#those lyrics kept coming to mind while doing the portraits

[flamebloom]

I am the latest colors, I sing the newest songs I read all the lyrics so I can sing along I am the latest colors, I hate the newest songs I can't stand the lyrics, I'd never sing along.

[svchengss]

hey barista! | l.dh

summary | befriending the barista from your local cafe doesn’t seem too bad

pairing | lee donghyuck x fem!reader ft. jaemin who’s a rlly cute side character in this :(

genre | fluff, angst, slight humour (?)

warnings | a kiss?? i don’t think there’s any but if i missed anything do lmk !!

word count | 3k+

s. tg | @hyuckefi [my apologies since i didn’t release a proper teaser for this 🙏🏻]

author’s note | this is my first fic exceeding 1k words so if u enjoyed reading this, please leave some feedbacks !! rb’s are also appreciated :D ALSO I SUCK AT SUMMARIES LMAO PLS IGNORE THAT

just another day of working at palm coffee, the same old routine. cleaning the countertop and tables before opening up the cafe, prepping the ingredients - more for top favourites! - and examining the machines to make sure they’re working properly. that’s some of hyuck’s daily routines as a barista. he didn’t mind them though, he loved his job. he couldn’t specify the reason why but all these tasks are genuinely interesting to him.

seeing you drop by the cafe is a normal occurrence for him. since you are a regular customer after all, the rest of the staff already know you well. heck, they’re even good friends with you. jaemin hangs out with you more than he does despite being jaemin’s childhood friend. except for him, he doesn’t really know why. he’s not really shy, considering the fact that he’s a social butterfly. he just couldn’t bring himself to say anything to you, the only times he did so was to take your orders when the rest of the workers were busy in the store.

upon hearing the doorbell chime which signals a new customer entering the cafe, hyuck blurted out the usual line. “hello, welcome to palm coffee! how can i help-“, looking up from the cash register only to find you in a disheveled state. “-you?” he eyes you up and down, noting how a few strands of your hair were out of place, the nude lipstick smeared on the left corner of your mouth and your outfit looks really rushed. 

“sorry, what was your name again, hyuck right?” you quickly glanced at the nametag hanging nicely on his apron. “i’m in a rush right now, can i get a,” you scanned over the menu behind him, “uh, white coffee, please?”. 

“that will be six dollars. you can use the restroom in the meantime to, you know, touch up your makeup and stuff,” he takes the bills from your hand, putting them in the machine in front of him before flashing you with that warm smile of his. you wished him a quick thanks before disappearing into the back of the place.

now that was embarrassing.

your eyes scanned over the hall to find your friend before hearing her shout your name from across. damn, why does she have to be so loud? stares were directed towards you as you walked up the stairs to your designated seat. all the chatter going on in the lecture hall became quiet as soon as your professor placed her things on the desk, which means class has started. 

after hearing a two-hour lecture and writing some notes - where suddenly song lyrics and scribbles appear - the words you’ve been waiting to hear finally echoed through the speakers. 

“class is dismissed, thank you everyone for listening,” mrs. hui’s voice later being flushed out by the buzzing voices of the students walking out the hall, determined to finish their own activities. you stuffed your ipad and papers into your light yellow jansport backpack before going out to meet vic who’s waiting for you outside. 

“i’m exhausted, what did she even teach just now?” vic sighed to her heart’s content. you can’t blame her, today’s topic was quite complicated. circuits analysis or something? you can’t really wrap your head around it, your brain being stuffed with all the information. vic kept on ranting  about the problems she faced from the moment she woke up, making you giggle at some comments she made. 

“wait for me, i’m almost done,” he folded his apron neatly before shoving it into the drawer and grabbing his bag from the counter to join jaemin, who’s waiting at the front door with the keycard. hyuck accepted jaemin’s request to help him with some shopping for his sister’s birthday party next week. obviously, the rest of the staff were also invited. 

jaemin divided the shopping list into two, allowing hyuck to find the rest of the things with ease.

“now where are the streamers…” he muttered out loud enough for himself to hear, crouching down to browse through the party decorations on the shelf. or he thought so, as you could hear him sighing clearly in dire need of the certain decoration, that you decided to help him out. 

“um, hyuck? i think the party streamers are in the aisle beside this one? you look a bit troubled there,” you chuckled lightly. the heat flushed to his cheeks, feeling dumbfounded. 

“really? uh, thank you for the help,” he gave you a small grin that could hardly be seen if you didn’t spot the corner of his lips. and with that, he’s long gone with his shopping basket.

you are fond of the atmosphere you’re in right now. the decorations left you in awe - white and pink silk hanging from the wall with silver letter balloons spelling out happy birthday stitched onto them. you can see jaemin’s sister, eun-ji, being carried out of her room with a small flowy white dress and wearing a golden bow on her head, her brunette hair being tied into ponytails. the na family really adore their youngest girl.

meanwhile, there are only a couple of adults your age attending the party -  jaemin’s co-workers, some of his other friends which you aren’t familiar with and hyuck. he looked rather chill, with an oversized beige sweater and white jeans to suit the party’s theme. you’re not quite bad as well, your hair combed nicely and kept neat with a headband, a white sundress with strawberry patterns on it fit nicely on your figure, complemented with a heart-locket necklace placed on your collarbones. before reaching jaemin’s house, you made sure to drop by a local store to get some gifts for eun-ji. she’s a very well-mannered kid which made you adore her very much.

“y/n? very glad to see you here,” hyuck said as he approached you, offering you a plate of cake which he cut.

“i could say the same to you too, mr. lee,” you let out a soft laugh. he made sure to keep a mental note over how pretty you looked today.

“y/n, hyuck! glad you two broke the ice, did you know how hurt i was seeing you two act like strangers whenever y/n came by the cafe?” jaemin enveloping you into a small hug before fake pouting. you can only laugh at the fake debate the two guys in front of you were having. after conversing with hyuck and jaemin for quite some time, you realised that he’s a cool person to talk to, where all this time, you thought he hated you for some reason. before leaving, you made sure to thank mrs. na for hosting the party and off you went home. 

following the previous encounters, hyuck felt much more comfortable around you - even hanging out with you during his shift where you would do your assignments at the cafe he’s working at. every now and then, he would also invite you to hang out with him and jaemin. however, what he didn’t realise was how he slowly pent up feelings - romantically. 

ding dong!

he pressed on the doorbell button with a box of doughnuts in his left hand. the three of you were supposed to be having a movie night, but jaemin got caught up with his groupwork which leaves the two of you alone. 

“hey hyuck! come in,” you gestured, arranging the cushions on your sofa to make it look more organized. the interior of your rented apartment is calming, the light grey walls suiting the navy blue sofa and furniture with darker undertones. the walls are also not left empty, with modern art portraits hanging from it. 

“i brought donuts, your favourite, right?” he opened the box, placing it on the coffee table while you set up the television. you wished him a quick thank you before grabbing two canned drinks from the refrigerator, handing one to him and pressing play on the remote control. you two weren’t quiet throughout the whole movie, with snarky comments on how hot the actors were or how stupid they were being were made. 

he didn’t know you were sleepy though as all of a sudden, he could feel the weight of your head on top of his shoulder. it was a rather awkward situation as he didn’t move at all so you could sleep comfortably. before long, he joined you and dozed off to wonderland. the next morning, you were more than embarrassed to find yourself cuddling up to him, with the next movie still playing on the screen.

seeing your figure outside the front door made hyuck more excited to greet you today. after making a quick order for a green tea latte, you fished out your purse from your handbag, feeling frantic if you’ve lost it outside. luckily, you were the only customer in line as the rest of them were already seated and carrying out their own businesses.

“sorry, but i think this might be yours,” you turned around to find a tall-looking guy handing out your black purse. a wave of relief washed over your soul, thanking the latter profusely.

“mind if i buy you a drink? i hate feeling like i owe someone,” you offered, which he gladly accepted. 

“i’d like a double espresso, please,” he kept his hands into his pockets. 

“and your name, sir?” hyuck looked mildly bothered.

“yukhei,” he ran his slightly blonde hair through the slender fingers. hyuck hated how cocky he looked, feeling more annoyed than ever over the scene that was played in front of him just now. he hated how yukhei looked at you. 

why should he get jealous? he’s just a mere friend to you, that’s all. you have to stop overreacting, hyuck. 

those words kept running through his mind all day.

“dude, are you okay? you looked-” jaemin opened the staff room, interrupting him from the self-talk he was having, “-distracted,” finishing up his sentence. 

“nope, i’m just fine,” he said, bringing the honey smile back onto his face. jaemin nodded before disappearing back to the front to serve the customers. 

stop being so jealous, hyuck. you’re just a friend. not more, not less. 

“jaemin, how do you know if you like someone?” that question is kind of shocking to him, especially if it’s coming from hyuck. of course, he’s had a crush before but it was during middle school. just a silly, little crush. growing up, he’s never had one - not even in high school.

“you’ve asked the right person,” jaemin managed to do his obnoxious voice, even while driving the car. he’s right, he is the matchmaker of the friend group, just how many relationships worked out because of him? eyes still focused on the road - he’s a responsible driver of course, he began to explain the feeling to hyuck, making his points loud and clear.

“first of all, you start feeling a little too happy whenever you’re around them. and no, this is not the oh-we’re-best-friends-forever type of happy, it’s the i’ll-make-you-the-happiest-person-on-earth one. not to forget, you will also experience some kind of turbulence in your heart, expect them to be jumping around a bit. or a lot, whichever suits you the best.

you also tend to feel nervous around that person. like, stuttering your words in obvious or non-obvious ways, feeling faster heartbeats than usual, you name it. oh! if you’ve ever felt jealous whenever they are around someone else, i mean, in affectionate ways, you might have one. however, my tip is for you not to act out of your mind. you don’t want to ruin whatever relationship you have currently, do you?” even when driving, he still managed to deliver his points with full precision and accuracy. 

nodding his head, hyuck took some mental notes to be thought through when he gets home. 

hyuck stared at you, whose figure is snoring soundly on his lap. he assumed you must be feeling exhausted, mid-terms just ended after all. while threading his fingers through your hair, he remembered what jaemin said to him weeks earlier.

1. being happy around them

like jaemin said, it is normal to be happy around your friends. but being with you, it kind of gave more joy for him. not to mention that he started to catch himself smiling over your texts and being reminded of you over small things - your favorite donut topping, the name of that one stray puppy you gave. 

2. feeling nervous around them

his heart would beat a lot faster whenever you get closer towards him, whether accidentally or to mess with him. 

3. getting jealous over someone else

he shouldn’t be jealous of how yukhei looked at you. but he seriously can’t help it. and the way he’s always there during your hangouts. he doesn’t care if he seems petty, yukhei just isn’t in his favour.

his deep thoughts came to a halt when you called out his name, eyes still half-closed, attempting to open them a bit more. 

“did i interrupt you or something? gosh, i’m so sorry,” you quickly stood up but he pulls your body back onto his lap, asking for you to stay.

“what are we?” that question caught you off-guard. the same one that has been at debate in the back of your mind these days. 

i don’t know hyuck, it’s complicated. 

“what do you think we are, hyuck?” you shot the question back at him, your gaze piercing through his soul.

“i don’t know. it’s just-” 

“are you sure?” a deep sigh left your lips. have you been interpreting his body languages wrong? did he only see you as a normal friend, nothing more? 

“sorry, i’m not feeling well. see you later hyuck, bye,” you tried your best to shoot the sweet smile of yours but only a faint one seemed to appear. once you stepped out of the room, he buried his face into his hands. 

god, what have i done?

“don’t feel too down, y/n. maybe there’s something more that he couldn’t bring himself to say?” vic suggested, handing you some tissue.

“i don’t know, i seriously have no idea. why can’t he just say it?” you continued to sob into her arms, she pitied you, especially in your condition right now. but she can’t do anything to help you, other than consoling and listening. 

jaemin knew something was wrong, from your rare visits to the cafe to hyuck not being himself lately. something was definitely wrong and it’s between the both of you. sure, hyuck might be saying that he’s fine again and again, but his expressions can’t lie. the sweet smile of his is long gone and his jokes are no longer heard. whatever it is, jaemin is determined to solve it. he just wants his best friends back. 

looks of dismay can be read all over hyuck’s face when the person facing him is no other than the guy himself, yukhei. still, he tried to control his composure, not making his inner feelings any more obvious.

“so what brings you here?” he took a sip of the mineral water, still making his throat rough from the tension hanging in the air. 

“look, i’m not here for any fights. i know you like y/n, everybody can see it. and honestly, you were oblivious to your own feelings,” he rubbed his hands together. the latter’s puzzled face made him continue his words.

“i’m not trying to make her like me, or whatever you’ve been assuming. sorry if i gave the wrong message but you are the one who should make a move. i can see from the way she looks at you, the feelings are mutual,” he straightened up the denim jacket outside the white shirt wrapping his figure. 

letting out a heavy sigh, hyuck’s face begins to soften up. “no, i should be the one who’s sorry. i’ve been such a prick to everyone around me lately, especially you,” he took of the cap from his head, messing up his hair. 

“no problem, bro. it’s understandable, i guess. now good luck with her, please treat her well,” the two guys exchanged a fist bump for the problem solved. jaemin leaned his back against the wall, smiling and feeling satisfied.

you called out jaemin’s name but to no avail. he invited you to his apartment but seeing that the lights are out, it’s clear enough that he hasn’t finished whatever he was doing yet. just as you were about to leave, you saw hyuck at the other side of it, both your faces mirroring the same look of confusion.

“so, uh, how have you been doing these days? it’s been a while since we talked,” he chose to break the silence. now, you two were sitting facing each other by the balcony. inhaling the breeze, you paused for a moment before responding to his question.

“i’ve been feeling, not as usual. definitely not happy but not that sad,” you pushed some of the loose hair strands hanging on your forehead behind your ears before asking about his.

“you know what, i’m just going to be direct with you. i, lee donghyuck have been holding feelings for you since i don’t know when. yeah sure, i wasn’t really sure at first about what i was going through. i guess i was just scared of how you would react,” he scratched his ears which are not feeling itchy at all, but rather an attempt to distract himself from the overwhelming emotions deep inside him. 

not wanting to waste time any longer, you placed your right hand onto his cheek, standing on the heels of your feet to bring your two lips together. the kiss was short before he pulls you back in for another, this time a more passionate one. he could feel you smile against his lips before enveloping your body into his arms.

“i’ve missed you, you know?” he whispered, his voice tender, directing right into your ears before you replied with how you missed him more. the both of you continued to whisper sweet nothings while embracing each other’s presence. 

jaemin looked at the both of you from a distance, his heart swelling with pride. 

— another pair of lovers matched, cupid jaemin signing out.

[hes-writer]

drivers’ license

Summary: harry teaches y/n how to drive

Warnings: angst, a little bit of fluff

Word Count: 1805 words

A/N: the ‘blonde girl’ has no face claim.

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MASTERLIST

_____

There were many milestones that Y/N strived to remember; things that she wanted to embed in her memory because each fleeting moment was a few seconds away from being lost.  She was afraid that in a blink of an eye; everything would disappear, that she wouldn’t even remember what had been forgotten.

But she would never forget him. Harry. The best friend who taught her how to drive with the utmost patience, calm correction of her mistakes and gentle voice to ease her worry as soon as the shift went from ‘P’ to ‘D’.  He was there with precise instruction, detailing each rule and advice that would help her acquire her drivers’ license.  He was tolerant of her constant ability to doubt herself, always assuring Y/N that she could do it.

It was silly why Y/N was scared of driving.  It was because it felt so grown up, so adult-like and it bought a sense of responsibility.  It meant fully committing to adulthood.  There was a shift that everything was changing.  And by that, she meant everything.

.

.

.

It seemed like a distant memory now.

Y/N took the leap of faith to start learning how to drive, trusting him to teach her the ways. Harry was her light in a dark day.  His smile was bright enough for her to admit that through the haze of her nervousness; it wasn’t just caused by her fear of handling and operating a vehicle.

It also had to do with the way Y/N’s stomach fluttered with butterflies when she had parked in an empty lot, Harry sitting on the passenger’s seat as they talked to each other about anything and everything their minds could conjure up at that very moment. No filter.

How Harry enthusiastically shared his excitement about Y/N’s newfound ability to drive to and fro from her apartment to his place.  They would be able to go on drives on the coast with nostalgic songs blasting on the radio, screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs where no one would hear them.  The wind sifting through his hair to which she commented on maybe getting it snipped; it was why Harry opted to not trust Y/N with scissors anymore after a close-call with the sharp tool.  She didn’t know why he had decided to trust her with it in the first place--she was a clumsy one.

Yet Harry continued to spend each and every second of his free time with her, even when he was booked to the hilt with mandatory meetings and unplanned fan encounters, Y/N stood by his side as an unofficial photographer.  The dopey grin on her face must’ve been permanent every time that she was around him.  Sometimes she looked through the screen of the phone and wondered just how much she would break if Harry wasn’t around in her life and all she had to remember him by was the captured portrait of his kind aura leaking through the device; almost as if he was there right beside her because Y/N seemed to label her best memories with him around.

Harry was it for her.  Even if her feelings were not mutual, Y/N would take being his closest friend over being a stranger because at least she was near him.  Luckily, Harry returned her affection.  Though, it was humiliating to vouch for a relationship that would have to go through troughs and trenches in order to be rendered successful.  It seemed impossible with her stoic life compared to his fast-paced, always moving, always travelling situation.

Y/N was willing to work for it.  If she were to make a list of things she wanted most, it would be the unconditional love from the one that meant the most to her.  Harry was exactly what she wanted--what she needed.  Y/N didn’t know what she did in her past life or even now that caused the universe to gift her with a presence as charming and graceful as his but she would do it every day if it meant coming home to his warm embrace.

But Harry wasn’t so keen on commitment.  There was no denying that his thorough discourse of relationships hindered his ability to fully trust any future partners and Y/N understood that.  The distance gets to peoples’ heads, even his, admittedly.  Loneliness seeps through his fingers, directing his body to strangely familiar bodies. Ones whom he was not currently committed to. Wandering hands.

Despite that, Y/N knew that Harry was a good person.  Some may call her a fool for giving him a chance but he truly was a genuine guy.  She had seen it when he was coddled up, blankets bunched all the way to his chin, only showcasing his angelic face.  The crease of his brows free from any worries.  He was simply him.  She had seen him when he was the most vulnerable.

Harry was a romantic person.  He loved to love.  He adored the concept of having someone behind him, beside him and in front of him at all times to catch him when he fell, to support him in any new journeys and to lead him when he was lost.  Y/N could understand his shortcomings, aiming to better the other person instead of putting them down.  She wanted a dialogic approach instead of having a conversation where all she pointed out was his bad qualities.

What she couldn’t comprehend was how easily he had lied to her.

She wasn’t asking for much; Y/N promised to wait for him until he was ready. Until his previous baggage was deemed easy enough to carry, or at least when Harry was able to talk about it without anointing skepticism to his actions.  Though, Harry had blatantly disregarded her purity to be patient towards him.  Basically, he had told her that he was not ready for a relationship yet here he was now, holding hands with another girl.  The blonde woman had caused insecurities to sprout from deep within her since Harry kept citing her age and maturity, adding that she was ‘different’ from the rest as if he hadn’t mentioned it previously.

.

.

.

Y/N would ask herself from time to time; when a tree falls in a forest, does it make a sound?

She compared it to the times’ Harry’s voice cracked in the middle of singing songs that embedded itself in her memory and the way his ears tinted a blush pink even under the night sky after Y/N quickly gave a glance in his direction.  She reminisced about the times when he would explain any ideas he had about new songs, thoroughly immersing not only himself but her as well, in his art.  He would sometimes stop midway as if lost in thought when really he was just mesmerized by the slope of her nose and the pucker of her lips.

He was so passionate.  So indulged and fervent in making sure everything he did was one-hundred percent, authentically him.  Harry spoke with grit when he was overly zealous and he tended with a soft voice when he felt vulnerable.

It was glaringly loud; Y/N could hear him everywhere she went.  But now that he was gone—out of reach—did those conversations ever really happen?  Was she even present when Harry shyly played a song he had been working on for her, singing stripped with just his raspy voice, serenading her with a tune describing how much gratitude he felt that she was present in his life.  He appreciated her so much for accepting him even when the world criticized his every action. For being there when he seemingly felt lonely.

.

.

.

Life itself was funny to her.

Sometimes Y/N wondered how she could let herself be vulnerable with somebody else other than herself.  It was plastered everywhere—love never lasts.  Relationships come and go, people leave and never return, friends, drift apart and detaching from oneself was even possible.  It was practically the motto of anyone searching for love—looking for a sense of comfort and belonging, yet she was practically crushed by the overwhelming reality that it may never happen.

She hated the way her heart longed for him to be near as if when he was too far away it ached in pain.  Y/N disliked the feeling of being out of place because where she truly belonged was in his arms.  Harry’s nose nuzzled at the top of her head, inhaling her scent as though it was the last time he would hold her—for a while at least.

And it really was because the next day he had left to catch a flight a mere continent away.

____

The night before was special to Y/N. Harry left with a promise of ‘forever’ and that he would return straight to her after his tour ends.  It was a dainty promise but Y/N chose to believe him because it was Harry and he never strayed from his words.

He promised to return and Y/N had sworn to wait for him. They both agreed, after admitting their feelings the night before he left, that a long-distance relationship was not how either of them wanted to begin.  Although their friendship had lasted years prior to finding out the bubbling flame between them, crossing the line as seamlessly as possible was the gateway to a healthy relationship.

Y/N could hardly wait for his return now that she was driving alone to where she needed to be.  Harry was always at the back of her mind no matter how hard she tried to distract herself.  He was attached to the episodic memory of Y/N successfully learning how to drive; that was something she couldn’t really forget.

.

.

.

Y/N unlocked the car doors, breathing deeply as soon as she was situated on the driver’s seat. The beeping of the car ringing in her ears until she was reminded to close the car door shut.

She blinked her lids tightly, feeling salty tears pooling at her waterline.  It was a sad excuse of trying to not start sobbing right then and there but she was successful.

Starting the engine, Y/N sniffled as she adjusted her mirror, making sure that she could see through them before driving off. As she focused her eyes on the road, Harry’s voice repeated in her head.

She didn’t know where she was going. Y /N didn’t really have a destination to arrive to because her brain was filled with images of Harry and her.  Kissing, hugging, looking at each other as if nobody else in the mattered; not even Y/N.

And it hurt a lot because she kept her promise of waiting for him to return but it seemed like he had no trouble filling the hole in his heart, unlike her.

He moved on.

_____

[in-love-with-4-marauders]

Out of My League - Remus Lupin

Young Remus Lupin x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1176

Warnings: None, just a fluffy little fic

Song based fanfic inspired by “Out of My League” by Fitz and The Tantrums, I recommend having it playing in the background as you read <3 

Song lyrics are written in bolded text

Enjoy!

~~~

More than just a dream

A light sigh was one of the few sounds that could be heard in the late night of the Gryffindor common room.

More than just a dream

A light sigh, the occasional soft flipping from pages of a book, the crackling of the fire, and the sound of loud rain coming from just outside the large windows.

40 days and 40 nights

Remus Lupin sits on the common room couch, fully ignoring the book sitting in his lap, choosing instead to keep his eyes trained on you, sitting next to him as you peacefully read your book of choice.

I waited for a girl like you to come and save my life

He thinks back to the days before the two of you had met as he observed you carefully, remembering just how low things had been for him before the light of his life showed up.

All the days I waited for you

And all the days spent directly after meeting you, feeling undeniably lighter but still longing, wishing to hold you in his arms, tell you he loves you and have you say it back.

You know the ones who said I’d never find someone like you

He remembers the endless teasing he endured once James and Sirius caught sight of the heart eyes he constantly (and unknowingly) sent in your direction.

‘Cause you were out of my league 

He remembers the countless days spent wishing he could talk to you, then once he got the chance to, he’d only be able to get out a few words before fumbling over the rest of whatever it was he was trying to say.

All the things I believed

He could never gain any confidence around you because he always thought that there would be someone better for you.

You were just the right kind

You were perfectly imperfect in his eyes.

Yeah, you were more than just a dream

Kind, absolutely adorable, funny, beautiful, and just so simply you.

You were out of my league

That was what kept him from ever making a move on you. 

Well, that and the fact that he was incapable of forming a proper sentence around you.

Got my heartbeat racing 

Remus found himself always wanting to speak to you but nearly always held back, reminding himself that he could never be good enough for you.

If I die, don’t wake me

He figured that he could simply watch from afar. That way, you have the space to find somebody else and Remus could try his best to be happy for you, no matter how much the thought pained him.

‘Cause you are more than just a dream

That was until you started talking to him on your own volition, seemingly as often as you possibly could.

From time to time I pinch myself

He can’t believe that he is fortunate enough to call you his girlfriend. It seems, more than anything, like a dream that he’ll wake up from at any passing second.

Because I think my girl mistakes me for somebody else

When you first showed a romantic interest in him he was sure that you were talking to the wrong person. Remus was convinced that although the two of you had grown close in the time you had been talking, you only saw him as a friend.

And every time she takes my hand

And those doubts in himself resurface often, but every time they return you are right there to take him by the hand and gently remind him of how much he means to you.

All the wonders that remain become a simple fact

You are what brings him out of the darkness he fades into from time to time and he does the same for you whether he realizes it or not. Anyone around you can easily see that the two of you are made for each other.

That you were out of my league

Remus is broken out of his thoughts by you putting your book away, grabbing his hands and pulling him up off the couch with you.

All the things I believed

He doesn’t even question you, trusting you with his entire being, allowing you to pull him to his feet and out of the common room portrait.

You were just the right kind

It’s well past curfew so once you reach the hallway you have to skitter down the dark halls as quietly as you can, although your giggles could likely be heard from miles away. 

Yeah, you were more than just a dream

At one point, Remus is sure that he spots Professor McGonagall down a side hallway, but she seems to only smile softly, shaking her head before turning in the opposite direction.

You were out of my league

You keep running until you reach the opening that leads to the courtyard where you finally stop to give yourself (and Remus) a chance to breathe.

Got my heartbeat racing 

Although it doesn’t last long seeing as not even 15 seconds later you look up at Remus with a sparkle in your eyes that never fails to make his insides melt and say “ready?” gesturing to the courtyard where it’s pouring rain.

If I die, don’t wake me

A look of confusion flashes over his face for a second, however it quickly turns to a look of amusement when you remove your shoes and start running directly to the centre of the courtyard in the rain without even giving him time to respond.

‘Cause you are more than just a dream

You spin around in the rain, still fully clothed but without a care in the world.

You were out of my league

Remus can’t stop the loving look in his eyes and the goofy smile that grows on his face as he watches you be entirely and unapologetically you.

All the things I believed 

In his mind, you are the most out of his league anyone could ever possibly be, but he really couldn’t bring himself to care because in that moment there was only one thing he wanted to do.

Yeah, you were just the right kind

So, following your carefree attitude he runs out to join you.

Yeah, you were more than just a dream

He gently grabs your waist while you’re mid-spin and pulls you in for a kiss.

You were out of my league

He has no idea how he got so lucky to be here, right now, dancing in the rain and smiling like an idiot with this angel in front of him.

Got my heartbeat racing 

Remus is so irrevocably in love with you and he doesn’t ever want to live in a world where you aren’t by his side. 

If I die, don’t wake me

And as you kiss the love of your life in the middle of the courtyard under pouring rain, you both unknowingly share the exact same thought.

‘You are so out of my league.’

‘Cause you are more than just a dream

~~~

Let me know what you thought!

Please share with friends if you liked it and thanks for reading <3

[sometimesiwritebadly]

Paintbrush (Spencer Reid x Artist!Reader)

Summary: You’re an artist in DC, and a serial killer has started using your artwork as inspiration for his murders.

Warnings: Mentions murder (duh) but doesn’t go into detail

Notes: This is way longer than I planned lol. I based the chaotic-artist vibe that the reader has going on the tiktoker @/artistkatiesmall so y’all can watch her tik toks if you like chaotic energy and paint as much as i do. Oh also I tried to keep this gender-neutral but if there are any pronouns in here that shouldn’t be let me know and I’ll fix it!! I use she/her so sometimes it just comes naturally and i don’t notice. 

Word Count: 2.3k

Masterlist

You were in your studio, listening to music as loud as physically possible. Your art studio is like a safe haven; the only place you feel completely yourself. Right now you’re working on your latest piece. Your art style is very “splattered paint that ends up looking like something”, which your mother had told you on multiple occasions. She had meant it as an insult, but you ended up taking the term and making it your own. She’s not wrong; you typically start your pieces by throwing some paint on a canvas and letting it take you somewhere. So here you are, slapping paint on a canvas and screaming the lyrics to your favorite song.

As the painting began to take form - you hadn’t decided what it would be yet, but you’re excited with what you have - you heard some pounding that didn’t match the beat of the song. Grabbing your phone, you turned down the music, and the pounding could be heard much more clearly now. “Y/N Y/L/N! FBI!” You quickly paused the music and rushed to the door. As you opened the door, your paintbrush (still covered in paint...oops) was tucked behind your ear. At your entrance was two men, one tall and skinny, and the other older with graying hair. “Y/N?” The younger of the two asked, his voice considerably softer than when he’d yelled through your door. You only nodded, and each of the men showed you their badges before the older of the two spoke.

“I’m SSA Rossi, and this is Dr. Reid, we’re with the Behavioral Analysis Unit of the FBI. Can we come in? We need to ask you a few questions.”

“Uh, yeah, of course.” You opened the door wider now, allowing them both to step inside your small studio. “Um, sorry about the mess, I’m not exactly the most conventional artist.” You apologized. You would've offered them a seat, but you only had two chairs in the place, and they were both occupied by piles of your various art supplies. “What is this about?”

