#whoa it's still the eighteenth most places

[inactivebcthiswebsitesucks]

Her Royal Highness Princess Marjorie Iona Stuart of Scotland

In the eye of a hurricane When I got one foot in the grave I'll dig my boots into the dirt And face the rolling thunder

I'm five generations of blazing a trail Through barbed wire valleys and overgrown dells I'm barefoot and bareback and born tough as nails Whoa, whoa, whoa

I'm four-fifths of reckless and one-fifth of jack I push like a daisy through old sidewalk cracks Yeah, my kinda crazy's still running its courses with Wildflowers and wild horses

It's in the water in my veins That bread of heaven falls like rain So I'm taken care of either way Make something out of how I'm made Until I hitch a ride on glory's train

I'm barefoot and bareback and born tough as nails - Early Life

To put it simply Marjorie was never born to be a lady. She loved the skirts and pretty dresses that adorned her but her love for the effeminate stopped there. From the moment she could notice the young princess resented the difference with which she and her brothers were treated. Marjorie wanted to learn the dance of swords and how to show a bow. To get muddied exploring the crags and moors. Instead she was held inside. Lessons on needlepoint and how to act like a proper lady. At aged eight she had enough and began sneaking out to the training yards in the dead of night. Wiggling from the warmth of her featherbed she trudged stolen garments in hand to have a go at the training dummies. Her first attempts were hilariously disastrous. It was only after her brother Caelen followed her one night that she began to improve. With his tutelage she began to become adept at both sword and bow. She took hits from him that would leave bruises and welts. When asked about the injuries she would simply claim she fell. Her governess was even fired under suspect of abuse. Once good enough, she would often swap places with her brother William. Disguised as him underneath training armor she would get lessons from the masters at arms themselves. It invigorated and enthralled her. On a good day she earned her little brother praise on his improvements. On a bad her father would be called down to give them both a lashing.

When her eighteenth name day came, she was offered a horse of her choosing as was custom. Rather than choose the dainty Arabian, a true lady's horse, that was presented to her, Marjorie picked out Fargus. A draughty war horse colt. He had been reserved to be a well-respected guard's personal mount, but the princesses insistent meant that Fargus became hers.

When I got one foot in the grave - The Plague Years

Marjorie like many others suffered during the height of the plague. Storms and rains flooded half of the country while the other seemed to war within themselves. Many resented the royal family's privelege and believed that their inner turmoil was to blame for the severe losses suffered by the less fortunate. The princess for her part did what she could. Days would be spent atop Fargus, out hunting for game that might feed the common folk nearest the castle. She could not help the entirety of the country but she was determined to help those within her reach. Often times her return with game was the difference between hunger and starvation. It was during this time that the King met his mistress. Marjorie was fond of her from the moment they met. The mistress was everything that the queen could never hope to be. And when the announcement came of an heir, she celebrated with the kingdom.

Until I hitch a ride on glory's train - Present Day

Marjorie strives to become in a position of power. She wants to be queen. But not just any queen; the queen of most importance. Someone the other queen's will look upon with forced respect

Per what is expected Marjorie has hidden the longsword typically trapped to her hip after the family arrived at the summit. At twenty-eight she was practically an old-maid and in order to secure a betrothal she needed to look the proper lady. Unfortunately her betrothal was decided without her input. It is one she currently resents as she looks to position herself with a better match.

The princess still trains, though now that she is of age and able to command those below her, she has her own personal master at arms. They are her guard and her teacher for though adept at both sword and bow, Marjorie knows that to slip in skill is to die.

She spends her days exploring the land atop Fargus, stopping to engage with the locals and those she deems fit. Spending so much time so far from home has grown weary and she wishes to explore.

Misc. Facts

Many of her dresses are designed with metal work around torso and breasts, protection from a blade

Like many men, Marjorie has frequent affairs. While she doesn't share them with the other kingdoms her family is well aware of her trysts.

She seeks to have a hand in the current politics and uses conversations and the like to better her position and is slowly trying to build up the amount of those loyal to her.

Marjorie carries a dagger strapped to her thigh and is having another made that will fit her hip, the blade made to hide within the folds of her gowns and the hilt designed to appear as jewelry.

Frequently wanders off to wherever she pleases. Wears a bow across her back and long-sword at her hip when outside of the summit. Often goes looking for bandits or trouble to keep herself entertained.

[poorlytunedukulele]

Day 18 - Rift

Nadim Patel: This will be a tournament to remember, folks!  Never before has the Second Crucible League seen such triumph, such spirit, such drama!  We sit on the eve of what is sure to be a historic match.

