing in front of his family and them actually noticing. It was an escape and one that I was proud of. If I got sad (which happened a lot during my childhood) I would put on songs like “All I Have to Give” or “I’ll Never Break Your Heart” and just sit back and think about how it felt like I lost something. I was a six-year-old kid at the time who couldn’t have lost too much besides a Power Rangers toy or a Pokémon card, however, I remember hearing these ballads and becoming sad. I knew there was some emotion of love coming from the songs, but I didn’t know what it meant to me. I’m not even sure how to describe the feeling now, I just knew if things were bad in the home; I could put on the slow songs and hideaway crying while singing the chorus and if things were good, I could put on the “funky” songs and dance and be the center of attention. It was the music that helped me escape the chaos of everyday life. Even at this young age, I was ready to “woo” the girl of my dreams into  

My mother was always my biggest fan. When she was in her right mind, there was no one else in the world that could make me feel as special as she could make me feel. I loved more than my mother, but when she was on one of her binges, she quickly became my biggest enemy. I can remember so many nights watching my mom pass out on the floor, in a restaurant, or even falling asleep standing upright while cooking for me and my sister. I would find out later in my life that my mother used substances to keep her away from her past. Thankfully instead of turning to substances like my mother to hide from the ugly past, I turned to music and that helped keep me straight through a lot of rough times in my life. My mother did love me with everything she had in her. I have no doubts about that. I just wish that I could’ve had the mother I knew she could be all the time. She was someone who is special. I believe that if she didn’t have an addiction that she would’ve turned out to be someone who could’ve made a difference in the world. She was kind, beautiful, intelligent, and everything that I strive to be to this day still, however, she carried around a burden that never got any easier to carry.  

Even as a child, I wanted to help my mom carry that burden, no matter the cost. I remember being young and my mother asking me to help her look for my father’s pain pills. I knew that if I found them and she took some of them, she would play with me and be the “super-mom” I knew she was capable of being. Needless to say, many days when my dad was at work and my sister was at my grandparent’s home, me and my mother would spend the entire day tearing up our small little trailer apart looking for that magical little orange bottle of pills. I knew every time she would find them. You would hear a little giggle that was followed by the sounds of pills shaking back and forth in the bottle. I’ll always remember those giggles and the little smiles. I knew my mother was happy finding the pills and I was just happy that she was happy. I wanted a playmate during this time. I never had friends over because even at the age of 6ish I was embarrassed by our house and the conditions we lived in, so I needed a playmate and someone to watch me sing and dance for them.

I was always afraid of my dad. I’m not sure exactly why. He never was intentionally mean to me or my sister, he was just never really involved either. My father would come home from work and go straight to his bedroom and shut the door. It seemed like the only time he was up; he was fussing with my mother about the pills she had found and taken. I never appreciated that from my father in the younger part of childhood. I thought he was trying to make my mother not love me any more by not letting her have the pills that transformed her into “super-mom.” I really wish I had more to say about my father during this part of my childhood, however, it just seems like he wasn’t involved with me or my sister until a little later in our lives. I just know that if you made him mad and he came at you with the belt, he would be the s#!t out of you (there’s no nicer way to put it.) If that ever happened, it was time to cuddle up to the speaker of my sister’s CD player and cut on a ballad by Backstreet Boys. I used music to self-heal myself even back then. By the time we would get our whippings from our father, my mother could be found passed out somewhere. No one was there for us.  

My sister was gone a lot during this time. She spent a lot of time with my grandparents during the summer days and almost every weekend with them during school time. I always loved my sister. I still love her and miss her like crazy. I know that with all of my heart. I’m just not sure how I felt about her growing up during this part of my childhood. My sister was made out to be a “golden child” of the entire family. She was pretty, nice, very smart, and she could actually sing too. She even had her own glamour shots done during this time and was deemed to be “destined for greatness” according to our peers. This left me estranged. How could I have any attention on me when she was that damn good? It wasn’t fair. She was better than me on all levels. I just felt like a forgotten puppy that someone left behind because they couldn’t care for it anymore. All I needed now was for someone to throw me in a van and take me away from my home and put me in a strange place (that would happen a little later.) I honestly don’t know if my sister ever knew how I felt about her growing up around this time. She would later protect me from a lot of evil caused by my parents, but during this time period of my childhood, she was my biggest enemy.  

That never seemed to deter me from finding new ways to find attention. I know it sounds selfish, but as a kid, I craved love and affection. I needed it so I could build a solid foundation for my future self. I remember being younger and drawing a cartoon. I’m honestly not sure what the cartoon was but my mother was blown away by the ability I had to draw at a young age. After I amazed her with one of my cartoons, I just kept drawing. I remember vividly drawing pictures of Pokémon, SpongeBob, and even members of Backstreet Boys just hoping for her approval. I would spend hours on these drawings and once I completed them, I would rush to my parents to show them off. Years later when going through their things after a move, I would find where they saved some pictures I drew of Link from Legend of Zelda and that’s always meant a lot to me. They were quick to dismiss them, but they never threw them away to my knowledge. It was a weird dynamic, getting behind the scenes love, just give it to me now like they were with my sister damn it.  I needed it to be stable because all around there were constant moments of doubt.  

Within times of doubt, there was always something that kept me going. Just the tiniest little thing that would make me feel an endless amount of love. One night I remember vividly was my mother driving me around looking for Pokémon cards. She didn’t have a license and didn’t really drive often, but she knew how much I wanted them after getting my first Arcanine card from a girl in 1st grade and she took the risk to drive me around Spruce Pine looking for them. I was scared because looking now it’s questionable whether she was even sober when driving around with me in the front seat, but I just remember so vividly using passing lights from the neighborhood and town to light the card up so I could continue to look at the card. The card is long gone in my collection, but that memory is priceless because it just reminds me that my mother and father did have pure hearts despite the substance abuse issues.  

There substance abuse issues would later lead to domestic discord and violence. One of the earliest encounters I remember from this time in my youth was when me and my father went to a yard sale. At the yard sale, I found some Mario Kart toys. The toys were of Bowser and Yoshi inside their karts if you were wondering. I was just in awe because Mario Kart 64 was a game my family always played together and to have toys based on the game, seemed like a foreign concept to me for some reason. I was eager to get back home to show my mother the toys, and when me and my father arrived home, I ran in to show off the toys. My mother acted like she cared but as soon as my father walked in, they started arguing. The arguing went on for some time, but I didn’t pay attention to it. I took my toys in the hallway and began playing with them. The stretch of hallway connecting my parent’s room to the living room was Rainbow Road and I was insisting on playing on this makeshift track for as long as possible.  

After some time of arguing in the living room, my father decided he had enough and took off to his bedroom. Within moments my mother was chasing behind him and berating him to the fullest of her lung capacity. After my father slammed the door in my mother’s face, my mother went off and ran and got a butcher’s knife out of the kitchen and started charging at the door. My father had opened the door to see what my mother was doing and the next thing I know; she’s charging at him yelling “I’m going to slit your goddamn throat Pat.” I feared for my father and began screaming and crying. My father shut the door and locked it and after minutes of my mother kicking at the door, then finally she started stabbing the door with the knife. This was after my father had put his body up against the door to hold it shut so my mother couldn’t get into the room. I was crying and running away leaving my precious Mario Kart toys in the floor and after some time my mother quit stabbing the door and left the area. I don’t remember anything after that hardly other than my father putting up stickers and Pokémon poster on the bedroom door so DSS wouldn’t see the stab marks on the door. It’s so bizarre how you can remember the confrontation but can’t remember hardly anything about the cool-down period.  

Thankfully no Mario Kart toys were harmed during this incident, only a child’s sanity. Times like these were the reason I truly hated my sister while we were growing up. She got to be away at my grandparent’s home, and I was stuck in the middle of the chaos. Don’t get me wrong, there were weekends that were perfect for a child to enjoy, but those weekends would get drowned out by the weekends I just mentioned in this incident. I had no protection during these incidents, but somehow, I was the one going to each parent to try and cheer them up. It’s just so cruel and unfair that I felt I had to be a support for both parents and try to pretend that everything was okay, especially while my sister was taking her weekend trips to Wal-Mart and restaurants with my grandparents. She was also getting NSYNC shirts too from them, where the hell was my Backstreet Boys shirt.   

[let-me-love-you-loki]

The Christmas that Wasn’t-Ch. 14

A/N: Written as always with the amazing, wonderful, most awesome bestie-lifepartner @mox-made-me-do-it​.

Chapter 14: Allie

“Well Mango,” Adam whispered as we watched our best friends walk into the bungalow next door. “I think you're stuck with me for the evening.” His hand slid gently down my back, settling on the base of my spine, as he led the way into the boys’ bungalow.

I shrugged playfully and smiled. “Eh, could be worse, I guess. You aren't a complete asshole… yet.”

A chuckle escaped his lips as he walked towards the bar. It was amazing how comfortable I was with him, especially given that he was a wrestler. God knows I'd been burned by them before. God what am I thinking?

Adam was different. His vibe was the total opposite of Jon’s. 

           “Well damn, I'm not sure how to take that, Allie. My feelings are kinda hurt. I thought we were doing ok.” He gave me a dramatically sad expression as he turned his back to me. “Can I get you something from the bar milady?” He plugged his phone into the sound system in the bungalow before digging into the minibar fridge. 

           “Honestly, water would be awesome...too much alcohol the last couple days,” I requested. As the speakers came to life, the unmistakable sound of Chris Stapleton’s Tennessee Whiskey crooned softly through them. It was one of those songs that you couldn't help but to feel in your bones. I suppose that’s why it was one of my favorites.

           I walked alone out to the deck, swaying back and forth, singing along. A moment later I felt one of Adam’s hands slip into mine. He stepped into my space and slowly spun me in time with the music. His other hand wrapped gently around me; his palm pressed against my waist. I moved closer. My free arm wrapped around his neck. I let my fingers gently snake through his wispy golden hair. For a while, we swayed gently to the music and sang along.

           The moment was perfect. It was slow and lingering, and I was glad the music slipped into ballads. One after the other, we sang and danced until the familiar piano bars of Speechless by Dan+Shay filtering through the air.

           I had a sudden flash of memory—Jon’s face wavering in front of me. This was supposed to be our first dance.

           My heart thundered against my ribs. I couldn’t breathe. Bile clawed its way up the back of my throat. Everything tipped sideways.

 Oh no… not now. I shouted silently. I have to get out of here. Now. Why did it have to be this song?

“Hey… what’s wrong?” he asked as my body tensed and shook. “What happened, Allie? Is it the song? I can change it.”

I nodded furiously, the panic turning me inside out. Adam released me to go change the song, and the moment I had a chance, I bolted for the door. I took off running up the boardwalk, desperate to be gone before Adam knew what was happening.

I needed to be as far away from him as I could be. Hopefully, he won't come looking.

The world blurred around the edges, and I was suddenly hurled back into the moment when my entire life shattered into pieces.

***

It was just past 3 in the afternoon when I knocked on Leigh’s office door and walked in like I always did. I tried my best to hold myself together as I sat on the edge of her desk. She’d been in Los Angeles for a few days now, and she’d made the extra office into her own.

“Hey, babes! So… I just fired Renee. We need to revoke all her media credentials and cancel her company card. Immediately.” I couldn’t look her in the eye. I knew that if I did, the tears would never stop. I tossed something onto the desk. “Oh, by the way, here are her keys. The company car is locked in my garage."

I shouldn’t have tried to hide anything. Leigh knew me well enough that she saw right through everything and knew something was wrong. She shook her head, obviously confused, as she stood and walked around her desk.

“Slow down, babes. Come here, sit down, and breathe.” Leigh pulled me toward an overstuffed sofa by the window. She sat down beside me and took my hand in hers, lacing our fingers together.  “Now… what’s going on? I thought Renee was an amazing assistant?”