Dr. Reid held a file in his hands, which he passed over to you as he spoke. “Do you recognize any of these paintings?” You open the file to find 4 pictures of your own artwork; portraits of various different people. One short blonde woman, one ginger man with an impressive beard, and a hispanic woman with a pixie cut. 

“Yeah, I painted these a while back...Why does the FBI care about some random commission artwork?”

“Someone commissioned you to do these?” Dr. Reid spoke quickly, causing you to look away from the pictures and back towards him. “Uh, yeah. He calls me every once in a while and asks for weirdly specific portraits.”

“What do you mean, weirdly specific? You don’t base your work off of pictures?” SSA Rossi asked you.

“No, he’s never given me pictures to work from. He just describes the person he wants me to paint. Like about two weeks ago,” You paused as you walked over to your cluttered desk, and grabbed your notepad, which was still open to the page you’d jotted down your notes on, ��He asked for a portrait of a short, Asian man with bleach blonde hair, dark eyes, and one pierced ear.” You handed the notepad to Dr. Reid, who scanned it quickly. 

“What’s his name?” He asked, before handing the notepad to his partner.

“Tanner. I don’t know his last name, he always pays with cash. What’d he do?”

The two men looked at each other briefly, before Dr. Reid spoke again, “We believe Tanner has been killing the people that you paint. He left the paintings at the crime scene.”

Your heart dropped. Not only had you been in constant contact with this psychopath, but you felt like you’d inadvertently helped him. You took his money, and he killed the people who looked like your paintings. 

“I know this is shocking, but have you painted anyone else for him?”

“Uh, no, this was the most rece-” You cut yourself off, remembering something from the last time you’d spoken with Tanner. “He bought a painting of me.”

“When?” Dr. Reid asked.

“When, uh, when he picked up the last painting. I had a self-portrait sitting over there that I'd done for fun. He asked if he could have it along with the other one, he paid me extra for it-”

“What day, Y/N?” Dr. Reid placed a hand on your shoulder, trying to comfort you. You felt like you might pass out.

“3 days ago.”

Again, the two agents looked at each other, and their faces didn’t make you feel any better.

“Y/N, why don’t you come with us to the police station, you’ll be safe there.” You could only nod in response letting them lead you out of the studio. Before you exited, Dr. Reid grabbed the paintbrush from behind your ear, placing it on a table before you made your way out to the car.

~~~

Sitting in the police station was like torture. First of all, you were wearing your normal painting outfit: a paint-stained t-shirt an ex had left at your place, jeans that were so ripped up you could barely call them jeans anymore, and of course, socks and sandals. The cops were either completely ignoring your presence, or asking you the same questions you’d already answered dozens of times. One top of all that, they wouldn’t let you do anything besides sit and wait. You had managed to find a paper pad and a pen, so at least your doodling could help pass the time.

You’d been at the station for over an hour already, which meant your doodle was nearly perfect; you ended up drawing one of the agents, Dr. Reid. From where you were sitting, he was in clear sight, and one of the only people who was actually sitting still enough for you to draw. And, y’know, he’s the only person you want to look at long enough for you to draw. 

“Is that me?” His voice startled you; you’d been looking down at the paper and didn’t notice Dr. Reid coming towards you. You dropped the pen immediately, and moved the paper out of his sight.

“I’m sorry Doctor, I was just, y’know, bored and-” You tried to put together a sentence, but your embarrassment was getting the best of you.

“I don’t mind, I, um, think it’s kind of flattering. Can I see it?” Dr. Reid asked, and you reluctantly handed the paper over. You’d been an artist for so long, you were almost never nervous for people to see your work anymore; you have a very “if they like it, great! If they don’t, I don’t care,” kind of attitude when it comes to your artwork. But Dr. Reid was making you nervous. “You don’t have to call me Doctor by the way. Reid is fine. Or, uh, Spencer. You can call me Spencer.” He had a light blush on his face as he spoke, which calmed you a little bit. At least he’s just as nervous as you. Suddenly, as if he was snapped out of his train of thought, Spencer handed the paper back to you and cleared his throat before speaking. “We used the phone number you gave us to find Tanner, but he doesn’t have any listed addresses. Did you ever deliver paintings to him?” Behind him, another one of the agents who’d talked to you, Hotch, walked up.

“Um, no. I’d just call him whenever I finished a painting and he’d come to me.”

“Would you be willing to call him again?” Hotch asked. Your eyes widened at the idea. You’re already terrified at the notion that you may be a target for a serial killer, but calling him? Hotch must have noticed your fear, as he began to explain further, “We can track his location with a phone call, but we need some time to do it. If you’re the one speaking, he’ll probably stay on the line long enough for our technical analyst to find him.” 

You took a deep breath, before nodding slowly. “Y-yeah. I can do that. Can you guys give me a minute first? I need some air.” You didn’t wait for an answer before walking out of the police station. Once you got outside, walked to the end of the building and leaned against the side wall. You closed your eyes, breathing deeply. You couldn’t shake the feeling of responsibility over those people’s deaths. Tanner had taken your artwork, your passion, and ruined it.

“Are you ok?” You looked up to find Spencer standing in front of you, hands in his pockets.

“Not really.” You played with your hands as you spoke, not making eye contact.

“You feel guilty, don’t you?” He asked, as he moved to lean against the wall next to you. 

“Shouldn’t you be inside? Y’know, you’ve got a serial killer to catch.”

“You know there are a lot of signs that someone feels guilty. Avoiding eye contact, changing the subject, lack of an appetite...I noticed you didn’t eat the snacks JJ got for you.” He was right, Agent Jareau had gotten you some snacks that you left untouched back in the station. When you didn’t say anything, Spencer continued, “Usually when I see people acting like this, they have good reason to be guilty. You haven’t done anything wrong, Y/N.”

“I inspired him.” When you looked up at Spencer, he gave you a confused look. “When I saw him last, when he wanted to buy that painting of me, I asked him why. He said that my artwork inspires him. If...If I hadn’t painted those people, they could still be alive.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But there’s a possibility, isn’t there? You can’t say for sure that he would’ve killed them anyways, can you?”

Spencer was silent for a moment, confirming your fears. Eventually, he spoke up. “He may not have killed those exact people, He would’ve killed someone. He’s already killed before.” Your eyebrows shot up at this, so Spencer kept talking, “We think we can connect him to two murders from a few years ago. If he had never used your art as part of his signature, it would’ve taken us a lot longer to find him. He may have even gotten away with it all together.” Spencer’s words did give you a little relief. You still felt bad for the way your art had been used, but it was a good reminder that you weren’t the murderer. That Tanner’s actions had nothing to do with yours.

“Thank you.” Spencer nodded in response, giving you a small smile. “I guess I have a phone call to make.”

~~~ a week later ~~~

You were back in your studio, getting ready for a new painting. Just as you placed your canvas on the easel, there was a knock on the door. When you opened it, you were surprised to find Spencer Reid on the other side. “Spencer?”

“Hi.” There was an awkward moment of silence before Spencer spoke again. “I, uh, saw your mural. It’s beautiful.” A small smile formed on your face at the mention of the mural. After you helped the BAU catch Tanner, you reached out to the family of the victims. With their permission, you painted a mural that was put up at the memorial down the road. The mural had been featured on local DC news channels, which is probably how Spencer had seen it.

“Thank you. I probably wouldn’t have done it if it wasn’t for you.” As you spoke, you moved over so that Spencer could enter the studio space. “Back at the police station, I wanted to quit art. Figured I’d finally put that communications degree to use or something.” Spencer lightly laughed as you continued, “But you made me realize that I can still do something good with my art.”

“I’m glad.” Spencer paused, and took a deep breath, and a step towards you, “Do you, uh, think we could go get coffee sometime? I mean, it doesn’t have to be coffee, we could get tea, or um, lemonade, we could get lemon-”

“Spencer!” You cut him off, with a light laugh. You found his nerves to be both flattering and cute. “I’d love to get any beverage you’d like, as long as you’re there with me.” You ran your hands through your pockets, looking for the sharpie you’d had in your hand before you’d opened the door. “Where is…” you mumbled, looking down at your pockets. Suddenly, you felt Spencer’s hand at your ear, where he pulled down the sharpie you’d placed there.

“Looking for this?” He was now standing close enough to you that he only had to whisper. 

“Yeah” You responded, at the same volume he’d used. You took the sharpie from his hand, but before he could pull it away, you grabbed it and wrote down your phone number. When you finished, you looked up to Spencer’s face, which had turned pink. “Call me whenever.”

Neither you or Spencer said a word, you just stood there, staring at each other. You couldn’t help but try to memorize every feature of his face. Your staring contest was interrupted by Spencer’s phone dinging. He took a step back, much to your disappointment, and looked down at the text. “I, uh, I have to get to work. We have a new case.” You could tell he was disappointed too.

“Ok.” You whispered. Spencer looked at you for one more moment before he did what you least expected; before you even realized what was happening, his hand was wrapped around your waist and his lips were on yours. Your hands found their way to his collar, pulling him even closer to you.

You two didn’t pull apart until Spencer’s phone went off again. “You better call me.” You said, finally letting go of him.