All week fans have been watching in awe as the reigning champions, Fireteam Bash, has juggernauted their way through the bracket!  Though suffering some early setbacks, including a down-to-the-wire overtime win in round 2, the Pride of the Peregrine District seem to have found their stride, capping off the Semifinals with a devastating victory!

But our defending champions are only one half of the story.  On the other side of the bracket, a contender no-one saw coming!  Fireteam CPO was originally a wildcard pick, but they’ve become quite the darkhorse in this race, taking win after win against incredible odds.

By the time you will be watching this, we’ll be only half an hour from the starting whistle.  But tonight, it is Final Round eve, and tonight we are lucky enough to have none other than Andal Brask, leader of Fireteam CPO, in the studio with us.  Welcome, Andal, it’s great to have you here!

Andal Brask: Thanks, Nadim, it’s good to be here.

N: Now, Andal, before we begin, there’s a question I have to ask, one the fans have been begging us to ask all week.

A: Ah, I think I know.

N: What’s the deal with CPO?

A: It’s an in-joke, actually.  In the world of Vanguard operations, the five Hunters on our team are known as ‘The Crew’.  That’s me, Cayde-6, Tevis Larsen, Shiro-4, and Azra Jax.  But you can’t compete in Crucible tournaments with only five, so we brought in an extra.  So CPO stands for Crew Plus One.

N: And what a plus one he has been!  Redrix-3 has been making a very big name for himself.

A: What can I say?  Kid’s a natural.

N: Ah, but this is your interview, Mr. Brask, your time to shine.  Every team is only as good as its leader.

A: Leader has to work with what they’ve got.  Not gonna lie, I’m lucky to have a big pile of talent to work with.

N: That last round in the Semifinals- what a nailbiter!  Can you tell me what was going through your head going into it?

A: Oh, I can tell you exactly what was going through my head. 

The Hunter jumped high, eyes flashing, then there was a whir and a snap and the sky fell.

Chayam had been on the receiving end of Shaxx’s Fists of Havoc enough times.  This was a bit different.  He should be dead.  But only Carlo’s Ghost chirruped.

Strike that.  With a spin, Joy-4 was down, too slow in fumbling for her shotgun.  The Hunter rounded on Chayam.

He leveled his Auto Rifle on her and let loose.  She spun her Staff in a circle, creating a forcefield of Arc that deflected his bullets.  At least it kept her from advancing, for now.  Until his magazine ran out.

Then he took a bullet to the shoulder.  There, in the hallway, another Hunter was taking careful aim with his Hand Cannon.

Chayam spun to the side, reloading his gun with practiced efficiency.  “Inside!”  he cried into his comms.  “They’re coming inside!”

The Hand Cannon barked again, then he was dead.

A: Azra Jax is very useful as a distraction.  She was the only one with her Super up, but she pulls that Arc Staff and everyone just loses it.  So we send her inside, close-quarters, to draw their focus.  Throw in Cayde for some mid-range support- he’s also very flashy- and you’ve got yourself a very convincing diversion.  They couldn’t stand against a whole fireteam, but if they had to deal with a whole fireteam, that means we’d be in a good position to score.

Cyril peered down his scope.  There were calls for reinforcements on the inside lanes, but he had a feeling there could be a second prong of the attack headed for the outside.  The opposing team had shown some pretty unique tactics so far.  He wouldn’t put it against them.

There!  Movement at the end of his lane.  He shifted the rifle against his shoulder, ready to fire at the first thing that came around the corner-

A bullet tore through his thigh.  The deep boom of another Sniper Rifle echoed through the arena.  Cyril faltered and turned for cover, but it was already too late.

Kovac paused to catch his breath.  If he could flank a group of them, he’d be able to pull his Super and take their momentum away.  Already his palms itched with Solar, ready to take the Gun and reduce his foes to ash.  All he had to do was find them.  There was red in his motion tracker ahead-

There was a stabbing pain in his back, then the cold steel of a knife at his throat, then nothing.

A: Tevis is good enough to outsnipe the snipe and outsneak the sneak.  So he had our backs for the first phase.  Hopefully if everything went wrong, he could have his Tether up by the time the other team recovered the Spark and made it his way.  The plan was then to have Azra and Cayde fall back on defense.  Didn’t happen, obviously.

Joy-4 ran out of spawn.  “It was a feint,” Carlo announced.  “They’re already here!”

Too late for that announcement. 

A hail of Pulse Rifle fire took down Carlo.  Cyril was also hit and had to dive back into cover.

As soon as the clatter of bullets stopped, Joy-4 turned back around her corner and aimed down her sights.  But there was nobody there-

Up, her brain told her.  She had just enough time to look up and see the Titan flying above her let go and drop.

A: Shiro-4 was our spark carrier, with me as backup.  Didn’t really need me much in the end, I was just there in case Shiro got taken down, provide extra covering fire until then.  But that didn’t happen.