“Apparently, I wasn’t the only one she was assisting. I just caught Jon at home with Renee. In our bed….” The words came out hollow. I still couldn’t look Leigh in the eye. I couldn’t cry, couldn’t breathe. I’d just gone numb. “I knew Renee had a busy morning with appointments, so I was going to pick Jon up at the airport. He was supposed to be home around three thirty.”

The words came slowly. Painfully. “I had plenty of time, so I made a pit stop at home to change clothes. When I opened the garage, there was her car. No big deal, right? Until I heard something in the bedroom. Apparently, he got in a few hours early and didn't bother to tell me.” Something in my chest ached. Saying it all out loud was like being punched. “I stood outside the door. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. And suddenly, I was so angry that I didn’t know what I was doing. I opened the door, walked straight into my closet, and said ‘don’t let me disturb you.’ Before I left, I told them both they’d better be out of my house by the time I got home tonight.”

My heart fell into my toes. I thought I was going to vomit. “Leigh, the wedding is in a week. What do I do? How do I look any of these people in the eye after he did this to me?”

           Leigh covered her mouth and gasped. “Oh my God, babes. What an asshole! Do we need a shovel? You know I have your back. I’ll fucking kill him.” She seethed, hopping to her feet and pacing the room angrily. After a moment, she stopped and took a deep breath to collect her thoughts. “First off, you have nothing to be ashamed of. He cheated on you. That is not your fault.”

           She came back to sit beside me a moment later, her cell phone in her hand. “We’ll take the rest of the day just for us. I know exactly what you need.” She deftly typed out a text and hit send. “There. Our schedules are cleared for the rest of the week. Ellen will handle all the casting meetings. Henry will make sure that your house will be empty of those two and their things by the time you come home.”

           I leaned into her, letting my head rest on her shoulder. This was almost too much, no matter how good our people were. For a moment, I wanted to call Henry and ask him to rough Jon up before he kicked him out.

           “Let’s get out of here. I’ll grab some tequila because you definitely need a drink. We’ll crash in my hotel room and get something delivered for dinner later.” 

           Leigh got to her feet, took my hand, and led me down the hall. There wasn’t much else I remembered about that day, but I remembered her and how she practically saved me from it all. As we walked down the hallway, I tried to hold in the tears. Everything after was a blur.

***

           From somewhere far away, I could hear Adam calling my name. Don’t look back, I screamed inside my head. Dear God, don’t look back. Keep running.

           “ALLIE!” Adam called, his worried carrying after me on the wind. “Please stop.”

           I kept running until all I could hear was the sound of footsteps and the lap of the ocean on the shore. Thankfully, the common areas of the hotel were deserted. I found a dark cabana and collapsed on the outdoor bed. Sobbing, desperate to catch my breath, I pulled my knees into my chest. I cried until I didn’t know how to stop, until I ached all over and felt wrung out.

           I don't know how long I was there, but when I opened my eyes again Leigh was beside me on the bed with a blanket and a bottle of water. She settled into place beside me as she draped the fabric over me.

           “Hey there, beautiful. You ok?” she asked with her sweet smile. I snuggled into her arms, trying to smile back. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

           My eyes burned, tears prickling before they slipped down my cheeks. “We were dancing on the deck and… it was amazing. The song changed. It was Speechless. I couldn't hold on. And I totally lost it in front of Adam. He must be tired of dealing with me after this. He doesn’t deserve this.” 

           “Babes, it's ok. It's only been ten days. You're allowed and expected to be emotional. No one is upset with you.” Leigh dipped her head to look me in the eye as she rubbed my back. “Not even a little bit. We just wanted to make sure you were ok.”

           It took a moment for it to really sink in that Leigh was there next to me. There was something she was supposed to be doing… somewhere she was supposed to be.

           “We?” I asked quietly. I pulled back to look in her eyes. Then I saw him, standing not far behind her. There was a worried tilt to his mouth, but at the same time he looked frustrated and disappointed. Shit. 

“Kenny is here. So’s Adam. They’re both really worried about you. Should we invite them over?” I snuggled against her as she whispered the next words in my ear. “I can tell them to go away.”

“They can come over. I have to apologize to Adam.” I sat up, my head going fuzzy as I looked over at Kenny and Adam. They stood close together, Kenny with his hands in his pockets. It took me a moment to remember why Adam and I had been alone dancing. And Kenny’s shirt was on inside out. “Oh no your surprise! I ruined it! Babes, I'm so sorry. Oh my God, babes… I’m so sorry.”

“You can stop that right now, Mango. You didn't ruin anything that can’t be picked right back up later.” Kenny said as he followed Adam to the cabana. 

           The moment Adam sat down Leigh slipped away. She rolled to the opposite side of the bed and settled her hand on my ankle. Adam took my hand. “I don't want an apology either, I just need to know that you’re okay.” He tucked a lock of hair behind my ear, settling his hand against my cheek.

           “Adam, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to run out on you like that. I really--”

           “Hey… stop,” he whispered softly. “Mine is Sugarland’s Stay. Never apologize for really feeling something. That is always beautiful, even if some of the memories hurt.”

           God, I thought, could he be any more amazing.

           I couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder to where Leigh sat, still resting her hand against my ankle, a wide space between her and Kenny.

Tag List:

@mox-made-me-do-it​ @not-that-kinda-gurl08​ @lilred91​ @unabashedwrestlefics​

[darlingsdevil]

How Time Flies (Arthur Morgan x Reader)

F! Reader

Summary: (WW2 AU) Arthur leaves for the war, and when the letters stop arriving you assume the worst.

Masterlist

A/N: so a few songs inspired this! This oneshot also heavily references my current fic, The Ballads of Rebirth xD, however you don’t have to read it to understand what’s going on, as it is an AU.

The songs that inspired this oneshot: Super Trouper | Most Notably ~ Finale - highly recommend listening to that!

Angst City 😎

•••

Smoke swirled lazily through the air. The vibrations from the bass shook the ground as you were frozen on the stage. You mindlessly sang a jazzy tune, staring directly into the crowd. Time seemed to slow as you watched the ghost. Couples danced and swung to the beat, but the face of a dead man was watching you.

He was unreadable, but seemingly looking directly into your eyes. Those eyes of emerald and sapphire. Ones you hadn’t seen in many years. You said goodbye to those eyes the day he left for that train, while you wept on the platform, he stared straight ahead.

You said goodbye to him all those years again, but it seemed like you would be saying hello once more.

The cheering of the crowd brought you back into the moment. You let go of the mic, signing off for the night. The club would be closing soon. The band set down their instruments, and you stepped away from the stage. He was still there, watching you.

Arthur had died many years ago, or at least been MIA since the beginning of the war, but the war ended months ago, and here he was, at your performance, wearing his olive formal uniform you’d left him in years ago.

Your dress hung to your hips, your usual swagger wasn’t apparent, instead stiff as a board as you walked closer to him.

Every step felt like a thousand memories returning to you, memories you had buried when you stopped receiving his letters.

Then you were in front of him. You were terrified of facing him.

You were both hesitant.

He said your name, quietly over the noise of the dispersing crowd.

You looked at him, tears welling in your eyes.

“I thought you were dead, Arthur.” You told him through hesitance. You felt like a stranger to him. You held your arm tightly against your body.

The crowd seemingly surrounded you, their words overpowering your thoughts.

“I’m sorry.” He mumbled, staring at you like he would never see anything again.

“I didn’t hear from you. I didn’t know if you were alive or you were dead.”

Time slowed again.

Arthur was older now, perhaps even wiser.

He had new scars, and had a steely gaze. War broke him, you could see that within moments.

“I tried to write. I did.”

You wondered what Arthur had seen that made him give up writing. The old Arthur would have written to you no matter what.

You held back your tears, feeling more and more awkward as the silenced thickened.

“It’s okay. It is, Arthur. I’m fine. I stopped waiting.” You said, staring at the floor. You could feel his gaze on you, like he was waiting for you to say something more.

Arthur remained silent.

“Are John and Charles here?” You asked him after a moment, glancing back at him.

The band returned for a final song, luckily you wouldn’t be singing for them. The crowd cheered again, their roar deafening.

Arthur inhaled deeply, shifting his feet.

“No, uh, no they, they were killed.” He struggled to form the words. Your stomach dropped, you liked John and Charles. John left behind an infant, who was surely grown now, and a mourning wife. Charles had his father and his people.

You were selfish. Arthur was risking his life, remembering the death of his best friends and you had stopped waiting for him, stopped looking out the window everyday for him.

“Oh, Arthur. I’m so sorry.” You shook your head.

“It’s fine. Been a long time now.” He said with a weak chuckle.

“When did you get back?”

“Few weeks ago, service finally ended for me. Took me awhile to find you, never expected you to end up here.” He told you, motioning to the club.

When you were with Arthur you lived in a dead end town with one diner and one store, aspiring to be a big shot singer in Los Angeles, dreaming of a record label. But you were in Chicago now, singing at a dingy bar for the low class. Not exactly your dream but you were halfway there already.

You’d no doubt still be in that town had it not been for the war - that town was a death trap, it needed a large change like the war for anything to be different. Fate was funny that way, you’d gotten what you had wanted but lost something along the way.

“Yeah, I like it here. I’m still dreaming of LA, but you know, a lot of things have changed since then.” You shrugged.

“You always did have a pretty voice.”

You blushed. Luckily it was dim in the club, hiding your red cheeks.

“Thank you.” You mumbled in response. Arthur would forever be a flirt, perhaps that was one of the reasons you fell for him all those years ago. He was a farmboy and your parents were teachers at the old highschool, a perfect match it seemed at the time, but then the war came and everything was ripped violently apart. Nothing would ever be the same.

Bullets instead of wedding rings you always thought.

It was silent between you once more, but the hum of the crowd was anything but. You glanced at your watch. Shit. Time seemed to fly by.

“I’m sorry, Arthur, it’s getting really late. I have to be home soon.” You said quickly, looking towards the door.

“I’ll walk you home.” He offered.

You shook your head, struggling to find the proper words.

“I’m sorry, Arthur I am. My fiancé is waiting for me outside.” You were quiet, afraid that he’d react poorly.

Arthur gave you up when his letters stopped arriving, you couldn’t wait forever. You both wrote letters nearly every day, some arrived late so there’d be months in between letters, but then they abruptly stopped, while you wondered if his letters had been lost in the mail. Eventually, you stopped writing too.

Arthur was frozen, his eyes wide.

“Well then,” He cleared his throat.

“I’m glad you’re engaged. I hope he’s treating you well.” Arthur nodded, staring at you once more, giving you a smile. A smile you had seemingly forgotten, that had been blurred over the years.

You met your fiancé in your hometown, he was the son of the owner of the grocery store. You’d stopped there to buy some things and when you went up to the register the man, Lee, claimed you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever set eyes on, and one thing led to another and you were engaged and living in Chicago.

With Arthur you were foolish kids in love. Sneaking out to see each other at night, going to the only diner in town and causing a ruckus, making out in each others bedrooms while your parents slept.

And then the war came and Arthur was drafted, you never heard from him so you found love elsewhere. Perhaps it was a mistake, but it was too late now.

“Thank you, Arthur. I hope you find someone too. I’m sorry for everything, Arthur, I am.”

“Yeah, me too.”

•••

[softestvirgil]

Let The Flames Begin

Chapter One

Prologue 

Summary: Virgil gets settled into his new home, but somebody takes issue with his arrival

Word Count: 2879

Genre: Alternate Universe

Rating: PG

Pairing: Side Logicality

Warnings: Death mentions, Cursing, Bullying, Physical assault, Mention of injuries

Let me know if there’s any more I should add!

After the fire, instead of trying to place Virgil in a foster home, since he was nearly seventeen the state decided to allow him to stay with an old friend of his Father’s who had reached out instead.

As he drove to his new home, which was quite a ways away from where he used to live, he looked out the car window gloomily as he listened to his music, watching the rain pour down from the grey sky. It was all very angsty, but he was mourning and was therefore entitled to his angst.