“I will, promise.” Was the last thing he said to you before rushing off to work. When the door closed behind him, you turned to your blank canvas with a clear idea in mind. So you turned up the music, grabbed your paints, and began to put every detail of Spencer you could remember onto the canvas.

~~~

Notes: i’ll be honest idk how i feel about this ending lmao but i hope y’all liked it

Tags: @dr-reid-ismyspiritanimal @la-vie-en-amour1 @peculiarinsomniac

[apiratewhopines]

Killian, Persuaded

Chapter One — Don’t Panic

Summary: In which our hero panics

Read on AO3

“All of us are done for”

-Don’t Panic, Coldplay

It was no secret Killian Jones lived a charmed life. How could it be when his handsome face was plastered across glossy magazines covers and splashy websites on a daily basis? Dark hair carefully tousled to look as if he woke up that way. An athletic figure always encased in the latest fashion and, more often than not, topped off with black leather. A smile said to cause an increase in heart rate for those lucky enough to experience it firsthand. And perhaps the most defining feature, one gossip columnists and celebrity photographers waxed lyrical about, impossibly blue eyes that could charm or chill in equal measure depending on his mood.

He inherited his father’s roguish good looks and, fortunately for the world, his mother’s better nature.

As he rolled out of bed early one fall morning, it was with the deep sense of well-being one could only achieve from a pampered existence, free of the stress and worries normal people carried like millstones around their necks. He walked through a hallway laid with Italian marble liberated from a Renaissance era villa to a bathroom featured in Architectural Digest as the most luxurious in the world, causing an Arabian prince and a Russian oligarch to accuse him of sleeping with the journalist who produced the piece.

He had, of course. But that didn’t mean the title wasn’t deserved.

He stepped into an enormous shower that provided an expansive view of skyscrapers and the ocean beyond through the one-way windows forming the walls of the room. It was one he was so familiar with he didn’t even notice it anymore. As he washed off the lingering scents of the night before—stale cigarettes, spilled booze, and expensive French perfume—he rolled his shoulders under the perfectly calibrated water pressure of his rainwater showerhead and let the massaging jets work their magic, precisely hitting all the important hydrotherapy points as they had been designed to do.

Stepping out, he wrapped himself in towels of the softest Egyptian cotton embroidered with the Jones family crest. As his father always said, just because they were in the colonies, it didn’t mean they had to forget where they came from. Never mind that the colonies hadn’t been colonies in well over two hundred years. His family had always preferred to live in the past.

Killian’s father was also keen on never forgetting who they were. As if such a thing would even be possible when all articles about them started with a brief reminder their roots could be traced back as far as the monarchy and noted they were in possession of a bank account rivaling the tech giant nouveau riche of the vast city quite literally laid at his feet every morning.

Although, it should be noted his father would never be so tasteless as to discuss money. Comparing bank accounts was the province of those who didn’t have enough. No, the elder, esteemed Mr. Jones preferred to simply let his massive wealth speak for itself, silently scorning those who had less while appearing to think nothing of it. And why should he? It’s not like he had done anything to earn it other than being born into the family.

Generation after generation passed down entitlement and piercing blue eyes like they had patents on them. His father offset his lack of the most noted Jones feature by putting his blue blood on full display whenever possible. Some might even accuse the head of the family of overcompensating.

The truth of the matter was, Killian was the product of a long line of smug snobs so it was amazing he had turned out as well as he did.

Or perhaps not so amazing when you considered his mother had been a stranger to this world of glittering privilege. That’s not to say she was completely without resources. In the real world, she would have even been considered wealthy in her own right. But in the Jones sphere of reality, the general view was his father married so far down the ladder, he was practically romancing pond scum instead of a clever, beautiful soul who devoted her life to helping others and raising her two sons.

Killian realized at an early age it was, in fact, his mother who could have done better.

His parents had been an odd couple that never stood a chance. While no one would ever know for sure, because the only thing worse than talking about money was talking about your feelings, the general consensus was when his father saw his mother exiting the courthouse one day it was love at first sight. She was leaving her latest case as a Human Rights lawyer and he was coming from being the defendant in a string of slumlord lawsuits.

His father had always appreciated a pretty face, a trait he definitely passed down to his youngest son, and his mother could never resist the chance to save someone. Even if it meant losing herself along the way. Even, and perhaps especially, if the person didn’t want to be saved.

Doomed from the beginning.

Shaking off the odd sense of melancholy that threatened, he threw his towel into the corner and walked unashamedly into a closet so large it could easily house a family of four with room to spare. It was a grand space, two stories softly lit by Baccarat chandeliers and filled floor to ceiling with custom clothes tailored to his exact, and enviable, measurements.

Another longstanding family expectation was to always look your best. Nature had been kind to the Jones clan but it never hurt to play up what you were blessed with. Clothiers practically threw garments his way knowing they would reap the benefits of a timely paparazzi snap. The three piece suit he wore when he proposed to his fiancée sold out within seconds after the picture went viral and the designer currently had a two year waitlist for his creations.

The pressure of being a trendsetter never bothered him. Honestly he couldn’t care less what people thought of him. Being universally adored did wonders for your confidence.

The same could not be said for his estranged older brother. While Killian received the lion’s share of swagger, Liam had inherited their mother’s self-righteous streak with none of her sweetness to temper it. He was a chore to be around at the best of times so it was no surprise barely a year after the death of their mother, and only a few months after his graduation from university, Liam proceeded to thumb his nose at centuries of Jones tradition by defying their father and enlisting in the Navy thereby renouncing any claim to the family fortune.

He hadn’t even had the decency to join Her Majesty’s Naval Service. In a complete break with the family, he visited the nearest strip mall and was recruited by some of Uncle Sam’s finest.

From that day forward, their father insisted he had only one son. Liam was painted out of family portraits, his name stricken from the family tree, his signature removed from the vast network of accounts and properties. Killian still remembered the last time he saw him, laughing as he waved from the backseat of a cab, looking as if the weight of the world had been taken off his shoulders.

It was the only time he’d ever been jealous of his brother.

Now, more than fifteen years later, he often wondered where Liam had landed. If he was still laughing or if the harshness of a world without means, without the Jones family name to soften any and all blows, had crept up on him. The abandoned boy, the one who had watched from a spotless mansion window as his best friend and hero walked away without a second glance, hoped so. But it was a mean, half-hearted wish. Hidden beneath layers of hurt, the reality was he would never want any harm to come to his brother.

Deep down, he wished he had followed him out the door.

Selecting a black suit and contrasting tie at random, he started getting dressed. Normally, his valet would be on hand to smooth wrinkles and polish off his look. However, the man had taken a long overdue vacation to tend to his ailing mother. Killian wasn’t so far removed from the real world he couldn’t dress himself for a few days but the sense of being out of sync wouldn’t dissipate.

He couldn’t account for the feeling. Admittedly, this time of year was harder than most. It never failed that autumn brought falling leaves and personal loss. First his mother, then his brother. To complete the trifecta, a vision of a blonde with a guarded smile filled his mind, green eyes flashing and chin tilted up in challenge.

With a ruthlessness that was completely unnecessary, he tugged his tie in place and risked a glance in the mirror for the first time that morning. Or maybe it had been months. Carefully cultivated nonchalance stared back at him. He wondered when he had lost the fire in his eyes and how long it would be before he gave a damn about something again.

Perhaps it was easier this way.

And perhaps if he kept taking the easy way, the next time he saw his reflection he wouldn’t recognize himself at all.

—

It was with some surprise he found he had thirteen missed calls when he bothered to check his phone. While his social media accounts were heavily trafficked, there were few who had his number and even fewer who actually used it in this day and age. The fact all the calls originated from a single source—his best friend of sorts—made it even more shocking.

There was a time when it would have been rare for Robin Locksley, heir to an ancient title and completely bankrupt estate, to be awake before noon. What was the point really when all you had to look forward to was crippling debt? That all changed when he settled down and started a family only to lose his wife less than two years later.

Normally he would have given into his curiosity and returned the calls but for once, he had someplace to be. The family’s legal and financial advisors recently called an emergency meeting and requested his presence in addition to his father, who normally handled these types of things. It was an unusual move to say the least but his father assured him it was because they wanted to talk him out of a risky investment. Misguidedly, they thought his son might get him to see the sense of their arguments.

Killian could have told them not to bother. His father no more listened to him than he did anyone else. Still, it was nice to feel wanted for something other than a free ride so he cleared his non-existent schedule and took one of the family’s fleet of limos to the tastefully understated brick mansion serving as a headquarters for their business ventures.

He could count on one hand the number of times he had bothered to visit. Honestly it seemed like everything ran a lot smoother if he didn’t get too involved. This laissez-faire type of leadership was the only way men of his class ran things. Anything more would be a disgrace to the honorable name of Jones. Or at least that was what his father said. Since he didn’t have any real interest in the day-to-day runnings of their portfolio and numerous acquisitions, it worked out well for everyone. The fancy business degree currently gathering dust somewhere in his penthouse could have been wallpaper for all the use it got.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized his time would be better spent at the yacht club or with his eminently suitable fiancée. She had been inexplicably absent the prior night and hadn’t returned the texts he sent to check on her. He was sure she would breeze into his arms at some point today with a perfectly absurd excuse and be delightfully motivated to make it up to him. The faint wave of nausea presenting itself at the thought was immediately dismissed as the result of too much caffeine.

He mounted the steps with a level of trepidation he normally reserved for babies and churches. The hard facade suddenly seemed imposing and it occurred to him the only vehicle in the cobblestone driveway was the one he arrived in. He would be joining the meeting as it started so the absence of his father’s preferred antique Rolls Royce was disturbing to say the least. Mr. Jones prided himself on his punctuality. Truly, it was his only redeeming virtue.

Shrugging inelegantly out of his overcoat, he knew he wasn’t imagining the brief look the staff exchanged when he crossed the threshold. Tension, an infrequent visitor in his cosseted life, formed in his shoulders, muscles bunching under the clean lines of his suit. He made his way unaided to the second floor, pausing on the landing when he heard the emotionless drone of some random news anchor echo down the hallway. It wasn’t until he heard his name fill the space his feet started moving of their own accord. He reached the boardroom at the tail end of the story but it was enough to get the gist of it.

There on the television, the ribbon running the details even as the reporter gleefully narrated it for an rapt audience, was a picture of his father. Time had been kind to the senior Jones, his hair still dark and falling in wavy perfection around his handsome face. Dimples winked charmingly as dark eyes twinkled with a sense of mischief that was totally an illusion. He was a hard man who had petrified after the death of his misunderstood, but nonetheless cherished, wife.

‘Anonymous sources reveal Brennan Jones, widely considered one of the richest men in the state, fled from authorities last night...’

Tearing his eyes away from the screen, he noted everyone was focused on his reaction, or lack thereof. Those brave enough to face him head on would notice the twitch of muscle in his cheek, a nervous tell the people closest to him knew was a sign of deep emotion. He felt like he stood there for days before someone stepped forward. It evidently fell to Marco, a friend of the family who had the distinction of being the only advisor hired by his mother, to be the messenger. “Killian, I’m so very sorry.”

Not sure what this man had to apologize about, he asked with a bemused grin, “Whatever for?”

Shuffling nervously, Marco stared at him again. Looking around the room at the shell shocked faces, he didn’t resist when the older man took him by the arm and led him back into the hallway. “I guess you haven’t heard. Of course, we had no idea it would come to this. I wish I could give you happier news.”

Mind uncomprehending of the scope of tragedy waiting for him, he said, “I would settle for any explanation at this point. Why was my father on television this morning?”

“Oh Killian, my boy, you probably should sit down...”

“I prefer to stand,” he murmured, internally bracing himself. Marco had always been one of the least annoying of the host of advisors employed by his family. The unassuming man had the kind of face that made you think of grandparents and unconditional love, or at least that’s what Killian thought when he was a child. Now he knew while grandparents were real enough, unconditional love was a fairy tale.

“Your father raided the meager funds left in the family coffers and left the country to avoid prosecution for wire fraud and tax evasion.”

“Meager funds,” he repeated, feeling lightheaded. “I’m not sure I understand. The last time I was at one of these little get-togethers, we had over half a billion dollars in assets.”

“That was many years ago, my boy. Your father made some poor investments and he never was the best at curbing his lifestyle to fit his income.”

Swallowing thickly, Killian ran his hand through his hair and forced himself to remain calm. If what Marco said was true, poor investments was the understatement of the century. In a pale imitation of a joke he offered, “So what? We’ll have to sell some property and maybe a couple of the yachts? Start sharing a helicopter with another family?”

“Unfortunately, the situation is more dire than that. Most of the property is already gone. The only yacht left is the one he stored in Maldives, probably in anticipation of his getaway.” With a kindly hand on his shoulder, Marco gave him an apologetic look. “I’m afraid it gets worse.”

In disbelief, Killian shook his hand away and propped himself against the wall. It was an artful pose that didn’t hint at the real reason he was leaning, namely he needed the hard surface to keep from sinking to his knees. “How could it possibly get worse?”

“The family money wasn’t the only thing he took. Your fiancée went with him.”

—

Killian was surprised to learn the hardest part wasn’t listening to the substantial inventory of assets already lost. It wasn’t seeing the short—far too short—list of property still in play that would be offered in a fire sale to end all fire sales. It wasn’t the fact people he thought of as friends were already circling like sharks, ready to take a piece of the family prestige home with them at a fraction of the cost.

It wasn’t the media demanding answers to prying questions every time he left his building. It wasn’t the news cycle replaying the details of his embarrassment over and over again on an endless loop. It wasn’t that somehow his name had become a punchline overnight, cannon fodder for late night talkshow hosts and comedians.

It wasn’t watching his family home, the last tangible thing connecting him to his mother, being emptied out. Observing the gentle landscape surrounding it being surveyed in an attempt to siphon off parcels from the main section to try to bring in more money at auction was surreal but unavoidable considering the circumstances.

It wasn’t the hushed conversations that followed him, fracturing into silence as soon as he was within earshot. Nor was it the pitying glances the staff gave him when he had to dismiss them with excellent references but a fraction of the severance they deserved.

It wasn’t crawling into an empty bed and pulling cold sheets over his head every night. It certainly wasn’t missing his fiancée, a woman he had committed to but, in hindsight, hadn’t liked all that much. If he was being completely honest, her leaving was the only silver lining in this particular rainstorm. Although her manner of leaving left much to be desired.

It wasn’t even the sudden lack of everything. His whole life he had been comforted by possessions he used as a replacement for love. Every article of clothing a substitute for the affection he never received, every priceless piece of art a proxy for family photos never taken much less displayed, every impressive technological gadget a surrogate for the support sorely missing from his life. His six car garage was now empty, a willing sacrifice in order to compensate the slate of advisors needed to carve up what was left of his life and repay the debts of his father.

Now that the clutter was gone, he actually felt a certain freedom in the emptiness.

No, the worst part was the silence. The feeling of being utterly and completely alone despite doing everything in his power to keep it from happening. With the shock of a lifetime to provide perspective, Killian realized now he had twisted himself into someone he didn’t know in a misplaced attempt to please a man who would never be proud of him. He let go of all the things that made him happy—the people who made him happy—to try to meet some unattainable standard of perfection in the eyes of the horde he had mistaken for loved ones. People who had abandoned him the second he was no longer the darling of their social stratum.

Still, he would be lying if he said he didn’t miss the buzz. He knew it was meaningless but the constant hum of activity gave him the illusion of being a part of something.

He knew some of the silence was his own fault. He had turned off him phone and frozen all his social media accounts. It seemed wise given the shit show that was currently his life and all the expensive advisors agreed laying low was the best course of action in situations like these.

Luckily, his dwelling and a few pieces of furnishings were his outright, bought with the small trust he inherited from his mother so at least he wouldn’t be living on the street. He had a comfortable cage to crawl back into every night. A lonely place to be sure, but no one could take it from him. It was a lot more than most people would ever have and a lot less than he wanted.

For the first time in a long time, he looked out over the city and truly saw it.

He had no idea how long he had been standing there lost in thought when the elevator bell rang. Someone made it past the doorman and the front desk. Trying to figure out how his visitor managed to get all the way to the penthouse was a welcome distraction from his gloomy musings. The ringing kept up a steady pace but he didn’t make any effort to key open the door.

That is until the noise took on a familiar tune.

The unmistakeable though slightly off-kilter sound of Hooked on a Feeling rang out in the harsh meep of the doorbell. With something approaching wonder, Killian ran over to the security pad and punched in his code. Instantly, the elevator opened revealing a sight he never thought he’d see again.

Staring back at him through blue eyes identical to his own was the face of his long lost brother. Through the intervening years, Liam grew his hair out and it now curled in a way that made him think it was probably raining outside. Faint scores of wrinkles defined the areas of his profile showing Liam had continued to find joy in the struggle of life. Completing his perusal, he noticed his brother had bulked up, muscles replacing the softness of an idle life, probably a side benefit of his years in the Navy. His clothes were of the outdoor variety, navy utility pants topped with a gray fisherman sweater and pea coat, and they made him look like he stepped out of a travel magazine catering to ecotourists. “Liam, I...how did you find me?”

“Finding you has never been a problem, little brother. You don’t exactly fly under the radar. Reaching you on the other hand...well, I was beginning to wonder if I was going to have to find a different way in since you won’t answer your damn phone and there isn’t a lock to pick on this contraption,” Liam explained, looking Killian over with a worried expression that gradually gave way to a bright smile. “You look like death warmed over.”

“Good to see you too,” Killian answered sarcastically, still trying to get his bearings. While Liam had changed in a few superficial ways, his determined expression and uncompromising attitude seemed unshakeable even after all these years. The bruised ego and hard feelings of their long separation faded away like it never happened and he was fifteen again, basking in the glow of a beloved brother. “Why are you here?”

“Why do you think? I’m rescuing you from your ivory tower.”

“I don’t need to be rescued,” he scoffed. Times made be bad, but it wasn’t like he was starving. He still had his pride and it forced the next words out of his mouth before he could stop to consider if they were true. “Certainly not by a man who acted like I didn’t exist my entire adult life.”

Stiffening, Liam advanced into the room, taking no notice of the breathtaking view or the recently minimalist design. Suddenly Killian was engulfed in a fierce embrace, pulled into his brother’s strong hold. He heard Liam say in a gruff voice, “Our father has a lot to answer for but know this, I thought of you every single day since I left.”

A little piece of him broke, even he couldn’t have said if it was his resolve or his heart, and he felt tears well up. Uncomfortable with the stir of emotions, he joked as he hugged Liam with equal intensity, “Aye, serves you right you bastard.”

“Too right,” his brother agreed, pulling away to clap him on the back. Barking out orders in a way that gave Killian a glimpse of the other man’s military background, he didn’t even argue when Liam said, “Pack your bag. I’m taking you home.”



[fanficparker]

Under My Umbrella | Tom x Haz one-shot

Pairing: Harrison Osterfield x Tom Holland

Word count: 5.5k words

Warnings: Swearing, angst, lots of tears, alcohol

Summary: The one where Harrison did the audacity to kiss his life-long best friend or his twin sister’s boyfriend.

A/N: Life is short and this is just a piece of fiction, why stop myself from posting it on my own blog?

PART 1 ♡

(Tom's POV)

"I am so sorry. OH GOD, I AM SO SORRY!"

I hear Harrison screaming on the top of his voice. My vision is blurry, the rain isn't allowing me to see much, although I am sure there is much more than just the rain pouring down his face; his tears were also streaming down along with it.

He had taken five steps away from me after kissing me in the rain and my world has already fallen apart. He is pulling at his curls so aggressively. He will hurt himself. I take a step towards him with my hands reaching out but he takes another step back.

He is drifting away from me. And I am drifting apart from myself.

I freeze on my feet. My heartbeat feels non-existent. I am confused. Am I dead or alive? If I am dead then where am I? Is it heaven or hell? It kind of feels like both.

Harrison has just kissed me. His taste is still lingering on my tongue. My head is spinning without even a single drop of alcohol. His touch did this to me. And now I am starving. Starving for more.

"I shouldn't have. I shouldn't have. Shit! I SHOULDN'T HAVE!"

"No... No... " I try to stop him but he's already running. My ankle is aching. I can't run fast, I can't catch his pace. Then, he slowly vanishes away from my sight.

"HARRISON! HARRISON... PLEASE STOP! Please stop... Please..." I scream, sinking down to the footpath. I was too late to scream. I was too late to stop him.

He's gone. He broke the promise.

***

I can hear those distinct lyrics as the soft music resonates in the air. It's the Ember Island's version— our favourite version. I am sitting here waiting for the interviewers to arrive but my mind keeps drifting off to the song.

"This is our song!" Harrison says as we are lying down on the bed.

"Umbrella? Really?" I ask, surprised.

He turns on his side and faces me, I do the same. His head rests on his elbow while my head is still on the pillow. We were looking at each other.

"Yeah..." His voice is soft. He hums and looks back at the ceiling while the music plays from his phone. He starts lip-syncing along with the lyrics, "Cause in the dark, you can't see shiny cars. And that's when you need me there with you, I'll always share. Because..."

"When the sun shine, we shine together. Told you I'll be here forever---"

"You are singing." RDJ chuckles sitting beside me. And I realise that I was actually singing. My stomach twists into a knot and my face gets warm.

"We can sing it together, kiddo!" He says, enthusiastically.

"I... er..." I try to stop him but he is already singing.

Why am I always late?

"Under my umbrella, ella, ella, eh, eh, eh..." RDJ is singing, he is nodding his head sideways and is peaking at me occasionally.

The song is the same but the voice is different. The lyrics mean different when Harrison sang them. In Harrison's voice, they meant something but right now they are just raw. Hollow.

***

We are on the same magazine cover.

Oh my god.

We are on the same freaking magazine cover!

'The Spider-man 3 star tells us about his secret power food', The Hollywood Reporter headline reads with my gym photo-shoot as the background.

There are three more sub-headlines to the cover, placed near the right margin. The second one says, 'Harrison Osterfield: The young British actor tells us about his inspirational journey as the young face for Agent 007. (Pg. 3-4)'

The rumours were true. He has done it.

Oh my god. And I am not even there to congratulate him.

"I am so proud of you. I knew you would grab it!" Harrison bounces on his feet while I stand near him, blushing furiously.

"My mate is Spider-man! My mate is THE Spider-man!!" He proudly yells and keeps his palms on my shoulders. When I look up into his blue eyes, they are glossy and act like mirrors. I can see myself reflecting through them. Then I notice a little pinch of sadness shining through them.

"Don't forget me though..." He says slowly. His energetic voice started sounding cracked. It made me think for a moment.

I gulp, "You can be my assistant. I-It will help you... gain experience in the industry." I was planning to ask him this since my role was confirmed because how was I even supposed to step into my new, more chaotic life without my biggest support system?

He pulls back his arms from my shoulders and looks at me with wide eyes.

"What?"

"Yes!... Also, you know... I-I am kinda afraid going on the journey alone." I bite at my lower lip.

Just say yes, I pray silently.

"Oh, div! You'll not be alone there. You'll have big stars. All those fancy people, fancy life-style and those fancy---"

"These fancy things will never come in between us, Harrison," I cut his rambling off. He pauses and glances at me.

"I am alone without you..."

I am always alone without him.

I regret not saying always, even though it doesn't matter anymore.

My fingers flip through the pages, my eyes land on his half-page portrait. He was wearing a black and white formal suit; his index finger is pressed against his forehead as he is bent forward while his were eyes boring into the front. They are staring into my soul.

My breath hitches in my throat. It's just his portrait but those eyes. Those eyes. I avert my gaze from the picture to the text. He talks about his journey from school to landing this role. He talks about his family, he talks about his journey as my assistant and then he talks about me. I can hear his voice even when it's just plain text.

'I cannot thank Tom enough. He pushed me harder whenever I slowed down. He pulled me up when I fell down. I really look up to him.'

No Harrison, you are wrong. You pushed me harder when I slowed down. You pulled me up when I fell down. It's me who looks up to you.

"Oh em jee!" The teen girl squeals seeing me at the airport. Harrison and I were walking, dragging our trolleys. I was wearing a cap, sunglasses and even had my hoodie on yet she somehow spotted me. She ran towards me.

"You are Tom Holland! I am such a huge fan of you!!!" She is still squealing as she takes out her phone, asking me for a picture. I was really sleepy and sleep-deprived at the same time, but it still made me smile. I lowered my hoodie and took off my goggles.

Harrison was standing beside me, grinning too. I was ready for her to take a selfie with us but then she walks up to Harrison and points her phone to him.

"Huh?"

I see a little confusion appear on his face.

"Take our picture," She says almost disrespectfully. I feel a pang in my heart, I can't even imagine what he must be feeling. But then he looks at me, takes the phone and smiles.

The girl stands beside me, and Harrison is standing in front of us.

"Smile..." He whispers, looking at me in the eye, his face breaking into a bigger grin and I can't stop the smile that spreads across my own lips seeing him smile.

But I know he was sad from inside and even when I was physically present there, I wasn't still there to make him really smile, the one that makes his eyes crinkle.

I am really sorry for making you feel left out when all you did was try to make me feel included. Sorry for every time I left you alone. Yet, you always kept smiling. How do you do that?

I seriously need to learn a lot from you...

***

I had stopped stalking him on social media weeks ago. It was taking a toll on my mental health. But much to my dismay, I had a notification of him mentioning me in his Instagram story. My finger hovers over the unseen story. I click to see it.

The story was completely black, he has even tagged me in black. This story is exclusively for me. The song plays in the background.

No. No.

He can't do this to me.

He can't fucking do this to me.

"Now that it's raining more than ever, Know that we still have each other, You can stand under my---"

I threw my phone at the wall and the song stops playing abruptly. I am sure that I broke the device. But at least the song has ended.

I hate him for this!

How can he do this do me? How can he go so low?

I sunk down to the floor of my room. I am not just crying, I am screaming. Just like that night when I sunk down to the footpath...

Harrison and I were walking on the wet footpath. The rain was only getting heavier but none of us cared. The occasional honking of vehicles or the whooshing sound of tires against the wet concrete didn't bother us either.

Our shoulders were bumping against each other while we talked and laughed at stupid things. We sometimes did it, went out to have an ice-cream and talked about everything. It cleared off our minds and provided us with a break from our busy lifestyles. Harrison was holding the umbrella over our head as he was the taller one. A small portion of my other shoulder was slightly wet even when we were super close to each other. The umbrella was small, so I shifted closer to him. But I accidentally twisted my ankle due to the slippery path.

"Ouch!" I stop, putting my arm across his shoulder to balance myself, lifting the injured foot in the air.

"What happened?" He asks in a voice full of concern, stopping his motions.

"My foot. I think... I got a sprain."

"Oh, Tom. I tell you to be careful." He says and hands me the umbrella while I shift towards the wall, supporting myself. He crouches down on the empty footpath and unties my sandals, holding my foot in his hand.

"At least I didn't break my nose this time." I chuckle but it ends up as a whimper when he twists my ankle.

"It looks mild," He declares, re-tieing my sandals and stands up. I smile at him in gratitude but he wasn't smiling back. My expression changes to reciprocate his'. Then I realise that he wasn't properly standing up. His knees were slightly bent and his face was at the same level as mine. We were staring at each other. He took a step closer to me and suddenly all my senses were shutting down. The only thing I could feel was how close he was to me, how the scent of his aftershave was the sweetest smell I have ever inhaled, how his eyes were staring at mine, how they flickered down to my lips, how they closed, how the sound of his shaky breath made my heart shiver, how his lips were feeling against mine, how his breath tasted of vanilla and chocolate...

My limbs lost all their strength and the umbrella fell down, drowning us both in pouring water. His hands came to hold mine as he interlaces his fingers through mine, giving them a little squeeze.

He was kissing away the water droplets off my lips. I didn't do anything. I just let him. Or maybe I was kissing him back but it was all... so natural. I have never felt so calm and protected in my life. The way his lips rolled over mine... I was completely intoxicated.

There was something intimate about rain. Something soothing. Your ears are drumming with the pitter-patter sound that you can't hear the regular hustle-bustle. For once I felt like Harrison and I were absolutely alone in this world. I liked that feeling.

But we weren't.

That's when the reality hit him and he panicked.

I was dating his twin sister.

PART 2 ♡

(Harrison's POV)

It's 5 am and I am still not sleeping. My headphones are plugged into my ears while I feel like an absolute piece of shit. Not just I have done the forbidden audacious task of falling for my best friend but also the heinous crime of kissing my sister's boyfriend.

Lily doesn't even know why Tom broke up with her after a relationship of over a year and that too, over the phone. She has no idea that the person she trusted so much for consoling her, the one she chose to cry in front of, the one she chose to hug, the one she chose to share her pain with was actually the sole creator of the pain. Her twin brother was nothing but a snake.

The day after I kissed Tom, there was a knock at my bedroom door in the middle of the night. As soon as the door opened, I stumbled back with what force Lily hugged me. She was crying into my t-shirt. Her behaviour confused me and an instant fear of something bad happening to her settled at the bottom of my heart; my brother instincts made my fists clench. I wouldn't hesitate to kill anyone who had hurt her this way.

"Tom broke up with me," She utters in between her sobs. Her words acted like salt being rubbed over my open wounds.

Turns out I was also a hypocrite. I didn't kill myself.

I was helpless. I felt both like the criminal and the victim at the same time.

I hugged her back tighter, hiding my face in her hair.

"I am so sorry, Lily. I am so sorry," I whimpered and kissed the top of her head as she snuggled closer to me.

She thinks my sorries were of sympathy. No. They were my apology. But they feel hollow just like my heart and existence...

***

Out of so many editions, The Hollywood Reporter apparently, chose to put me and Tom on the same one. Seems like nature has decided to pull me inside the deepest guilt trap possible. I lock the magazine in my cupboard. I no more have any desire to look inside of it.

I haven't slept for the past twenty-four hours. I am so nervous. I feel so insecure. I want to talk about me landing a significant role to him. I know it's just me playing James Bond's younger version in a long flashback and not the real James Bond, but still...

He is the only one capable of calming my nerves after my mum. But sometimes mum couldn't, sometimes it's not her field of expertise. Sometimes only a friend could help you.

Tom was roasting marshmallows in this garden when I entered and sat beside him.

"What's up champ?" He says, not even looking at me.

I was quiet and looking down at my lap when he finally notices and turns to look at me.

"How's it going?" He asks. I look up to meet his soft brown eyes, instantly melting at the sight.

"Not well... I dunno... I feel weird. I don't know if you will want to hear my rant but--"

"Just vent to me. My ears are always open..." He says, patting my knee.

I nod my head. He knows exactly what I want. He listened to all my rambles with zero interruptions even when my mouth was stuffed with marshmallows, without judging me or passing any opinion...

Turns out the asking for help from Tom option doesn't exist anymore, considering he had blocked me after me mentioning him in that blank music story and now my and his names are bouncing all over- #1. The old fashioned, not being used for what it was first designed for: Instagram; #2. The infamous, super political, the lifeline of democratic announcements: Twitter; and #3. The safe from boomers, modern version of fanfiction dot net: Tumblr.

The fans think they know better about our situation then what I and (probably) Tom knows.

'Tom Holland and Harrison Osterfield have unfollowed each other on Instagram!!!' reads one of the fan posts.

I didn't unfollow him, it's him who blocked me and that's how Instagram works. Our mutual following, likes, comment and tags on each other's posts are automatically removed.

'No, they haven't unfollowed each other. One of them has blocked the other!!!' reads the reblogged version.

Holy Shit! This user is far more observant (or a stalker) and knows how Instagram works. I know Tom isn't very good with the working of social media, but it also turns out that he doesn't know how this tabloid fan culture works too.

P. S. All these triple exclamation marks on the fan posts are making me freak out.

Also, I am so grateful that they all are unaware about Lily and Tom dating and their break-up, else they would have dragged her into the controversy too.

Thank God.

I have blocked the supposed tags they tag me with and limited my comment section, so I don't have to deal with any kind of questions, speculations or hate in general.