‘Bedlam’ seemed too calm a word.  There was screaming, there was gunfire, and behind all of it, the crash of armor against armor.  Their fireteam was being pushed back relentlessly- it was give ground or die.  Three of their party were still tangled up with the Arcstrider and the Gunslinger, too far away to help.

Cyril would normally take a 3v3.  Even odds.  Even odds didn’t matter when you had a battle-mad Titan charging through your spawn.  He was fast and he hit brutally hard.  Even the bullets Cyril piled into him didn’t seem to slow him.  The Titan leapt into the air.  Cyril saw death.

It all happened too fast.  Unseen, unnoticed, a short Exo slid in and deposited the tiebreaker point.

The rift ignited behind Redrix-3, turning him into an imposing silhouette as the victory announcement played.

A: Like I said, kid’s a natural.  I just let him do his own thing most of the time.

AO3 Link

[remywrites5]

hey!! it’s my birthday today!! And I wanted to know if it wouldn’t be any trouble if u could write a jegulus one shot where they celebrate regulus’ birthday? if not I understand!! I just rlly like ur fics!!

Hi, sorry I’m reading Red, White and Royal Blue and am currently in a Royalty AU mood. Hope you don’t mind! Happy birthday!!!!

                                                           ***

           James Potter was not at all excited about going to Prince Regulus’ eighteenth birthday party. He sat in the back of the car, staring grumpily out the window, wishing something would happen that would mean they could turn around and go home. Normally, James would be all about getting to party and Prince Sirius had been James’ best friend since they were kids. It was Prince Regulus that was the problem.

           Prince Regulus was an obnoxious brat who always used to follow James and Sirius around. James knew that Reg had grown up quite a lot since then, he was always portrayed as some kind of heartthrob in the tabloids and had over 100 million Instagram followers. James knew his own 80 million followers was nothing to sneeze at, but it was just another reason for him to be annoyed. It didn’t help that Regulus had the audacity to be very attractive with his dark hair in a fashionable undercut, his stunning grey eyes and his high cheekbones.

           Although James wasn’t royalty (thank Christ) he was the son of one of the richest men in Britain and that held its own kind of clout. He always got invited to social gatherings and had deemed him an acceptable friend for the heir to the English throne. It meant going to social events and being accepted without all the weight of expectation.

           When he arrived at the party, James immediately flagged down a glass of champagne. He took his phone out and took a selfie. There was not point in attending the social event of the season if he wasn’t going to flaunt it on the gram. Besides, he looked rather smart in his dark blue suit with maroon tie. Anyone would be lucky to take him home.

           His eyes landed on Reg (very much of their own volition as James was not actively seeking him out) to find the birthday boy dancing with some pop singer that James vaguely recognized. The Pop singer had her phone out, probably doing an Instagram story of the two of them. James had no idea why the very notion of that had his blood boiling. James went into the fray, shimming his hips to the beat. He danced first with a football player and then some actress. He still hadn’t managed to find his good for nothing best friend, who was no doubt off snogging Remus somewhere and ignoring the party.

           James twirled around and came face to face with Regulus. After an awkward moment of neither of them moving, James reached out and touched his fingertips against Reg’s hips, waiting to see if the Prince would step away. When he didn’t, James grabbed his hips more fully and brought Regulus closer.

           “Happy birthday!” he shouted over the music, leaning down to speak directly into Reg’s ear.

           “You don’t have to pretend like we’re friends,” Regulus said, scowling slightly up at James.

           “Then why are you dancing with me?” James shot back with a grin.

           “Why amI dancing with you?” Regulus countered, sliding out of James’ grip and dancing over to a pair of twins who were more than happy to play sandwich with Regulus.

           James shrugged it off and danced with an Instagram model for a bit. For some reason his traitorous eyes kept seeking Reg out wherever he was. It didn’t matter if he was dancing, eating, drinking, talking with his mum, James kept trying to find him like he was playing hide and seek with Reg. He had to admit Reg looked nice in the grey three-piece suit that matched his eyes. He could see why people were constantly swooning over him and why Regulus’ dating life was constantly splashed all over the tabloids. James could admit he had been following it a bit closely as of late.

           James saw Regulus slip away from the crowd and decided to follow him. He was just curious why Reg was abandoning his own party. He had no other interests beyond that. He dodged behind pillars and weaved in and out of doorways as he followed Reg up to what he knew to be Reg’s rooms. When he slipped inside, Regulus was already halfway done unbuttoning his shirt, his vest and tie already discarded on the vanity chair, and as he turned the smile on his face dropped. “What the fuck are you doing here?” he asked, swearing in his unbelievably posh accent and making James grin just a little.