Once he had arrived, he walked up the steps slowly, with his suitcase in tow.

He had met them before, and it was brief but pleasant enough. The man, Mr. Prince, was the mayor of their small town and he intended to run again, so Virgil assumed he needed some good publicity. As for his wife, she seemed a bit on the kooky side, but for the most part pretty normal.

Virgil opened the door, and as he did so he was greeted by an angry teen running up the stairs and slamming his door. Nice to meet you too.

Mr. Prince then came to the entrance way of the large, suburban mansion.

“Welcome, Virgil,” He said, politely with his thick British accent.

“Thanks…” Virgil said awkwardly, his hoodie and his purple hair covering most of his face.

Mr. Prince chuckled dryly. “We are so glad to have you, and we hope that you like it here. My wife, Denise, set up a room for you upstairs. It is next to my son, Roman's room,” Roman seems like a prick. “Since you guys are the same age, we hope that you two will get along and maybe even become good friends like your Father and I used to be,”

Virgil scratched the back of his head. “Sure…”

“Denise will show you around, I have business to attend to,” Mr. Prince said. “Denise! Come show Virgil around!”

Then the sound of high heels clicking on tile was heard as Mrs. Prince ran down the staircase.

“Well, hello Virgil! Welcome home!” She said and gave him an unconsenting, but nonetheless very warm hug.

As she pulled away she smiled at him softly. “We are very glad to have you, allow me to show you around the place!”

She then guided him around their large home, showing him the first floor, then the second.

The house had four bathrooms, six bedrooms, two living rooms, a large kitchen, and several other small rooms. Once she was finished she showed him to his room.

The room was fairly large with plain walls, two windows, and a queen-sized bed as well as a dresser and nightstand, but other than that it was empty.

“You should get settled! Let me know if you need anything alright?” Denise said and left with a grin. She was much too perky and he suspected she was under the influence, but he would keep that to himself.

As he entered the room, he sat down on the bed, feeling the plain grey comforter underneath him. He laid down and looked up at the ceiling. This was his life now. He was just shy of seventeen so he had a year until he was out of here, but he was just glad to have a steady roof over his head.

Virgil shut his eyes and as he did so he left himself drift of to sleep, only to be woken up to the sound of an electric guitar.

The noise startled him out of bed and it felt as if it had shaken the walls. It continued and seemed to be getting louder. The noise sounded like it was coming from the next room over so he decided to investigate.

He peered out of his door quietly, trying not to be suspicious. He then stepped out into the hallway and moved to where the sound was. It was the room beside his, Roman's room.

The door was open so he slowly moved toward it and looked in to see Roman strumming heavily on his guitar. Virgil could only see his back, but he looked tense, angry, almost.

The music sounded angry too, and then he began to sing along with it. His voice sounded nothing like the type that should be singing rock music, but rather grand ballads.

Once he was done singing crying could be heard coming from the boy's direction. Roman felt eyes on him and he turned to be greeted by soft hazel ones hidden under a purple hue.

“Oh… it's you,” Roman groaned, with tears still staining his face and animosity in his tone.

Virgil awkwardly looked around. “You… sing really well…”

Roman sighed, drying his tears with his sleeve. “Well of course I do, I have been singing since I was small. What do you want?”  

“It was just, loud, so I uh… came to see what was up…” Virgil explained, not once making eye contact.

Roman smiled mockingly. “Well here's some advice, Virgil. Next time, don't, ”

Then he proceeded to push Virgil out the door, and he landed on his ass.

“Fuck,” Virgil muttered under his breath, staring at the door as if it was what had just assaulted him. So much for a warm welcome, huh?

The next day was Virgil's first day at his new school, and he was anxious, as usual. So anxious in fact, that he set several alarms and woke up before any of them even rang.

Once he was awake, he got out of bed, grabbed a black shirt and his lucky hoodie out of his suitcase before putting them on. He then put on some socks and pulled his hood over his head. Looking into the mirror, he decided to put on his usual dark under-eye makeup. He wore it not only to cover his eye bags from not sleeping properly but to intimidate people into leaving him alone.

After he was done he looked at himself and sighed. None of his burns were visible except the small one on his right cheek, and he hid that quite well with his long bangs and makeup anyway. It wasn't great, but it was something.

Virgil was finally finished getting ready, and he ran down the staircase softly, as to not cause a commotion.

When he reached the entrance way, he saw Roman sitting at the kitchen island eating breakfast. His stomach rumbled at the idea of food, but he was too scared to eat so he decided against it. He grabbed his high tops and put them on before exiting the house. He knew where the school was from here because he had been shown around the area a few times to get comfortable.

As he walked the wind began to pick up and it blew his hoodie off his head with a large gust. He shivered as a bite of cold hit him. The air felt like knives and Virgil knew the school wasn't far, but he would have sworn to you that it took days to get there.

Once he finally reached the small high school, he noticed that the area around the school was populated by a large number of teens. They were just hanging about, talking, smoking. He felt awkward so he walked in rather than talking to anyone.

What room was his first class in? He could not for the life of him remember. He had been given a sheet with all of that information, but it got lost. He knew it was homeroom, but where that was, was a mystery to him.

He then saw a guy leaning against a locker, reading. The guy had on black classes and wore what looked to be a sweater vest. Virgil didn't like to feed into stereotypes but this person seemed to at least know where he was, which was more than he could say for himself.

So, he bravely walked over to him. “Excuse me? Uh, it says my first class is homeroom but I am not sure where that is…”

The guy sighed. “I will show you. That just so happens to be my first class as well. Allow me to introduce myself, I am Logan,” Logan then held his hand out for the anxious one to shake.

Virgil looked at him hesitantly before shaking his hand. “I'm Virgil,”

Logan grimaced at Virgil's handshaking skills. “Well, Virgil, I do not want to be late so we should be going,”

The pair then began walking toward the classroom and many other students seemed to be headed in that direction as well. Then Logan got tackled from behind by someone. Virgil was confused but put up a defensive stance in case.

The person, a guy with a blue button-up shirt, similar glasses to Logan's and a grey sweater, who tackled Logan, began placing soft kisses all over his face.

Logan got flustered. “Patton, you are embarrassing me in front of the new guy,”

Patton chuckled heartily. “Oops! My bad! Hi, I'm Patton! Logan's boyfriend,”

Realization dawned on Virgil. “Oh… okay, that… makes sense. I'm Virgil,”

The two then began holding hands and once they walked into the classroom, had to let go. Logan seemed unfazed but Patton looked as if he missed the contact.

Virgil noticed as he walked into the classroom, that Roman was sat at the back. He wasn’t sure why the guy was placed there but he assumed he had done something to deserve it. When Roman noticed him looking he glared and then averted his gaze away from Virgil, and out the window. He wasn’t sure if he had done something to make the guy dislike him, or if he was just an asshole. Virgil assumed it was the latter.

That class, as well as most of all the others, was uninteresting to Virgil. He felt as if the torture of school was a waste of time when he didn't even know what he wanted to do with his life yet or even who he was.

Once lunch came around, they were told that they could sit in one of the classrooms to eat or sit outside. Virgil was unsure what to do, so he just followed the only two people he knew here.

They went outside but before they did, they stopped at the vending machine just beside the doors. The school, since it was in a rather small town, had no cafeteria. So if you didn't bring lunch, stale vending machine food was your only option.

After the other two had chosen a few things, Virgil looked at the machine. There was many different kinds of chips and cookies as well as candy and chocolate, so he got several different items since he couldn't choose just a couple. He got the first few things but the last one, a Snickers bar, got stuck in the coils.

“No,” He muttered frustratedly.

The couple had been talking amongst themselves, off in their own little world, so they didn’t notice his issue.

Virgil began shaking the machine to try and get the candy loose, but it wouldn't budge.

Then Virgil got shoved away. “Step aside,”  

It was Roman. Of course.

Roman then shook the machine so hard that several candies fell out of it, and the noise startled the star crossed lovers away from each other for a moment.

He then picked up the bar, handed it to Virgil and walked outside.

The pale boy quirked a brow in confusion. “Um… thanks?”

Patton frowned. “What's up with Roman today? He usually waits for us,”

Logan rolled his eyes. “Roman is preoccupied at the moment, remember? Someone moved in with him yesterday?”

“Oh yeah... The one that was in the fire,” Patton remembered.

“...that would be me…” Virgil announced and the two turned their gaze to him. Pity rested heavily on both their faces and an uncomfortable silence fell between them.

Logan broke the silence. “That is such a foolish oversight on my part, you're new here, of course, you would be…”

Virgil looked away. “It's whatever, let's go,

The trio walked out the door to see Roman sitting in solitude at the bench in the far corner.

Logan sighed. “I'll be back in a moment, stay here,”

With that, he walked over to where Roman was sitting, and they appeared to be arguing.

Patton frowned. “Gosh, I'm sorry, Virgil. I don't know what's gotten into him,”

“He's not usually like this?” Virgil asked.

Patton chuckled. “Roman? No, he's one of the nicest guys I know!” You must not know a lot of people, then.

Virgil stared at the two who continued to fight for a few more moments until Logan came stomping back, seething with rage.

Logan exhaled deeply and collected himself for a second. “Let's just sit without him today,”

“But Logan, he's all alone…” Patton said sadly.

“He's being ridiculous and I have no patience for it today,” Logan replied and they all sat down at the nearest table to them. There weren't a lot of benches, and on a nice day they would have all been full already, but today wasn't a nice day. It was just rainy, cold and dark.

Then after a few moments, some jock looking guys sat down with Roman.

“See? He’s fine,” Logan said to Patton, who frowned in response.

“So, it's about me, right?” Virgil asked bluntly, causing Logan to tense up in response.

“He is, well, he's jealous…” Logan divulged.

Virgil scoffed. “Jealous? Of me? What for?”

Logan sighed. “He thinks you may somehow gain his parents’ favor because he's insecure and has gotten on his father's nerves as of late,”

“That's crazy. He has nothing to be jealous of… I'm not important,” Virgil stated, taking a bite of his chips.

Then speaking was heard from behind him. “You're right, you aren't!”

Next thing Virgil knew he was in the mud.

Gasping was heard from the table but neither of the two moved a muscle. They weren’t the fighting type.

He looked up, pulling his bangs out of his eyes to try and see who pushed him, but whoever did it had begun kicking him in the ribs.

The bully sneered. “Leave Roman's friends alone! He doesn't want you near them,”

Virgil tried to fight back. “Please… stop…” He breathed sharply and groaned with each kick.

The bully laughed. “Why should I? Fire boy! You should have died in that fire!”

Virgil grunted. “Stop…”

Patton screamed. “Stop it, Nate! You're hurting him!”

“Good,” Nate said. Roman was standing off to the side now, watching the whole thing. He looked as if he felt bad, but Virgil didn't believe that for a second.

Virgil cried. “Stop... or I'll-”

“You'll what? Stop being a pussy?” Nate laughed.

Then, Virgil's eyes started glowing bright orange.

“I would stop now, if I were you,” He said blankly, seeming somehow now unphased by all the pain his small body just went through.

Nate faltered for a moment. “Why should I?” Then, with no response, he kicked again and got blasted across the yard.

When the bully stood up, he was covered in ashes and his arm had been burned.

“Ow! What the-” Then when he turned to look back, Virgil was nowhere to be seen.

Virgil ran as fast as his feet would take him, where was he going? He didn't even know. He just knew he had to get out of there. As he ran he felt all the pain he had suppressed come back, and he realized how badly he had been beaten.

Everyone knew his secret now. They knew he was a freak. An abomination.

“Virgil! Wait!” Patton yelled.

Then the pale boy turned to look behind him and saw both Logan and Patton running after him.

Virgil shouted back. “Why did you follow me?”