I feel bad for Tom, he hasn't done that yet. I don't even know if he knows there's an option for it. It can seriously degrade his mental health.

I wish I could tell him.

***

It's kind of awkward when people are watching you eat and in my case, my mum and my two sisters are gawking on me instead of eating their own food. Woman's stare is always intimidating and I am blessed with three female pairs of eyes on me.

"You know... You don't have to block Tom just because he broke up with me." Lily says, sitting across the dining table.

That almost made me choke on my food and drop the fork on the plate. I could already feel the glimmer of interest sparking in mum's and Charlotte's eyes. It is as if they all were planning to have this conversation with me for a long time.

But wait... Does she think that me deleting Tom from my life is because of her break-up?

Oh my god!

Was there too much miscommunication between us?

Wait...

There was no communication from my side.

"Harrison?"

It was my mum this time. She keeps her hand over my shoulder, her voice sounds super worried.

"What is it, Hazza?" She asks, lovingly. She speaks as if she knows it is more than Tom and Lily's break-up. But I don't know how to tell her...

The next moment, mum has shifted her chair near me and had engulfed me in a side hug. Soon Charlotte and Lily walked up to me and were covering me from all sides. That's when I realised that I was crying. No. I wasn't just crying, I was sobbing. It was even difficult for me to breathe.

I need air.

I excuse myself and got up. They don't ask anything, maybe in an attempt to go slow with me. I really appreciate the gesture.

***

That's how I end up in this pub, pouring my heart out to a stranger. He's carefully listening to me, while occasionally sipping his drink and nodding his head. It really feels good to be listened to. I am telling everything to him from the exact beginning and how I fell for my best friend and then he started dating my sister and then how everything came crashing down...

"That's really fucked up, friend!" He comments in his Indian accent.

He was a trans-man who found me sitting in the corner with a cigarette in my hand. I wasn't even smoking but lost in thoughts. The stick was almost going to burn my fingers when he came and slapped it away and now he was listening to everything I was saying.

And then he's narrating his own sad love story to me and oh my god it's so much worse than me, yet he's pretending that I am the worse affected.

"And that's how she killed herself and I couldn't do anything..." He finishes as I blink. Like a fish, my mouth opens and closes, I instantly gulp my beer in one go in order to not look like a fool who has nothing good and uplifting to reply.

"That's really sad..." I somehow manage to say.

"Yeah. It is..."

I seriously need to go, else I will breakdown crying. I excuse myself and leave, I am not even drunk enough which sucks.

***

There is a guy walking in front of me on the pavement and he's really really drunk, unlike me. I really want to reach home fast and lay under my soft blankets but this guy is walking, occupying the whole pavement, stumbling on his feet with every step. He stumbles harder this time, about to fall face-first on the concrete. I rush forward and catch him.

My hands feel as if they were made of hard ice when I see his face.

He chuckles, "I know you are not Harrison... but I am seeing him everywhere. So funny... haha..."

"Tom..." I whisper and he starts to cry. He seriously looks like shit. His shirt is all wet and hairs are super messy. It's hard to even see him like this. I throw my arm around his shoulder and place his hand around my neck and get him straight on his feet. I try my best to walk him to my house.

Mum was terrified of seeing Tom like this, so were Charlotte and Lily. Although, Lily helped me carry him to my room, while he was babbling some unintelligible stuff.

We lay him over my bad.

"You should change his shirt, it's really dirty," Lily suggests and walks out of the room, giving us privacy. I intake a sharp breath as I drag the half-asleep, completely drunk Tom to sit up on the bed. And before I could pull his shirt up, he's puking over my chest. I back up.

"Sorry..." He mutters and falls over the mattress.

I gotta' change my shirt too.

My hands reach to the edge of my shirt as I try to pull it up but then I see Tom, and suddenly it feels wrong. Hasn't he seen me shirtless like thousand times before? And he's not even completely conscious... Yet, I turn my back to him and change into a new jumper. Then I struggle to get Tom changed too, making him wear one of my hoodies and then throw both our dirty clothes to my laundry basket.

"You should wash your face and brush your teeth. It will feel nice..." I suggest, not sure if he was even listening to me. I again get him down on his feet and carry him to the bathroom where I splash cold water over his face. He drinks some water too. And then he's brushing his teeth, a little messily though.

As we complete, he refuses to go back to my room and instead, tries to sit on the bathroom floor, too tired to walk back. The next moment I find myself lifting him up with my arms tucked below his knees and the back of his neck. He's heavier than I anticipated but when he holds my shoulder and snuggles close to my chest with his warm breath hitting directly over my neck; my knees feel like noodles. I try my best to not look down at his face or fall down and successfully carry him back to my room and get him back on the bed.

"Haz, I need to talk about something..."

I flinch hearing Lily's voice. I turn on my feet and see her standing by my door. Warmth rushes to my face, realising- she must have seen me carrying Tom in my arms...

I swallow and walk towards her as she walks outside the room and shuts the door behind us.

She takes in a jitterybreath, "I really think..." She hesitates for a second, "Tom likes you... more than a friend and more than how he likes me..."

"I-I-I---" I try to speak but only a ragged stammer comes out, not expecting this conversation at all.

"He always talks about you and when he finds me wearing your clothes..." She fidgets with her fingers, "He gives me extra attention and... asks me not to remove them while we have... sex..." She pauses, looking embarrassed. I try not to react and stay still, listening carefully.

"I think the only reason he was dating me was that I look like you..." She finishes, knocking out all the air from my lungs.

"Why-why are you telling this to me?" Out of a million things I could say, I chose this.

"Because..." She looks straight at my face, "No one looks at a person as you look at Tom unless they are madly in love with them."

"But then why did he date you?" I ask with a heavy heart.

"... Cause it's easy to be... straight?" She speaks, her lips pressing into a thin line. I think for a moment.

"B-but what about you---"

"It's all about you and him right now. And anyway, he loves you and not me. You don't want your sister to end up with a man who doesn't really love her, right?" She asks, hopefully.

I inhale and nod.

"And I won't want my brother to not end up with the man he really loves..."

***

For the first time, I don't feel guilty, rather I feel some burden lifting off my chest. I walk inside the room, remembering my conversation with Lily. Tom was fast asleep on the bed and that makes me smile. I take out a blanket and cover him with it, switching off the lights. As I was trying to move away, his hand grasps my wrist making goosebumps rise over my skin.

"Can't we even... not share the bed anymore?" He speaks, sounding tired.

Suddenly, I am again feeling guilty. I turn on my feet, his hand was still gripping my wrist when I get into the sheets beside him. I prevent looking at his face. I am too weak for that stuff, especially when he sounds already half-sober.

His hand slowly slips off me and I clench my eyes shut.

***

I am sure that I was lying on the bed unable to sleep for several hours now. It's raining outside, pouring heavier with each passing minute. But it's better than the silence because seriously when the raindrops weren't tapping against my windowpane, all I could hear was my jittering heartbeat, heavy breathing and the sound of Tom's own breathing.

I shift underneath me, turning on my side to finally look at Tom.

Now that he's sleeping, he won't catch me staring, right?

He was sleeping on his side with his arm tucked below his head, facing me. My fingers slowly slide across the skin of his face as I breathe in deeper and rest my palm over his cheek. My thumb softly strokes his smooth skin while my pinky was playing with his ear.

His eyes flutter open, lashes resembling butterfly wings. Those freaking pools of chocolate. Once again, I was frozen on the spot.

How fair it is that people can be naturally born with eyes as soft and as brown as those?

"Haz..." He whispers my name and I feel the knots in my stomach tying.

"Why did you run...?" His voice is quiet but sounds serious. He seriously demands an explanation. But I am just staring into his eyes, not speaking anything.

Because I did some outrageous friendship destroying shit and running away was my way of escape, albeit, it just made everything much worse...

"I am sorry," That's what I say, finally. He huffs at my words.

Then he shifts closer to me, my heart clenching tighter than ever, my armpits sweating disgustingly.

"That's not the question I asked..." He says, wriggling a hand out from under the covers and putting it over my face, stroking my skin and playing with my ear, just like I was doing a few moments ago.

I lick my dry lips, swallowing softly.

"Okay, wrong question..." He smiles lightly, "Why did you kiss me?"

His grin appears to tease me. I am already overwhelmed by the closeness when he's asking me such questions. I try to divert the question as I avert my gaze, suddenly unclear of how long an eye-contact should be maintained.

"I thought you would be mad at me... You blocked me and---"

And then Tom shoves his head forward, pressing his lips against mine. My mouth splits open at the contact, an embarrassing puff of air escaping.

Tom's other hand is quick to find my arm from below the sheets as he slips his fingers through mine, while his other hand is busy tracing a thumb across my jaw. It's weirdly soothing. The sound of the rain tapping against my window makes it even better.

My eyes are shut as he tilts his head, pressing his lips tighter, his tongue licking at my bottom lip. He squeezes my hand, making me gasp. He sees the perfect opportunity, sliding it inside my mouth while I am a whimpering mess. His breath smells and tastes of mint from the toothpaste, eliciting tingles in my abdomen.

I lurch forward, trying to kiss him back but he's swift to pull away, lips separating with a soft popping sound. My eyes flutter open at the loss of contact.

"Ask me why I kissed you?" He mumbles against my lips with a big, confident smirk.

Son of a...

How can I ever forget about the surge of confidence levels in him after there is some alcohol in his system?

"Ask..." He repeats, more forcefully this time making me look directly into his eyes.

I breathe in, "Why..."

He raises his eyebrows and I fight the urge to roll my eyes back.

"Why did you kiss me?"

He chuckles and softly pats my cheek, pulling away his hand from my face but the other one continues to hold my hand in his.

"... 'coz I wanted to. I wanted to kiss you."

"Did... Did you think of Lily?"

His face turns serious at the question, almost sad. He shakes his head.

"No..." He pauses, looking at me sternly. His Adam's apple bobbles in his throat, "When you are with me I forget about everything else."

A tear escapes his eye, sliding though the side of his eye and falling directly over the pillow. He clenches his eyes shut, squeezing my hand tighter.

Drunk Tom is also emotionally unstable...

"I am sorry Haz. I can't love her when I am already in love with you." His voice sounds so wrecked, so broken... I just pull him to my chest, pulling my hand out of his grip and wrapping it across his torso.

"I understand why you ran... And yet I kissed you again," He speaks in between his sobs.

I don't know why but his words made me smile. Maybe because he understands, yet he did it. It's so courageous. He's so brave. Like it's us against the world.

"Lily understands," I tell him. He stops sobbing abruptly, his body freezes as if he's unable to comprehend my words.

"Huh?" He asks in disbelief, pulling away from my chest and looking into my eyes.

"Yes. She does. She just told it to me." I smile wider, swiping the tears off his face while he blinks.

"Really?" He utters, voice creaky.

"Yes!"

He keeps staring at me like a frightened animal. He is still not believing me. It made me chuckle.

"Yes, div! Come 'on just believe me!" I insist.

His mouth parts, tongue poking out. He's silent for a minute as I notice the changing expressions on his face.

"She did not!" He exclaims.

"She did!"

"Oh god. Am I this obvious?" He laughs, probably assuming my conversation with Lily to be something funny. Not his fault though. I cut him some slack, considering all life he's been surrounded by three brothers in an easy relationship not the complicated and competitive one I share with Lily. Although with Charlotte it's all super smooth.

Still, the sound of his laughter feels good. I can't complain.

This time I pull him into a kiss interrupting his giggles. I am going to keep kissing him till his lips swell. But all we both are doing is smiling into the kiss, unable to hold the contact even for a few seconds.

But then again, now I have plenty of time to kiss him like that later. Right now, it's this moment that matters. It's Tom who matters.

No more holding back...

_______

Taz taglist: @hazmyheart​ // @justasmisunderstoodasloki​ // @tommysparker​ // @just-a-littlebit-of-everything​ // @thenoddingbunny-blog​ // @calltothewild​​ // @viagracex​ // @httplayer​ // @slytherin-chaser​ // @perspectiveparker​ // @catkeeperthetall​ // @god-knows-what-am-i-doing​ // @its-a-leap-of-faith-kid​ // @emmaloo21​ //

[twistedtummies2]

Mia Corazón (Commission)

Another commission I got via my FA page. This is from the same person who commissioned “Tick Tock” and “A Grim Dinner.” It features his OC based on Tick Tock the Crocodile, Tock Crockwork...BUT, more importantly, it also acts as an introduction to his newest OC, Caelyum De Macabre - a character based on Davy Jones (with hints of Tia Dalma) from “Pirates of the Caribbean.”  And it’s NOT A KINK STORY. HERESY, I KNOW. I had a LOT of fun with this one; my only major regret is that I couldn’t make it longer than it already is. XD Also, just for the sake of making sure people know, I did not make up the lyrics to the song featured here. They’re actually fan-made lyrics for Davy Jones’ theme from the movies, originally created by a YouTube artist called Fiajela. I highly recommend looking up the song - it’s been covered by her and Man on the Internet, and they even made a duet version with the two stitched together. Anyway...hopefully you all enjoy. :)

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Valentine’s Day had come to Night Raven College. As you and Grim walked through the halls of the dark castle, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the decorations: pink paper hearts and streamers of white and crimson were everywhere, making it feel almost as if Heartslabyul had somehow managed to take over the entire palatial academy. Grim frowned up at you, trotting at your side, trident tail swishing as he went. “Nya? What’s so funny, Minion?” he demanded to know. “Nothing, nothing,” you responded with a shake of your head. “It’s just…everything looks so different.” Grim sniffed snootily, crinkling his nose at a poster of two young lovers embracing. “I don’t like it,” he remarked. “It’s all…mushy. It just doesn’t feel right for a School of Villains to be so…nya, what’s a good word…?” “Sentimental? Sappy? Saccharine?” “Gross,” was the word Grim chose, sticking out his tongue and shuddering like a small boy afraid of getting the dreaded cooties. You snorted with laughter. “Well, bring it up to the Headmaster,” you smirked, stuffing your hands in your pockets as you went. “I’d rather not,” Grim grumped. “Besides, we all know Crowley would just ramble on about it, or say he’ll get things done and never do…how come he’s Headmaster, anyway? He doesn’t do anything!” “Your guess is as good as mine,” you shrugged. “All I know is the only home I have is thanks to him, as is the only job. I’d like to keep both, thank you.” Grim shrugged back with an accepting sort of rumble as the two of you ascended the spiral staircase that led up to the Headmaster’s Office. Crowley had sent a call that morning; classes were dismissed for the day, so the university was a little quieter than usual: many of the students were off visiting family or loved ones, and those that were hanging around the campus still were largely engaged in…ahem…PRIVATE affairs. You, of course, could not leave; at least for now, Night Raven was your home, and as you were currently not in a relationship, Valentine’s Day wasn’t much different than any other day. Not that you minded much; it was still nice, in your mind, to see others happy and relaxed, and a holiday was a holiday, at any rate…though it seemed even St. Valentine’s holiday would not be saving you from helping clean up whatever mess Crowley needed dealt with this time. As you passed an image of two small, fluffy kittens holding a heart, a random thought came to your head: “Grim?” “Nya?” “Have you ever wanted to be in love?” “Not really,” the cat-like monster said. “Love is all…icky.” You frowned. “Icky?” you repeated. “All the kissing and hugging and…bleh!” Grim shuddered again, then went on: “Besides, it seems awfully difficult; makes you humans and even beast-men all crazy. I’ve got too much to deal with as it is, thank you very much! Nope. The World’s Greatest Mage won’t ever let love make him all soppy.” Grim stuck out his fluffy chest proudly at this, sticking his nose in the air. You smirked, and paused, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. He froze up…then purred and nuzzled into your touch. “Purrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr…o-okay…maybe I love some things,” he admitted.

“Good kitty,” you teased, and snickered as Grim growled at you and half-heartedly swiped at your hand with a paw. You retracted it and the two of you kept moving. “Come on. The sooner we deal with Crowley, the faster we can get to our own stuff.” Grim nodded, as the pair of you drew nearer to Crowley’s office. You knocked on the door and waited for the sing-song call of “Come in!” before entering. Inside the office, things looked the same as ever, floating portraits of the Great Seven and all…aside from a vase of roses, plus a couple of heart-shaped ornaments on the desk, as well as the fact the purple-and-green curtains had been exchanged for solid red velvet drapes. Dire Crowley himself was seated behind his desk, sorting through paperwork, dressed in his usual attire. His feathery cloak rustled as he lifted his top-hatted head, and smiled at both yourself and Grim as you shut the door to the office behind you, his yellow eyes sparkling behind his Plague-Doctor-esque Venetian mask. “Ahhh! Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm! And the Little Monster!” he greeted warmly, rising and waving his hands, bidding you closer as he stepped around his desk. “Come, come, you’re right on time!” “On time for what, dare we ask?” Grim meowed. “Aren’t you celebrating Valentine’s Day, too, Headmaster?” you asked, politely. “Later,” Crowley smirked, winking and tapping the side of his mask’s long nose. “I’ll be entertaining a cute little fairy sorceress from the Land of Oz later tonight.” He let out a dreamy sigh, placing a hand to his heart. “Ahhh, Miss Upland…one day, you will be mine…” You and Grim gave each other a look, shrugged, then turned back to Crowley. “What’s the problem, then?” you asked, knowing better than to think this was a social call. By now, Crowley had firmly established yourself and Grim as the chief problem solvers of the Academy, so it stood to reason he had a mission for your both. “Oh! Yes, well,” Crowley muttered, and cleared his throat, adjusting and straightening his stance before going on in a business-like way: “As I’m sure you’ll both know, tonight there’s a special performance, directed by our own Vil Schoenheit, for the holiday.” “Nya? Isn’t it that play about the Sea Witch?” Grim checked, tilting his head. “Correct,” nodded the Headmaster. “And the Little Mermaid she assisted. We have a special guest coming to see the show tonight…” He reached into the folds of his cloak and pulled out a small photograph, handing it over to you. You knelt down to get closer to Grim’s level, and showed him the photo as you both looked it over: the picture was a portrait of a dark-skinned mermaid, with hair black as ebony and scales of red and gold. Her eyes were brown and soft and warm as milk chocolate, and a silver locket in the shape of a heart was clasped about her throat. “Oooh…she’s pretty!” Grim smiled. “Very,” you agreed with a smile of your own. “She,” the Headmaster spoke up, “Is Young Lady Mia Corazón. Her family is one of the richest in the Coral Sea.” “Which is why you invited her,” you guessed, trying not to sound as bored as you were. To your surprise, Crowley answered, “I didn’t invite her! She wanted to see the show on her own…but there is one difficulty: her family insists that she be accompanied by at least two bodyguards at all times. Much like the Al-Asims, they’ve had…ISSUES in the past, and if their daughter is going to be on land for a spell, her parents want to make sure she’s adequately protected.” “That’s fair enough,” you supposed. “Let me guess,” sighed Grim, crossing his arms, “You want us to be the bodyguards then?” “Well, I suppose I COULD hire professionals,” Crowley murmured, scratching his chin in thought. “But they can cost a lot…I’d probably end up having to cut your pay just to-” “Forget it,” you grumbled, while Grim growled and slapped a paw to his forehead. “We’ll do it. But something is worrying me, if you don’t mind my bringing it up.” “What’s that?” “Are you sure WE’RE the right ones for this job?” you pressed, then before Crowley could speak up, you went on quickly: “We’ll do it, like I said, but…are you certain we should?” “How do you mean?” the Headmaster questioned, tilting his head. “Well, we’re not from the Coral Sea,” you explained. “Wouldn’t someone from that area be a better choice? Perhaps Azul could loan out the Leech Twins for a day!” Both Grim and Crowley looked at you as if you had grown a second skull. “…Right,” you sighed, quickly catching on. “Azul. ‘Loan’ us the Leech Twins. And us NOT expect things to go HORRIBLY wrong, one way or another. Yeah, that was a dumb suggestion, sorry.” Crowley chuckled and shook his head. “I have every confidence in you,” he said, with a wide smile. “You’ve solved so many problems in the past! And it’s only for tonight! What could possibly go wrong?” “Well, great, now something will DEFINITELY become a problem,” Grim grumbled. “Look, it’s not that I’m ungrateful,” you pressed on, “Or even that I’ve got a whole lot else to do, just…I’m worried because I don’t have magic. And Grim is…well…Grim.” “Hey!” Grim yapped indignantly. “I could roast any bad guy’s butt if they tried to get to Miss Coronation!” “Corazón,” corrected the Headmaster. “Whatever,” shrugged Grim. Crowley rolled his eyes, then turned his head upward. “You do raise a good point though, Prefect,” he conceded. “I didn’t think of that…at the very least, you two will need some help.” You were just about to agree…when suddenly, you heard Grim shiver. Both you and Crowley looked down as the cat-like demon quivered and hugged himself, the fire in his ears flickering. “Are you okay?” you asked, worriedly. “Y-Yeah,” Grim answered with a slight chattering of his teeth. “But…does anybody else feel like it suddenly got colder in here?” Now that Grim mentioned it, you DID suddenly feel a light chill crawl up and down your back…and it wasn’t too long afterward that the source of the cold made its presence known. With an authoritative BANG, the Headmaster’s office door burst open, causing both yourselves and Crowley to yelp and jump in alarm. You turned around fast, and gulped nervously as you perceived the imposing figure of Chief Jehan – the school’s head of security, garbed as ever in his military style cap and long, black trenchcoat. “Headmaster,” the darkly dressed security chief intoned, bowing his head respectfully to Dire Crowley, “Forgive this intrusion.” “Oh, it’s alright, Claude,” Crowley sighed out, then frowned. “Whatever is the matter?” “I apprehended this rule-breaking scallywag in the school cafeteria,” Jehan stated, indicating a second figure. “Ow! OW! H-Hey, let go of me, you old…! I’ll bite your legs off, you hear me?!” You and Grim were surprised to see the short, thick-hipped, green haired figure struggling in the icy grip of Claude Jehan, trying to pull away as his ear was all but being yanked from the side of his cranium. “Tock?” the two of you chorused. Tock Crockwork just snarled as Jehan glared at him. He tried to return the glower, but it came off more akin to a wounded animal trying to look tough than…well…looking tough. Crowley’s frown deepened, and he stepped past you and Grim – uttering a quiet, “One moment please” – before approaching the chief and the unruly Octavinelle student. “What is the meaning of this?” the Headmaster boomed. The Security Chief pushed Tock forward, releasing his ear. Tock stumbled a bit and caught himself, massaing his sore lobe. “This young ruffian,” Jehan explained, “Started a brawl with Mr. Bucchi over the last Deluxe Menchi Katsu Sandwich. As the latter student was merely defending himself, I felt his punishment should be more lenient; both have been banned from the cafeteria for the rest of the week…but as the one who started the whole affair…” He trailed off as Tock growled rather pathetically, looking down at the floor sullenly. Crowley scowled and hummed thoughtfully, clearly trying to determine a fitting punishment. Your eyes, as well as Grim’s, widened, and you looked to each other. “Grim,” you whispered, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” “I think so, Minion, but a show about a math teacher who’s also a criminal mastermind? Who’d want to watch that?” You facepalmed. “What are you two whispering about?” Jehan asked, suspiciously, as Tock and Crowley both looked to you as well. “I think I know a way to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak,” you suggested. “You mean, a way to deal with Mr. Crockwork while also dealing with your dilemna?” Crowley guessed. “Exactly.” “Dilemna? What dilemna?” Tock asked. You grinned.

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“Thanks for sticking up for me, snack meat,” Tock groused, petulantly pouting as he walked by your side. “You’re the one who decided to pick a fight with the hyena,” you shrugged. “Honestly, I think I did you a favor.” “Nya…my Minion has a point,” Grim nodded. “Do you really think things would have been better if Crowley had decided to punish you himself?” “Or worse,” you put in, grimly, “Leave you to Chief Jehan?” All three of you shuddered, and Grim even crossed himself at the mention of the security chief. “Fine, I guess that’s fair,” Tock grumbled. “But I don’t like having to protect a fish filet from harm. I eat fish!” “Well, you won’t be eating Mia Corazón,” you sniffed. “Alright…guess I’ll just have to eat YOU instead,” smirked Tock, and licked his sharp teeth. Grim mewed and hid behind your leg. You blushed. “…We’ll worry about that later,” you grumbled, making Crockwork snicker with a wicked smile. “For now, let’s focus on getting you some actual lunch.” “You ARE an actual lunch,” snorted Tock. “I am not on the menu!” you snapped, flushed with embarrassment as Tock gave you a knowing grin. “Well…not till your work is done,” he teased, winking deviously, then smirking down at Grim. “Maybe I’ll have the little hairball for an appetizer, too…” Grim hissed at being referred to as a “hairball,” but said nothing. “Do you always have to be so antagonistic?” you sighed. “It’s what keeps getting you into trouble, you know.” Tock just shrugged carelessly, hips swaying as he walked side by side with you. “So, where are we heading?” he asked. “Can’t go to the cafeteria, and the Mostro Lounge is way too expensive…” “The Mystery Shop,” you answered. “I’m sure Sam’s got something in stock for us all to snack on before we head to the beach to pick up our special guest.” “Nya! Between my fiery awesomeness, my Minion’s brains, and lizard-breath’s strength, we’ll be the best bodyguards ever!” declared Grim. “Call me ‘lizard breath’ again,” Tock warned, “And we’ll be back down to two people, fuzz-face.” “Fuzz-face?!” Grim snapped. “How’d you like to BURN off a few of those calories you’re so proud of, hah?!” “Girls, girls, you’re both pretty,” you droned. The pair glared at you, then each other…then growled in unison as they stopped. “Thank you,” you sighed with relief. “Now, let’s be on our best behavior: I don’t want Sam’s Friends to give us a hard time…” As you spoke, your little trio reached the entrance to Mr. S’s Mystery Shop, and the three of you walked inside. Aside from a simple banner reading “Happy Valentine’s Day!” over the door, the shop was completely as it usually was…at least on the outside. To be fair, once you all entered the building, the store within seemed its usual self, too; no heart-shaped décor here, only the usual assortment of voodoo accessories. The strange part came when you not only realized Sam was nowhere to be seen…but you all also noticed who was tending to the store. Or rather, what. “Crabs?” all three of you gasped in surprise. Sure enough, crawling all over the Mystery Shop was an assortment of strange white sand crabs. Their shells seemed to have been made from smooth, ivory-colored stone…and as if the presence of the pale decapods wasn’t bizarre enough, their activities certainly would have gotten some unusual reactions. A few of the crabs were straightening out and sorting through items on the shelves, making sure everything was in top-notch condition. One crab was holding a miniature broom, while the other held a dustpan, the pair of them sweeping the floor. Still another crab was changing a lightbulb, while two more – clicking their claws encouragingly – were supervising. A bunch of crabs carrying a spray bottle and a wash cloth scuttled past you all, near your feet. Yourself and Croc stepped back, but Grim – with typical feline curiosity – leaned down and actually sniffed at one of the crustaceans… “ME-YOWCH!” he yelped, and jumped back, mewling and covering his muzzle after one of the crabs pinched his nose with their pincer. The crab seemed to strut away importantly afterward. “Heh…guess the crab cake bit back, huh?” teased Tock. Grim just growled and massaged his stinging snout. “This is new,” you muttered. “Where’d all these little guys come from?” “Cruel and cold, like winds on the sea. Will you ever return to me? Hear my voice sing with the tide: My Love Will Never Die…” The melodious voice soon sang into your ears, and you and your companions looked towards the source. In a corner of the shop, a lone figure was quietly mopping, and singing the lonely, haunting sea shanty you had heard. The figure was a young and slender man, dressed in a tan-colored jacket with ruffle-ended sleeves, and a brown hip-skirt. His legs were covered by dark beige trousers, while plain brown boots were on his feet. A fishnet scarf was loosely slung about his shoulders, almost like a shawl, and an orange muscle shirt festooned his abdomen. His hair was a curious pink hue, and done up in dreadlocks. “Ahem!” you coughed, catching the young man’s attention. He froze and looked up to you, blinking his brown eyes. For a moment, you noticed there was a look of pain and something…hollow in his face, as if something inside of him was missing and he longed to get it back. An overwhelming feeling of loneliness and sorrow seemed to wash over you…but it disappeared in an instant when the youth smiled. “Oh! Ahoy there! Didn’t hear you come in,” he greeted, bowing his head respectfully as he put the mop in its bucket and then walked towards you and your group. “Can I help you?” “Well, you can start by telling us who you are, and what happened to Sam,” Grim frowned. The young man chuckled, flipping his fishnet scarf over one shoulder. “Sam is taking the day off for the holiday,” he explained, then slowly added, “I don’t…make merry on Valentine’s Day, so I volunteered to keep the shop open and do some cleaning.” “Well, that answers one question,” Tock snorted, crossing his arms over his chest and lookin the taller youth up and down. “Mind answering the other?” “Oh! Right, right,” the young fellow chuckled, and cleared his throat before giving a mock-salute and answering: “Name’s Caelyum. Caelyum De Macabre. I’m Sam’s new assistant.” “Pleased to meet you,” you smiled, and shook Caelyum’s hand, and tilted your head. “Say…can I call you Cael for short?” The young man’s smile flickered, and he paused before quietly beseeching, “I’d…rather you didn’t, thank you.” “No problem, I’m sorry,” you apologized quickly. “Not at all, not at all,” the young man chuckled, and straightened his stance, recovering quickly. “So! What can I do for you, me hearties? Supplies, clothes?” “Food,” growled Tock. “I’m STARVING.” Caelyum chuckled and jabbed a thumb to one part of the shop. “You’ll find everything you need in that direction.” Tock nodded, and sashayed in the direction De Macabre had indicated. Caelyum smiled back at you and Grim in the meantime. “You’re the Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm, right?” he guessed. “That’s right,” you nodded. “It’s nice to meet you, then,” Caelyum smiled. “Sam’s told me all about you: he says you’re his favorite customer.” “He says that about everyone,” Grim snorted. Caelyum chuckled and knelt down. He extended a hand carefully. Grim sniffed it carefully…then smiled and allowed the shopkeeper’s assistant to pet him softly. “You have a beautiful singing voice,” you couldn’t help but comment. Caelyum looked up in surprise…then blushed a bit. “Oh, uh…you heard a little of that, did you?” he chuckled with embarrassment. “Nya! It sounded really sad, but…it was also really nice,” Grim mewed. “Thanks,” Caelyum said as he stood back up to his full height. “What song was that?” you asked, curiously. “I’ve never heard it before. Is it from your homeland?” Caelyum’s smile fell, and he looked askance. “Not exactly,” he murmured, then informed you aloud, in a matter-of-fact way: “It’s a song from the Coral Sea. I come from the Jubilee Port, near the Swamplands: same place as Sam. A…friend taught the song to me.” Catching the hitch in his voice, you smiled sympathetically. “It sounds like you two were close.” “We were,” Caelyum said softly. “Very.” “Nya…what happened?” Grim asked. Caelyum paused…then shrugged. “They left,” was all he said. Sensing the sensitive subject, you decided to drop the matter; Grim caught on and did the same. “How long have you been working for Sam? I haven’t seen you around before.” “Not long,” shrugged Caelyum, seemingly grateful the subject had changed. “He and I have some similar interests, and when I joined Night Raven, I applied for work.” “Oh, so you’re a first year?” “Yep.” “What house? Octavinelle?” you guessed, wondering why Tock wouldn’t have recognized the youth if so. “Scarabia, actually and weirdly enough,” laughed Caelyum, as if the placement struck him as some sort of very funny joke…he paused then leaned in and whispered: “Um…is it just me, or is the dorm head of that house a little…you know…how would you say it…?” “Too pure and innocent for this cruel, unholy world?” “…Yeah, that.” “Yes. Yes, he very much is.” The two of you were interrupted by the sound of Tock snarling in the food aisles. You all turned to see him trying to pry a bag of chips out of the pincers of one of the crabs, who looked very insulted to be interrupted in his work. “Hey! Can somebody make this crab cake let go?!” he snapped. “Oh, sorry!” Caelyum called out, and then snapped his fingers. Suddenly, every single crab inside the building froze…and then their claws and extremities retracted into their shells, leaving only a series of what looked like smooth, white stones scattered around the shop. With a second snap of his fingers, the stone crabs disappeared; there was no puff of smoke or flash of light. One second they were there…the next, they were not. Grim whistled, impressed. “Nice trick,” he murmured. “Is that your Unique Magic?” you asked. “Yep,” Caelyum nodded. “They’re called Locker Crabs, and you’d be surprised the kinds of things I can do with them…” “Cool!” Grim commented. “Hey, Tock!” you called out, hearing the rustling of snack food bags. “Leave some stuff for the rest of us, and hurry up! We need to get to the beach quickly!” “I’m hurrying, snack meat, I’m hurrying!” Tock called back dismissively. “The beach?” Caelyum spoke up, looking interested. “Why are you three heading there? What’s so important?” “We’re on a mission!” Grim cheered, puffing out his chest once more. “Oh, really?” smirked Caelyum, looking amused, and scoffed as he moved behind the front desk. “What for? Some sort of Valentine’s Day meeting, or something?” You frowned, sensing a bitterness to two particular words. “You mentioned you don’t make merry on Valentine’s Day,” you said slowly, approaching the desk and leaning on it. “What do you…y’know…have against it?” “Hm?” Caelyum murmured, then shrugged as he leaned back against the shelves behind the front desk. “Oh, well, it’s…not the day itself. More what it represents.” “Nya? What do you mean?” Grim asked, tilting his head. A shadow seemed to fall over Caelyum’s face, and he looked askance. Something icy and stormy flickered across his features. “Love,” he said, as if the word were some repellent toxin. You and Grim shared a look, then looked back to Caelyum. “Love is a lie,” Caelyum went on, seemingly talking more to himself than to either of you. “It’s like a parasite that burrows into your chest…and even once the sickness it spreads is cured, something in there remains, keeping you from ever knowing real peace. It pulls you along a blind alley, and just when you feel safe, it stabs you in every place it hurts most, and then leaves you to either heal on your own or die. It weakens your defenses, and confuses your resolve. And yet every year, every time this day comes around…I just see people acting like it’s the best thing in the universe.” He shuddered violently, looking positively ill. Grim meowed almost sadly. “I think love is mushy and gross, but…I don’t think it’s THAT bad,” he mewed. His words seemed to snap Caelyum out of it. The witch doctor’s assistant glanced up at you both…and, with a light chuckle, his helpful, friendly smile returned, the shadows departing in an instant. “Well…being mushy and gross doesn’t help,” he joked. Grim sniggered. Your own expression didn’t change, even as the employee leaned forward again. “Seriously, though, what IS your mission?” “We’re gonna be bodyguards!” Grim announced joyously. “Bodyguards?” “There’s a special guest coming to the show on campus tonight,” you explained. “The Headmaster assigned the three of us to look after her, since she’s a VIP.” “A really RICH VIP,” Grim added. “That’s our Headmaster,” Caelyum scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “So, who is this special guest?” “Mia Corazón.” Caelyum’s smile vanished, as if it had been smacked off his face. “Mia…Corazón?” he repeated. “Nya? Do you know her?” Grim asked. Caelyum didn’t answer, looking away; that hollow, haunted stare came to his face as he seemed lost in another world. “Mia Corazón,” he repeated again, then let out a soft, slightly hysterical laugh. “Of all the cursed days of the year…she chooses now…” Before you could ask what was wrong, Tock came lumbering over, arms loaded with various snacks and drinks. “There! That should be enough for all of us…or at least, for me,” he grinned, flashing you a wink that would have made you blush in an instant if your mind weren’t on other matters. He looked towards the assistant…then frowned, eyes narrowing. “Hey…who are you upset with?” The words once again snapped the brooding Caelyum out of it. He looked at Tock with surprise…then shook his head fast and brushed some of his pink hair away from his face. “No one. Nothing,” he insisted, and forced his smile back onto his face. “Now! Let’s, uh…let’s ring this up, aye?” In casual, business-like fashion, Caelyum charged Tock; you were grateful for the recent raise Crowley had given you as you paid for it all. The three of you then left the shop. Just before you exited, you turned to bid Caelyum one last farewell. He smiled and waved back… …But the moment you left, the darkness flooded his face once more, and he looked away, eyes smoldering like hot coals as he reached into his shirt… …Revealing the silver locket that was around his neck. The same sort in the photo Crowley had given you. The young man’s face became cold as an iceberg once more as he opened the locket…and sang to the tune the music box inside played. “Wild and strong, you can’t be contained. Never bound, nor ever chained. Wounds you caused will never mend, and you will never end…”