           “I was curious.”

           “Why are you here?” Reg asked, pulling his shirt closed for propriety.

           “Why are you skipping out on your own party?”

           Regulus glowered at him. “I don’t see why that’s any of your business and if you don’t leave immediately I can and will have you thrown in the dungeons.”

           James couldn’t help throwing his head back and laughing. “The dungeons, Reg, seriously?”

           “Why are you here?” Regulus asked again impatiently, punctuating every word with emphasis.

           “Maybe I just want – “

           “James!”

           “Okay!” James said, putting his hands up in surrender. “I don’t know! I can’t stop looking at you in that damn suit and I saw you sneaking away and – ugh – can’t a bloke just follow another bloke around without having to explain himself?”

           “You do have to explain yourself when you’re in my bedroom when I’m about lose my damn virginity!” Regulus snapped at him, stomping over and grabbing James by the arm. He hauled James towards the door and tried to shove him out of it.

           “Whoa, wait!” James said, putting his hands up and blocking himself in the door. “You’re planning on losing your virginity tonight?”

           “Get out!”Regulus shouted, using his whole body to try and move James but James didn’t budge.

           “To whom?”

           “James Potter, I swear I will –“ The threat died on Reg’s lips as one of the Prewitt twins Reg had been dancing with earlier came into view.

           “Really?” James said over his shoulder to Reg. “That guy?”

           Regulus let out a scream of frustration and tried once again to shove James out of the doorway. James waited until the Prewitt was close enough. He timed it perfectly, waiting until Regulus was off balance, and then spun around, capturing Reg’s lips in a surprised kiss. Regulus let out a noise of shock and quickly pushed James away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

           “Oh hey Reg,” the Prewitt said, giving a small wave. “So James came to his senses after all. I’ll leave you to it then, cheers!”

           “Huh,” James said, cocking his head to the side and watching the Prewitt leave. “He’s good people.”

           “James, I swear I will gouge your eyes out with a spoon!”

           James stepped into the bedroom and kicked the door shut behind him. “What did the twin mean that I’d come to my senses?”

           “How the hell should I know?” Regulus asked, turning his nose up primly. “I’m not in charge of what other people say.”

           James smirked. “But you knew what he meant, didn’t you?”

           Regulus wheeled around and put his hands on his hips. He was clearly pouting but James didn’t know if it was about the kiss or the Prewitt twin leaving. “Are you going to get out or am I going to have to have someone throw you out?”

           “You know, you’re very attractive,” James observed, walking backwards and sitting down on Reg’s bed.

           Regulus huffed indignantly and slid his phone from his pocket. “I press one button and they will toss you out,” he threatened, his thumb hovering over the screen. “And I’ll make sure you’re never allowed back, Sirius or no Sirius.”

           “If you want to explain to whoever comes rushing in why I’m in your bedroom then you be my guest,” James said, waving his hand at Reg. “While you’re in a state of undress.”

           Regulus’ face went bright red as he stomped over to James. “You are the most insufferable wanker I’ve ever met!”

           “And you’re a selfish brat,” James said, raising an eyebrow, daring Regulus to argue. “But I think you like me.”

           Regulus’ jaw dropped. “Who in their right mind would like such an infuriating, pig-headed, absolutely –“ Regulus stopped talking as James reached out and grabbed him by the lapel, tugging his forward until Reg was standing between James’ open legs. Their lips were just a few little centimeters apart, their breath mingling with the taste of champagne, heady and sweet.

           “Is that why you used to follow Sirius and me around constantly?” he teased, sliding his hand along Reg’s collar and then pushing his fingers up into his hair. “Did you have a little crush on me?”

           Regulus rolled his eyes. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

           “I don’t have to,” James quipped back. “You’re flattering me plenty.”

           “I’ve done nothing but insult you since you arrived here,” Regulus reminded him, his gaze dropping down to James’ lips for a moment and then back up.

           “I do enjoy a challenge,” James murmured, guiding Reg’s face forward and crashing their lips together in a heated kiss.

           Regulus shoved James down onto the bed and immediately climbed on top of him, biting at James’ jawline before finding his lips again. There was nothing sweet about the kiss, each of them pushing and tugging at each other, gaining ground and then losing it quickly. But damn if it wasn’t the hottest snogging of James’ life.

           James rolled them over, managing to pin Regulus underneath him. “Are you going to behave? Or am I going to have to take your present back and return it?”

           Regulus’ eyes lit up at the mention of presents. “What is it? What did you get me?” he asked excitedly, patting James down in search of it.

           “I don’t have it on me.” James laughed and pressed a kiss to the corner of Reg’s mouth. “Stay right here and I’ll go get it. You move and I’m taking it back.”