Logan huffed, as he was very out of breath. “We wanted to know if you were alright, or if you need medical attention. I have a motor vehicle, I can drive you to the hospital,”

Virgil turned away. “Didn't you guys see what just happened? I'm-”

“Very injured! Now come with us,” Logan pleaded.

Virgil started crying. “Why do you wanna help me?”

“We care about you, dummy!” Patton yelled.

Then, Patton started running to where Virgil was and hugged him tightly. Logan also ran over, but he wasn't much of a hugger so he settled for a comforting pat on the back.

“We-” Logan began but breathed heavily. “We should return to school if you don't wish to be taken to the emergency room,”

Virgil tensed. “I… don't like hospitals very much,”

Logan nodded. “Very well, the school nurse shall suffice then,”

“What about Roman… and Nate?” Virgil asked, anxiously looking in the direction of the school.

“Fuck Roman,” Logan said bluntly, making both of the two who were still hugging mouths gaped open.

Virgil pulled away from Patton. “But I thought he was your friend…”

“Was… is the key word there. He is acting like an asshole so he deserves to be treated like one. Plus, he has his group of slow-witted jock friends to hang out with, so he should be fine,” Logan explained and the three began walking back toward the school. Since Virgil couldn't walk super well without limping, Patton and Logan supported him on each of his sides.

Virgil genuinely smiled, for the first time in a while. “Thank you guys, we just met and I already feel more cared for by you two than I have in a long time,”

“Thank you for being so cool!” Patton cheered and began going on and on about how cool it was that Virgil threw Nate across the yard like that. Virgil didn't know if he could ever see himself that way, but he was glad someone thought so. He knew the topic of what he did would come up again at some point, he was just glad that wasn’t now.

Chapter Two

[insfiringyou]

Becoming Exclusive (Suga x Jeong-sun)

Set the day following the events of ‘Pillow Talk’ Yoongi and Jeong-sun go out to dinner and finally establish that they are wanting to give their relationship another try.

This is part of our ongoing story line in our headcanon universe & mentions several key events from Yoongi and Jeong-sun’s past relationship together which you may wish to read first. 

To read each member & their girlfriend’s headcanon universe fics in order, follow the links here: RM   /   Jin  /   Suga  /   J-Hope   /   Jimin   /   V   /   Jungkook & 

Our full masterlist can be found here

Rated content below the cut

PART ONE 

He had not yet replied and the picture continued to glare back at her; her pink nipples cast in shadow by the outline of the phone. Jeong-sun sighed. Forgetting to set her alarm, the impromptu nap had lasted two hours and her head had started to throb a little from dehydration. It was only just past two o’clock, yet she suspected Yoongi would have seen the picture by now, even if his phone had been on silent when he left her apartment several hours before. There seemed to be a glimmer of hope and, without really thinking, she started typing out a message.

‘How is your roof?’

Hitting send, she realised she was subconsciously trying to push the image up in the message window and felt a wave of relief as the top half of her breasts in the photo disappeared upwards. She persevered. ‘Did they find anything interesting?’ Send. And then: ‘Were you thinking of selling up?’

The new text messages took over the screen, moving the embarrassing selfie out of view. Feeling a slight wave of relief wash over her now the picture was no longer starring her in the face, she slid off her bed and walked the short distance to the kitchen, flicking on the electric kettle to make tea. When she returned to her bedroom ten minutes later she noticed the notification light on her cell was flashing. 

‘Fine. Not really. I was considering it.’

Not really knowing how to reply, she found herself sitting down on the edge of her bed as her mind replayed a scene from earlier that day; remembering the way he had grinned shyly to himself before pressing his lips against hers. Lost in thought, she almost jumped when the phone vibrated in her hand. 

‘Are you free tomorrow afternoon?’

‘I have to go to the post office before it closes.’ She replied after a moment’s thought, giving his question time to sink in. It was true; her passport was due to expire and she couldn’t send off for a replacement until her old one had been shipped off to be checked. 

His answer came back almost immediately. ‘Do you want to go for lunch afterwards?’ 

Her heart thumped in her chest. Nervously, she typed out her answer. ‘Is this a date?’

‘Yes.’

She bit her lip, trying to suppress the smile which threatened its way onto her lips before she realised she was alone. Her cheeks were warm and, more than likely, glowing pink. She adjusted the phone between her hands, steadying them to type a reply. ‘Where shall we meet?’

PART TWO

“Have you been here before?” Jeong-sun asked, tugging on the sleeve of her cream-coloured blouse a little anxiously as they peered in the window. The pub seemed a little out of place on the corner of the busy shopping street and was surprisingly quiet inside. She could spot a few couples through the window, seated on plush, leather seats, eating food which looked both familiar yet a little alien. 

Yoongi shook his head gently. “No, I’ve walked past it a lot of times. It’s British themed.” 

“Did you read good reviews?” She smirked, hiding her nerves behind a small, sarcastic smile, remembering his coffee house recommendation a few weeks before.

He let out a small laugh. “Something like that.” He turned to her. “I thought you might like a pint.”

She shrugged, trying to appear casual. "Well, I’m not at work until tomorrow afternoon.”

“Shall we go in?” He suggested, gesturing towards the glass door. He held it aside for her as they entered the dark, yet spacious room. The scent of gravy and pastry hit their nostrils as they headed automatically towards the wooden bar in front of them. A couple of customers were being served; having their pints of beer pulled by hand from the large taps above the counter. 

“Do you want to find a table? I’ll get the drinks.” She offered. 

Yoongi pointed towards a small table in one corner, suitably quiet and out of the way. “Over there?”

“Yeah. What are you having?”

“A Guinness.”

She nodded, joining the small line of people waiting to be served. She walked over to his table five minutes later, carefully bringing the drinks and setting them down. She had opted for larger; the liquid pale and crisp in contrast to the cloudy stout. 

“Do you have any plans for tomorrow?” She asked curiously, setting herself down opposite him. The leather armchair whispered under her weight and she sank comfortably into its grasp. 

“Not really.” He admitted, taking a sip of his drink. “I might do some writing.”

“Are you working on something?”

He nodded a little gingerly. It had been a while since he had spoken much about his work with another person. “A ballad...for a female vocalist.” He paused, meeting her gaze for the first time that afternoon with a smirk. “Do you want to do it?”

Her grin was automatic. “It wouldn’t sell very well.”

“I don’t need the money.” He murmured, his long fingers fiddling with the cardboard coaster which had been left on the table. A French brand of beer was advertised on one side and he slid it through hands a little restlessly. 

She laughed a little, knowing he was joking but unable to let the suggestion drop. “You might get fired from the label. They’ll think someone is dying.”

He shrugged. “You’re not that bad. I’ve heard you sing before.”

Smirking, she picked up the oversized menu from the wooden stand at the edge of the table and flicked it open. “I’ve gotten worse.” She remarked before turning her attention to the list of options, frowning after a moment of reading. “What are spuds?”

“Potatoes.” He explained. 

“Oh.” She looked at the menu for another minute before handing it over. “Do you want to have a look?”

He took it from her easily, his eyes roaming over the list of specials. “Did Yu-jin get the job?” He asked after a moment. 

“She did. She said the interview went well.”

“Was she nervous?”

“Yeah. I gave her some Kalms.”

Yoongi flashed a grin as he set the menu back on the stand. “Staff discount.”

“Yeah.” Jeong-sun smiled, before remembering: “Is Hoseok out yet?”

He nodded. “Next month.” He thought for a moment before making the connection, realising why she had asked. “Does Yu-jin still write to him?”

“I think so.”

“Does she know he has a girlfriend?”

She frowned, trying to remember. “She hasn’t mentioned, I think they were just friends.” She paused before enquiring further, curious. “Is she nice?”

Yoongi nodded, unable to help the small smile which crept onto his lips. “She’s just like him.” He hesitated. “Except she’s a teacher.”

Jeong-sun laughed openly at this, finding the connection between the two facts funny but glad that Yoongi seemed to approve; Hoseok was his best friend and she was glad he was happy for him. 

“What grade?” She asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t remember. Little kids.” 

Her smile remained but she couldn’t help but wonder, a little sadly. “Does she find it hard, with him away?”

She noticed his gaze drop. “I think we’ve all found it hard.”

She knew he was telling the truth as he said it and she felt her heart sink. “Are you going to do anything for him?” She asked gently. 

“Like a party?” He looked up.

She nodded.

“I was thinking about it.” He murmured.

“If you do, I’d like to be there...if that’s okay.” She asked slowly, a little hesitant.

He was silent for a second before replying, his voice soft. “I would have invited you anyway.”

Her heart thudded in her chest as he once more met her eyes. Although Hoseok had been vaguely aware of them as a couple during their time together, Yoongi had never specifically asked her to join him at a party or event. Their meetings in public had often been the result of a happy coincidence or subtle hinting on each of their parts that they hoped the other would be there. 

She took a deep breath, trying to hide the tremor in her voice with a smirk. “Does that mean we’re exclusive?” 

He grinned shyly, his gums flashing momentarily as his eyes flickered timidly to the wooden table in front of them. “I wasn’t planning on dating anyone else, were you?”

She smiled, her body relaxing a little at his reply. “No.”

He let out a small exhalation of laughter as he looked up, reaching slowly across the table to take her hand in his. It was warm beneath his fingers as he slid his digits between hers, caressing her with his thumb. They remained this way, in content and comfortable silence until the waiter walked over almost a minute later, notepad in hand ready to take their order. They broke apart politely as Jeong-sun reached for the menu. 

“I’d like...” Reluctant to risk mis-pronouncing the English words on the menu, she pointed to an item half-way down the first page. The waiter nodded before turning to Yoongi who seemed to have no problems with the language. The waiter gathered the menu and left them to their privacy. 

A small chime from Yoongi’s pocket brought his attention to his phone and he read the text message easily, slipping it from his jeans. The sight inadvertently made Jeong-sun want to shrink further into her chair as she remembered the events from the day before. 

“I was hoping you might not see it.” She murmured cryptically as he once more pocketed the device. 

“What?”

Her cheeks were pink. “The picture.”

“Oh.” Yoongi smiled carefully. “I thought you’d be hacked.” He joked. 

Her expression twisted, clearly embarrassed but needing to get it off her chest. “I don’t know what made me do it.”

He shook his head gently, his voice soft. “It’s okay. I deleted it.”

She had not expected his answer and it filled her with an unprecedented amount of relief. “It wasn’t the best angle.” She said, only half-joking as she remembered the speed in which she had took it. Looking at him now, in his beautifully fitted ripped jeans and black sweater, the thought of him being able to look at such an unflattering image at any time filled her with dread. His reply, however, made her heart flutter. 

“I didn’t notice.” He shrugged, voice sincere and indifferent. Her stomach grew warm at the casualness of his reply; it had always amazed her how he seemingly found her so attractive, especially during times when he had no real reason to. He pressed on. “It caught me a bit off guard. The surveyor had just arrived.”

Glad for the slight change in direction, she went with it. “How did it go?”

“I don’t know, I was a bit distracted.”

She laughed, face glowing. “Sorry.”

He grinned in reply, leaning back slightly in his chair as the waiter came over with their food. He had opted for a whisky-glazed steak while she ate an oversized bowl of beef stew and dumplings. They tucked in quietly, enjoying the new flavours in silence. 

After a while, in-between spoonfuls of food, Jeong-sun spoke up. “This is nice...”

“I know.” Yoongi murmured, casting a glance over her stew. “I tried something like it in the UK.”

She smiled softly. “No. I meant being out together.” He looked up at the gentleness of her voice, his brown eyes meeting hers. “We didn’t get the chance to do this much... before.”

Yoongi sighed, putting down his fork as he washed down the last mouthful of steak with Guinness.“We never had much free time together did we?”

As if proving his point, a familiar jingle rang out and Jeong-sun dropped her spoon, a little clumsily, into the bowl of half-finished food as she fumbled in her trouser pocket for her cell. Yoongi’ recognised the ringtone and felt the knowing pang of disappointment within him when she checked the screen. 