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“Why did you ask him that question?” Tock Crockwork belched and grunted as he finished up his lunch, licking and sucking on his fingers before looking to you, cheeks bulging as he still chewed his food. “Whuh queshun?” he mumbled out through a full mouth. “About why he was upset?” Grim spoke up, tilting his head. “I mean, he certainly looked upset, so…” “That wasn’t the question he asked though,” you clarified to Grim, then looked to Tock. “You specifically asked, ‘WHO are you upset WITH?’” Tock swallowed and let out a hiccupping burp before speaking. “Mph…yeah, and?” he grunted, patting his stomach and licking his lips free of any crumbs from the sandwich he had devoured. “Well…why did you assume he was upset with someone?” “I didn’t assume, I knew,” snorted Tock, and slung his arms behind his head as the three of you neared the beach of Sage Island. “That was the same look I saw in the mirror every day when I thought of Leona, or those boys back home.” Knowing what had happened in his conflict with Leona, you gulped at Tock Crockwork’s words. “Well, I hope he wasn’t mad at us,” murmured Grim. You smiled thinly; you had a very good idea you knew who Caelyum was mad at, given the context of things…and you were very much hoping you were wrong. You had the sinking feeling those hopes would be dashed as the three of you drew closer to the beach…and a familiar-sounding song, accompanied by the tinkling notes of a music box, drifted through the greenery and into your ears… “Over waves and deep in the blue; I will give up my heart for you. Ten long years I’ll wait to go by: My Love Will Never Die.” The source of the singing soon became clear as you pushed past the last few bushes of the wilderness and stepped onto the open, sunny beach. There was a single white bench nearby; standing beside the bench was a man in what looked like an almost Spartan uniform…and seated upon it was a young woman, with dark skin and long, black hair, dressed in a red and gold dress. In one of her hands, she lifted the pendant of a locket; the source of the music box tune. The lady snapped the locket shut, and she and her chaperone turned fast when they heard yourself and your companions approaching. She smiled, chocolate-toned eyes lighting up with interest. “Oh, hello!” she chuckled, seemingly a bit embarrassed at being caught in her reverie, and stood up as her suspicious compatriot narrowed his eyes at you. “Are you…my bodyguards?” “Yes, ma’am!” chirruped Grim, proudly. “Mia Corazón, I presume?” you smiled, respectfully. “That is right,” the young woman greeted, bowing her head in matching respect and lowering her locket. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” “Wait a minute…why do you need us to guard you?” Tock spoke up, and pointed to the Spartan-looking fellow. “Wouldn’t he be enough?” “Oh, that’s Firme. He actually has a date with his wife,” Mia answered, giving the man a teasing smile.

The guard blushed. “Miss Corazón, not in front of civlians!” he pleaded. Mia chuckled. “Sorry, Firme,” she apologized. “Now go on; I know she’s waiting for you.” Firme nodded gratefully, then glared at the three of you more seriously. “Protect her at any cost; we’re depending on you,” he ordered. “Aww, don’t worry, we’ll keep the little fishstick safe!” Tock smirked, cracking his knuckles and neck. “You can start by NOT calling her ‘fishstick,’” you droned, noting the nervous look on Mia’s face and the anger on Firme’s. You gave both an apologetic smile. “Sorry. He’s half-crocodile. Trust me, though, he’s a softy when you get to know him.” “HEY! I AM NOT!” snapped Tock, angrily. Grim just giggled. The interaction and your promise seemed to relax both denizens of the Coral Sea. Firme bowed to Mia, and then walked towards the beach…and kept walking, straight into the sea, until his head disappeared under the waves. “Well!” Mia smiled, and cheerily hurried towards your group. “Can we go see the show now? I don’t wanna be late!” “Of course…um…Your Excellency?” “Oh, don’t bother with titles like that,” the girl giggled. “Just call me Mia! Everybody does!” “Okay, Mia,” you chuckled, quite liking her warmth and energy. “Follow us, and stay close.” “I will,” Mia promised as the three of you set off along the beach. “Thank you, by the way; I hope this doesn’t cause you too much trouble.” “Quite the opposite,” grumbled Grim, remembering what Crowley had said earlier. “Why do you wanna see some silly show anyway?” sneered Tock. “Oh, it’s not silly!” exclaimed Mia. “The story of the Sea Witch and the Little Mermaid is important among my people…and besides, I think theater is exciting! I always enjoy seeing it!” “Hopefully our show won’t disappoint,” you smiled. Tock just rolled his eyes and scoffed. “I still think it’s for wimps,” he mumbled…then abruptly froze. The rest of you stopped, too, looking to the croc boy as he sniffed the air and growled. “What is it?” Mia asked. “Something wrong?” “Very,” Tock nodded. “We are being watched.” “How do you know?” you asked. “Instinct? Intuition?” Tock growled and narrowed his eyes, looking at you determinedly. “No, meat. We. Are. Being. Watched.” “By who?” whispered Mia, nervously. “I have an idea,” you murmured with some dread. Before Mia could comment on your remark, all three of you heard a sharp yelp, and turned to see that Grim had inexplicably toppled over. The feline-like creature sat up and massaged his bumped noggin. “Owwww,” he moaned. “What happened?” Mia asked, sounding concerned. “I dunno!” Grim whined out. “Just…s-something seemed to come up from under me and…” “GAHR!” You jumped as, right on cue, Tock toppled over as well. Then it was your turn, as you felt something shift under the sand where you stood, and you dropped to the ground. The wind was knocked out of you for a moment, but you managed to sit up just in time to see three large, round humps in the sand…which seemed to move of their own accord. The three humps began to trace a path, circling Mia, who froze up and squeaked like a mouse, clearly confused and frightened. It only got worse when, suddenly, more and more humps seemed to appear out nowhere: at least a dozen or more, which shot through the sand, burrowing through it with a barely-audible scraping sound… …Then, dust flew up as the shapes burst from the ground. As the dust cleared, you and your friends watched wide-eyed as a consortium of familiar white crabs toppled Mia Corazón, and – working together to lift her, carried her off across the beachside. “HEY! PUT ME DOWN! STOP!” Mia cried out, but the crabs wouldn’t listen, and soon vanished from sight. “Nya…we’re off to a good start with this job,” sighed Grim dismally. “After them!” you barked, and leapt to your feet as you dashed after Mia and her arthropoid captors, Grim hot on your heels. Tock grumbled sourly as he dusted himself off then jogged after you. “Taking orders from my lunch…I’m gonna eat that stupid, mask-wearing, feather-loving…!”

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Mia cried out as the crabs carried her along the sand, her “volunteer” bodyguards soon out of sight. She tried to fight free, but the crabs pinched and held her fast, keeping her in place. She wasn’t sure how far or for how long they carried her…but suddenly they stopped, and she let out an “eep!” as they moved into a pillar, and pushed her up, allowing her to stand. The mermaid-in-disguise turned around, panting for breath as she watched the crabs swarm about each other…then, they seemed to coalesce and mesh together; their pale shells took on more colors; hints of pink, brown, and orange… …Until, finally, standing before her was a familiar young man with dreadlocks and a fishnet scarf. In his hand, he held a heart-shaped silver locket. “Come my love, be one with the sea. Rule with me for eternity. Drown all dreams so mercilessly, and leave their souls to me.” He snapped the locket shut at the end of the verse, and paused before uttering, in a mechanical, robotic tone, two words: “Ahoy, Mia.” Mia blinked slowly, absolutely stunned. “…C-Cael?” Caelyum blinked back and said nothing, his face emotionless and blank. Mia slowly smiled, her eyes lighting up…then squealed with joy and rushed forward, throwing her arms around the young man…who stood stiff and rigid, not even looking at her, as she hugged him close. “CAEL! I…oh, Gods, what do I even say?! It’s…it’s been so long…I’ve missed you so much! Where have you been?! Cael…Cael, I-I’m so happy…!” “Let. Go. Of. Me. You. BITCH.” Mia gasped as Caelyum harshly pushed her back, nearly knocking her over. Her heart sank as she stared at the young man, who glared at her, grinding his teeth and clenching his fists. She looked deeply hurt…and not because of the push. “Cael?” she whispered. “Cael…wh-what’s wrong? Why…why are you upset with me?” Cael’s eyes flashed with anger. “What’s wrong?! Why am I upset?!” he repeated. “What in Hades do you THINK is wrong?!” Mia flinched as the boy from the swamplands’ voice rose to a perfect scream. Cautiously, steadily, she approached. “Cael…please…I-I don’t understand. I…I’ve wanted to see you again for such a long time, and now-” “How DARE you?!” shouted Caelyum, silencing the aristocratic mermaid. “How dare you say something like that to me?! After what you did to me, do you expect to believe you’ve ever cared?!” “I…what…I do care!” Mia pleaded, and tears began to twinkle in her eyes. “Cael, what are you talking about?” Cael laughed; a dangerously unhinged, malicious sound. “Oh-ho-ho, you know EXACTLY what I’m talking about! You should!” he spat…then, the bitterness was replaced by pain as he went on. “Two years, Mia. Two years I waited, and you never returned. You…y-you broke your promise to me…and did you ever think of me in those two years? Did you think of me even once in all the time since, until now?” Cael’s eyes began to brim with tears of his own; he was shaking. Mia felt her heart sinking further in her chest. “Of course I did,” she said, softly. “You’re…you’re my best friend.” One could almost hear Caelyum’s last heartstring break. “Best friend,” he repeated, in a dead, soulless voice…then hung his head. “You still don’t get it, do you, Mia? You broke my heart, Corazón…” Head still hung low, dreadlocks casting shadow over his eyes, Caelyum De Macabre lifted one arm, and snapped his fingers…and Mia nervously stepped back as a swarm of crabs appeared to trail across his arm and mesh together…forming a silver cutlass. “…And now, I’m going to break yours. Literally.” Ominously, Caelyum began to approach. Mia felt panic rise in her, and started to back away…then yiped, almost comically, as she tripped on her own dress and tumbled back. “C-Cael…Cael, PLEASE!” she cried out, as the boy loomed over her, his face twisted in anger as he began to lift the sword above his head… “HEY! BACK OFF!” FWOOSH! A jet of blue flame shot between Mia Corazón and Cael De Macabre; the lad from the swamplands jumped back, then growled angrily, turning to face the source. You had finally arrive, with Grim at your side, both of you glaring at the bokor’s assistant. “That’s enough, Caelyum,” you warned. Cael sneered. “It’s not enough,” he hissed, “Until she endures the same amount of PAIN and AGONY I HAVE!” With a roar, he rounded about to try and strike Mia down…then froze in place when he found she had seemingly disappeared. Startled and caught greatly off guard, he was unable to avoid the green scaled fist that grabbed hold of the back of his jacket, and cried out as, with a roar, the owner of the fist hurled about seven feet away, sending him rolling through the send. His sword spun through the air before stabbing into the ground right at the edge of the shore. Caelyum coughed and snarled and spat as he got onto his hands and knees…then glared as he found Tock Crockwork – now in his full “true form” – glaring at him, fangs and claws bared. “Keep away from the fishstick, swamp meat,” he spat. “Thank you,” Mia whispered. Tock just smirked at her – somewhat cockily but not cruelly – then glarde back at Caelyum as yourself and Grim moved to stand beside him, all of you making sure to create a barrier before poor Mia. Cael rose to his feet shakily. “Leave her alone, Caelyum,” you said. “This is not your fight!” he snapped back. “Uh…yeah, it kinda is,” Grim snorted. “We told you, this is our job today!” “You don’t know who you’re protecting,” Cael viciously sneered, his shoulders trembling with fury, his fingers clenched so tight that his knuckles turned white as the bones under his skin. “She cursed me!” “Cursed you?!” Mia exclaimed. “Caelyum, I never did ANYTHING to you!” “Yes, you did!” Cael answered…and gulped back a sob before explaining: “You made me love you.” All eyes widened; you and your friends looked to Mia, then back at Caelyum. “Ohhhh…now the pieces are coming together,” Grim murmured. “I know the look in your eyes, meat, and it’s not love,” Tock said, darkly. “Not love as it should be, anyway.” “Cael…I-I’m so sorry,” Mia quavered. “Of course you’re sorry,” Cael scoffed. “Everyone’s sorry when it’s too late.” So saying, he lifted his hand…and the sword that had stabbed into the ground “dissolved” into a group of crabs. They scurried across the beach, crawled up his side…and reformed into a cutlass in his grasp once more. “Put the weapon away, Caelyum!” you beseeched. “It doesn’t have to be like this!” “Yes it does!” Cael yelled. “Don’t you get it?! I can’t be free! I’ll always remember! I’ll always feel that pain! Love is a curse; a curse that hurts me, every day of my existence…but after today, I’m going to change that.” He closed his eyes. You had a bad feeling you knew what you’d see when he opened them again…and you were correct. One of his eyes was suddenly surrounded by a fiery aura. “Today, I break the curse.” KA-ZAM! The familiar black cloud of Overblot surrounded the shopkeeper’s boy. Blue and orange light flashed in the gaps between the vapor as it swirled around the fellow from the swamplands…until finally, the mist parted. When it did, you all found that Caelyum De Macabre had gone through an alarming transformation. His brown-tinted clothes had vanished, replaced with a blue-gray uniform like a navy seaman. One of his arms was stuck into the sleeve of a long, tattered cerulean coat with gold lining, which hung about his shoulders almost like a cape. A blood red sash was lashed about his middle. While his left eye was surrounded by orange aura, a tattoo had appeared over his right, in the image of a pirate medallion. His dreadlocks had transformed into a head of writhing, wriggling, pinkish-purple tentacles, like those of a squid; each tendril’s tip was smeared with ink. His left arm had become a white crab claw, ink oozing from its joins; his right leg had become a crab’s leg, too, and was also oozing with Blot. A single black boot covered his one human foot…and he still held his cutlass in his one human hand. Cael grinned viciously, pupils pinpricks as he pointed his sword at you. “Yo-Ho, me hearties!” he bellowed. “Shiver ‘em from stem to stern!” At these words, the ground before his feet seemed to ripple…and then, a swarm of Locker Crabs came scrambling from the ground, racing towards your group. “I’ll take care of this!” Grim pronounced, and summoned a wall of flame. As the fire struck the crabs, they vanished in a cloud of silver smoke…but more just kept coming! Caelyum laughed and began to move towards your group, swaggering as the point of his crab-leg stabbed into the ground repeatedly. Seeing the approaching dark mage, Grim paused to hurl a fireball in his direction…only for Cael to split in half, crab legs showing in the “seam” of his being, as the fireball hurtled past without causing any harm. He stitched himself back together and kept moving forward, as if nothing had happened. Tock Crockwork roared and charged at Cael, swinging a punch at him…but De Macabre simply swept up his crab claw and, in a fluid, wrenching motion, whirled Tock about and flung him to the beach floor. He grinned with deranged excitement as he moved closer to yourself and Mia, leaving Tock to choke in the dust. “Hold them off, Grim!” you called out as he continued to scorch the crabs. “I’ll try!” Grim called back. “Run for it, Minion! RUN NOW!” And you did, holding onto Mia’s arm as you dragged her after yourself. With a wild laugh, Caelyum lifted his sword up…and then “melted” into a swarm of crabs, which scurried after the two of you as you raced along the beach. Behind you, Tock snarled, clutching his banged skull as he watched the horde of crabs vanish. He angrily kicked away a few that Grim didn’t manage to stop, and then charged forward. Grim panted; he was already growing weary. “I…I can’t hold them off!” he meowed. “There’s…there’s too many-EEP!” “Stop whining and shut up,” snarled Tock, whisking Grim up in one arm and sprinting on, the pair pursued by the remaining Locker Crabs. “We’ve got more important things to worry about, come on!” Unaware that your friends were on the chase, you hurried along with Mia Corazón. The crabs that made up Cael’s being clicked and scraped behind you with a deeply unsettling sound, urging you to go faster and faster. “Wait!” Mia gasped. “If…I…can…talk…to him…!” “I don’t think he’s in a mood to talk!” you replied. “Right now, all we can do is…!” You trailed off and stopped short as the crabs suddenly caught up with you…and then moved around you, reforming in front of you into a column. Thinking fast you looked around… …And were just in time to grab hold of sturdy tree branch, as a sword reshaped and then stabbed at you. You barely had a moment to parry the strike, the blade cutting a notch into the wooden limb you held. “Stay behind me!” you hissed to Mia, as Cael reformed fully. “So, it’s a duel then?” Cael cackled. “Alright! EN GARDE!” You yelped, instinctively blocking as the sword slashed at you once more. The slash was followed by a lunge; you jumped back quickly and parried that strike, too. CLING-CLANG-CLING-CLANG! The cutlass and the branch clattered against each other, the sound of the steel against wood that was tougher than it looked ringing out. Each time Cael tried to get around you to lunge at Mia, you blocked his path. You laughed softly, amazed you were holding out; guess one didn’t know how good they’d be at something like a swordfight till they tried! You ducked another slash, and responded by swinging your stick around. WHACK! Caelyum reeled as you managed to smack him across the face…then slowly turned back. He looked…annoyed. “Ow,” was all he said, almost sarcastically, before swinging his blade around again. You quickly lifted your branch… SWACK! And gulped nervously as the cutlass sliced it clean in half. “Oh, boy.” “HA HA!” laughed Cael, and lifted his crab leg, kicking you hard in the stomach. You coughed, dazed and winded as you crumpled to the ground. Now, nothing was standing between the enraged Caelyum and his prey: Mia. The mermaid with legs began to back away in fright…then cried out sharply as Cael thrust out his crab claw and grabbed her by the throat with it. A grin of evil triumph spread across his face as he lifted his weapon above his head. “And here we are at last,” he crooned with twisted delight, and squeezed, making Mia gasp for air. “Any last words, my dear?” Mia gulped…and looked pleadingly into the Swamplander’s eyes as she uttered five simple words. “Cael…please…I love you!” Just before the last three words were uttered, Cael had prepared to attack…but then he froze. The grip of his pincer loosened as she said those three golden words, and the demented smile vanished from his face. He hesitated, as if those words had caused something in his brain to just shut down… Which was all the opportunity you needed. CRACK! “GAH!” exclaimed Caelyum, and dropped Mia, who coughed as she hit the ground. His tentacle hairdo wriggled like a horde of angry snakes as he glared at you in rage: the stone you had thrown at his shoulder had hurt! With a furious roar, he swung his sword around his head three times, trying to cut you into pieces. You ducked and dodged each strike as fast as you could…only to fall back as Cael summoned a horde of sand crabs. You squirmed and grimaced as the crabs pinned you to the ground, acting like organic shackles. You winced as each time you moved, they pinched you hard, making you stay still. Caelyum smirked victoriously, and pointed the tip of his cutlass at your heart. “Tell me, Prefect,” he taunted. “Do you fear death?” “Do you?” CHOMP! Caelyum began to turn around towards the voice, his face etched with surprise…and stayed perfectly still, as if he’d become a statue, paralyzed in shock. The red marking of Tock Crockwork’s unique power – One Minute to Die – was evident on his left arm. “NOW!” the crocodile shouted, as Grim hurried over. The feline-like creature wasted no time: he focused his power, a bright blue aura surrounding him…before, with a spiteful hiss, sending a huge jet of flame towards Caelyum. Caelyum was sent flying through the air, clothing scorched, and rolled across the dirt, still in the position he had been stuck in. Only a few seconds later, he convulsed, and groaned, trying to stand up… …Only to find Tock looming over him. “This,” the crocodile hissed, “Is why I’M top of the food chain, snack meat!” WHAM! He spun around, slapping his tail across Cael’s face…and the Overblotting mage fell still and silent, rendered swiftly unconscious. The sword disappeared without warning from his hand, as if it had never been there. The crabs he had summoned all vanished in the blink of an eye: just like at the shop, one moment they were there, and the next they were not. All four of you – yourself, Mia, and your friends – sighed with relief. “Thanks,” you nodded to Tock as he helped you to your feet. “Hey, I’ve gotta protect my territory; that includes you,” Crockwork shrugged. You decided not to comment on that. “Are you okay, Miss Corazón?” meowed Grim, nuzzling up against the mermaid’s side. She smiled weakly and patted his head before standing. “Physically, yes,” she said. The teenaged girl’s eyes then lit up with concern as she hurried over to Cael’s side. “Cael…Cael, are you okay? S-Speak to me!” she pleaded. “He just tried to kill you!” Grim snapped out. “He wasn’t thinking straight,” Mia defended him. “Just…h-he didn’t understand…” She sniffled and bowed her head. “…C-Caelyum…I’m so sorry…” You and Grim shared a sad sort of look. Tock just looked confused, above all else. “What happened between you two?” the croc grimaced, crossing his scaly arms. “I think we’re about to find out,” you said, and pointed as silver mist began to wisp off of Caelyum De Macabre’s form. A moment later, a blinding white light surrounded the young man…and the mist formed a cloud, inside of which – as always seemed to happen – pictures from the past began to appear… “Tag! You’re it!” “I’ll get you! Ha Ha Ha!” In the swamplands of the Jubilee Port, a small boy with pink dreadlocks giggled and hid behind a tree by the riverbank. For several seconds, he sat anxiously…then yelped when, out of the river burst a familiar, dark face with flowing raven hair. “GOTCHA!” sang out the girl with the gold and ruby tail, and reached out a hand to playfully tap his shoulder. “No fair!” huffed the boy. “I always have to stay near the water; you never let me have an advantage!” The girl giggled and smirked teasingly. “Not my fault you’re a lousy swimmer,” she cooed. The boy grumbled and pouted. She smiled gently. “I’m sorry, Cael; I didn’t mean it,” she said, placing a hand on his leg… “AHA!” the boy laughed, and tapped her hand before jumping away. “You’re it again!” “HEY! THAT’S CHEATING!” The two laughed as the girl swam through the river, chasing the bayou boy up and down the banks…before finally leaping out of the river with a victorious cry. “RAAAAH!” “EEK!” Young Caelyum yelped as he was thrown to the ground. The girl with the fish tail grinned, flippers wagging happily as she kept him pinned. “Gotcha again!” she sang out. Young Cael giggled and wiggled under her. “Hey, lemme go!” he demanded with a slight laugh. “Hmmmm…if I do, will you just tag me again?” “…Maybe?” The mermaid glared…and tickled her friend with her tail. Cael squealed with laughter before flashing an evil smile. “Ohhhhh, you wanna play that way, huh?” He tickled her back and the two rolled across the bank…before yelping and splashing into the river. A moment later, both rose from the depths Caelyum coughing and floundering. “Help! Mia, help! I’m drowning!” “I’ve got you, hold on!” Mia said, and helped Cael back to shore. The boy sighed with relief and began to wring out his clothes. “Thank you,” he gasped out. “No problem,” Mia smiled. “I’m sorry you got all wet…” “It’s okay; I’ve got other clothes,” Cael smiled. Mia nodded, then smiled a bit more sadly. “I still should have been more careful: there may be more clothes, but there’s only one Caelyum.” Cael blushed. “Hush, you’re just teasing me now…” “No. I’m not,” Mia said seriously. “You’re my best friend, Cael.” Cael blinked, pausing in his activities. “…But…don’t you have other mermaid friends?” “I may have OTHER friends, but you’re my BEST friend,” smiled Mia. “And there’s only one of you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” Cael blinked again…then smiled sentimentally. “Heh…well, um…you’re my best friend, too, Mia. And, uh…a-and I feel the same.” “I’m glad,” Mia smiled. A pause. “You should really suck less at swimming though.” “Oh, hush. Say! Maybe you can teach me?” “Sure!” That word seemed to be a cue, for the scene changed to a few years later; the same river on the bayou, the same boy and girl, just a little older. “MARCO!” “POLO!” The Mermaid floated with her upper half above the water, eyes closed, flapping her tail as she blindly searched for her friend. Cael would pop up now and again with a gleaming, gloating grin as he watched her try to find him: he’d learned to swim VERY well in the years since that time playing tag. “MARCO!” Mia called out again. “POLO!” laughed Cael. “Oh, this is impossible, you’re too fast!” “Suck less at swimming,” teased Caelyum. “I’m a MERMAID, all we DO is swim!” “You can walk!” “I need a potion or a spell for that,” huffed Mia, and turned around, trying to feel about for her friend. Cael smirked and dove under again, swimming cautiously around her in the wide river… …But as he popped up again, he was due for a terrible sight. He gasped as he saw Mia blindly reaching closer to the shore…where a venomous serpent glared at her oncoming form almost hungrily… “MARCO!” “MIA, WATCH OUT!” Confused, Mia opened her eyes…then gasped as she saw the snake rearing back to bite her! She pulled away just in time, and at the same moment, Cael glared and snapped his fingers. The snake heard a clicking noise, and turned its head to find a white crab snapping its pincers. The pincers swung towards its throat… SNICKER-SNACK! And that was the end of the snake. Mia swam back to Caelyum’s side as she snapped his fingers again and the crab disappeared. He hugged her close. “Are you okay?” he whispered, worriedly. “Yeah…i-it didn’t get me,” she panted with relief, and squeezed him tightly. “Thank…th-thank you…” Caelyum smiled warmly and returned the hug…then froze up as Mia leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you,” she said again, and nuzzled against his bare chest. Cael blinked…then blushed red as a tomato and grumbled. “…Hey, what are friends for…? More time passed, and the swamp disappeared. The scene now became a lonely pier. On it sat Caelyum and Mia, who was now in full human form. “Do you really have to go?” he whispered. Mia nodded sadly, hanging her head. Cael bit his lip, and looked away, tragedy in his eyes. “…When…w-when will you be back?” he asked, timidly. “I don’t know,” Mia admitted sadly, then smiled gently up at her friend. “My mother said I need to start learning more about the family business; spending less time on land and…well…with you.” Cael frowned and clenched his fists. “I see.” Mia’s smile fell…and she gave Caelyum a hug. He relaxed. “She’s set in her ways,” she said softly. “But I will never forget you. And I WILL come back.” “Do you promise?” “Of course. You’re my best friend,” smiled Mia…then reached into a bag she had with her, stationed between the two. “Here…I have proof…” Cael tilted his head as out of the bag she pulled two silver necklaces with heart shaped lockets. She gave him one, and clasped the other around her neck. “What is this?” Cael asked, crinkling his nose in confusion. “A sign that we both share the same heart,” Mia said, and giggled. “That’s the really sappy way of saying it, anyway. Put it on and open it!” Cael did, and at the same time he opened the locket, Mia did too…and soft, beautiful melody chimed from the music box contained. Caelyum’s eyes widened. “That’s the song you taught me,” he recognized, and looke dup to Mia. “The one about the pirate and the goddess of the sea?” Mia nodded. “It’s your favorite…my favorite…OUR favorite,” she said gently, and took Cael’s hands in hers, looking into his eyes with deep-rooted affection. “And as long as we share these lockets, share these songs…we’ll never truly be away from each other.” Caelyum smiled weakly. “I don’t know about that,” he chuckled, wryly. “But…thank you, Mia.” He paused. “You…you know I love you…right?” Mia blushed. “Yes. And I love you too.” Cael gaped. “You do?” “Of course, silly! You’re my best friend!” Cael blinked…then smiled and shook his head wearily. “Yeah…I know,” he said softly. “I…I know.” A pause…and the pair began to sing together to the mingled tune on their music boxes as they watched the sun sink on the horizon beyond the sea. “Warm and welcoming as the sea, someday I will return to thee. Hear my voice, sing with the tide: Our Love Will Never Die.” Time passed once more, but the music box still played. The next scene played in silence, as Cael lay on his bed silently one night. He hummed to the tune on the locket, and glanced sorrowfully towards a calendar on his wall. Every date was crossed out with a red X. He sighed…then snapped the locket shut…before a lightbulb seemed to go off over his head, and he reached towards his book case, grabbing a specific spell book… This short tableaux was followed by another as Caelyum was now found…underwater. His lower half had become a white-scaled fish’s tail as he swam through the water, using a spell that would turn him into a merman for a few short hours. He’d taken a boat out to the coordinates where he knew Mia lived. Now, he swam quickly and quietly through the city, looking for Mia. His eyes darted this way and that, seeking some sign of his long lost friend; two years without any sort of contact – never a call, never anything written – and he was now so close to seeing her again! He smiled wider as he moved into one of the higher rent neighborhoods of the underwater area, carefully brushing past other, natural merfolk going about their business. His heart was beating fast in his chest; when he found her, he’d tell her everything. How he felt, how much it hurt to be without her, how much he never wanted to be separated again! Then he found her, as he turned an alley…and that fast beating heart seemed to skip a beat… …As his face filled with sorrow. Only yards away – never noticing he was there, he saw a strong, burly-looking merman with blonde hair…hugging his Mia and kissing her full on the lips. He clamped his eyes shut…and swam away, out of the city and back towards the surface. His tears were lost with the tides. Thus ended the vision, as the blinding light faded, leaving an unconscious Caelyum De Macabre lying on the ground, back to his usual self. “…Prefect?” “Yeah, Grim?” “Is it, like…a requirement that we stand here for several seconds in total silence after we see those?” “No, I think it just happens.” “Ah. Okay then.” Tock Crockwork said nothing. A few moments later, Cael groaned and began to stir. He blinked his eyes and clutched his pink-haired head as he started to sit up. “Ugh…what…wh-what happened?” he slurred out. “You tried to turn my food into shish-kabob,” droned Tock, thumbing towards you. “Shut up,” you grumbled. Confused, Cael turned towards your voices, and looked about to say something…until he heard sniffling and whimpering. He turned…and found the teary-eyed face of Mia staring back at him. “C-Cael,” she whimpered…then let out a squealing cry that caught him off guard as she threw herself upon him and began to cry. “CAEL, I’M SO SORRY! I’m so, so sorry…please…please, I’m sorry, PLEASE…!” Caelyum, as you might imagine, looked beyond uncomfortable…and with a growl, he managed to push Mia off of him. She whimpered like a kicked puppy as, without a word, he got to his feet and turned away from her, one hand on his chest, clutching his silver locket. “Sorry isn’t enough,” he answered, coldly. Mia gulped…and stood up. “Cael…please don’t walk away,” she begged. “Why not?” Caelyum snarled back over his shoulder, and began to stumble away. “Because I love you!” Cael stopped. He didn’t turn around…but he stopped. Mia paused…and took a deep breath. “I love you,” she said, firmly now, not desperately. “I…I always loved you, but…but I was…I don’t know, I…I was worried…” She hung her head and paused before going on. Cael turned his head slightly to show he was listening. “When I returned to the sea, my mother didn’t want me to ever go back to the land. She forbid it. She told me I had to stay under the water, and…and find a proper husband. She told me to forget about you, and…that merman you saw? He was…my betrothed.” Cael growled. “WAS,” Mia pointed out, and then went on quickly: “Cael, I could NEVER forget you, and I could NEVER stop loving you. Those two years…they were agony for me. That time in the alley…I asked him to kiss me because I wanted to show him we WEREN’T right for each other. He agreed; there just…wasn’t a spark. We liked each other, but…we both knew it would be wrong.” She swallowed, and lifted her head. “So…we both spoke to my mother. And…she realized what she’d been doing was wrong. The very next day, I went back to the swamplands; I looked everywhere for you…you weren’t there.” Silence. “I’m so sorry, Caelyum,” she sniffled. “I’m…I’m so-” Cael stopped her with a raised hand…and slowly turned towards her. All of you were surprised to see tears in his eyes. “…I just tried to kill you.” “Yes.” “I ran off over this whole misunderstanding.” “Yes.” “All this pain, all this time…and you really loved me?” “Yes.” “And…you…still love me? After all that?” Mia smiled. “Yes.” Cael blinked…then let out a wet laugh. “Wow,” he chuckled. “I…I guess swimming isn’t the only thing we both suck at. I mean…we’re n-not very good at this whole ‘relationship’ thing, either, are we?” Mia shared a sniffling laugh…and the pair promptly ran into each other’s arms. “I’m so happy I found you,” Mia sobbed with joy. “I’ve missed you so much…” “Not half as much as I’ve missed you,” Cael choked. The pair squeezed each other…then backed up, holding each other’s hands and staring lovingly into each other’s eyes. “Play the song you sang long ago,” Cael began. “And wherever the storm may blow,” Mia continued. “You will find the key to my heart,” both finished. “We’ll never be apart.” “Aaaaand…kiss,” you murmured to yourself with a smile, as the pair did exactly that. Tock snorted, rolling his eyes as Grim stuck out his tongue and grumbled something about “soppy mush.” The two lovebirds parted after a few seconds…then seemed to remember you were all standing nearby, and blushed before backing away from each other like scalded cats. “Um…s-sorry,” Caelyum mumbled. “About trying to destroy us, or for that sappy display?” droned Tock. “Because I can forgive one of those…” “It’s the destroying us part, isn’t it?” you guessed. “Yyyyep.” Cael hung his head and shuffled his feet guiltily. “…I’ve…had a lot of pain bottled up for years,” he said silently. “And…when I heard she was coming here…I…well…” “It’s alright,” you soothed, moving closer. “I can understand. And for the record, we won’t tell the Headmaster.” “Nya…or Chief Jehan,” Grim added. “Claude Jehan?” Mia spoke up, and tilted her head. “Is he really as scary as they say back home? The Ashengrottos and Leeches have a LOT of stories to tell.” “I’d imagine,” you snickered. “And no. He’s not that scary.” “Right. He’s WORSE,” Tock responded. “Amen,” you and Grim chorused. Mia gulped nervously; Cael chuckled softly, smiling at her with puppy-eyed affection. “I…hope he’s not going to be at the play tonight,” she said slowly. “Trust me, you’ll be fine,” you soothed. “Well, we won’t be if we don’t get there on time!” Grim reminded you. “We’re already behind schedule, thanks to all this!” “The hairball has a point,” nodded Tock, stiffly, then grumbled under his breath: “I still say it’s all for pansies, though…” All of you chuckled…except Mia, who took Cael by the hand. “Can…can he come, too?” she asked, shyly. Cael looked shocked, as did Grim and Tock. You just smiled wider. “If he wants to,” you answered. Cael blinked…then grinned so wide his face nearly seemed to split in two. “Please!” he nodded eagerly. “Then come on!” you called, and gestured for the reunited lovers to follow. “Let’s get moving before my pay gets docked! I have a pet to feed, you know!” “I AM NOT YOUR PET!” snapped Grim, while Tock cackled with amusement, snapping his fingers and resuming his humanoid form. Caelyum De Macabre and Mia Corazón just smiled and squeezed each other’s hands, following at a steady pace. It took longer than it should have to reach the theater, in the end, but you still made it in the nick of time. When asked why it took so long, you had an honest answer: Cael and Mia were so busy staring into one another’s eyes with everlasting love, it made getting there quickly difficult. In your mind, and theirs, it was more than worth it.

 The End

[write-a-bad-romance]

Conversation Over (Isaac x Mozart Modern AU)

Characters: Isaac Newton and Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart from Ikemen Vampire, some OCs

Pairings: Isaac x Mozart

Rating: T 

This is a companion piece to Stolen Batteries. Also available on Ao3.

Take out your heart and let it sit in the freezer.