           “Fine,” Reg said, lifting himself up onto his elbows and watching James as he went to the door. James rushed back downstairs and got his present from his driver who had been watching it for him. He hurried upstairs, suddenly very anxious for Reg to see the present.

           When he got back to the room, Regulus was scrolling through his phone absentmindedly but he dropped it the moment James shut the door. “Gimme!” Regulus said, doing grabby hands at James.

           James snorted and placed the carrier down on the bed and then pulled the cloth off the top. Regulus immediately made the highest pitched squeal James had ever heard. He couldn’t help feeling a little bit smug at that. “I take it you like it?”

           Regulus opened the carrier and gently pulled out the kitten from inside, cradling the small black cat by his cheek. “He’s incredible! And so soft!” Regulus melted, petting the tiny cat behind the ears with his index finger.

           James smiled and sat down next to Reg. “I know you always wanted one,” he said, watching Regulus place the kitten on his chest in a ball of fluff. “But your family always had dogs growing up.”

           “You remembered that?” Regulus said in surprise, turning his face towards James. “I never thought you paid any attention to me. You and Sirius certainly ditched me often enough.”

           James lay down next to Regulus and reached out to pet the kitten. “That’s only because you were terribly obnoxious.”

           Regulus backhanded his stomach, making James let out an “oof” of surprise. “And now?” Reg asked, grinning in amusement.

           “And now I wanted to fight everyone on the dance floor that was touching you,” James admitted, reaching out and sliding his fingers through Reg’s hair.

           “You know jealousy is very unbecoming,” Regulus teased, pressing up for another kiss while being careful not to disturb the kitten. “I’m a very desired individual and you’re just going to have to accept that if we’re to be together.”

           “Oh is that so?” James asked, wiggling closer and ducking his head into the hollow of Regulus’ throat, licking at his Adam’s apple before sucking a mark there. Regulus gasped against him and threaded his fingers through James’ hair. “Then I’ll just have to make sure everyone knows you’re mine.”

           “You spiteful, arrogant – “

           James swallowed up the rest of the insults with more kissing. Regulus whimpered against James’ lips and tugged hard on James’ hair in retaliation, making James groan against his mouth. “Just name the damn cat, you little shit, before I take it away from you and raise it as my own.”

           Regulus stuck his tongue out at James and held the kitten protectively, shielding it from James’ view. “Hmm,” Regulus said, thinking it over. He examined the cat, lifting it up and then letting it settle back down. “Dante.”

           “What?” James said, furrowing his brow. “That’s a dumb name!”

           “Excuse me, no one asked you!” Regulus said defensively. “Besides, it’s my birthday present!”

           “Fine,” James said, conceding this one time. Regulus looked adorable and James very much wanted to cuddle him all night. But he remembered Reg had plans for the evening. “Are you still looking to lose your virginity tonight?”

           “Not anymore!” Regulus said, dropping his jaw as if scandalized. “Not in front of our son, you pervert!”

           “Our son, huh?” James asked, biting his bottom lip to keep from laughing at Reg’s slip up.

           “Well, I mean…” Regulus blushed a deep crimson color. “You did buy Dante and I’d be willing to share custody with you. If you wanted.”

           James chuckled and kissed Regulus sweetly on the lips. “I don’t know who I’m going to spoil more, you or the cat.”

           “Me I hope,” Regulus said, chasing James’ lips as he pulled away. “You can still spoil Dante but spoil me more.”

           “Brat,” James chided, sliding his tongue into Regulus’ mouth and kissing him breathless.

           “Git.”  

           “Demon.”

           “It’s my birthday,” Regulus whined, letting his lower lip protrude. “Be sweet to me.”

           “Very well,” James said with a long-suffering sigh, kissing the pout off Regulus’ lips. “You win.”

           Regulus hummed happily with a satisfied grin on his face. “I do so love to win.”

           “Good birthday then, sweetheart?” James asked, stroking his finger down Reg’s cheek affectionately.

            Regulus nodded. “The best.”

[itsybitsyspiderling]

the last living part of you

Summary: A few years after Tony's death, Peter realizes that no one is ever truly gone. And Tony personally made sure of that himself.

Word Count: 4.8k

also on ao3! 

On the eve of Peter’s eighteenth birthday, he wandered up to a roof and sat there for hours. He counted every plane, every car, and every dog that passed by. A cool breeze carried wisps of hair away from his forehead while he rubbed his eyes dry. He didn’t want tomorrow to come. He didn’t want to blink his childhood away, not when he had already spent the past four years of his life wishing to be someone else. Peter wanted to feel like a kid for one more day.

He tugged on his mask and sighed into the material. Hot breath brushed his cheeks as his heads-up display came to life around him.