“You’re more busy than I am these days.” He murmured, trying not to sound too saddened at the prospect of their date being interrupted. 

Jeong-sun squinted a little to read the name on screen; she had left her glasses at home, before swiping left. She quickly slid the phone back into the pocket of her smart, black trousers. “It can wait.” She said.

PART THREE

Not wanting to part from him, Jeong-sun agreed on going with him back to his apartment following the date and, despite their years apart, found the feel and scent of it comfortingly familiar. Following him into the living room, she did notice a few changes. 

“This is new...” She pointed to the sheepskin rug which covered the bare stretch of flooring near the television. 

He shrugged, walking around the glass coffee table to perch on the sofa. “I was trying to make the place look a bit more lived in.” Looking up, he waited for her to join him. “I didn’t used to spend much time here, unless I was with you.”

She considered this for a moment, hovering by the doorway. “Do you still have your piano?”

“I got a new one. The other seemed a bit pretentious.” He answered honestly. The baby grand had never really felt right in his small studio space; the simple, wooden one he had replaced it with felt much more at home.

“What did you do with it?” She asked curiously, her mind inadvertently flashing back to the last time she had seen it and to the act they had performed pressed against it. Her face had grown a little hot as she wondered whether him getting rid of it had anything to do with the memory of her.

“I donated it to a university. It seemed better suited there.”

It made sense but the blush remained. “Can I use the bathroom?” She murmured. She had been needing to pee since they left the pub; beer always had that effect on her, but she was also craving a minute alone to contemplate the fact she was back in his apartment and to reflect on the confirmation he had given just before lunch.

He gums flashed briefly in a smile at her question. “I won’t stop you.”

She left the room, her legs automatically carrying her down the hall to the guest bathroom she remembered being there. She had barely used it during their time together, always preferring the cosy en-suite attached to his bedroom, but it felt too soon to go there now. 

In the living room and feeling restless, Yoongi reached for the remote control on the table and turned on the large-screened television, automatically pushing the button to turn down the volume. He left it on the channel that was playing and watched as a police car gave chase to a group of suspected drug sellers. The reality show was one he was familiar with; since coming out of the military he had found the easy-lull of daytime television strangely comforting when he was home alone with too much to think about. 

Jeong-sun walked into the room a moment later, smiling softly as she walked around the table to join him on the sofa. “You got a tub.”

His watched her as she sat down. “I’ve been enjoying baths recently.” He explained as she nestled against him. Without thinking, his hand moved around her lower back, holding her to his side. The slightly-rough feel of her textured blouse against his wrist made him realise and he held his breath for a moment, waiting to see if she would move away. While they had gotten more intimate than this just two evenings before, the stream of afternoon light drifting through the gap in the curtains made him more self-aware than he had been in bed with her. If his move surprised her, however, she didn’t show it. 

“I wish I had room for one.” She murmured with a small sigh.

“If you’re ever in the neighbourhood, you’re welcome to use mine.” He replied, his offer genuine. 

Smiling, she mumbled an agreement before the wail of a police siren on the television caught her attention as the show began to play its final credits. “Do you watch this often?” She asked with a grin, recognising the programme immediately. 

Her body moved with his as he shrugged and her smile widened. 

“You must be bored these days.” She said as the commercial break started. 

“I’ve got too much spare time on my hands.” He agreed. Turning his head towards her, he noticed the subtle scent of perfume on her skin and hair. It was different to what she usually wore, a cool-smelling vanilla and passion-fruit concoction, surprisingly unfamiliar but comforting at the same time. He subconsciously tucked his arm more tightly around her, their shoulders touching as they cuddled casually. 

“I’ve not seen this one yet.” She smirked as the opening scenes of a new reality programme, set in the A&E department of a Seoul hospital, started. A man, with his face anonymously blurred out to protect his identity, approached the desk with a rather unusual problem. Jeong-sun smirked, turning to Yoongi. “Hae-won watches it all the time.”

They were transfixed as they watched the man enter the X-Ray room with a doctor. The following scene showed the cause of the man’s distress and his tense, unusual walk, as the results of the X-Ray were shown. Yoongi squinted at the screen, trying to work out the shape in the man’s rectum. “Is that a Transformer?” He asked in disbelief.

Jeong-sun shrugged with a timid grin. “I think so.”

“How do you think he got it up there?” His voice was slightly baffled, making her laugh out loud, her warm voice filling the cosy room. 

She shrugged against him. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

There was a moment of silence as they watched the doctor’s diagnosis with amusement. “At least if you become a nurse you’ll be well prepared.” Yoongi murmured, moving his hand to gently squeeze her upper arm. 

She turned to look at him, her eyes meeting his properly for the first time that afternoon, since lunch, their faces close together. “I didn’t say I was becoming a nurse.” She said, a little defensively. The unexpected tone of her voice would have usually made him proceed with caution when thinking through his reply. Instead, he pressed on gently, moving one palm to rest comfortably on her upper thigh, against the black fabric of her smart trousers. 

“I know you want to.” 

Her jaw tensed for a moment, before letting it relax, giving in. “I was just looking into it.” She protested unconvincingly. 

He fought the urge to disagree. “You’d be good.” He shrugged, letting it drop.

She peered at him doubtfully. “You don’t know that.”

“You’re really calm.” He explained, his gaze falling to his palm as he rubbed her thigh gently in circular movements, his body twisting towards her. “If I was your patient I’d feel really safe with you.” He looked up, meeting her brown eyes. She was still for a moment, expression softening as she realised the sincerity in his voice. 

“That’s a nice thing to say.” She admitted, turning her body back to the television and wrapping her arm around Yoongi’s back, snuggling into him. The doctor on the screen showed the successfully removed toy. 

“Oh look...they got it out.” Jeong-sun commented, pointing absently to the screen. Yoongi laughed, his stomach growing warm with his feelings for her in that moment. He pressed his lips to the side of her head, kissing her warm hair with a smile as she shifted comfortably against him, their faces inches apart. A moment passed between them, their eyes roaming slowing over each other’s features before Yoongi moved forward to kiss her temple, his lips closed as he trailed them along her face; against her right cheek before meeting the corner of her mouth. Moving her head slowly, she met his lips, kissing him softly. The taste of him, familiar and comforting, filled her with warmth as her heart jack-hammered in her chest. Her palm moved to the front of his sweater, pressing it flat to where she approximated his own heart would be. Sure enough, she could feel its quickening vibration beneath her fingertips as they sank into each other’s touch, his fingers caressing her cheekbone delicately as he pushed a stray strand of hair back from her face. She felt a little light headed and giggly, smiling against his lips as they shifted slowly, making themselves more comfortable as his spare hand un-tucked a corner of her blouse from her trousers to touch the bare skin beneath.

She wondered, bemusedly, how close she had come to never seeing him again. Subconsciously, she was aware that her reasons were justified and he too understood why she had done it. But she realised, as he pulled away to slide his sweater over his head and revealed his thin white t-shirt, that she had never felt this way with anyone else and she would never be able to let him go again. With a slight tremor, she touched his chest once more, feeling his uncharacteristic warmth radiating through the fabric. The sensation of his heartbeat against her hand was incredibly intimate and, realising what she was doing, Yoongi clasped his hand flat over hers, allowing her...welcoming her to feel its hum. He had nothing to hide. 

She could not guess how long they had been kissing; each loving touch of his lips against hers filled her with butterflies and she couldn’t grow tired of the slow, unhurried pace they set as they enjoyed each other. Eventually, she felt him reach behind her to adjust a few cushions, breaking their embrace briefly to encourage her to lie down. She shifted against the soft fabric, shuffling her hips and arse to get comfy as Yoongi snuggled against her, resting his head against the soft cushion of her breasts as he touched her chin lightly with his knuckle, tilting her head to press a final, soft kiss to her lips. 

Moving away, he caressed her covered stomach gently with his palm as he settled against her, the textured fabric and line of black buttons uncomfortable and awkward against his cheek. Moving slowly in order to give her time to protest, he began to undo the top set of buttons, his fingers pulling the fabric gently away from her cleavage, careful not to expose too much of her lacy black bra, before nestling his head between her soft breasts.

“Better?” She asked with a smirk.

He nodded against her, his cheek pressed against her smooth skin, just above the trim of fabric. “Why do they have to make them so pointy?” He complained.

“The buttons?”

He murmured in agreement, his voice low and purry as he made himself comfortable.

She laughed softly. “I don’t think the designers had this in mind.”

The television continued to play softly as the A&E programme made way for an all-female panel show. They watched it absently at the light outside started to darken, content just to cuddle lazily in silence, sharing their warmth. They drifted off at some point, with Jeong-sun waking up first. She wasn’t sure how long she had been out, the automatic timer on the television had turned it off, and she laid in silence, vaguely needing to pee again but too comfortable to wake up Yoongi. She watched him as he inhaled and exhaled slowly, his long eyelashes brushing his pale cheeks as he slept, and observed how, for the first time in a very long while, she felt truly happy. Eventually, she felt him stir against her and, moments later, he opened his eyes, automatically checking his Rolex for the time. Realising he had been asleep, he smiled shyly, his cheeks warm and pink as he shuffled against her. 

“Do you want me to leave?” Jeong-sun asked, knowing it was late. 

“No.”

She hesitated before asking. “Can I stay?”

He adjusted his head to look up at her, the angle a little awkward. His expression was soft beneath his bangs. “I was hoping you would.”

“I don’t have anything to wear.” She murmured as he settled back against her breasts, adjusting the edge of the fabric a little to get more comfy. 

“You can borrow something of mine.”

“Can I have a bath?” She asked. Yoongi noticed an apprehensive edge to her voice. 

“Yeah.” He agreed easily. 

She hesitated before speaking, her voice a little shaky. He heard the increase in her heart-rate through his ear, pressed against her chest. “Do you want to join me?”

He paused, his stomach fluttering pleasantly. Running his tongue briefly over his dried lips, he didn’t try to hide the nervous tremor in his own voice as it cracked slightly. “I’d like that.” 

Matter settled, they once more fell into a comfortable silence as her pulse eventually slowed. 

After a few minutes he spoke up. “Are you thirsty?”

“Do you have tea?” She asked.

“The bags might be a bit stale. I got them for Hoseok.” He smiled at the memory shortly before his enlistment of accommodating Hoseok and Nana for dinner, finding the recipe for a vegetarian pasta-bake online. 

“I’m sure they’re fine.” She reassured. She sighed a little at the loss of his comfortable weight as he slid off her; his body was a little stiff and grouchy from remaining still for so long. She sat up on the sofa as he trailed out of the room, returning a few minutes later clutching two steaming mugs. 

“Do you want the T.V back on?” He asked, sitting back beside her. 

“It’s fine.” She clutched the warm mug between her hands and blew on the surface of the liquid, inhaling its comforting scent. She observed the little string sticking out of Yoongi’s own mug and smiled, knowing he had never been much of a tea drinker. “Do you think you’ll be performing again, once everyone’s out?” She asked, breaking the silence. 

“I don’t think my body could cope.” He laughed a little breathily. It was meant to sound like a joke but she thought she heard a hint of truth behind the sound.

“Maybe you should stick to ballads.” She teased. 

He shrugged easily, picking up his own mug. “I prefer writing these days.” He hesitated before taking a small sip from the brim and setting it back down. “I’d never say never.”

“The fans will be upset.” She commented, pressing her mug to her lips.

He was silent for a moment, contemplating this. “There’ll be someone to take our place.” He said. Jeong-sun anticipated a tone of sadness in his voice but found none as he continued. “It feels right that we slow down for a while. It doesn’t feel as important as it used to.”

“How come?” She gently probed, setting her cup down absently as she twisted her lower body on the sofa to face him..

“My priorities have changed.” His gaze remained fixed on his lap but he reached out for her hand, taking it in his. “I feel I missed out on a lot.”

She was silent, thinking, her eyes on their connected hands.