Wolf lifted his head from the crook of his arm and stared into the darkness of his apartment.

Well, if it weren’t for the sunlight filtering in from the window. Reluctantly, the young composer rose from his chair to close the curtains.

Wolf hated the city lights. To him, they were nothing but noise when contrasted against the dark, unpolluted skies of the countryside.

“This is the best condition for stargazing.” The young man in front of him beamed as he set up the telescope.

That was another reason why Wolf kept the curtains shut throughout the entire night.

His surroundings were silent, save for the distant noise of traffic down below. Begrudgingly, Wolf admitted that his father had a point in pushing him this far. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have received enough commission to rent this high-rise apartment, with all its perks.

“Must be great having included housekeeping and laundry,” a voice called from the bathroom. “You can doss around on weekends and catch some sleep.”

Wolf returned to his desk and took a swig of cold, bitter coffee. Drowsily, he reached for his iPhone and unlocked it. It was 8 a.m. And there were three missed calls from Antonio.

That geezer. Immediately, Wolf pressed ‘call’ and barked to the other man. “What business do you have calling me this early?”

“Wolf! Good to know you’re already up and running!” Antonio greeted him cheerfully with his trademark raspy voice. “Get to the studio. There’s some trouble with the lyrics for the final track in the soundtrack.” 

“Lyrics? You think I’m a pop singer or something?”

“You- argh! We haven’t got time!” Antonio yelled. “Come on, Wolf. Help me out here!”

The white-haired youth sat down and stared at the hardwood floor in thought. He wasn’t in the mood to hear the old man rave, but taking a break from composing and seeing what his colleagues were up to seemed like a savory idea.

Better than wallowing alone in this empty apartment, at least.

“Alright. Give me an hour.” He sighed.

Wolf stared into blank space as Antonio and Cerise, the producer, went back-and-forth with the two girls over some lyrics sheet. Compared to Cerise’s composed tone, Antonio’s rankling voice was an irritant to his ears.

“Look, I understand you feel the need to do some experimentation with this piece,” the dark-skinned woman spoke coolly to the fuming man. “But you gotta at least listen to what the girls want. This is their song, after all.”

“You, you don’t get it!” Antonio yapped. “Don’t you want to produce something more than uninspired bops that the billboards churn every month or so?”

“If we’re talking about direction, then we need to go back to the lyrics and the impression you wanted to make,” Cerise turned to Bo-ram, one of the singers. “What did you have in mind while writing this?”

“Well,” Bo-ram shuffled through the notes and pointed at one of the papers. “It’s not made for any particular scene or anything. We just thought it’d fit these two characters…”

Wolf leaned back in his seat and gazed at the ceiling, propriety be damned. It wasn’t as if they acknowledged him or anything.

“You’re kinda quiet today, Wolf. Something the matter?” Cerise suddenly called to him with a hint of concern.

The young composer returned his attention to the bickering group, who were now gawking at him in silence.

“Eh, don’t mind him.” Antonio waved. “He’s gotten his panties in a twist since last week.”

You were the one who called me here, dummkopf. “Watch it.”

Although, had it really been only over a week?

Wolf dismissed the thought, “Let’s get to the recording booth, then. I want to hear what it sounds like." 

Wolf closed his eyes as he listened through the entire song.

While it wasn’t something that he’d composed (mainstream pop wasn’t exactly his cup of tea), but he had to admit that it was easy on the ears and that the vocals were indeed powerful. While he didn’t have much faith in the girls at first, they’d really outdone themselves this time.

"What’s the problem then?” He turned to Cerise and Antonio.

“The problem,” Cerise flashed a dry smirk. “Is that this guy here wants to add another rap on top of that existing rap.”

“You don’t understand!” The other man screeched. “I’m doing this for Bo-ram’s favor. I mean, the way she raps!”

You know jack about rap. Wolf wanted to say. Neither do I, to be honest.

While he did show some interest in rap once in a while, he never really took the plunge. Wherever his heart led, his brain would follow. There was simply not enough room for rap on top of his piling lists of concerns, both musical and not.

But Antonio was right. There was something in the way Bo-ram fired her words. He had to be sure.

“Let me hear that rap one more time,” Wolf instructed. “Without music.”

Bo-Ram did as she was told, under the strict man’s scrutinizing gaze. But even that wasn’t enough. “Again, with music.” He demanded.

Wolf listened intently to every word Bo-ram fired. It wasn’t just her (admittedly, brilliant) play of words and rhythm, but there was also her intensity with which she uttered her lines. He never once pictured anybody conveying such raw energy through meticulously crafted strings of words.

“What was the idea behind the song, again?” He asked Cerise pointedly.

“Oh, it’s about the game’s main character separating with his first girlfriend and some leftover  feelings.”

Leftover feelings.

Clearly, the rapper knew how to speak from the character’s point of view. She was his mouthpiece —or was that the other way around?

To him, she was rapping all her intent and emotion to a phantom —someone who wasn’t part of the audience. He supposed that he and the rapper had a lot in common. Even the most amateur of listeners could pick up all his emotions in every stroke, every note that flowed through his fingers. 

The audience was aware of his desires, but for whom?

They could build an image from bits of emotion they managed to gather, but never the entire portrait. The song is a fragment of stories, painting disjointed scenes of strife and peace without telling the tale in its entirety.

Wolf picked up his pen and set it on the paper. He rarely ever put his emotions into words, but for some reason, just this once, he wanted to try.

"Give me a second. I think I can come up with something.”

In the quiet of the next room over, Wolf stared at the blank sheet, his trembling hands capping and uncapping his pen.

Leftover feelings were not something he dealt with often since separations, throughout his history, were clean and impersonal, in his own words.

He had so far lived up to his reputation as an ice king, cold. So why? 

It never mattered to him who pulled the trigger and left the other to bleed. Wolf wasn’t always harsh. His upbringing compelled him to apologize when he needed to (with a straight face, of course), and leave. The sooner, the better.

He always made sure there were no pieces left to pick.

So why? He twirled the pen between his fingers. Why? Why? Why?

He loathed the feeling of waking up to an empty apartment. He wished for the physicist to step out of his door again, his hair all ruffled and eyes surrounded by dark circles after pulling another all-nighter. 

How ugly he looked as he sat on the table, scowling at his coffee mug and muttering about accidentally deleting parts of his thesis draft or complaining about his nagging supervisor.

In that window of time, when the other man let his guard down and showed his humanity was when Wolf felt most normal.  

It was painful seeing him stumble along imaginary walls that he erected himself. So much so that the rare (turned not-so-rare) moments when he coaxed his little hedgehog with soothing whispers was rewarding in its own.

Those eyes the color of cherry-blossom (not him, it was one of Napoleon’s girlfriends pointing it out) always looked like they were on the verge of tears. But they beamed even brighter than a supernova the moment he launched into one of his rants about the position of stars and the latest astronomical findings.

He once thought they looked like glass, but really they were a mirror. A mirror he painfully admitted wanted to see himself reflected on. Always.

He knew full well he didn’t deserve any of that.

Wolf was never new to spouting blunt nonsense— to harming people. It was a necessary evil for him to get by amid deadlines and obligations from his father in Vienna. It was his power and weakness. 

Whatever good he had with any of his previous partners, Wolf always knew there would be a point where they’d have to part. That was that. By the time he even uttered farewell, there were none of these leftover feelings that Cerise and Bo-ram talked about.

There was always a goodbye , and despite what people think of him, a sorry .  The latter was often devoid of weight, to be honest.

And yet the heaviest one was the one he couldn’t say out loud.

It’s never them, it’s me. Wolf scratched the pen over and over until it left behind a yarn of angry black lines. It’s not you, it’s me.

For the first time in his solitary excuse of a life, he felt pain over a wound he knew for sure he had inflicted on someone else. 

Sighing, he picked up the pen and began to scribble the lyrics— no, words he meant to say.

Isaac, I…

“I don’t think that part needed any rap. Keep it that way.”

“Eh, are you sure? The girls love it, Cerise loves it and so do I! What — ”

“I’m sure. The song is good enough as it is. Tell that to the girls.”

Some words are best kept to yourself.

[shalebridge-cradle]

Historical References in What Are You Going to Do With Your Life - Chapters 10-12

Chapter 10

Boleyn mumbles something about a priest. W. S. Pakenham-Walsh (1868 - 1960), Vicar of Sulgrave, Northhamptonshire, had a strong interest in Anne Boleyn. He claimed to have a series of spiritual experiences after praying at Boleyn’s burial site, and contacted clairvoyants to channel her spirit in the hopes she might become his guardian angel. He also claimed in his diary that he had contact with Henry VIII and other notable members of the Tudor court.

While witchcraft was often punished via the death penalty, Henry VIII made the law explicit in 1542 (though it was later repealed no later than 1547, under Edward VI). Several witchcraft laws were made in the UK over the years, in 1563, 1604, 1649 and 1735. These were all repealed and replaced with more general consumer protection laws, and the last person to be indicted for witchcraft (under the 1735 act) was imprisoned in 1944.

Tarot was a regular set of cards for most of its history, used in various, but similar, trick-taking card card games. It became associated with ancient wisdom in 1781, when Antoine Court de Gébelin wrote an essay claiming (with no evidence) that ancient Egyptian priests had distilled the mystical Book of Thoth into the cards.

“Psychic is Greek, and clairvoyant is French. One is about thinking, and the other is about seeing.” Psychic comes from the Greek word psychikos (‘of the mind’) and clairvoyance is a combination of two French words (‘clear’ and ‘vision’). Catherine of Aragon was known to speak both French and Greek, as well as Latin, her native Spanish, and English.

Cunning man (or woman) was another word for folk healers.

In 1532, Catherine Parr’s brother-in-law from her second marriage, William Neville, was accused of treason for allegedly predicting the king’s death and his own ascension as Earl of Warwick (a title made extinct during the Wars of the Roses, but would be recreated in 1547 and twice after that). He went to at least three magicians to confirm this prediction, all of which agreed that it was meant to be true (it wasn’t). One of these magicians was Richard Jones of Oxford, who was imprisoned and questioned on the matter. He did his best to exonerate himself of responsibility. I have found five references confirming his existence – but many of them claim he had a sceptre he used to ‘summon the four king devils’, which he used for divination purposes.

Chapter 11

Jones of Oxford was taken in for questioning as part of the Neville affair, and he did his best in his confession to exonerate himself. Neville’s claims of a prophetic dream showing himself as Earl of Warwick were now a “fair castle” which Neville assumed must be the castle of Warwick, and a shield with “sundry arms I could not rehearse”. He did admit to writing “a foolish letter or two according to [Neville’s] foolish desire, to make pastime to laugh at”. No treason, just jokes, please don’t execute me Thomas Cromwell. Jones claimed to take his alchemy seriously, however, and wrote that “To make the philosopher’s stone I will jeopard my life, so to do it,” if the king so wished. He would require twelve months “upon silver” and twelve and a half “upon gold”, and was willing to be imprisoned while he worked. Jones made a similar offer to Cromwell, but there is no evidence either man accepted. Jones was released in exchange for revealing incriminating evidence against another figure of interest. The other magicians caught up in this incident, William Wade and a man known only as ‘Nashe’, had perfected their disappearing act and were not sent to the Tower.

There is a story that Elizabeth I attributed the destruction of the Spanish armada in 1588 to John Dee’s wizardry. Given that, as mentioned, Dee was out of favour with Elizabeth at the time, this is likely untrue.

Elizabeth I’s death was in March of 1603, after she became sick and remained in a “settled and unmovable melancholy”, sitting on a cushion and staring at nothing. The death of a close friend in February of that year came as a particular blow – that of her second cousin and First Lady of the Bedchamber, Catherine Howard.

James I (or James VI, depending on where you’re from)… James I of England was also James VI of Scotland. His mother was Mary Queen of Scots, who was executed by Elizabeth I, and his great-grandmother was Margaret Tudor, Henry VIII’s sister.

“Anna, born Duchess of Jülich, Cleves and Berg.” This was how Anna signed hers’ and Henry’s marriage treaty, known as the ‘Beer Pot Documents’, because someone drew a stein at the bottom.

Bowling, as a game, can trace its origins back to ancient Egypt, and has been quite popular the world over throughout history. Henry VIII was an avid bowler himself (when Hampton Court was remodelled, bowling alleys were included with tennis courts and tiltyards), but banned the sport for the lower classes. The law against workers bowling (unless it was Christmas and in their master’s presence) was repealed in 1845.

We return to the ground, because from it we were taken. Paraphrasing of Genesis 3:19.

The (possible) first appearance of the word ‘alligator’ in the English language is from Romeo and Juliet. The description of The Apothecary’s shop mentions “a tortoise hung, an alligator stuff’d, and other skins of ill-shaped fishes”. Traditionally, medieval apothecaries and astrologers kept skeletons, fossils, and/or taxidermied pieces on display to demonstrate their worldliness.

The anger over calling the alligator ‘William’ could come from Parr, or from Anna. Her brother’s name, Wilhelm, is often anglicised as William.

Midsomer county does not exist and never has. It’s the setting for the long-running mystery TV show Midsomer Murders. Incidentally, Catherine Parr’s native county of Westmorland existed at one point, but no longer does (the area is now in the county of Cumbria). She is not the only English-born queen who this applies to; Jane Seymour’s Wiltshire and Anne Boleyn’s Norfolk still exist (and have since antiquity), but Katherine Howard was most likely born in Lambeth, which would have been in the county of Middlesex at the time. The area is now under the ceremonial county of Greater London.

“Honestly? Margaret Pole’s was worse.” Margaret Pole, Countess of Sailsbury and the last of the House of York, was kept in the Tower of London for two and a half years for her supposed support of Catholicism’s attempts to overthrow the king, before being informed of her death ‘within the hour’ on the 27th of May, 1541. She answered that she did not know the crime of which she was accused (and had carved a poem into the wall of her cell to that effect), but went to the block anyway. It allegedly took eleven blows from the inexperienced axeman to separate her head from her body. There is another story that she tried to run from the executioner and was killed in the attempt, but this is likely a fabrication. Regardless, pretty much everyone thought this was not only a bad idea on Henry’s part (killing Margaret removed any leverage the king had on her rebellious son, Cardinal Reginald Pole), it was also pointlessly cruel and a painfully undignified end.

(She was also Catherine of Aragon’s lady-in-waiting, and governess to Mary at several points.)

That everyone around her, bar a few visitors, would actively benefit from her death… Yet another quote of Elizabeth Tyrwhitt’s testimony: Parr, on her deathbed, claimed she was “not well-handled” by those around her; “for those that be about me careth not for me, but standeth laughing at my grief, and the more good I will to them, the less good they will to me”.

Chapter 12

According to a lady-in-waiting, Anne Boleyn claimed she would rather see Catherine of Aragon hanged “than have to confess that she was her queen and mistress”. This incident is probably the origin of the lyric “somebody hang you!” from Don’t Lose Ur Head.

Catalina uses a few Spanish phrases in this chapter, which don’t get directly translated. The first, No se hizo la miel para la boca del asno, directly translates to ‘Honey is not made for the donkey’s mouth’, and essentially means ‘Good things shouldn’t be wasted on those who won’t appreciate them’. Lavar cerdos con jabón es perder tiempo y jabón is ‘Washing pigs with soap is a waste of time and soap’, and is meant to indicate some things aren’t worth the energy.

…like that dream she has where she is cut up by a servant… An autopsy was done on Catherine of Aragon as part of the embalming process, which revealed the growth on her heart. This was done by the castle chandler (a dealer or trader) as part of his official duties.

Jane Seymour got rid of most of the hallmarks of Anne Boleyn’s tenure during her own queenship. The extravagance and lavish entertainments were banned, along with the French fashions Boleyn had introduced – including French hoods, which Boleyn is wearing in the portrait we have of her. Jane, as mentioned, wore a gable hood in her portraits.

“I don’t know why I’m so surprised that people care about what I say.” In the words of nineteenth century proto-feminist Agnes Strickland, Jane “passed eighteen months of regal life without uttering a sentence significant enough to warrant preservation”, which is kind of a mean thing to say. Seymour certainly said things during this time, we know this from reports, but there aren’t any direct quotes from her during her time as queen.

Here’s the painting mentioned, from 1545, during Catherine Parr’s tenure. Jane is on Henry’s left.

It was only after her death that Henry ‘loved’ her, but she is certain that he mourned for only for his own loss. There are reports that, during Jane’s labour, doctors advised Henry he might lose either Jane or Edward. Henry is claimed to have replied, “If you cannot save both, at least let the child live, for other wives are easily found.”

Countdown is a British television game show that revolves around word and number puzzles. It has been going for almost forty years, and is one of the longest-running game shows in the world, with over 7000 episodes.

“I saw a ghost bear kill someone, once.” Anne isn’t making this up. Supposedly, the incident occurred in 1816, when a Yeoman Warder saw a ghostly bear somewhere in the Tower of London. Terrified, he tried to stab it with his bayonet, only for the weapon to go through the image and strike the door behind it. The guard died of shock later on. A similar event happened in 1864, where two guards witnessed “a whitish, female figure” gliding towards one of the soldiers. The soldier in question charged this figure, only to go straight through it, upon which he fainted.

Elizabeth was imprisoned in the Tower of London for a little over two months in 1554, as a result of Wyatt’s Rebellion against Queen Mary. The rebellion was also the likely reason for the execution of Lady Jane Grey – both she and Elizabeth were Protestants in line for the throne, and therefore ‘more suitable’ as ruler. Both Elizabeth and Jane Grey denied any involvement, but the latter’s father and brother (also executed) were direct contributors.

“… you did die, Elizabeth was really upset about it…” Elizabeth took the news of Parr’s death badly. She refused to leave her bed, and was unable to go a mile from her residence, for five months following Parr’s passing.

Not because she liked that bearded potato man, God no… I found this deeply cursed engraving (first produced in 1544) in one of my books on the six wives, and now I want you all to suffer with me.

Anne of Cleves reacted poorly to being told her marriage would be annulled – some accounts say she fainted, others says she cried and screamed. Both could be true. The reasons given were threefold – One, the marriage was unconsummated (From testimony given by two servants, Anne thought a kiss goodnight counted as consummation – likely untrue, but this is the only reason that actually has merit). Two, Anne was precontracted to Francis of Lorraine (Untrue – the betrothal would only take effect if Anne’s father paid the dowry, and he didn’t). Three, Anne was not a virgin as claimed, based on the description of her ‘breasts and belly’, a Tudor way of saying Anne had previously given birth (untrue, and conflicts with the testimony for reason one). The annulment went through without Anne’s involvement, but (probably looking at the examples of her three predecessors) she accepted the ruling and kept herself from being banished, beheaded or otherwise.

(Other fact that has no bearing on reality – while researching Anne of Cleves, one of the pages that came up was The Simpsons Wiki. Apparently she’s the only wife who can claim the honour of having been in two episodes. :/)

Dogs don’t need to answer for their sins, they don’t have any. Katherine Howard was reportedly fond of animals in general, but had a particular soft spot for dogs.

She did the right thing. She told the truth. She died for it. Katherine Howard insisted, to the end, that she had no pre-contract of marriage to Francis Dereham. Would she have survived if she said she did?

[demivampirew]

Keep Calm and Go to London chapter 29

Previous Chapters in the masterlist

Triggers: Panic attack; anxiety; crying.

Tag list:  Here’s the incredible people who   showed me support (thank  you    so  much for that) and people who  asked  me to tag them too  ☺️   (I   think  I will write a few chapters  of  this story, if you want me to tag     you, tell me ☺️   ) @cavillanche @mary-ann84 @henry-owns-these-tatas @yespolkadotkitty @dancingwendigo   constip8merm8       penwieldingdreamer iloveyouyen  littlefreya  wondersofdreaming      alyxkbrl solariumss  sweetybuzz25 @thethirstyarchive @agniavateira   @honeyloverogers @hell1129-blog   @lunedelorient​  @michelle-1185​  @madbaddic7ed​     @summersong69​ @kaatelyyynn​

The sweet melody force Henry to wake up. The combination of an angelic voice and piano wasn't something he wanted to miss. As he approached the living room, he saw you playing the keyboards while singing some beautiful lyrics. He leaned against the wall to listen to the delightful tune without distracting you.

You're all I need my one belief the winds of time will carry me to live without dubiety don't let this ever end

We've flow afar beyond the sea to find each other finally we've waited long and patiently to build a bridge between dualities.

Shivers ran through his body, the combination of your voice, the soft instrumental and the lovely lyrics gave him chills. You were writing the final lyrics of your new song when you finally noticed him.

- Sorry, babe, did I wake you up? - you apologized. - Yep, but it doesn't matter. That's the greatest way of waking up.-he replied, grinning. His lips felt dry as he gave you a tender good morning kiss. - I have to give you a lip balm.- you said playfully and he laughed.

As you made kissing sounds and called his name, Kal appeared from the kitchen, where he was bitting  a bone- and went straight to Henry. As you did for his birthday, you put a little surprise for Henry in the doggy's collar. He kneeled on the floor and then took the tiny gift bag and inside of it, there was a silver locket that contained two photos: one was Kal and the other was a picture of you. The gift also included a little card: "Happy Father's day, daddy! Love, Kal." A huge smile appeared on his face.

- I love it, Kal, thank you!- he exclaimed while petting his furry son. Then, he lifted his head and looked at you with those gorgeous blue eyes of his, "Thanks, baby" he added. - It was Kal's idea. He's even so egocentric that he put himself as well.- you joked referring to the fact that your picture was there with the Akita. Seeing and heard him laugh was among you're favourite things on the entire world. If he was happy, you could feel the sunshine hit you no matter the time of the day, the season or the weather. As Taylor's song says " I see sparks fly whenever you smile".

Later that day, you called your dad to congratulate him on his day. Henry had his own zoom family reunion for Father's Day. It wasn't a lie that you couldn't be there because you were going to phone your old man, but there was also the anxiety of intruding in something private. It didn't matter how in love you were with each other, you felt that 4 months of dating wasn't enough time together to be part of those special moments, especially after his birthday. Due to the pandemic and the fact that his family lived far away from him, you haven't had the chance to meet them yet, at least personally, so you felt that they might felt curious and ask questions and it'd seem that you were stealing their thunder. Today was all about his dad and his brothers. Despite avoiding the Cavill online hang out, you made sure to salute them on father's day. You sent a direct message to Charlie, the only member of your boyfriend's family you had the chance to talk several times when he and Henry video-called and you had a good relationship with. You included him and the rest of them in your Father's Day post on Instagram as well as pleading Henry to deliver your best wishes. Your day couldn't be better, you felt. While you scrolled through Instagram, giving likes to your friend's post delivering sweet thankful words to their dads, partners, etc a notification let you know that Henry posted as well. After going to his account, a bright smile appeared on your face as you saw the photo he posted. It was a photo from his childhood; in it, he was standing next to his brothers and his father. He was leaning against his younger sibling with the rest standing behind them with the Cavill Senior besides his sons. Only one of the children wasn't smiling and had a "bad boy" face, it was Simon. So, except for the young man, all had happy gestures, specially Henry who looked cheerful. The picture seemed to be from a wedding or a similar event giving the fact that they all were wearing suits. Underneath said portrait, your British man dedicated a few words to his family: "In this here photo only one of the Cavill men was a father. Now.... a few years later, only one isn't! Happy Father's Day to you, my incredible father, and to you my awesome brothers! Legends to a man.Also, for those that don't know, this is how we dress in England all the time.#FathersDay" All the joy you were feeling before vanished instantly. Now anxiety had fully taken over your emotions and air couldn't get inside your body. You ran into the kitchen and grabbed a bag to breathe in. You went into the house's main bathroom to hide from Henry so he wouldn't find out that you were having a panic attack. The rolled down your eyes and you felt as if needles were being sticked to your heart. "In this here photo only one of the Cavill men was a father. Now.... a few years later, only one isn't! " "..., only one isn't! " the words kept repeating inside your mind and you could even hear his voice. When Henry told you that whatever was your decision about having kids, he wanted to remain by your side, it made you extremely happy to know that you'll never lose him, but in the same time, you felt even more anxiety than before. One thing was to know that you could lose him in the future for not wanting the same thing, but there was the upside that he'd someday make his dream come true; another thing was for you to take away the possibility of being a dad because he loved you enough to give up his longtime desire of having kids. What if someday he regretted his desition? Would he blamed you for not doing the right thing and set him free? Will breaking up with him be the right decision? There was always a chance that if you felt that couldn't have kids in the near future, that it could happen in a distant future. You could always adopt or freeze your eggs so you could find a surrogate in your body wasn't in conditions to carry a child.

-Baby, you want to watch a movie?- Henry asked you as he knocked on the bathroom's door. You had been there for almost an hour, burning your poor brain with all those existential questions. You took a deep breath as you wiped your tears. - Yeah, babe. I'll be there in a minute.- you replied making an extra effort for him not to noticed that you'd been crying. - Ok, I'll make popcorn in the meantime.- he said and left. You stood up and faced the mirror. After washing your face, you made sure there were no trails of your tears. After sitting on the couch, you tried hard to focus on choosing a movie. You ended selecting a horror movie called "The Ritual". A big bowl of popcorn rested on your boyfriend's lap as you watched the movie. As much as you tried to pay attention to the movie, you barely understood what was going on since your brain would repeat his words and the questions you made to yourself before. You took deep breaths to avoid having another panic attack and break into tears. As the movie was reaching its climax, your man paused the movie. It took you a moment to notice it and to see that he was starring at you. - Are you ok, princess? - he questioned worried. You faced him, smiling and nodding; of course you couldn't speak because otherwise the lump in your throat would give you away. He inspected your face.- Are you sure? You can tell me if something's wrong, do you know that, right?- he pointed out and you nodded again, hoping he'll quit the interrogation and play the movie.

Unfortunately, he did not give up. He knew something was going on and would not continue playing the movie until he knew what was wrong with you. - You're lying.- he reproached you.- You haven't even touched the popcorn and you love it; you haven't stopped moving your thighs from side to side, quickly and that's something you do when you're extremely anxious; you also play with your nails, that's another nervous tic you have and not to mention that you haven't made one single comment during this entire time, I've been waiting for your clever comments and jokes, but no a single sound came out from your mouth. You have been breathing deeply and shallowing saliva which is something you do when you try not to cry.

Damn it! He knew you way too well. What was the point of pretending anymore? He already caught your bullshit. Your burst into tears and after he left the bowl on the tea table, you rested your head on his lap as he caressed your hair and your face, letting you cry as much as you need it. After a while, when you felt eased, you sat again and looked at him, who was expecting an explanation of what was going on. You took as much air as you could and finally spoke:

- I saw your Instagram post. - you pointed out. - Ok.- he said, unsure of how that could have made you upset. - You said that you were the only one who wasn't a father and I know that you truly want that, and people saying in your comments how someday you're going to be a great dad and me thinking what if I can't give you that? You assured me that you wanted to be with me anyway, but I feel that'd be extremely selfish of me to take that opportunity away from you, even if my desition is not only for my best interest or yours, but also for that baby, if there's ever one, I don't want a child to be born in a world in which his mother only had him to make his dad happy. Besides that, I fear that if I don't give you children, someday you'd regret staying with me and may even hate me for not doing that or for not let you go to find someone that can give you that.- you explained while a few tears rolled down your cheeks. Henry removed them with his thumbs and then grabbed your face, forcing you to look him in the eyes. - I might enjoy to play video-games, to read fantasy books among other "childish" things, but be sure I'm a man. I'm mature enough to make my desitions and know the reasons behind them. Am I sure that I want to be with you even if you don't want kids? Absolutely. I already feel happy and complete by your side, and if someday we have kids I'd no longer be on cloud nine, but cloud infinite; especially by knowing that I'd have them with a woman who loved me enough to change her mind and with a person smart enough to know that the kid's feelings and necessities are more important than both ours. Could I be sad if I never become a father? Possibly. Would I regret my desition? No, because I know why I made that decision. Would I blame you for not giving me kids, if that happens? Hell no; I wouldn't be forced to stay, if I stay it'd be because I wanted so, and the only one to blame if I make a bad desition is me and, as I said before, I know why I want to stay with you no matter what, so I'm not even going to blame myself.- he took a short paused and continued- Look, I'd always wanted to play Alexander, the Great, did that happened? No, but I'm ok with that. I desired to play Bond for a long time and that seems like another dream that will not come true, but I'm ok with that too. At least I had the chance to play Sups and Geralt. I know might be a silly comparison, but maybe that way you understand what I'm trying to say. In that scenario, you are Superman and Geralt. You're the amazing thing that happened to me even and my life would be awesome even if I don't get Bond or Alexander.- he chuckled unsure if he was being clear. You smiled, feeling a lot better and then kissed him. His lips tasted so good. The sweetness of the popcorn left trails on them. You sat right next to him, grabbing his arm and putting your head on his shoulder. He kissed your head and was about to play the rest of the movie when you stopped him and questioned if it'd be ok with him if you play the movie from the beginning to really watch it this time. He smirked and agreed, saying that i'd be ok to see it again because there were some parts he didn't pay much attention either. Your jokes and sassy comments about some silly plot points and characters actions were all he needed to know that you felt much better.

Disclaimer: As much as I’d love to write a song, I haven’t done that, so the song reader writes actually exists and belongs to the band Epica (Twin Flames is the name of the song if you want to listen to it - is beautiful  ♥)

[howaminotinthestrokesyet]

Behind The Album: St. Anger/Some Kind of Monster

St. Anger

Metallica‘s eighth studio album was released in 2003 produced for the last time by Bob Rock. The record has largely been seen as the worst one ever released by the band. Some very troublesome issues led up to the making of this release beginning in January 2001 when Jason Newsted quit the group. He had come to the other band members as they began talks about a new album with the request to wait a year, so he could work on his side project band Echobrain . James Hetfield flatly refused in not allowing this to occur. He was rumored to say this at the time of Newsted’s request. “When someone does a side project, it takes away from the strength of Metallica", and that a side project is "like cheating on your wife in a way.” The bassist argued that Hetfield had contributed to the South Park film’s soundtrack, as well as to Corrosion of Conformity albums. The singer responded by saying that he never included his name to those titles and absolutely did not try to sell it. On January 17, Jason Newsted released a statement resigning from Metallica. He was quitting for “private and personal reasons, and the physical damage I have done to myself over the years while playing the music that I love.” Years later, Lars Ulrich would say in an interview that unfortunately Newsted had to be sacrificed in order to save the band. There existed deeper issues between himself and James Hetfield that still needed to be addressed. He further said that the band as it exists now is how they should have existed when Newsted was a member of the group.

Metallica still decided to proceed with a new album anyway as they hired Joe Berlinger and Bruce Sinofski to document via film the entire recording process. Three months later James Hetfield put the entire project on hold as he entered rehab for alcoholism and other addictions. He would get out of rehab in December 2001, but the band would not enter the studio until April 2002. Upon his return, he was only allowed to work four hours a day because the rest of his time was to be spent with his family. Due to Metallica‘s internal issues along with Hetfield’s return from rehab, the band hired a personal enhancement coach by the name of Phil Towle to work through their issues. For his part, Newsted would make the comment that the decision to hire a therapist was "really fucking lame and weak.” The day that he actually quit came after a 9.5 hour band meeting that would be the first one with Towle. All of this would be documented in the film Some Kind of Monster, which depicts Metallica almost breaking up in the most honest music film probably ever portraying an actual train wreck happening in front of your eyes.

In May 2002, the band actually sat down and started recording the actual album at what is called HQ, their own studio in San Rafael, California. The decision was made to have Bob Rock play bass on the album instead of hiring a new person immediately. They would record the record, then look for someone after the fact. James Hetfield would say this about the record. “There's two years of condensed emotion in this. We've gone through a lot of personal changes, struggles, epiphanies, it's deep. It's so deep lyrically and musically. [St. Anger] is just the best that it can be from us right now." From the outset, the group wanted to create a very raw type of sound to symbolize the state of their emotions over the previous couple of years. The album also represented another major departure for the band as they embraced aspects of nu metal, speed metal, and alternative metal. They worked with Rock to make an album that embraced an unpolished sound, which meant he barely mixed the recording at all. He would elaborate on the entire thought process of St. Anger’s production. “We wanted to do something to shake up radio and the way everything else sounds. To me, this album sounds like four guys in a garage getting together and writing rock songs. There was really no time to get amazing performances out of James. We liked the raw performances. And we didn't do what everyone does and what I've been guilty of for a long time, which is tuning vocals. We just did it, boom, and that was it." Another fateful decision came in the fact that Kirk Hammett did not play any guitar solos on the album. He would later say in an interview that they tried to use some, but it kept sounding like an afterthought rather than an organic part of the song. The biggest criticism of St. Anger represented the drumming of Lars Ulrich, who made the decision not to use a snare on his snare drum. Ulrich said, "One day I forgot to turn the snare on because I wasn't thinking about this stuff. At the playbacks, I decided I was really liking what I was hearing—it had a different ambience. It sang back to me in a beautiful way." This makes the drumming sound include a giant ringing noise throughout the 75 minute LP.