“Good evening, Peter,” Karen spoke sweetly. “What’s on the agenda for tonight?”

“Nothing,” he said. His tone fell low, almost atmospheric while the city lights stole his attention. “No danger for tonight. I don’t really wanna die right before my birthday. That’d suck.”

“Of course,” she replied. “We wouldn’t want that. Happy early birthday, Peter. Would you like me to sing you a song?”

Peter let out a breathy laugh. “No, please, no. Just––thank you, Karen. I appreciate it. Thank you for always being here for me.” He kept his hands clasped together in his lap. They were comfortable that way, and he was afraid that if he let go, he would want to climb up walls and swing down empty avenues. He wanted to sit as still as possible. And for as long as possible.

“I will always be here for you, Peter,” Karen said. “Is everything all right? Your heart rate is low.”

He took a breath. He could talk to her; he knew that he could, but there was something holding him back. Once he said his thoughts aloud, then that meant they were true. “I’m not ready for tomorrow,” he answered. “It’s––it’s not like any other birthday, you know? I’ll be eighteen. It’s just––” Peter shut his eyes. “I don’t wanna move on yet. I don’t wanna start another life. I-I just wish he was here.”

When Peter opened his eyes again, his vision had glazed over. He couldn’t wipe his tears, so tilted his chin toward the sky.

“Two years,” he whispered, inhaling sharply until his lungs ached. Exhale slowly. Count to ten. And again. “It’s been two years. And it still doesn’t feel real. I really thought I’d get to this point with him, you know? I think that’s why I’m not ready for tomorrow. We kept talkin’ about where I’d go to school. We talked about things like that. He joked about me never being allowed to drink on his watch, even when I turn twenty-one. But then he’d talk about being there with me to celebrate it. He acted like he had our entire life planned out as if––as if we were father and son. I’m just not ready to face tomorrow, Karen. I don’t know what to do.”

“Tomorrow is a big day.”

Peter looked down at his hands. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”

“Your friends and family are excited to spend it with you,” Karen continued. “Pepper Potts has asked me to extend an invitation to you and your aunt for lunch tomorrow. She says she figured you might have dinner plans but that she’d love to see you.”

“Really?” Peter sat up a little straighter. “She did?”

“She also wanted me to tell you that Morgan misses you.”

He smiled to himself. “I miss her, too. Could you tell Miss Potts that I’ll be there?”

“Of course, Peter.”

He slid the mask off after that. The sounds of the city seemed to grow louder at night, but he enjoyed the ambiance. He didn’t want to go off to school, not yet. Through the years, Peter had lost sight of home. He struggled to understand what it meant, whether it was concrete or abstract, especially when it came to his life. And he was afraid to leave the one place––the one piece of home––he had left.

He didn’t have much family beyond May. But he had Tony’s family. Peter still had tomorrow.

And when tomorrow rolled around, Peter had forgotten about his night spent on the rooftop. He was engrossed in the deep green foliage on the drive upstate. He was captivated by May’s off-key singing and the comfort of the new sweater she bought for him. Lastly, he felt loved. He felt like he belonged somewhere. It was natural.

Pepper prepared a lemongrass chicken for lunch, and Morgan gifted him one of the finest bracelets out of her handmade collection. He swore he was never going to lose it or take it off. After that, they played with superhero action figures until Pepper called them for lunch––Peter got to be Iron Man because Morgan insisted on being Spider-Man, and he would never say no to her. He was going to spoil her at any moment he could.

He still couldn’t believe he had his own action figure. It was too good to be true.

Everything felt good too—he had forgotten it was even his birthday. Everything was perfect and peaceful, and then Pepper suggested that Peter spend some time in Tony’s old workshop.

Peter had only been there twice before, but never for long. He found it too difficult to use the same tools his old mentor once had—instruments were left untouched as they collected dust, only for Peter to disrupt them with his sticky fingers.

So, when he stepped into the workshop for a third time, he promised himself that he wouldn’t leave. He breathed in the stale air, watched the lights flicker over every shiny object that screamed Tony’s name, and strolled around slowly. Life had once been in that room. A life that lived for five years after Peter was believed to be gone. It was a man who carried on, who, for once, set his suffering aside to abide by his own terms. Tony restarted his life in this room.

Peter felt wrong there. Like every step he took was trespassing on sacred territory. Tony’s workshop was a sanctuary. And Peter didn’t belong there, not anymore.

He memorized every inch of the place. He imagined Tony leaned over a workbench, soldering iron in hand while his wrists cramped from constant use. He imagined the stack of empty coffee cups by the sink and the unread emails piling up while he promised himself that he would read them (he never would). Peter imagined the two of them together, silent communication with spared glances as they worked on their suits for hours on end. It was sad to imagine that it would never happen again.