“How’s the tea?” He asked.

She ignored his question, wanting to vocalise what she was thinking. “I know how you feel...” She said sadly. “Spread thin.”

He paused before sighing, brushing his thumb gently over her thumb. “I don’t want to add any pressure to that.” He shook his head, knowing as he said it that, despite what he wanted, he needed to give her the option to put herself first or he would never forgive himself. “I know things weren’t perfect before.”

Her hand closed around his, warm and, given her job, surprisingly soft. “It feels right.” She reassured, much to his relief. “I think we needed some time apart.”

He murmured in agreement, despite himself. “It took me a while to see it.” He explained.

“You’re not sick of the sight of me?” Despite her attempts to sound playful, Yoongi thought he sensed a touch of doubt in her voice and, proving his next point, he looked up, straight at her. 

“Not at all.” He grinned, meaning it with every ounce of his being. 

She caught on to his sincerity but was unable to stop herself from being self-deprecating, feeling bashful. She smirked. “I’ve put on twenty pounds.”

Shaking his head, he leaned in to kiss her, his lips opening softly against hers before muttering: “You’re beautiful.” He felt her teeth press against his lips in response as she kissed him back. 

“You’re not bad yourself.” She smiled as she pulled away.

He cupped her cheek gently, smoothing away another stray lock and tucking it behind her ear. “Did you want that bath now?” He asked gently.

“I’m nervous.” She confessed. 

His heart thudded at her response but he was relieved to hear that she felt the same. “Me too.” He admitted. “We don’t have to rush anything.”

“Just a bath?” She asked, taking his other hand in her spare and holding them both to her lap. 

“Just a bath.” He agreed, squeezing her hands reassuringly in return before she got to her feet. 

“Just give me a second.” She whispered, flashing him a timid grin before heading off to the master bathroom down the hall. Yoongi waited for the sound of the door closing behind her before he stood up and went into his bedroom. Feeling restless, he stripped his bedding and placed it into the hamper, replacing it with a fresh set from his bottom draw along with an extra pillow from the cabinet. His phone pinged with a notification and he pulled it from his pocket, swiping the screen to read the text. 

‘I can’t get the water hot’

He glanced automatically at the doorway, towards the bathroom. ‘Do you want me to come in?’ He typed.

‘Yeah.’

Despite her invitation, he wrapped his knuckles briefly against the door before he opened it.

“There’s a switch to turn on the boiler.” He murmured as she turned to face him, his eyes briefly flicking to her bare legs beneath the short towel she clutched around her body. Turning around before he could linger on the sight of her, he flipped the switch by the door.  

“Oh.” She murmured, a little embarrassed. “I’ve never seen one like that.”

“It’s supposed to save energy.” He said drily, knowing she would approve. He walked past her towards the claw tub, the vessel already partially full with freezing cold water. Bending down to turn on the warm tap, he ran his hand under the faucet until he was satisfied the temperature had heated up. He could sense her hovering behind him a little awkwardly and straightened up, unexpectedly feeling his nerves returning at her closeness. 

“Are you going to take your clothes off?” She asked. 

“In a minute.” he murmured, allowing her to side-step him to reach for a opalescent glass bottle of bubble bath. He had won it in a company raffle some years before but never thought to throw it away. Instead, it looked decorate on the white-painted cabinet which housed toiletries and towels. 

“Can I use this?” She asked, uncorking the glass stopper and raising it to her nose to smell. 

“Go ahead...” He said as she poured it liberally under the running tap, watching as the water quickly turned to peony-scented foam. She replaced the cap and reached behind Yoongi to set it in the cabinet, her other hand still clutching the top of the white towel closed. Their bodies pressed closer as she straightened and he couldn’t help but kiss her. It soon turned a little heated as her skin glistened with moisture from the warm steam rising from the bath and her grip loosened, causing the towel to slip beneath her bare breasts. 

“Oh.” He uttered, a little embarrassed as she broke from his lips to grasp the edge. His eyes automatically moved down at the change in movement, catching a glimpse of her pink nipples before averting his gaze. She didn’t have time to notice, busy adjusting the towel around her body and trying her best to cover her modesty. “Could you look away for a moment?” She requested, a little flustered. 

He complied, turning his body away from her completely as she removed the towel, draping it on the rail by the sink and stepped into the warm bath. She turned off the tap as he slid off his t-shirt, his body facing away from her, and unbuckled his jeans. After requesting it from him, she wanted to allow him some privacy so distracted herself by swishing the water around a little to create more bubbles. Moments later, however, when he turned back to her completely nude, she found herself glancing at him, trying not to stare at the delicate angles of his body as he joined her in the tub, his hand cupped casually around his crotch to cover his most private area. Her eyes were drawn to the neat bush of black pubic hair which trailed above his hand and blended into the soft, wispy hairs below his bellybutton. He was beautiful. 

“I’m glad it’s big enough for both of us.” She remarked once he had settled down, drawing his legs to the side to give her more room. Her own were raised slightly, subtly covering her pubic area from view. 

“The company threw in the sink for free.” He smirked, nodding towards the modern looking basin. 

“Well, that’s a bonus.” She laughed softly, the sound echoing around the tiles. She sensed that the odd change of direction the conversation had taken was mostly to break some of the tension between them. The water covered most of her breasts from view, but the fact she was naked in front of him for the first time in three years still felt like a big deal. “Did you install it yourself?” She asked, her mind thinking of how he had fixed her run-down boiler some weeks before.

“Not this time.” He paused. “Did you get anything for your birthday?”

She smiled. “My dad got me a gardening kit.”

“But you don’t have a garden.” He frowned, amused. 

Rolling her eyes, she shifted her legs to get more comfortable and felt his own against them. “I think it’s a hint he wants me to buy a house.”

“Anything else?”

“The girls at work got me a hamper..mostly loose leaf tea and cookies.” 

“I wanted to get you something.” He murmured regretfully, not noticing his own body relaxing until he felt her thigh against his foot. “I missed your birthday the first time.”

She shrugged easily, the movement causing her breasts to break the waterline, her nipples coming into view. Feeling more at ease with her body now the situation had started to lose its novelty, instead of returning to her previous position, she rested one elbow on the lip of the tub, exposing her right breast casually. “It’s fine. I’m hard to buy for.” She joked. “Do you have a sponge?”

He turned to the side, reaching out to the whitewashed cabinet to rummage through the folded towels that he could reach. He pulled away a navy washcloth. “I’ve only got this.” He offered it to her.

“I’m not fussy.” Taking it from him, she dipped it in the soapy water and began to trail it along her arms as he reached for a black bottle of shower gel placed on the cupboard, a little above his head. Unable to get it, he stood up carefully, the water sliding off his nude body as he twisted around to reach. Jeong-sun paused her movement to watch as he settled back down, his movements cautious in order to stop the bubbles from overflowing the sides. She grinned as he handed her the bottle and silently squirted the sandalwood and bergamot scented gel onto the cloth and began to lather up. 

“You’re perfume was different today.” He commented, the smell of the product reminding him. 

She murmured in agreement as she cleaned her neck. “I ran out of Black Opium. It’s Hypnose.”

“It suits you.”

She smiled, meeting his gaze. “Are you still wearing Invictus?” 

“My brother keeps getting me it for Christmas. I don’t wear it often.” He shrugged as she held out the wet cloth in one hand and the shower gel in the other. 

“Do you want this?” She offered. 

“Thanks.” He took them from her and began to clean himself. 

*

Jeong-sun took him up on the offer of wearing some of his clothes to bed and watched silently as he rummaged through his t-shirt draw. She knew he was seeking something oversized, big enough to fit her curves, and felt somewhat grateful when he handed her a shirt in a double extra-large. Other women, she contemplated as she slid it on, might have taken it as an insult, but she knew it would have been more embarrassing for him to give her his usual medium size and have the fabric bulge unattractively around her stomach and breasts. 

“Where did you get this?” She asked curiously. The logo on the left breast was a brand she had never heard of. 

“I don’t remember. Someone gave me it I think.” He shrugged casually. 

“Can you set an alarm for tomorrow?” 

“What time?” He reached for his phone on the bedside table.

“Ten.”

He fumbled with the device for a moment before placing it back on the wooden stand. Untucking the edge of his duvet, he slid between the sheets in his t-shirt and fresh set of boxers. She joined him a moment later; the familiar and distinctive scent of his sheets filling her with nostalgia as he placed his hand gently on her waist. 

“Is it warm enough?” He asked gently, rubbing the fabric with his palm. 

“I’m fine.” She touched her lips to his, running her hand along his bare arm. “Your skin’s always so cold.” She murmured against him, closing her eyes. 

“I’m sorry.” He whispered against her lips, pecking her softly a couple of times and enjoying the warm smell of her skin. He had never noticed the scent of the shower gel on himself, but on her it was comforting and, if he was honest, a little sexy. He pressed against her again, wrapping his arms tightly around her torso and holding her close as they kissed. Despite temptation, they were both tired and kept their caresses light and tender, savouring the closeness of their bodies and the taste of their mouths as they met sweetly. 

“When are you free next?” She asked, the bridge of her nose touching his as she clutched him to her, his chest and stomach flush against her own. She felt pleasantly nervous at the thought, a vague suspicion nagging in her tummy and rib-cage.

“Whenever you are...” He murmured, kissing her forehead gently. In that moment, she knew that whatever premonition had caused her to feel apprehensive, Yoongi was feeling it too. 

“I’ll let you know.” She mumbled sleepily as she snuggled against his slowly warming body. He pressed his lips to her dark hair, nestling her against his chest as she fell asleep in his arms. 

***

Thanks for reading! Stay tuned for the next chapter in their headcanon coming soon!

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[poor-sickies]

overpower

Another band AU fic, because I don't get tired of this xD

I want to thank @vcepsis for coming up with this awesome idea and for discussing this with me and for helping with so many great headcanons I'm including here. This was fun! I hope you like it :)

*

"Great! You just created a song no one can sing!

"In my defense," Lance answers as he puts down the guitar, "it sounds awesome. And if either one of us ever learns the proper growling technique, this will sound badass. Imagine playing this live!"

Keith shakes his head with an amused expression.

"That's... never gonna happen," he says, "neither of us has a good voice for that."

"Yeah, especially not you, Keith!" Hunk laughs from behind his drum kit. "Your voice is amazing, but way too soft and cute for this."

Keith glares at him pointedly. Well, it was true. But if Keith's voice is soft and fragile, Lance's is too upbeat and poppy. And Shiro's... it could maybe work, if his voice dropped down a couple octaves.

This particular song had been created after Lance's trip back home, when his brother Marco had offered him a USB drive with sine cool music for him to check out. Among other softer things, were a few pop punk and melodic metal bands, and Lance had loved it.

So much in fact, that he had started writing a few songs in that same direction.

And it worked in theory, it did. Je had the lyrics and melody down, and Keith and Shiro were able to make some awesome guitar riffs, along with an incredible solo for Keith. Pidge and Hunk complimented the whole thing with powerful bass lines and drums, and they had a whole new song, completely different from what they had written before.

But the vocals? They were impossible.

As much as they wouldn't admit, their voices leaned a lot more towards pop and softer music. It was good for what they wanted, pop punk with the occasional ballad. This was a whole different backhand for them, and they knew it.

"Ah well," Lance rolls his eyes, "what's another rejected song... we can go back to it someday I guess."

"When you three have decent voices for that," Pidge comments.

*

"Okay, but are you positive you wanna do the show?"' Allura insists, removing her hand from Shiro's forehead. "Your fever isn't very high, but it's there... and you're all sniffly..."

Shiro shakes his head quickly.

"I'll be okay. I'll just take something for the fever and do the show."

Keith frowns, throwing a glance in his direction. When Shiro woke up this morning he was evidently sick, and everyone had told him it would be fine if he wanted to stay in and rest. They could manage with one less guitar for most songs, and Lance could cover for him with his acoustic one for the songs they needed two.