Metallica would release the new album in June 2003, but they did so five days ahead of schedule due to their ongoing battle with Napster. They did not want any songs to be illegally downloaded and leaked ahead of time. The release debuted at number one on the Billboard chart selling 417,000 copies in its first week. The lead single “St. Anger” would go on to win a Grammy for Best Metal Song. Three other singles were released with the second track “Frantic” going all the way to number two on the mainstream rock charts. Reviews by critics were mixed over the band’s new sound. They liked the raw passion found on the album, but they continually commented that it sounded terrible. Adrien Begran of Pop Matters had this observation. “While it's an ungodly mess at times, what you hear on this album is a band playing with passion for the first time in years." Other reviews remained positive like Rolling Stone praised the band for stripping down metal to its bare essentials without the need for solos, choruses, and any kind of structure whatsoever. Other critics were not so complimentary of the record. Pitchfork had this to say about it. Ulrich was “playing a drum set consisting of steel drums, aluminum toms, programmed double kicks, and a broken church bell. The kit's high-end clamor ignored the basic principles of drumming: timekeeping. Hetfield and Hammett's guitars underwent more processing than cat food. When they both speedstrummed through St. Anger, and most other movements, [Hetfield and Hammett] seemed to overwhelm each other with different, terrible noise. Also the duration of most songs made it boring to hear them." Ouch. Years later, Lars would still stand behind his decision about the snare drum on the album. James Hetfield also agreed that he would not change it, but did note that production mistakes may have been made. “St. Anger could use a little less tin snare drum, but those things are what make those records part of our history."

Some Kind of Monster

The minute the filmmakers came in around April 2001, Metallica seemed to be slowly imploding. There existed a definite tension between all the band members as they were struggling to come up with new ideas for music, while at the same time wanting drastically to get away from one another. One issue became an even greater snag when Hetfield left for rehab, but they continued to film Hammett and Ulrich’s therapy sessions. Berlinger would say this about filming those meetings. “Lars felt the therapy sessions were actually enabled by the presence of the cameras. He felt the cameras forced them to be honest." Upon Hetfield’s return from rehab, the singer wondered whether they should even continue filming the sessions, but changed his mind once he saw the raw footage. Elektra Records now began to become concerned over the rising cost of the filming and wondered whether they should turn it into a reality show. Metallica told them that they had envisioned a documentary film, so they bought the rights to it for $4.3 million. Hetfield continued to have some misgivings about various scenes included in the film. For example, Lars and his wife sell an art piece for $13.4 million at an auction, which he thought was “downright embarrassing.” The drummer would not relent on this saying that his passion for art is a vital piece of his personality. “If you're going to paint a portrait of the people in Metallica, that has to play a role, because that is who I am."

The documentary’s plot also included some very strange and surreal scenes. For one, Lars interviews Dave Mustaine of Megadeth asking him about the past. Another scene shows all three band members attending a live concert by Newsted’s band Echobrain, where you can see Lars complain about not being able to keep his own band together. As recording begins, Hetfield and Ulrich go to war with one another. The singer demands the conditions that any recorded material can only be discussed in his presence. The drummer comes back at him saying that he is too controlling which led to a major confrontation. Hetfield then says to the camera that his need to control everything probably stems from his fear of abandonment in childhood. For his part, Kirk Hammett always remained calm no matter what does to a lesser extent complain about the complete absence of guitar solos. Gradually, their chemistry begins to improve as they work toward the finished product. They begin to work a lot of their problems out by writing lyrics to individual songs. Ulrich is able to release some feelings about the Napster lawsuit by writing the lyrics to “Shoot Me Again.” As the band begins to get along much better, they stop listening to any advice from Towle. The group thinks that he has become too much a part of their inner circle, so the need arose to distance themselves from him. The therapist becomes very defensive when they approach him about restricting access. Towards the end of the film, they hire Robert Trujillo as their new bassist because they were scheduled to perform on MTV Icon. A bone of contention over the years was the fact that Trujillo’s $1 million signing bonus was included in the film. Upon the movie’s release, Some Kind of Monster received mostly positive reviews by critics earning an 89 on Rotten Tomatoes. Owen Gleiberman of Entertainment Weekly said this, “One of the most revelatory rock portraits ever made."

Lars Ulrich would say upon reflection that it was one of the first times that the band had actually communicated with each other without the assistance of alcohol. Dave Mustaine caused a little bit of drama as he denied the band from using any footage of his interview with Lars in 2001. They still included the footage because he had previously signed a release giving them access and the right to use it. The Megadeth singer would call this the “final betrayal” until six years later when they reconciled during a concert. At the time, Ulrich responded by saying this about Mustaine. “So put these three facts down, he was in our band for a year. He never played on a Metallica record [official release], and it was 22 years ago. It's pretty absurd that it still can be that big a deal."

[art-thropologist]

Portfolio of Recovery Part 3

If you’ve been following my entries, you’ll know that I recently had to go through some medical treatment. I am at a point now where I am willing to share some of the products of the art therapy that went along with that process. With each piece I’ll explain the prompt or the intention behind it and how I interpret the visual cues.

Please note that I will be talking about eating disorder behaviors, body image, and trauma. I use vague terms, but if these are triggering topics, then do not read. If you are in need of help with an ED, NEDA can get you support.

“Living Room Table” (2020). Poster-board, string, sequins, ripped magazine, yarn, tissue paper, glue, and oil pastel. Prompted.

“What is creativity?”

I usually take a while to wrap my head around prompts. But this one I went ‘I got this’ with zero hesitation. At the house I grew up in we had a low wood table in the living room. It was where we had to do any and all crafts in the house because that was a way to contain the chaos that was my sister and I. We left our marks on that table: glitter, yarn, burn marks. This is that table. This is where creativity happened.

“Untitled” (2020). Ripped magazine, glue, on canvas board. Prompted.

“Make a rip collage.”

I decided to try a different type of collage by weaving the pieces together. I think it worked.

“Shell study” (2019). Watercolor and crayon on paper. Prompted.

“Choose an object from the basket and create something from being mindful of your interaction with it.”

I chose a shell and spent 40 minutes trying to recreate the coloring on the inner lip.

“Strong Enough” (2019). Colored pencil on paper. Unprompted.

I was told by the art therapist that I should try experimenting outside of my usual style (Which you can see the first sketches of still). So I tried a more figural style. The title references the lyrics from “Eight” by Sleeping At Last; I was just a kid who grew up strong enough to pick this armor up and suddenly it fit. It resonated with me because that was what my childhood felt like. I tried to represent that with the figures surrounding the hollow form that is me in the present. Like the Timeline, the colors correspond to emotional stages. Blue is hopeful as an open sky, elementary school. Grey seeped into my chest as I start building up armor to protect myself from that hurt. Green is middle school when I started using clothing to make myself pretty. I thought that if I was pretty then the bullying and torment would stop. Given that this figure is crying, clearly that wasn’t the case. Red is anger, and I used lacrosse as a way to make myself more intimidating, tell of a target, less vulnerable. But I wasn’t confident at all, that’s why the posture is closed off, hesitant. Finally is the stage where my ED was in full control. It was the armor I was conditioned into believing would help, would make me perfect, better. But it was just protecting the trauma, not healing it.

I’m all in, arms out. I’m at your mercy now and I’m ready to begin. Show me how to lay my soul down long enough to let you IN. is another (misquoted) lyric from “Eight” and is representative of the present moment. I am deconstructing all the armors I’ve put on and get better.

“Promises” & “Reality” (2020). Oil pastel on canvas board. Prompted.

“What did your ED promise you and What did it actually give you?”

I was that girl in health class that thought ‘That would never be me’ when it came to an eating disorder. Well...I was wrong. Ana (what I call my ED) is deceptively kind. She lures you in with promises of control and exceptionalism. ‘If you can control your hunger then you are better than other people’ and other promises just like it. I thought if I was thinner that I would be prettier and it would be easier to like myself. Ana promised a brighter future, she promised fulfillment.

Ana lies. I became a ghost of myself. Frail. Weak. Breaking down. The white figure is my own body collapsing; arms thrown forward in submission, hair covering my face. I had nothing more to give other than tears and sadness. i was still alone. I was still hurting. On top of the emotional distress was physical distress. My body was, essentially, eating itself to survive. I had headaches that lasted for days, dizzy spells that left me on the floor (see the radiating red halo), a body that had one foot in the grave (which I represent with the brown-black background). 

“Shattered Glass” (2020). Tissue paper, oil pastel, and pencil on paper. Unprompted.

I often feel like I’m nothing but pieces of jagged glass. Broken. Sharp edges. There is still color and beauty in that. It’s how we make stained glass and mosaics after all. But I also carry a lot of hurt and trauma to get that way. I went with the obvious Atlas metaphor. Braids being pulled. Tears. People constantly watching. People constantly leaving, again and again. Being shunned for things out of my control. Struggles with faith. Bearing the name ‘Bitter Little Bird’. I’m learning how to lay those burdens to rest. It is a process.

“Outline Self Portrait” (2020). Colored pencil on paper. Prompted.

We were given the outline of a person and told to fill it in how we wanted about body image.

The colors are familiar by now. Purple for justice and hope. Orange for creativity. Red for anger. Blue and Green for growth. My head is always a mess of all these feelings, that’s why it looks like that. the stronger lines indicate where I feel the emotions. It’s usually a tightness or an ache.

I remember being that kid - who was small. Who wanted to run before I could crawl. That changed with the start of an education in Shame. It started with my name. I was always caught between being seen and hiding Away. Maybe it was just easier to be nothing than to be something wrong. I was just a kid who had to wear this Armor too long. So I kept these shattered pieces inside a thick skin. It can tear me up inside but, no, I wont let you In. I’ll keep these bits of broken Hopes Inside of this chaotic body. I’ll rage inside my Skull if this is the way to cope. I sill sing the songs when I am ready to be. And shine myself not for you to see. This Lux Aurora in lead lines.

“Untitled 1″ (2020). Colored pencil and pencil on paper. Unprompted.

I tried to reduce myself down to schematic pieces. Red lines to convey gestural forms, blue ribs. This was me when Ana was in control. I was blind. I was hollow. I was barely able to feel my heart beat. Most of all, I was exposed.

I added the lyrics of Words Fail from Dear Evan Hansen because they felt like they fit. “'Cause if I just believe/ Then I don't have to see what's really there/ Yes, I'd rather pretend I'm something better than these broken parts/ Pretend I'm something other than this mess that I am/ Because then no one gets to look at it/ And I don't have to look at it”

“Untitled 2″ (2020). Colored pencil and pencil on paper. Unprompted.

The pieces are a diptych. This side is recovery. The stance is open, embracing. But the back is turned; rejecting Ana. I used the same colors but attributed them to new facets. Instead of being blind I am now covered. My hair is growing again. The fundamental building blocks are still there, but I am no longer standing rigidly. I wanted to mirror Rebecca Belmore’s sister.

The poem “Ascending” is my own creation. “With arms outstretched/ Wide like wings, like a martyr/ I will fly beyond the confines of/ my Nature./ I can touch eternity with my fingertips”

Part 4 coming soon

[lostbutterflyutau]

Wrong Again

Note: This is an AU to my Mirror World AU that I wrote when I was in a mood. I had a sad, so I wrote a sad. In this AU everything is the same up until Carla turns 27 and her marriage starts to fall apart. In this piece, now 32, she’s faced with having to finally, fully leave it all behind.

*** I knew…

This time I had finally found

Someone to build my life around

Be a lover and a friend

After all my heart

Had put me through

I knew that it was safe with you

What we had would never end

Wrong again

***

It was supposed to have been the first day of forever. A public declaration of love that they promised to carry for the rest of their lives. The lyrics of their wedding song had even read, I’m gonna love you for the rest of my life. But she never expected that the rest of her life would only encompass a few years.

Seven blissful years filled with soft kisses, tight hugs, midnight dances and walks through town. Birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, and festivals. Highs, lows, and magical foes. It was a marriage so filled with love and life. Until it wasn’t.

And now, it was time to let the last part of that life go.

Today all of her friends were celebrating, as they should. It wasn’t every day that there was a royal wedding. Of course, it wasn’t as grand as Elena’s. Neither Isabel nor Gabe wanted it to be that way. At least, that’s what she figured. After all, back when planning their wedding Gabe had wanted to keep it small. Private. Intimate.

Carla wondered for a moment how he felt about all of the attention. He was used to some of it as Captain of the Guard. But now he was both Captain and a soon-to-be Prince. If that’s how that worked. She wasn’t completely sure. Nor did she care enough to look into it. If she had her way, she wouldn’t have to face another word about them again. But, unfortunately, it was all over the papers and all anyone had talked about for weeks. There was so much speculation on what it would be like. What kind of dress would Isa wear? How many attendants would she have? Trivial things that had seemed so important when she was the bride.

But now…?

She sighed, finished tying off her hair. Deep brown eyes stared back at her, the colour both beautiful and sad. Sure, they made her look better. But part of her hated that she now hated the violet colour she grew up loving and being praised for. It felt almost like a betrayal to the mother who’d gifted them to her. But, on the other end, she got a lot more date requests now. Maybe that client had been right in that violet was weird and off-putting. Or maybe it was because she was just getting better at hiding that constant pang in her heart. The one that told her she wasn’t good enough. That she would never be good enough again. No man wanted a ‘used woman.’ Especially not one that couldn’t give him more than herself.

One last look in the mirror confirmed that she was done. Every hair perfectly in place. Makeup soft and subtle and not at all noticeable. At the thought, her eyes flicked over to the drawer that contained her more colourful palettes. The ones she hadn’t touched in what felt like forever. Not since her birthday. And that was only because Fortuna insisted on doing her makeup in another vain attempt to cheer her up.

She couldn’t blame her. She knew it had to be frustrating when someone you cared so much about seemingly refused to be happy. But the thing was, it wasn’t a refusal. More than anything, she wanted to be happy and had been making progress up until Elena had showed up to give her the news of the engagement.

It wasn’t unexpected. Not really. Just a few months earlier she’d turned up to reveal that Gabe was dating her sister, having wanted to tell her before the papers did. She’d learned to live with he idea of them dating. But engagement? Marriage? That was like a punch to the gut and confirmed her worst fears. That it was really, truly over. He wasn’t coming back. And while she wasn’t even sure she ever wanted him to, the thought still hurt.

All she could do now was hope that his second wife could give him what she couldn’t and that they would be happy. As hurt as she was, she refused to wish ill on him. He deserved to be happy. Even if it wasn’t with her.

With another long sigh, Carla set the brush down, opened the drawer directly underneath her hand. From it, she pulled the last portrait. She wasn’t entirely sure why she’d kept it for so long after destroying the others. Perhaps she was still clinging to the hope of returning to that stage? Or she was too afraid of letting go? Could she just be too held up in the memories of happiness past to have been able to keep it for so long? Whatever the reason, she was over it now. With an all-too familiar pang, she willed her magic to flow up within her and, with a snap of her fingers set fire to the picture. She stared for a minute, watched their smiling faces slowly dissolve and then let it fall onto the table. The magic flame she conjured wouldn’t burn anything but what she willed it upon, so she was content to let it burn out on its own as she stood and finally snatched the box up off her bed.

*** When she made her way downstairs and into the shop, she tried to keep her steps quiet. She wasn’t in a mood to face anyone. She had already made up her mind and no one was going to change it.

Unfortunately, instead of being in the front of the store like she expected, her stepmother was right near the foot of the steps hovering around a dress form and muttering to herself about the costume hanging off of it. It was something brought in by the director of a local theatre production. A hand-me-down that needed some serious restoration.

Still, despite her being right there, Carla hoped she could slip by. All she needed to do was –

“Carla?” Fortuna asked without looking up, her voice breaking Carla’s thought process.

Carla wanted to kick herself. Of course she wouldn’t be able to get around her. As concentrated as she seemed, Fortuna was still aware of what was around her at all times. She supposed spending years on her own as a single woman was responsible for that.

When Carla didn’t answer, Fortuna quickly secured the hem and stood upright, taking the pin that was between her teeth and setting it on the stand beside her. She looked up, eyes moving from Carla’s face to the large garment box in her hand, immediately knowing what it meant. She took in a breath as she stepped over, set a gentle hand on the smaller woman’s shoulder.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” She asked, searching her eyes for any sign of resistance or hesitation, and finding only that same lingering sadness that continued to break her heart. She wanted more than anything for her stepdaughter to be okay. Maybe not jumping around with joy, but at least content in some way.

Carla closed her eyes, took in a deep breath to stave off the tears she felt welling up. She wanted to scream that of course she didn’t want to do this. This dress had meant so much to her. It had been custom made by a close friend. The symbol of her first day of forever. What she really wanted was to turn back the clock. To undo all of the pain. The loneliness. The long nights staring into an empty sky with Cleo as her only company. But she couldn’t. All she could do was try and keep going forward, even if it meant giving up something that had once held so much meaning but was now nothing more than a fragment of days past and a symbol of a failed love.

Finally, she nodded, confessed, “No. But I have to.”

Fortuna didn’t respond, only wrapped her arms around Carla. She understood all too well what she meant. Maybe not from personal experience, but from all of those long nights talking and getting her to open up at least somewhat. Even four years on it was complicated for her. While she was sure there wasn’t any more love there for her ex-husband, she also knew there wasn’t hatred. Hurt, but not hatred.

When she pulled back, the older woman gave a sympathetic smile. One that said, along with the understanding look in her gaze, that she got it. She leaned in, gently kissed her head, and moved to turn back to her work as Carla continued on and quietly slipped out the door and down the street.

Along the way, she tried her best to keep her mind only on her task. All around her it seemed like all anyone could talk about was the wedding happening that day. Little girls in tiaras. Older women gossiping about the outcome of such a marriage. Bridal shops feeding off the hype with sales and specials. In another life, she might have joined in. As a child she loved the idea of having a fairy-tale wedding and finding her one true love. But now that she’d done both and ultimately failed in the aftermath of the fairy-tale, it was all reminders of a life before disillusionment. One she wished she could go back to even as she pulled on the handle of the door of the shop she’d passed by so many times but only now had a reason to walk into.

She was greeted with a warm welcome and a wide smile by the older woman behind the counter.

“How can I help?” She asked when Carla finally stepped up, set the box on the counter.

Carla put on her best smile, slid the box over, “I’m just here to give you this.” She took her hand to her hair, fingers idly fiddling with the ribbon on her side ponytail as she waited and watched as the woman opened the box she hadn’t opened in years, a small gasp leaving her lips when she caught sight of the intricate detailing before finally, carefully pulling the dress from it and holding it out.

“Are you sure about this?” The lady asked, shooting Carla a concerned glance. The dress was gorgeous. One of the most beautiful she’d ever seen. She quickly realised that it had to have been handmade with care. This wasn’t an ordinary commission. The hand-sewn detail put into it was the mark of a personal touch. And beyond the dress itself, even she could see the hesitation on Carla’s face. It was about more than her wanting to do a nice thing, she knew.

Carla only nodded, continued to play with her ribbon. “I… Don’t need it anymore.”

The woman’s smile turned sympathetic, “Well, if you change your mind, I’ll give you a week to come back. That’ll give you some time to think while I prepare it for display.”

“Thank you, but I don’t plan on it,” Carla replied as she turned to head back out. She appreciated the idea of having a period to think it over, but she had made her decision before even reaching for the door. If she was ever going to go forward from this point, she had to let go of her past, as painful as it was.

She managed to hold it together long enough to make her way back home and up to her room. But, once she saw the small pile of ash on her vanity where the portrait had been, she gave in and slid down the wall with a defeated sob. 

***

And they said,

“There’s nothing you can do.”

“It’s something that he’s going through.”

“Happens to a lot of men.”

And I…

Told myself that they were right

That you’d wake up and see the light

And I’d just have to wait

‘Til then

Wrong again

[deathbyvalentine]

Harrowing Commissions

Sebastian

The light from the fire flickered, making the shadows in the room shudder and jump. Starting, the maid in the armchair jumped up, adding another log to the flames. It was a room with a lot of shadows - part bedroom, part parlour and part study, odd objects littered side tables and shelves alike. The walls that were not dominated with bookcases were dominated instead by windows or portraits. The room was dark, the windows blocked out by heavy curtains. In all of the clutter, it would be easy to miss the young man lying in bed, surrounded by pillows and cushions, holding a faded blue book in his pale hands. 

Only his cheeks had colour in them - a feverish flash of rouge. His hair and eyes were dark. His lips moved in silent prayer as his eyes flickered over the paper thin pages. A cough came over him, wracking his thin body. His attempts to muffle it did no good - the maid immediately bustled over with a tray of bottles and ointments. Propping him up, in a business like manner she rubbed a foul smelling liquid onto his chest. It appeared to the job and the odd whistling his breathing had taken on faded. She lay him back down and began to fluff up the pillows around him, fussing in such a way it betrayed her fondness for her patient. 

 He caught hold of her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. “It’s soon, isn’t it? It’s going to be soon.” She stared at him, unsure of how to respond. It didn’t matter. A few more moments and he picked up his beloved gospels, resuming his study.

*   

Alice

The clock was just chiming... a number when the latch to the servant’s entrance to the kitchen lifted. The hearth fire was still burning, so when the young lady slipped in, she managed to avoid kicking over the mop and bucket just to the side. One hand held her boots, the other her skirts to keep the rich fabric off the dirty stone floor. Now safely inside, she placed the shoes down beside the door and collapsed onto the bench alongside the long wooden table. Idly, while looking into the small flames of the fire, she picked a grape from the fruit bowl and popped it into her mouth, enjoying the sweet burst of flavour. 

She pulled the pins from her hair, letting the curls cascade down her back. She winced a little and inspected her fingertip a moment after. One of the jewels had caught her funny and sliced her. A small bead of blood welled up. She blinked at it for a moment before placing her finger in her mouth too, soothing the wound. Outside, the sun was beginning to creep up over the horizon, painting the sky in pinks, indigos and purples. She should slip to bed before the breakfast preparations begun - she knew her mother had slipped an extra coin to one of the servants to report on her, but she wasn’t sure which one yet. If she slept now, she had enough time to be woken for breakfast and pretend to be as fresh as a daisy. 

She stood, stretching once. Then she disappeared up the servant’s corridors, knowing the route to her room by heart. Her boots lay forgotten by the door.

*

Thomas

“Behold, a story for the ages! Be dazzled, wondered and amazed at the power of - “

No, that’s not right. You’re not writing a circus side show. 

“Come and be welcome in an epic spreading centuries. Heroes, lovers and villains convene in this - “

You’re not writing a fairytale either. Think Thomas. What are you trying to do here?

“This year, a new play arrives that will reveal not only the essence of characters within it, but those who watch it. Watch the story unfold and let it awaken something within you too. We all wear masks. The hero, the lover, the villain.... This is an invitation to find out exactly what is behind yours. If you dare. If you’re brave enough.” 

That’s the advertisement done. Now I just have to finish the damn thing. 

*

Eloise

“He loves me... He loves me not. He loves me... He loves me not - ” Petals drifted to the floor like morning snow, to be crushed as the woman paced barefoot, releasing their too-sweet perfume into the air. The floor was almost slick with them, the top layer bright and pink, the bottom little more than browning sludge. Her skirts trailed, disturbing the petals enough to reveal how many lay beneath. It seemed that everything in the room was coated with petals or dust. But still, she walked.

“He loves me.” She stopped short at the mirror, allowing a slight smile to spread across her beautiful face. She reached out with gloved hands, her fingertips just touching the spotless surface. Her fingers left a slight smear and she recoiled, finding the bell on the sideboard to frantically call a maid. The mirror being obscured simply would not do. She stepped back and let the bustling girl come in with a cloth, the door creating a semicircle of clear floor. The girl didn’t touch anything else, didn’t even ask about the petals. She cleaned the mirror and was gone in a flurry of business like activity. There was a breath, a moment where everything was still.

“He loves me not.” The slow chant resumed, almost lyrical in its cadence. Another petal tumbled to the ground. Another step was taken.

*

Charles

Day 15 “... My sleep was greatly disturbed last night by a number of dreams. Such visions! Such phantasms! I believe this is a sign that my work is taking me closer than ever before. A number of studies has found that sleep is when the mind is most susceptible after all. I plan on capitalising on this by distilling a mineral (imported from Italy) into a chemical that is supposed to induce a most coherant train of thought. Lucidity and revelation are of course, key and I have high hopes for this latest experiment granting me fresh sight and new contact.”

Day 20 “Well, that did not go exactly to plan. The chemical did indeed induce a number of wonderful sights, but as always, the body was not willing. My hands trembled so violently it shattered the simmering glassware and I was forced to retire, bedridden for several days. Every failed avenue is a clue however, and I refuse to consider it an utter waste. In brighter news, a letter has arrived from my Vatican friend’s expedition. He promises to send his logbook as he believes there are some encounters I will be interested in. I await this with baited breath - he has always given me fascinating data before.”

Day 23 “A small break while I was forced to deal with one of the children’s latest indiscretion. Did the good lord grant us families purely to curb the progress of the human race? I can only assume so. No matter, tomorrow I try some new components from America, promising to engage with the energy that sits around us all, invisible but present all the same.”

*

Elizabeth

She tutted and held the glass up to the light, turning it this way and that. Placing it back on the table, she snapped her fingers at a passing maid, steering her towards the sparkling glassware. “Do you really think this is good enough?” Not waiting for an answer, she shook her head. “There are still fingermarks on the stem. Polish them again. I shall check on your progress in an hour.” 

Sweeping from the room, she entered the busy hallway. Preparations were underway. Everywhere you looked there were maids carrying fresh linen, silverware or carpet beaters. Butlers converged in corners, talking about how best to organise the cloakroom, the game room, the parlour. A smile tugged at her lips. She was rarely as pleased as when the house was alive like this. There was something pleasing in the shifting bodies, the business of it all. It reminded her of a great beehive of which she was the queen. 

Pausing on the upper landing, she rested her hands on the (gleaming, shining) banister. The house would be perfect for the ball, of this much she was certain. If only her family were as easily polished up.  Or perhaps as easily put away as the silverware was, only to be brought out at special occasions. With an amused smile, she shook the thought out of her head. They would be perfect. She would make sure of it. When she set her mind to something, she never failed.

*

Georgiana/Mystery Member #1

She held a fork up to the light, turning it this way and that. Frowning at what she saw, she clicked her fingers at a passing maid. With an eyeroll, the girl sloped over, hands placed in her pinafore pouch in a most slovenly manner. Letting the fork fall to the table with a clatter, she clucked her tongue. “There are still marks on the cutlery. Fix it. At once.”  “Yes ma’am.” The maid replied, though she could swear she saw a hint of a smirk on her face. Her cheeks flushed red though she kept her head up high. What impertinence. She may not be the lady of the house but she still deserved respect. Elizabeth would never deal with such nonsense from her servants and yet these girls thought they could get away with it with her. She stalked from the room, being sure to make her heels click on the floor in a way she thought of as most stately. 

She got the same response when she found a smudge on the guest linen, two scullery maids very almost giggling. Hating herself as she did it, she invoked the most compelling line she could think of. “Of course, if you would like me to explain to Elizabeth why your work is not up to scratch, I would be happy to explain.” Instantly, their smiles disappeared and a solemnity appeared in their eyes. The rush of power only lasted an instant. It was borrowed, after all.

One day she would be married and she would have her own house, bigger and grander than this. She would have maids that straightened their backs whenever she swept past and butlers that refused to lift their eyes to look at her directly. She would hold all the keys to the house on a chain on her waist and she would never have to ask for something twice. One day. 

*

Mystery Member #2

Dearest friend, I write to you with a matter of great urgency. Too long I have been silenced and now the time has come for me to finally beg for help. I am not sure what may befall -

I am not sure if harm will - I am sure great harm will befall me if this letter was discovered, so I beg you and your servants to be discrete. If you investigate, keep my name off your lips and papers. You must be wondering why I chose you. Well, your kind and - 

your gentle and good - 

Well, you would believe me. The constabulary would surely find me mad if I approached them with my tale of woe and I would be in Bedlam before the month was out, which would suit my captors fine.  To be clear, I do not want them harmed - I do not want violence -  I just want to escape. A safe haven. An oasis. Away from this den of iniquity and sin.  Eagerly I wait for your reply. I know you shall not fail me. With love.

*

The House

It sat, quietly for now, among gardens and fields. If arriving by carriage, it snuck up on you. A turn in the road and there it was, looming and large, casting shadows easily around it. If arriving by foot, it simply waited for you to arrive, watching you with its many windows, glistening in the sun. 

It had been used to house soldiers once and it hadn’t forgotten it. If you looked closely enough, the marks were still there. A scuff on a door frame where a sword had caught passing through, the basement with a forgotten box of munitions sat, covered in cobwebs and caked in dust. Soldiers had slept here, loved here, mourned here. Entire lives had been acted out with the house as a constant backdrop.

It used to house monks and it remembered this too. In its carvings, its windows, in paintings of men that nobody could recall the names of. There was a reverence that could not be simply scrubbed away like old paint. It lingered like perfume. It stayed in the bones of the place, the memory becoming as essential as the bricks.

A ball was to be hosted soon enough. The servants and the family prepared, gardeners tidied the grounds and merchants came to and from carrying exotic goods. It was not the first party it had seen and it most certainly would not be the last. The house looked its best when filled with people. It was not a place made to be empty, to be unusued. It always had a purpose and its purpose now was simply to host. 

[marshmallow-phd]

The Sound of the Rain

Genre: GreekMythology!AU, Modern!AU, Orpheus!AU, Reincarnation!AU

Pairing: Yixing x Reader

A/N: This random spark of creativity was inspired by this amazing moodboard made by @amaxing-daes. I hope you don’t mind! 

**

Day: 1,095,036

He wasn’t sure why he kept count anymore. It’s not like he was counting down to anything. Or up. Did an end really exist for a cursed immortal?

Three thousand years was a long time to walk the earth, to watch it change and evolve. Regular mortals would complain about wanting to go back to the “good old days”. Little did they know there was no such thing. Every decade and every century had its monstrosities that made the ones having to live through wish they could go to another time. It was one of the few things that never changed.

Yixing’s fingers danced across the piano, softly pressing on the keys and letting the notes piece themselves together however they saw fit. He hardly ever thought about arrangements anymore. Reflections would simply formulate in his head and then he’d let the magic flow through to whichever instrument he’d picked up at the time. Sometimes it would be about things that made him angry, sometimes nature itself would be enough to spark his creativity. In the present moment, his most frequent inspiration was plaguing his mind.

Even after all these years, his wife – the one taken from him too soon, the one who he almost had back in his arms if he hadn’t been such a failure – still haunted his dreams. He could say that some of his most beautiful pieces were created because of her, but all the awards and recognition in the world couldn’t replace the hole in his heart.

“Wow, Lay, could you get more depressing?”

Yixing smirked to himself. Lay. It was his latest pseudonym. In retrospect, maybe it was a little silly, but at the time he thought it fit right in with the other music producers in this modern age. One of his frequent collaborators went by “Loey” after all.

Now interrupted, Yixing stopped playing and turned off the recorder that was resting on top of the piano before turning around to face his partner. “Not everything needs to be a dance number, Han.”

“But you’re good at those.” Han motioned back with his head. “Come on. That popstar is here and she wants to listen to the demo.”

“Okay.” Standing up from the bench, Yixing pocketed the recorder and followed Han out of the practice room towards the studio. He frowned once they entered the small workspace.