Finally, Peter allowed himself to find a sense of comfort. He spent an hour or two repairing old armor that had been left in rags, and he even considered trying it on for a change. But he couldn’t bring himself to get that far.

When his hands grew tired, Peter sat at Tony’s desk. Once again, it was a place he didn’t belong, but Peter didn’t want to move. Tony always knew how to pick out the best––and the comfiest—chairs.

“FRIDAY,” Peter spoke suddenly. “You there?”

“Hello, Mister Parker,” she greeted. “It’s been quite a long time. What can I do for you?”

Peter huffed. “Man, that’s a loaded question.” He thought for a moment and tapped his fingers along the desk. The glass monitors in front of him had collected a thick coat of dust, so he wiped them off with his sleeve. “Is there––ew gross––is there any way I’m able to get into these babies?”

“You have access to everything in Tony Stark’s public and private databases.”

Peter’s jaw went slack. “You’re serious?”

“Very serious.”

“Holy shit,” he muttered, watching the screens light up in a familiar blue glow. It really did feel like his birthday after all. “I don’t even know where to begin. Could I see all of the Iron Man files?”

“Would you like me to open all 3,406 Iron Man files?”

“Oh, crap, no,” said Peter. He hardly knew where to keep his eyes; the utter awe and excitement he felt had grown more than he wanted to admit. “That’s a lot of files. Just show me my options and then we’ll go from there.”

“Sure thing.”

As it turned out, three thousand files hardly compared to the extensive list of unfinished projects Tony kept stored. Peter had stumbled upon at least a hundred prototype designs of his first Spider-Man suit––along with a hefty load of new additions he’d never see with his own eyes. Among Tony’s files were outdated weapons tech that had never met the light of day once Iron Man was born. Peter felt undeserving of all of this information.

The folders with funky titles caught his eye the most. They always ended up being something with little substance, like an embedded link or a two-second video of a gauntlet combusting. Both folders were titled “Fuck this shit”.

And then Peter came across a folder called “My brain (Literally). Do not open”. So, obviously, he opened it.

FRIDAY's voice spoke loud and clear: “Now transferring file #616-3 to Peter Parker.”

Peter raised an eyebrow. None of the other files had done that. “What’s that mean, FRIDAY?”

But she didn’t answer. Instead, the only sound echoing through the room was a tiny beep coming from a distant workbench. He followed the sound, eventually finding that the source was some new design for a web-shooter. Peter held it close, examined the blinking red dot underneath, and pressed it.

A low buzzing filled the room as a holographic stream fluttered in front of him. Slowly, the lasers began to define the shape of a figure, and Peter assumed that he had blacked out after that.

He blinked once, then twice, and many more times after. He simply couldn’t believe his eyes. Staring right back at him was Tony Stark––but he was a goddamn force ghost.

“Whoa, whoa, okay––” Peter set the web-shooter onto the workbench behind him, yet the hologram didn’t budge. “FRIDAY, what is this?”

“The file says ‘do not open’, kid,” spoke the holographic Tony, and Peter thought he was about to throw up. It even sounded like Tony. It moved like him, too.

And then the realization hit. This was an AI.

Tony shrugged. “But, I guess, what did I expect?” he continued. His voice sounded metallic, almost static-like, but it was still him. “Maybe I wanted you to open it. Well, I guess I should explain. Once upon a time, I was bored and found a way to reconstruct my entire physical form as a holographic entity. Like a piece of cake. And not only that, I was able to transcribe every little darn thing about me into computer code to preserve my memories, knowledge, and, dare I say it, my boisterous personality which everyone loves so dearly. So, all-in-all, hi, I’m Tony Stark. Well, his essence.”

“I’m gonna shit my pants,” Peter whispered.

“Please don’t do that. That’s disgusting.”

He wanted to fall to his knees. It wasn’t real, it wasn’t real––but it was. It wasn’t a person, it wasn’t alive. It was a bright blue hologram that spoke and behaved exactly like Tony Stark, and Peter felt sick to his stomach.

The panic began in his jaw. Trembling and aching while his eyes refused to believe what they saw. His throat tightened after that, and once the pressure crawled down into his lungs, Peter couldn’t hold back the threatening sobs. He did end up falling to his knees, but only because he couldn’t breathe.

He pressed his shaking hands down onto the cold floor while his vision darkened. Everything had become numb, and he wasn’t sure he could hear his own wheezing anymore.

“S-shit, I-I can’t––” Peter tried to sit himself up, knees pulled to his chest while he struggled to even his breathing. A snake had wrapped itself around his lungs. “I can’t breathe––I can’t breathe.”