Yet, he insisted he was fine. Just half an hour ago he had taken painkillers for his headache and something for the fever before that, so it was time to take it again.

It's a forty five minute set list, so they can probably get through it, sure. And they'll have the next two days off, except Pidge who still has an exam next week, so Shiro will be able to rest afterwards.

Keith takes one more glance at Shiro, who's already up and around, taking his meds.

He should be fine.

*

"So tonight," Shiro says into the microphone, "we're playing a new song!"

The audience cheers.

Lance immediately turns his head away from his mic to look at Keith.

"We are??" He mouths, utterly confused.

Keith just shrugs, equally lost.

Pidge and Hunk glance at each other, and back at Shiro.

They usually have a set list, and this kind of improv isn't too common. It had happened before, but only to switch the order of what they usually did - never for a new song.

There's a distinctly dopey look on a Shiro's face, and Keith's eyes widen in realization.

"And I'll be singing, because my voice sounds great for this today," Shiro continues.

Shiro may be a little high on painkillers.

"Ohhh," Lance finally understands. He walks over to Shiro. "Hand me that guitar then. I'll handle the rhythm."

Shiro unstraps his guitar and happily gives it to Lance, while Keith stares in horror, understanding what's about to happen. At least Lance is doing damage control. He quickly signals for a very confused Hunk and Pidge in the back.

"Feeling brave today, aren't we, Shiro?" Lance teases. "Whenever you're ready."

*

When they get backstage, Shiro dumps his guitar (gently) on the sofa, and promptly lays down with his eyes closed.

"That was awesome!! Dude!" Lance exclaims, patting Shiro's shoulder, who groans in protest. "I know your voice is fucked up now, but you gotta get better, and you're gonna learn the growl! We need some hardcore music to play live!"

"Yeah, doing this one was pretty awesome," Hunk laughs, as he picks up one of the towels to swipe it across his forehead, "I'm so sweaty but it was totally worth it." He then turns to Shiro, with a small frown. "Are you okay, though?"

"Yeah," Shiro raps out. "Just kinda tired."

Lance winces at his voice. The way it sounds, he knows all too well how bad that's gonna hurt in the morning.

"Geez, your voice sounds -"

"Horrible," Keith interrupts him, coming back from the hallway with a glass of water. "What were you thinking?? You're sick!"

Shiro lifts his head up to look at Keith, and no one can really he sure if the pained expression is just because of how bad he's feeling, or just guilt.

Keith looks angry, but he knows he's just worried. He accepts the glass of water and lays his head down again, closer to Keith's thigh.

When they get to the car, Shiro simply leans against the windows and lets Keith wrap him in his jacket. He leans towards him, grateful.

Hunk glances at the backseat with a hesitant frown.

"So are we still going out for drinks, or-"

"No-" Keith answers immediately, "Shiro needs a real bed now. You guys go if you want, but we gotta head home."

"Yeah that makes sense," hunk mumbles, starting te car, "home it is," he smiles.

*

"Ugh, are you serious, Shiro?? Why did you even perform tonight? You're barely standing-"

Limping into their apartment, Keith guides Shiro to his bedroom, supporting most of his weight, as Shiro didn't seem to be able to walk right in his own. He's either too tired or too feverish, and the last thing he needs is to injure himself by falling face first onto the carpeted floor.

"I'm sorry, Keith," Shiro rasps out.

"No need to be sorry," Keith sighs, partly in relief, as he opens Shiro's bedroom door and drags him to the bed, where he flops ungraciously. "Be right back. I'm gonna get your pajamas."

On the way, he grabs an extra blanket from the living room, and puts some water boiling to make some tea.

When he gets back to the room, Shiro is laying in his side, eyes almost closed, hugging one of his pillows.

"How are you feeling? You think you can get some sleep?"

Shiro shrugs, hugging himself closer. It's more than obvious he's at least a little cold.

"Hey let's dress your pajamas," Keith decides, "you're probably freezing in that shirt, come on."

Shiro obliges, slow and clumsy, but within five minutes he's much warmer. He could almost say he's comfortable, if it wasn't for the horrible headache and his throat feeling like sandpaper and hurting.

Keith leaves to get the tea, and Shiro curls up tighter under the blankets, and then reaches up with his hand to push his sweaty bangs back away from his forehead. Despite how much he's shivering, he's sweating all over and his cheeks feel warm.

He's almost regretting going through with the show at all. Would he feel better now if he had stayed home and rested properly? He wasn't feeling this bad before the show... but then again, he had taken strong meds, that he could only take again in four hours.

Keith comes back with the tea in less than five minutes. Kicking the door open, he walks closer to the bed and sits down slowly, leaning with his back against the head board. "I can stay if you want."

Shiro shakes his head. "Just need to sleep this off. I'll be better tomorrow."

Keith doesn't look entirely convinced, but eventually agrees. He picks up Shiro's phone from his jean pocket and places it on the bedside table.

"If you need anything just ring me, yeah? And try not to talk, your voice is completely wrecked."

"It's not that bad," Shiro grumbles, rolling to his side and pulling the blanket over him, "my voice will be better tomorrow."

It's not.

Shiro wakes up in pain, swallowing takes a lot of effort and talking is impossible.

Actually impossible.

Because when he tries, the only thing that comes out is a raspy weak sound.

He's feverish again, feeling the heated skin of his cheek against the pillow and the familiar ache near the stump of his arm.

It's still a little dark outside, rain pouring like yesterday, but Keith is already up, telling from the quiet steps he can hear coming from the kitchen.

He lets himself go back to sleep for a little, until Keith knocks on the door gently, before going in.

"Hey," he greets, holding a tray with a mug of tea and toast, and closing the door with his foot. "You need to take your meds. Your fever will probably be back soon."

Keith places the tray on the nightstand, and Shiro lets him check his forehead with the back of his hand.

He hisses quietly, muttering under his breath. "Too late," he sighs.

Shiro gets himself into a sitting position gingerly and picks up a pillow to put behind his back, as Keith takes a seat as well in the edge of the mattress.

"How do you feel?"

Shiro only shrugs in response, but even he can tell it's probably not a convincing shrug, and Keith sighs again.

"I told you you were gonna regret it, but I guess you were too feverish to really listen," Keith says, as he hands the warm mug to Shiro.

Shiro only lets out a weak noise with the back of his throat and accepts the tea, both of his hands hugging around the mug to warm up.

"It was kinda cool though," Keith admits as he sits down next to Shiro, pulling the blanket over his legs too, "I mean, definitely don't do it again when you're sick, and if you're gonna do it, please learn the proper growling technique, but yeah."

Shiro smiles tiredly, and leans back. Keith's tea always tastes nice, but right now he's not really sure he wants to put his throat through more torture. Swallowing hurts, a lot, to the point that even talking is exhausting, and he's not even hungry.

"You have to put something in your stomach with those meds, Shiro," Keith insists gently, shoving the tray a little closer to him, "just small sips, and then eat some of the toast."

Shiro coughs slowly, trying not to jostle his throat more than necessary.

"Glad today is a day off," he manages to say, leaning backwards with a tired smile and his eyes closed, before finally taking a sip from the tea.

"Definitely," Keith chuckles, "but next time please just take it easy, will you?"

[your-anxious-nightmare]

Adventures In Dad-ing (14)

Summary: The aftermath of Patton leaving. (This one's a little jumpy, so the beginning is obvi a little later than the bulk of the chapter sorry, I didn’t like the way it looked around the other way and wanted to preface where Virge is at first.) (Darwin is my Deceit btw) Word Count: 3365 Relationships: All platonic stuff, kinda parental analogical.  Previous Chapters: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen,  (because I know this has problems, look up the tag ‘adventures in dading’ or ‘dad Virgil’ on my blog archive and you’ll find all of them) Tags:  @katatles-the-fish   @karma-the-tax-collector    @analogical-mess   @rebeyerfdog  @msu82       (ask to be tagged xoxoxo) Warnings: Kinda neglectful parenting, lemme know if there's other stuff Ao3

Three days.

There was no patter of feet in the hallway. No giggles from the kitchen as cookies were stolen. There were no cartoons or musicals or singing. The house was quiet, and so was Virgil’s heart. 

On the first day, Virgil spent the vast majority of time curled up on the couch cradling a teary-eyed Logan as he himself was held against Roman’s chest. 

On the second day, Roman had gone back to work, dropping Virgil off on his way in. Remy was nice enough to put him on cleaning, keeping him away from the harsh gazes of customers. Emile had even come in to bring him a cooked lunch, offering a hug and a shoulder when he began to cry. 

On the third day, Virgil was silent. His workday was slow, only spent clearing up old plates and wiping down tables. He ignored Roman’s texts asking if he wanted him over for dinner. By the time he got home, he was too tired to kick off his shoes before falling face-first onto the couch. 

That was where Logan found him hours later. 

The young boy had tried to stay home, knowing that his being around might not help Virgil cope with the temporary loss of his son. But unfortunately, his step-father had noticed his presence was more apparent and kicked him out. With nowhere else to go, he shuffles down to the Casey residence and knocks lightly before letting himself in with the spare key under the mat. 

It was after 7 pm, Logan had expected to walk into Virgil eating alone at the table or watching something on the tv, not sobbing loudly into the couch holding a cushion as though his life depended on it. 

“Mr Pa-um, Mr Virgil?” Perhaps calling him Mr Patton’s Dad isn’t the best of ideas right about now, Logan thinks, stepping closer to the couch where Virgil lay. 

“Logan?” The man sits up, wiping away his tears to look at the boy. “Are you alright?” His blue eyes scan the boy’s face, taking note of the scratch on his jaw and the small drops of blood still falling from his nose onto his shirt.

“Are you?” Virgil snorts, standing to usher the boy into the bathroom and pulling out the first aid kit. He quickly cleans up the cut, instructing Logan to hold a tissue to his nose until the bleeding stops. 

“Have you had dinner yet?” Logan shakes his head, blinking up at the man through his still broken glasses. “Okay, how do sausages and chips sound?” He nods slightly, tilting his head so Virgil can put a bandaid over the mark and removes the tissue from his face, wiping any mess and disposing of it quickly. 

“Come on, you can help me cook. I’ll teach you.” 

**

It was safe to say Patton was scared from the moment he climbed into the back seat of the car. He watched his dad fade from sight, hands and face pressed against the window and tears pooling in his cool blue eyes. 

“Um, it’s nice to meet you. What’s-”

“Shut it, this is my favourite song.” Meghann’s hand raises to hush the boy before turning up the stereo far above what a sane person could withstand. 

“Ow. Can it be quieter, please? It’s hurting my ears.” Whether she hears or not is a mystery as she sings along to the pop ballad, turning just slightly dangerously through the streets. 

The drive to her house isn’t too long, but with all the red lights and close calls, it feels like a lifetime to the young boy in the back. 

Meghann pulls into an underground carpark, slamming on the brakes and stopping before Patton's eyes can adjust to the new lighting. She’s out of the car quickly, slamming her door shut and wandering off to the elevator, turning to look expectantly at the boy who was pulling his backpack off the seat next to him. 

“Come on then, we don’t have all day.” Patton jumps out of the vehicle, closing the door nicely and running to catch up, ducking into the elevator seconds before the doors closed and watching as she swipes a card and presses the button labelled 9. 

“What’s your name?” He tries again, adjusting the straps of his bag and holding out his hand like he’d seen the adults do. 

“Ew, no contact. It’s Meghann.” She grimaces at his hand, stepping away slightly and staring at the door. 

“Would you like me to call you Meghann? Or maybe Mum or Mama or-”

“Stop. Talking. Just call me Meghann, no Mum or Mother or whatever bullshit like that.” The door slides open and she saunters out into the hall, Patton running to keep up and meeting her at a door at the end of the hall. 