Shia, the latest sensation exploding on the world pop scene, was sitting in Yixing’s chair, sporting the most sour look on her face. Perhaps she thought she was above this listening schedule. Or maybe she got into an argument with her boyfriend. Whatever the reason for her attitude was, Yixing really wasn’t in the mood to deal with it.

Let’s just get this over with.

Sitting down in one of the less comfy chairs, Yixing introduced himself, shook hands with the managers and other producers for Shia’s album and turned to the soundboard to start the song.

If Yixing had to rate this song, he’d only give it a seven. He was always harsh on his own music, but this one just came out a little… well, he didn’t know how to describe it. He was still proud of it – he was with a majority of his creations – he just felt a little lackluster about music in general lately. Over the centuries, it’d been the one thing that kept him going after losing his wife. Maybe it was the way music had changed that was making him lose interest. Or maybe it was just himself that was changing. The will to keep going was certainly starting to fade.

Somewhere around the first bridge, Yixing’s confidence grew, just a miniscule amount, but he knew this song was good. The kind that would make everyone cheer and get up to start dancing The managers and producers were bobbing their heads, listening intensely as the song headed into the chorus. Yixing himself sang the demo since no one else seemed to be able to pick up on the rhythm.

When the song ended, everyone turned to Shia to take in her reaction. The pursed lips never relaxed and she never uncrossed her arms throughout the approximate three and a half minutes.

“I don’t like it,” she finally stated after a minute or so of silence.

Her manager sighed, looking as frustrated as Yixing was beginning to feel. “And why’s that?”

“This isn’t the music that I signed up for,” Shia snapped. “I don’t want to sound like everyone else.”

“This doesn’t sound like everyone else,” Han argued. “A song by Lay is always one of a kind. This will put you on the charts where you belong. You said you wanted to make it to the Grammy’s-”

Shia scoffed. “Do you really think this song about how great life is and how much fun you can have is going to get me to the Grammy’s? I want a song with meaning. I have plenty of dance tracks to release as singles. Do I look like I want to be the next Britney Spears?”

Yes. Yixing held his tongue. He’d seen her interviews and her music videos. As judgmental as it could sound, she did, indeed, seem to be going down the dancing popstar route. He’d never seen her pick up a guitar and strum out a heartbreaking ballad with lyrics so deep they took the listener to another time in their life. She never talked about music like it was her life and soul. If that was the kind of artist she wanted to be, then why did she sell out?

Suddenly feeling a little hypocritical, Yixing stood up and walked out of the room.

“Lay, wait!” Han stopped him just before he could escape out the front doors. Putting a hand on his shoulder, Han sighed. “Don’t take that punk’s word to heart. It’s a good song. Plenty of other artists will want to take it.”

Yixing shook his head. “At this point, I don’t really care. I’m getting too old for this.”

Han chuckled. “If it were anyone else, then I would argue that statement. But since it’s you….”

That made Yixing laugh. Yes, Han knew… maybe not the entire story, but he knew most of Yixing’s history. And it was a complete accident how he found out.

For over three thousand years, he’d been able to keep his own secret. But one night when Han was over, Yixing had a little too much to drink and started blurting out everything. Han didn’t believe him at first, but then out came the portraits and pictures and hundreds of diaries that Yixing had kept over the years. He felt a little lighter now, having someone to share his secret with. While Han had made comments here and there that almost gave him away, everyone pretty much took them as jokes or metaphors, keeping him safe from any odd experiments scientists might want to put him through. It wasn’t science that made him what he was, so he doubted they would find anything out anyway.

“I just need some air.” Yixing slipped out from under Han’s hand and pushed through the glass door that led to the sidewalk outside.

He didn’t know where he was headed, if he was going towards a certain something at all; he just knew he needed to be away from the studio for a while, let the others hash it out if she wanted it or not. There was nothing in him that really cared. Han was right; someone would take the song if she didn’t.

It was nice outside today. Most of the time, Yixing didn’t know what the weather was like. He nearly always dressed in the wrong kind of clothes: a t-shirt when it was freezing, a leather jacket when it was boiling hot. This time, however, he lucked out. The temperature wasn’t too bad, making him comfortable in the black shirt and matching jeans he was sporting. Blue was the only color in the sky, save for the blinding sun. No clouds covered up the beautiful wonder above him. But that work of nature’s art almost distracted him to a dangerous level.

Your head was down towards your phone when you passed him, nearly making him miss you as he was staring up at the sky. But enough was captured in the corner of his eye to make his heart jump in his chest. He knew that hair. He knew that jaw and shoulder and ear. He knew you.

Could it really be? Could he really have just stumbled upon a second chance?

Fighting through the crowd on the sidewalk, Yixing hurried to catch up with you. He needed to make sure that it was the same face.

Several feet ahead of him, you turned into a coffee shop. Okay, good. He could catch up to you there. But just as he approached the large window that made up a majority of the front wall, his heart sank.

You weren’t just stopping in to get a fresh cup of coffee and then going about your day. You were meeting someone. A particularly handsome someone who stood up and greeted you with a hug as soon as he spotted you. You were smiling and laughing, happy to be in his presence. Realizing that he had been ridiculous to follow you in the first place, Yixing turned around and headed back towards the studio.

The place was empty when he got back. It was quiet, which was exactly what he needed at the moment. No sample beats thumping in the speakers, no drum sets being pounded on, no pitch tuning being done. Just peace and quiet. And he even had his chair back, although a small amount of glitter was left behind.

Covering his face with his hands, Yixing leaned forward as he sat down and tried his best to keep his breathing normal. It had to be the same person. Not the exact same, but your new incarnation. Your face was the same, your smile, your gracefulness. There you were right in front of him. All this time he’d been alone, unable to numb the pain of losing you, no matter who he smiled at or let sleep on the other side of the bed with him at night. None had come close to you. But now it was almost worse. Did he try to insert himself into your unsuspecting life? Or did he let you go on blissfully unaware of his existence?

“Lay, you okay?”

Lifting his head, Yixing looked at Han, thankful that he was alone in finding him.

Han’s jaw dropped. “Man, are you alright?”

It was then that Yixing realized he’d been crying. The tears that rolled down his cheeks were small and few in number, but still very much present. Han sat down in the office chair across him, rolling a little closer.

“I saw her,” Yixing whispered.

“Saw who? Shia?”

“No,” Yixing sniffed back the new set of tears that were threatening to spill over. “My wife.”

Han’s jaw dropped. “Y-your wife? But I thought she, you know, died. Like… a long time ago?”

Leaning back in the chair, Yixing sighed. “She did. I think this might be her recent incarnation.”

“Wow.” Han ran a hand through his hair, blowing air between his lips in astonishment. He suddenly jumped forward in his seat, startling Yixing. “So, reincarnation is real, too? Like, it's kind of all true?”

“All might be a bit of an overstatement, but yes. I’ve met a few people along the years that have been reborn.” Yixing frowned, remembering the few run-ins he had, mostly with people he had known when he was still mortal. There had been a mixture of fear and excitement when he’d approached them. Would they remember him? Would they know he had been alive all this time? The answer to both had turned out to be no. To this day, Yixing didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“So, did you talk to her?”

Yixing shook his head. “No. She, uh, she was meeting someone. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

Something hard and plastic connected with Yixing’s face, shocking him and stinging at his skin. It was a pair of headphones that Han had snatched up from the soundboard and thrown at him. “What was that for?”

“Because apparently being alive for several millennia made you dumber rather than smarter,” Han snapped. “This could be your chance to be with her again. Maybe that one goddess, Penelope-”

“Persephone.”

Han rolled his eyes. “Whatever. Maybe this is her way of saying ‘hey, you’ve been punished enough, here’s a treat’.”

“I hardly doubt that.” With a heavy sigh, Yixing ran a hand down his face. He looked up at his friend, his one confidante. “You really think I should try and find her again?” Han nodded, a sympathetic smile on his face. Yixing cringed. “But she was meeting a guy….”

Han took Yixing’s hand and shook it twice. “Hi, welcome to the twenty-first century where girls have guy friends.” Yixing yanked his hand back, irritated. “Also, it could have been a cousin she hadn't seen in a long time. Or,” Han held his hands up, palms out, in a very sarcastic manner, “even if it was a boyfriend, I doubt he could hold up to the chiseled, dimpled, world’s greatest music producer, Lay.”

There was no other response Yixing could muster other than to laugh, embarrassed by the hype his friend was giving him. While he still didn’t have the full confidence to go up against another guy if you were already in a relationship, he still wanted to get to know the you in this time period, even if he had to settle with simple friendship.

“Okay,” Yixing nodded. “I guess there’s only one thing left for me to do.” He stared down Han with determination. “I’ve got to find her again.”

Day: 1,095,043

It’d been a week already and he couldn’t find you. Not that he thought he would find you the moment he walked outside and headed in the same direction he had the first time, but it was becoming a little discouraging, not seeing you again.

For the third day in a row, he sat in that coffee shop, the one place he’d seen you, and waited. From his years of observing people, he could guess that you came here often if you chose to meet someone within these walls. He just hoped that he wasn’t wasting his time. He’d given up too easily last week. Where he should have come up with some excuse to talk to you, introduced himself and gotten at least your new name, he froze, turning around and deciding that you were better off in this new life without even giving himself a chance. While he was ashamed of how he’d failed you, he wasn’t a bad person.

As he stared out the window, watching the people pass by in groups or by themselves, he listened to the soft sprinkle of rain hitting against the glass. It was a little gloomier today, bring his hope down a few pegs. He didn’t really like the rain, but the pitter-patter sound the droplets had inspired a few songs, so he couldn’t hate it completely.

Just when he was thinking over possibly heading out into the cold weather, his miracle arrived.

You were on the other side of the street, walking towards the crosswalk that would bring you straight to the shop. But you were crying. Not loud, shoulder-shaking sobs. Instead, it was the kind that was more subtle. The kind that reddened the eyes and stuffed up the nose, but made no sound. Yixing wouldn’t have even been able to decipher your state if you hadn’t been hugging yourself so tightly, wiping your eyes with your sleeve every few seconds or so.

When you came to the crosswalk, you were so wrapped up in whatever was making you hurt that you weren’t paying attention to the glowing orange man that had stopped blinking, warning pedestrians that it wasn’t safe to walk. Not even thinking, Yixing jumped up out of his seat and ran outside. Shoving people aside left and right, he made it to the sidewalk, not slowing down as he raced to push you out of the way of oncoming traffic. He finally stopped once your feet were safely back on the pale concrete, his arms cradling you to his chest. Stepping back, he frantically held your face, searching for any sign that you were hurt in the rescue.

“Are you okay?” he said breathlessly.

You nodded shakily. “Th-thank you. I, um, I really should have been better attention. I just-”

Yixing shushed you. “That’s okay. Let’s get you out of the cold and something to drink.”

Not answering, you let him lead you back to the coffee shop. Inside, he sat you down at the table he’d been occupying by the window for the last several hours before going up to the counter and ordering a simple hot chocolate. The wind outside was biting and unforgiving and your thin cardigan was hardly enough to shield you from it’s wrath. You needed to warm up and hopefully the steaming drink would do the trick.

“Thank you,” you whispered as he set the cup down in front of you before taking his seat again. You didn’t touch the drink and you kept your head down, most likely to hide the fact that you’d been crying – which he already knew.

“Are you okay?” he asked again.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” You were lying, but he didn’t call you out on it. “Thank you, again. For that. I feel like an idiot for just walking out there in the middle of traffic.”

“Maybe something was distracting you?” he offered. He hoped you would open up to him even though, to you, he was complete stranger.

Your answer was accompanied by a shrug. “Something like that, yeah.” Finally you took a sip of the drink, shivering as the soothing liquid hit your system.

It was silence for a few minutes. Many sentences started themselves in Yixing’s head, but he couldn’t bring himself to release any of them.

“I just get like that sometimes,” you suddenly confessed, making Yixing perk up.

“Get like that?” he echoed.

“Yeah.” You played with the cozy that saved your hand from the hot plastic, not meeting his eye. “I don’t know why, I just get really… sad, I guess? Usually, I just sit on my couch and listen to depressing music, but something today told me to go for a walk. I guess I was trying concentrate on not crying that I wasn’t paying attention to where I was walking.” Your cheeks rose up as you gave him a shy smile. “Kind of weird, isn’t it?”

“No, no!” Yixing protested. “I don’t think that’s weird at all. Emotions make us human, right?”

“That is true.” Holding out your hand, you introduced yourself. “I’m (y/n).”

Yixing fought to contain his elation as he took your hand, still a little cold but much better than it was before, and said, “I’m… Lay.” He thought it best to keep the facade of his current identity for now. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Lay?” Your eyebrows furrowed. Scepticism was painted all over your face, but you went with it. “It’s nice to meet you, too.”

Fighting the urge to bring your hand to his lips, like he did all those years ago, Yixing let your fingers slip away from his. “So, what do you do?” he asked.

“I’m a school teacher.” Your entire face brightened up, making it even more beautiful than it already was. “First graders.”

Of course. It fit all too well. “You look like you’d make a great teacher.”

“Thank you. What about you?” you asked after taking another sip of your drink. “What do you do?”

“I’m a music producer,” he replied proudly.

Your jaw dropped. “Are you serious?”

Laughing, Yixing started to go into more of what he did, but then his phone rang, making him frown. It was Han. “I’m sorry. I have to take this.” At your nod of understanding, he answered the phone. “Hello?”

“Hey, buddy, any luck?”

Yixing cleared. “Actually, yes. Did you need something?”

“Wow. That’s actually surprising. I figured you would be SOL with the luck you’ve had.”

He’d let that slide… for now.

“But, right now, Shia’s on her way. They want to hear the song again and they want you there. Got to come back to the studio. Sorry, man.”

Of course this would happen now. “Alright. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” Hanging up, he looked at you apologetically. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

“No, that’s fine,” you insisted, waving your hand at him.

Taking a deep breath, Yixing knew he had to take this chance while it was in front of him. “Do you think… I could see you again?”

Your eyes grew wide and a pink dust appeared on your cheeks. “Um, yeah. I would like that.”

As quick as his fingers could go, he opened a new contact in his phone and handed it over to you. There was no protest as you gave him your number.

“This might seem weird, but I’m glad to have met you, Lay,” you confessed.

His heart swelled in his chest. How could things be going so well for him? “I’m glad to have met you, too.”

Leaving you there in that cafe was hard, but he had to maintain his regular life. Besides, now he had a way to see you again. Walking away from you right now was only for a moment, it was not forever. Not this time.

Day: 1,095,077

For over a month now, Yixing had been able to see you off and on, meeting you at the cafe or grabbing a small dinner. The more he got to know the current you, the more he was convinced that you really were the reincarnation of his wife. The subtle mannerisms, the way you talked, every little feature in your face, it was all the same. And he was falling in love with you all over again. Some things were different, obviously, as your life experiences were different this time around, but he still felt strongly towards you and wanted to be with you.

He found himself skipping out on sessions with Han to go meet you. The melodies leaving his his fingers, whether being created on the soundboard or the instruments in front of him, were happier, livelier than they had been in the past. It was like he’d spent so long in the dark, cold winter, but the frost was finally melting away to spring.

Everything was in perfect order for when you would arrive. This was the first time you were going to come to the studio and Yixing wanted you to be impressed, not disgusted by the food wrappers and empty coffee cups lying around. Though the definition of your relationship was still just as friends, he could feel it growing into more. He hoped that tonight would help things move to the next step.

“Lay?” your soft voice came out as a whisper as you gently knocked on the doorframe.

He beamed at you, running up to you and guiding you in. “You made it. How was school?”

“It was good. The kids say hi.”

Yixing had gone once to the school to bring you back the cardigan you’d left at the restaurant the night before. The children had rushed at him, curious of the man who was bringing their teacher a piece of clothing. He’d stayed and played with them for an hour or so before you finally had to shoo him away to get back to their lessons.

“Tell them I’ll come see them again soon,” Yixing grinned.

You rolled your eyes. “You are going to get me in trouble.”

Patting the seat next to him, Yixing urged you to come to the recording equipment. He had something he wanted you to hear. “Are you ready?” You nodded eagerly. Yixing pressed the button to start the new song.

It was a slow ballad, but not a sad one. Hope and love filled every lyric, connected every note. He wished for you to understand it was all for you. The only thought he had while creating the song was of you, your face and your smile. Your laugh was the foundation for the rhythm, giving it a unique pattern.

As the song faded out, Yixing’s recorded voice giving way to the last few notes, you turned to him, glossy eyed and smiling brighter than the sun.

“That was beautiful,” you sighed. You reached out to him and grasped his hand. “You are so talented.” Realizing what you were doing, you took your hand back, embarrassed. “I mean, of course you are,” you laughed. “Mr. Music Producer.”

Shyness spilling over his whole body, Yixing pressed both of his hands into his head, leaning back in his chair while chuckling. You loved his song. The message might not have gone completely through, but you loved it. That was enough.

The two of you stayed in the studio for a few more hours, just talking while Yixing showed you how he composed songs on this modern technology. You listened attentively, taking in everything that he was saying, even playing with some of the knobs to create your own transitions.

Before he knew it, it was getting late and time to leave the studio as the sun was leaving the sky. He walked you out, but he didn’t want to leave you just yet.

“Are you hungry?”

You nodded eagerly. “I am, actually.”

Yixing scratched the back of his head nervously. “Can I make you dinner?”

“You cook, too?” You scoffed, looking out onto the street. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

Laughing, Yixing didn’t answer, just taking your hand and leading you to his car. His apartment wasn’t too far away, making it there in five minutes or so. Almost as soon as you walked in through the door, you started looking around, taking in the record collection and small pictures that Yixing had taken in his travels over the world. Not that you knew the older ones were taken by him.

He let you wander around while he got to work in the kitchen, sauteing vegetables and marinating the meat. The smells of the cooking food filled the air until he could hear your stomach growling from his spot in front of the stove. He giggled at the sound, but he didn’t say anything, just allowing you to continue walking around.

Just when he started plating the finished product, the vibration of strummed guitar strings hummed through the air. Walking over to the entry way that led to the living room, Yixing’s lips split into a smile when he saw you sitting on his couch, playing the acoustic guitar that usually sat in the corner, only there when he was inspired at two in the morning.

At first, the notes you played were random, nothing recognizable. But then, slowly, the notes changed into a melody he hadn’t heard in a very long time.

Tears formed in his eyes as he listened to you play the first song he ever wrote you on the lyre. It had been a gift, one that he hoped to win your heart over with. The plan had worked, the two of you very much in love and married within the month. He played it for you whenever you asked, typically on the nights before he had to leave you. After your death, he vowed to never play the song ever again. The only time he broke that promise was in front of the god of the underworld as he begged to take you back with him.

When you saw Yixing, you stopped playing, mumbling an apology.

“That was a very beautiful song,” Yixing said as he willed the water in his eyes to stay put. “Where did you hear it?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s kind of been in my head for as long as I can remember.”

The first step Yixing took towards you was hesitant, knowing that the action he wanted to take would either make or break the two of you. But after another step, he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Grasping your jaw with his hands, he captured your lips in his, leaning you back on the couch as you moved the guitar out of the way. You reciprocated the kiss, gripping his shirt in your hands. Yixing let go of your face to move his hands to your waist, lifting you up from the couch. In response, you wrapped your legs around his torso and he carried you to the bedroom, the dinner he’d made completely forgotten.

Day: 1,095,078

The warmth given off by you helped Yixing sleep better than he had in over three millennia. He held you close, memorizing every curve and the very scent of your skin. You were still fast asleep next to him, your breath the only sound echoing off the walls. Kissing your bare shoulder, Yixing slipped out of the bed and headed into the kitchen. He couldn’t help the smirk when he spotted the spoiled dinner.

Once that mess was cleaned up, he started on breakfast. This time he would make sure that you actually ate something.

Humming to himself, Yixing carried two plates of fresh, hot food back into his bedroom. But you were no longer sleeping peacefully, entangled in his sheets as you clung to his pillow. You were now wide awake, dressed and holding a small portrait in your hands as you sat on the edge of the bed.

Crap.

He’d forgotten about that piece he’d kept with him all these years, laying out on top of the dresser.

It was a piece of cloth, old and fraying on the edges, with your portrait painted delicately on the fibers. To preserve it, he kept it pressed under glass in a frame. He’d had it made soon after your death so he could carry it with him everywhere. Only by a miracle had it stayed in such good condition. The details in the painting were enough for anyone to see the connection between you and the subject.

“What is this?” you asked in a shaky voice. “Why does this look like me?”

Putting the plates down, Yixing approached you cautiously. “I can explain-”

“This is old,” you held up the frame, your grip so tight that your knuckles were pale. “Have you been stalking me?”

“No!” He threw himself at your feet, taking your arms in hands so he could feel more grounded as everything was crumbling around him. This what not how he wanted you to find out. He knew someday he would have to tell you, but he wanted to do it on his own terms, in a way that you would understand. “Please, listen to me. I can explain.”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, shaking your head. When you finally opened your eyes again, you sighed. “Who are you?”

Taking the frame from you, he stood up and sat next to you on the bed. “Most of what I’ve told you is true, but- My name isn’t Lay. It’s Yixing. And I’m over three-thousand years old.”

“What?” You jumped up, putting space between you two. “That’s what you’re going with? Are you insane?”

“Please,” Yixing begged. “I’m trying to explain this the best I can. I truly am that old. I was cursed after I tried to save my wife.”

You frowned. “Y-your wife?”

“Yes.” Yixing stood to his feet, but when he stepped towards you, you shrank back. “She was the love of my live and I lost her. Twice. But then I got another chance. I met you.”

“So… you think I’m her?” you scoffed. “That’s the only reason you’ve been seeing me?”

“Some people are reincarnated,” Yixing explained. “It’s still you-”

“No!”

The sudden charge in your shout had Yixing taken aback.

“I’m not her,” you insisted through clenched teeth.

“But the song-”

“I don’t want to hear it!” You stormed out of the bedroom, grabbing your purse as Yixing hurried after you.

“Wait! Please!”

You slammed the door in his face, ignoring every plea he called out after you.

Shuffling back to the bedroom, Yixing picked up the frame, sliding down to the floor. The tears flowed more freely than ever as he clutched the portrait to his chest. Just when he had you back in his arms, he lost you once again.

Day: 1,095,094

Over two weeks had gone by since you stormed out of Yixing’s apartment. You wouldn’t answer his phone calls and Yixing was losing all hope of ever seeing you again. He couldn’t make you understand; all he could do was hope that you would think about what he said and maybe give him another chance to properly explain things.

With his head resting on his arm as he stared at nothing, the song he’d written for you echoed through the speakers in the studio. He couldn’t stop listening to it, wallowing in his self-pity, hoping someday he’d just go back to being numb, like how he was before he met you.

“This is a beautiful song.”

Jumping at the sound of another voice, Yixing turned around to find Shia standing a few feet away. Gone was the sour, put-out look that had been on her face the last three times he’d seen her. Now her features were softer, a sentimental smile on her lips. She wasn’t looking at him, eyes trained on the soundboard, like she was really taking in the theme and meaning of the lyrics.

Yixing turned off the speakers, turning his back to her. “Thank you,” he said sternly.

Shia walked forward, leaning her palms against the table. “That’s the kind of song I’d like to sing.”

“No,” Yixing shook his head.

“What do you mean no?” She straightened up, crossing her arms. “Did you already write it for another artist?”

Turning off the rest of the equipment, Yixing got out of his chair and slipped his arms into his black bomber. He needed to get out of here. “No. This one’s not for sale.”

Her jaw dropped, offended. “What do you mean it’s not for sale?”

“Exactly that.” What was so hard to understand that he wasn’t giving this song to anyone?

“Don’t you want people to hear this song?” she fought back. “I’d even have it as the lead single-”

“It’s not for you!”

Yixing never got angry like this. He wasn’t a yeller, a screamer, but he just wanted her to go away and stop nagging him about the song.

“Lay?”

He froze, eyes widening and throat going dry. That was just his mind tricking him in this moment, right? His hope manifesting into delusions to ease the pain?

But when he turned towards the door, it was really you standing there, shifting from foot to foot, and looking like you were about to run out of there at any point given the slightest reason to.

“(y/n)?” he gasped.

You licked your lips. “Hi.”

Shia looked back and forth between the two of you, getting a sense that she should probably leave. Without a word of goodbye, she slipped out, giving you the room.

Neither of you spoke for the longest time. Yixing had so much he wanted to say, but he didn’t want to drive you away again. You came to see him, so he would let you go at your own pace.

“Han came to the school,” you explained, breaking the silence. Yixing didn’t respond, just letting you continue. “He, um, he said that you’d been going through a hard time lately.”

Yixing sighed. “Please, don’t feel responsible. It’s completely understandable. The truth was dumped on y-”

“Han told me the same thing.” You shook your head, still trying to process it all. “He said that he saw the pictures of you, throughout the years. That you were really telling the truth about being alive all this time.” You took a step towards him, finally meeting his eye. “But I want to hear the rest from you.”

Testing the waters, Yixing filled in more of the space between you, even risking taking your hand in his. When you didn’t pull away, he smiled, the corner of his mouth just barely tipping up. “I told you about my wife. She died after falling ill. I wasn’t there when she passed, having left earlier in the month on business. When I came back, it was too late. But I needed her. So I went after her. I traveled to the underworld to make a deal with the god who ruled there.”

“How did you… get there?” you asked cautiously, the strain between your eyebrows giving away how hard you were working to make sense of what he was telling you.

He couldn’t help but reach out and trace the outline of your cheekbone. You were listening, taking in what he was saying without running away. “I went through several trials, met with many religious leaders. I finally found the entrance. It’s the kind of place that could only be found if the gods deem it so. I met with the ruler of the underworld and made him a deal: I could take my wife back with me to the world of the living, but I had to have faith. I had to walk back up to the surface without looking back until I crossed the threshold. Just before I reached the sunlight, though, I panicked. I wondered if I had been tricked. So, I turned around and she was there. But I’d broken the deal and she faded away just when I’d gotten her back.”

Water was pooling on the bottom lids of your eyes, threatening to spill over as you took in his story. But it wasn’t over yet.

“I lost all will to live,” he admitted. “I didn’t eat, I didn’t leave my bed. I just wanted to be with her again and that was the only way left for me after the trial. But death never came for me. I was now cursed to live forever, never allowed to see my love again because I couldn’t have faith.” Letting go of your hand, he cupped your jaw. “When I saw you walking down the street, I thought I was given a second chance. My love back on the earth with me again. Getting to know you, this you, has been the real blessing. Even if you decide to walk away, I will be forever grateful.”

When he was finished, you reached up, capturing his wrist in your hand. He thought, for a moment, that you were going to push him away again. But you didn’t.

“I don’t know if I’m actually her,” you whispered. Meeting his eyes, there was a glow in your own gaze that was making his heart speed up. “But… I can’t walk away, not now. It feels too right, being here with you. I would hope that you see me in front of you, and not her.”

“It’s you,” he confirmed. “It’s you.” He pulled you in, kissing you deeply. It felt so good to have you in his arms again, to have you believe him and receptive of his love for you. It was all true. Now he didn’t care if you really were his wife’s incarnation, not anymore. You were the one he wanted now, the one he would be thankful to have for the rest of his days, no matter how many were in his future.

Day: 1,095,103

Although the last time he left you alone sleeping in his bed ended in disaster, he still slowly slipped out from under the covers, knowing it’d be fine this time around. As quietly as he could, he slid the glass door that led out to his balcony open. He stepped out into the cool morning air and leaned up against the railing.

Life had settled in the last few weeks. You were still adjusting to certain things, like calling him Yixing rather than Lay and having him reference something that happened decades ago like it happened last week. But he’d never been happier in his immortal life.

“It’s nice to see you smiling like that.”

Yixing jumped, letting out a strangled noise in surprise. Why were you always sneaking up on him like that?

But it wasn’t you that had joined him on the balcony. In fact, it was someone he never thought he would ever see again. She probably had much better things to do than pay him a visit.

“Persephone?”

“Hello, Yixing,” the goddess greeted from the iron seat with a dazzling smile.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as he adjusted his stance, leaning his back on the metal barrier.

“I thought I would catch up,” she said cryptically.

Yixing raised an eyebrow. “A bit late for that, don’t you think?”

She shrugged. She definitely didn’t look like the goddess that painters had depicted in their artworks over the centuries. A red pantsuit and short haircut helped her blend right in if she happened to be walking down the street. That softness that Yixing had seen so long ago was still present, so apparently not too much had changed. “Are you happy now?”

“Yes,” he said honestly. “I am. Are you here to tell me you had a hand in that?”

Persephone smiled coily. “Maybe.” Releasing a sigh, she crossed her legs, letting her hands rest in her lap. “I thought it was time to give you a life again.”

“So, my punishment is over for now?” Yixing knew, even though he was living joyfully now, that eighty years down the line, he’d have to go back to his lonely existence. But he’d pushed that thought aside each time it came out. He would love you now and forever, each day was gift, the future could wait.

“It wasn’t ever meant to be a punishment,” Persephone insisted. “I knew how much you loved your wife. I wanted to give you a second chance at that love.”

“So why didn’t you just have us reborn together?” he questioned harshly.

“Because you needed to remember your past choices, so you wouldn’t make them again.”

Again? But-

Ah. Yes. He loved his wife, he did with his whole heart. But he let his passion for music get in the way, leaving her behind as he went to play concert halls and chase after the admiration of the audience when he finished a piece. The fact that he didn’t get enough time with his wife wasn’t just because she died so young, but because he was away so often. He wouldn’t do that again. Already, he was putting off studio sessions and canceling meetings to spend time with you. Maybe he really had learned from his past mistakes without even realizing it.

“Is it really her?” he asked. It was a question that didn’t really need voicing, but it slipped out anyway. No matter what the answer, he would walk back into that bedroom and hold you tightly.

But Persephone nodded. “Yes, it is. I held onto her until I thought the time was right. Most memories are erased when a person is reborn, but I left traces of you in her, despite my husband’s protests, to help bring her to you. Remember how she said she would get sad sometimes without any reason?”

Yixing gave off a short laugh. It was a faint memory of him that took you to the streets that day, allowing him to see you again. It made all those years of wandering alone worth it, absolutely.

“Yixing?”

You stepped out on to the balcony, rubbing the sleep from your eyes and yawning. Persephone was gone, leaving the two of you alone. Opening his arms for you, Yixing pulled you in close to his chest, staring out at city skyline. He could feel your heartbeat, the steady rhythm reminding him of the rain pattering against the window on days where he felt especially lonely. He’d thought about how much he disliked the rain that day he pulled you out of the street. Now it was his favorite sound in the whole world. A sound that used to pull him down was now making him fly.

Day: 1,095,472

“Yixing! Hurry up! We’re going to be late!”

“I’m coming! Just one more minute!”

Instead of finishing up, however, Yixing just found himself smiling at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. The two of you were supposed to have left already for the party celebrating Shia’s newest album.

After much persuasion by you, Yixing had finally relented in letting Shia release the song he’d written for you. Now there were talks of songwriting awards galore with how successful the single had become. Yixing didn’t think he’d be able to attend the awards, needing to keep his identity as lowkey as possible, but the thought of it was elating enough.

You peeked into the bathroom, looking as amazing as ever. “Yixing, the fact that we’re waiting on you and not me is a great way to break the stereotype, but we’re seriously going to miss the launch!”

“I’ll be right there,” he promised, giving you a kiss on the cheek.

“Okay,” you sighed, stealing your own kiss from his lips before disappearing back to the living room of your shared apartment.

Fixing his hair one last time, Yixing gave himself a last onceover to make sure he looked the part of main producer. But then he spotted something that didn’t belong. Hidden among his styled black hair was a single strand of gray. Plucking it from its place, he held it up close to examine it. There it was, a gray, aged hair. Never had he ever seen one of those from his own head. Did this mean-

It wasn’t ever meant to be a punishment. I knew how much you loved your wife. I wanted to give you a second chance at that love.

Did this mean he was no longer immortal? Would he now be allowed to age and grow old with you? Only time would give way to the truth, but the hope growing in his heart was like a wildfire, raging out of control.

Out in the living room, he pulled you into a hug.

“Is everything okay?” you asked when you pulled back.

Yixing nodded eagerly. “Yeah, everything’s fine. Come on, let’s go.” He took your hand and led you out the front door, to head to the party and to the rest of your lives. Together.