She opens the door to a modern living room, all the furniture in matching blue and white, all neatly situated in nice squares and perfect lines. The room opens out into the kitchen where a solid white bar separates the space and a set of blue stools sit in front. The only thing that makes the room pop are the clothes littering the floor and the various takeaway boxes piled on the counter, dishes sit in the sink, undone. It looks like a very lived-in room.

“This is a very nice home.” Patton pipes up, following her down the hall and awing at a cute picture of a cat on the wall. She doesn’t answer, just huffs and pushes open the last door in the hall. 

Inside is a small, beaten bed that looks a little older than Patton, pressed up against the back wall and a desk about the same size as the ones he uses at school. The room is barely big enough for both objects, with maybe half a metre between the end of the bed and the wall and a metre between it and the door. 

“This is your room, make yourself at home, I guess.” She turns on her heel and walks back down the hall, opening another door and vanishing inside. Patton sighs and puts his bag on the bed, coughing at the dust it kicks up before remembering he hadn’t grabbed the boxes from the boot of the car. Leaving the room and pulling the door over, he wanders down towards where Meghann vanished, finding her in a large bedroom full of books and knick-knacks. 

“Meghann? My toys and clothes are still in your car.” He knocks lightly on the door, choosing to look at his feet instead of her as she spins to face him

“Go get them then? It’s unlocked.” 

Patton looks up, eyes wide with confusion. “By myself?” Virgil never let him go out alone, mainly because the last time he did he got lost and ended up crying in a park. Meghann just nods and turns back to her dresser, adjusting her hair. 

Patton turns and leaves, stopping by his room to pick up his dinosaur for protection and heading out the front door. Taking a deep breath, he sets off down the hall, reaching the elevator and getting in. He presses the button with a car drawing and waits, watching the doors sit open. He presses the button again, and again, before looking up to the swipe pad next to it. 

Wandering back to the apartment, he counts the doors, one, two three, stopping at the fifth and trying to open it, finding it had locked behind him. He knocks lightly, waiting patiently for Meghann to open it. 

“The elevator didn’t work without your card. May I borrow it?” She looks down at him with distaste, pulling her cell phone from her ear to talk to him. 

“There are stairs for a reason, kid.” She laughs loudly, slamming the door shut, just barely missing his fingers on the wall. Patton jumps, not used to the loud noise and steps back, tripping on his laces and falling to the ground in the hall. 

“I don’t think I like it here, Fluffy.” He mumbles, picking up the plush dinosaur before heading back towards the elevator, finding the staircase to the left and starting his descent. 

By the time he reaches the bottom, his legs hurt and he’s out of breath, so Patton takes a seat on the bottom stair and catches his breath. After a few moments, he steps towards the car park, staying close to the cars like his dad taught him and searching for the car amongst the others. 

When Patton finally finds the right car- he recognized a sticker that had a bad word in the back window- he tugs on the boot, pulling at it roughly in an attempt to get it open. 

“Hey, kid!” A voice shouts, Patton dropping his toy and spinning around to see an older man stalking over. “What do you think you're doing?” His hair is long and tied up in a bun like Virgil’s often is, but far greasier and untidy. A scruffy beard lines his jaw, and his dark eyes glare down at the small boy like a starved wild animal.

“I just moved here with my Mum, but my clothes are in the boot. Can you help me open it?” 

“Oh, Paddy right? You’re Meghann’s brat?” He laughs loudly, the sound like nails to a chalkboard. “I’ll see you ‘round kid. Don’t scratch the car, it costs more than you’ll make in a decade.” 

“Sir? Could you please help?” The man just cackles again and wanders off to the elevator, disappearing inside as quickly as he appeared in the first place. 

Patton stares at the door to the elevator for several moments, slowly thinking through all the things he could’ve done wrong to deserve being left out here all alone. 

Was it that time he didn’t hold the door open for Mr Phillips? He had his arms full of books but Patton was carrying his show and tell project and couldn’t get a free hand. Was it the time he didn’t let Archie borrow his orange crayon? The boy had shoved his green one up his nose the week earlier so it was probably justified. 

Turning and kicking the car once, Patton sits on the ground against the wheel, Fluffy the Dinosaur sat in his lap. Why would you leave a child to collect his things from your car without telling him how to do so? Without warning, tears start to stream down his cheeks. 

“I want to go home!” He cries loudly, furiously scrubbing at his cheeks. 

“Hello? Is someone there?” A voice calls through the parking garage. Patton sniffs loudly, curling up in a ball around his toy and waiting for the person to leave. 

“Hello?” They call again, footsteps echoing across the concrete. “I know you’re there, I heard you crying. My guess is you’re only a kid too. I promise I’m not gonna hurt you, ah, wait that sounds bad. Hang on, I didn’t mean it like I would and I’m tryna trap you but, um, dammit. This isn’t working.” Patton sits up, leaning his head around the edge of the car to find a familiar teen with bright orange hair and a studded jacket shuffling his feet between the rows of cars. 

“Toby?” Patton calls, standing slowly and watching his babysitter look up. 

“Patton? What are you doing here? Where’s Mr C?” Another sob leaves the boy’s mouth and, before he can step any closer, Tobias catches an arm full of sobbing child. 

“Hey, little man, it’s okay. What happened?” The boy simply shakes his head, wrapping his arms tighter around the teen's waist. They stand there for several minutes, Tobias awkwardly smiling at passing cars as Patton clings to him for dear life. 

“Pat? Can you tell me why you’re here alone?” He asks, crouching down to the boy’s height despite the stabbing of the spikes on the back of his boots. 

“I live with my mum now.” He whispers, clinging tightly to Tobias’s jacket with one hand and Fluffy with the other. 

“Okay, and why are you down here by yourself? I know you're a big kid but it’s not safe to be here this late alone.” 

“Meghann, my Mum, didn’t bring my stuff up so I had to come to get it but I can’t get the car open and I just want Papa back.” Patton sniffs, rubbing at his eyes as the fatigue sets in. 

“Which car? I can help you.” Patton takes the punk’s hand and leads him over. Tobias reaches inside the front seat, tugging on a lever insistently before returning to Patton’s side, tugging on the boot as well. 

“It needs the key. Don’t tell anyone I did this okay?” Patton nods as he watches his babysitter pull a small pouch out of his jacket pocket, taking two metal objects and poking at the keyhole until the boot pops open. 

“You’re a magician.” Patton awes, smiling as Tobias pushes the boot open further. 

“Not a magician, sadly, just been in a few situations myself.” Together the two pull out the few boxes Patton had brought, stacking them at the bottom of the stairs. Tobias’s phone starts to ring, the boy sighing deeply before answering. 

“Hey, yeah I know something came up. Can’t I just come later? Yeah, yeah, I know. Okay, I’ll be there soon.” He hangs up, taking a deep breath and clenching his fists a few times before crouching back beside Patton. 

“Do you have someone to help you take these up?” Patton shakes his head and Tobias sighs again. “Okay. Let’s get these in the elevator.” 

“But it needs a card.” He pipes up, pushing the box of clothes across the floor. Tobias pulled the remaining three on top, pulling out his own swipe card from his wallet. “Wait, do you live here too?” 

“I do. What floor’s your Mum’s place?” 

“Nine. She doesn’t want me to call her Mum.” Patton hugs his dinosaur tightly as the elevator rises, ignoring Tobias’s concerned look. When they reach the ninth floor, Tobias's phone rings again, this time with a loud bell ringtone that makes his eyes blow wide. 

“Shit, Pat, I’m really sorry but I can't help you get these down there. This is my number- if you need anything, call me. I’ll come to check on you in when I can, okay?” Tobias gives him a tight hug, pressing a piece of paper into his hand and helping him get the boxes out of the elevator before saying goodbye again. 

“Bye Toby.” Patton waves sadly as the doors close, leaving him alone in the hall again. He tucks the paper into his pocket, pushing the first box down the hall noisy and leaving it by the door, returning to find a child poking at the box of books like it’s a new type of animal. 

“Oh, hello. My name is Patton.” The child looks up, startled, and scampers behind a pot plant, hiding almost successfully due to their small size. 

“It’s okay, I’m not gonna be mean. What’s your name?” Patton steps closer, trying to get the child to come out but receiving a small hiss in response. “It’s okay if you don’t wanna talk to me. I have to take this box down to my new house so I’m gonna leave my dinosaur here to keep you company okay? I’ll be back in a few minutes.” 

True to his word, Patton places the dinosaur on the ground around the other side of the pot, where the child can see it, before pushing another box down the hall. This one takes a bit longer than the first because of the weight, books and toys aren’t light. 

When he returns, the child is back next to the remaining two boxes, playing with the dinosaur like it’s an aeroplane. 

“His name is Fluffy. He’s a steg-o-saw-rus.” Patton sounds out the word, remembering how Mr Phillips had pointed to each part in class. The child looks up, mismatched gold and brown eyes staring up at him with curiosity. They have messy auburn hair falling over their eyes, long enough to reach their shoulders, and freckles dusted over their face and neck. 

“What’s your name?” The child shakes their head, looking back down at the dinosaur in their hands. 

“Can you not talk?” Patton asks carefully, gaining a small nod as their response. “That’s okay, I’ve been told I talk enough for me and my friend so I can talk for you too. Can you spell your name?” 

The child looks up slowly, pulling a face before nodding. Patton steps up to the box nearest to him, pulling open the top and taking out his letter board. It’s made from a whiteboard and has a little basket of letter magnets attached to the side.

"My Papa got me this to learn to spell. You can use it to talk to me if you'd like?" He watches the child think a little, setting the dinosaur aside and taking the whiteboard, using a pen to write in shaky letters. 

"Darwin? That's a nice name." Darwin smiles a little, looking down at the ground and playing with a pulled thread. "How old are you? I'm 9." Darwin slowly uncaps the pen again and draws a number 8, looking up through his fringe at Patton, who smiles softly down at him. 

"We can have play dates then. My friend Logan and I do that all the time, we go to the park and he comes and watches movies with us, would you like that?" Darwin nods again, shyly playing with the dinosaur again. Patton smiles triumphantly, moving to the other side of the boxes and starting to push them down the hall. 

After only a few metres, he's out of breath and tired, Darwin still watching silently with Fluffy in his hands. He stands slowly, shuffling over and putting his hands on the boxes, grunting a little as he pushes them forward. 

"Oh, thank you, you don't have to help." Darwin nods quickly, pushing the boxes again with all his might. Together, the boys get them down the hall and place them at the door, panting with exhaustion. 

"Thank you, Darwin, that would've taken me forever." Patton steps up to the door, trying the handle before knocking, just in case Meghann had been kind enough to unlock it for him. Only silence answers, so he knocks again a little louder, smiling nervously at Darwin behind his stuff. 

"What do you, oh, took you long enough." Meghann rips open the door, glancing down at Patton before spotting his new friend behind the boxes. "Did you multiply, who's this?" 

"This is Darwin, he's my new friend, can he come play?" Meghann looks between the two. Even with her cold, dead heart, she can't help but melt at the puppy eyes Patton gives her. 

"Not tonight, Paddy, it's late and you look like me after a night out. Tomorrow, if his parents agree." Patton thanks her loudly and starts to ramble to the boy about all the things they can do, earning a groan from the woman at the door. "Okay, too loud, enough sappy shit. Get your stuff inside, there's shit for a sandwich on the bench for dinner." She turns and walks back inside, ignoring the kids once again but this time with the door open. 

"I'll see you tomorrow? You can come over after lunch?" Darwin nods quickly, pointing at the boxes and then inside. "I can get them to my room from here, it's not nearly as far as the elevator." Patton holds open his arms for a hug, gaining a small shake from the boy as he holds up a hand. "High five then" Patton laughs, lightly hitting their hands against each other. 

Darwin smiles beneath his hair, patting the dinosaur in his arms and handing him back, waving as he wanders off down the hall again. 

With a smile on his face and his friend gone, Patton drags the boxes one by one into his new room, collapsing on his bed as soon as he's done and falling asleep instantly.