The blueish glow of the AI reflected off of the floor tiles as it neared Peter. When he looked back up, Tony had knelt down in front of him. Even his suit seemed to wrinkle. But it wasn’t real.

“Whoa, there, Pete,” Tony said, “it’s okay.”

Peter could hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears. He glanced down at his lap.

“Hey, look at me.”

Peter looked back up at the AI.

Tony smiled. “You’re okay. Deep breaths now. Ready?”

Peter nodded, swallowing thickly.

“Inhale.”

As best as he could, he took a long, deep, shaking breath in.

“Exhale slowly. Count to ten.”

He let out the breath. One… two… three…

“And again.”

They sat there for a few minutes while Peter calmed down. The numbness faded, and while his lungs ached, they no longer felt restricted. He could feel his muscles slowly begin to relax. And he soon realized that Tony had placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder.

But he still couldn’t feel a thing. The touch wasn’t there.

Peter stretched his legs out in front of him as Tony finally sat down. “He––he––Tony made you for me?”

“Yeah, well.” The AI shrugged. “I wasn’t really made for intended use. Technically, you’re supposed to be dead.”

Peter sighed and dug his fingernails into the denim of his jeans. “I was,” he said. “But that was years ago.” Further thoughts nagged at his brain, but he couldn’t find the right words. He let them sit at the tip of his tongue.

But, despite not being a physical existence, Tony seemed to know exactly what Peter wanted to say.

“Kid,” Tony said softly, eyes sad and warm.

“You’re dead, Mister Stark,” Peter stated abruptly. “You’re––you’re the one who’s dead.”

“I know.”

“You know?” Peter asked. He didn’t like that he could see right through Tony.

Tony nodded. “That’s what I’m here for,” he said. “I was made for this. I wouldn’t be here if I was alive.”

Peter didn’t like the sound of that. He had accepted Tony’s death long ago; he hadn’t expected to see him, let alone talk to him again. Peter was sad, but he was angry. Angry that Tony had decided that his presence was too precious to let die. Angry that he couldn’t let Peter move on.

He swallowed down the rising anger and asked, “when did he make you?”

“Uh, 2018,” Tony answered. “Oh, hey, it’s your birthday, innit? Happy birthday, kid. Consider me a birthday gift from me.”

Peter rolled his eyes and cracked a smile. He didn’t have the energy to be mad. Tony wasn’t alive anymore; he didn’t deserve it.

“Whatever you need, Pete,” the AI spoke, “you always got me. I was made for you.”

Peter’s smile grew a little bigger. “Thank you, Mister Stark.”

The sounds of shoes coming down the stairs stole their focus away from the moment. Peter glanced over at Tony with wide eyes.

“Peter?” It was May.

Peter scrambled to his feet and ran toward the workbench behind him. His fingers shook as he searched for the button to turn off Tony's ghostcomp. Just as the hologram flickered away, May entered the workshop.

“Are you okay if we––whoa, this place is––” May gazed around at the handsome technology surrounding her. “––intense. Like Disneyland for you. Is that one of your web-shooters?”

Peter set the device back onto the table and nodded. “Y-yeah. It’s not finished, though. Prototype.”

“Well, take it with you, and then you can work on it at home,” said May.

But, Peter shook his head. “No,” he said, walking towards her. He looked back over at the spot where Tony once stood. “I think I’m gonna leave it here.”

___

“Finally. It’s about time. Ten thousand years can give you such a crick in the neck.”

“You know Aladdin?”

“Do you know exactly how many movie premieres I’ve been to, Pete?”

Peter chuckled. He had come home from college for winter break. What had been Tony’s old home sat like a relic, one Peter could hardly stand to touch, yet it was well-lived and full of his life, his legacy. Pepper and Morgan treated him as though he had always been a part of their family. It was time for him to make use of the family he had.

And, he couldn’t deny that all he wanted to do was lock himself away in Tony’s workshop and just talk.

To a being that didn’t even exist.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Mister Stark,” Peter began that afternoon, “but you should have made yourself into another Vision. And then you could at least help me out.”

“Yeah, but I really like doing nothing and just watching you,” said the AI, hands stuffing deep into his hypothetical pockets. “You’re doing that wrong.”

Peter looked down at the Spider-Man suit that he’d peeled open to access the inner subsystems. Truth be told, he had no idea what he was doing. Ever. He spent the past two years in constant trial and error over his suits, all because Tony wasn't there to help him. And now Tony was there, and he wasn’t helping him.

“You’re a terrible AI,” Peter mumbled.

“Now that just hurts my feelings.”

“You could at least tell me what to do.”

“I could.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but he kept it as hidden as possible. “Why am I not shocked that Tony created you just to be as much of an asshole as he was?”

The Tony AI pretended to gasp. “Cuts deep. But don’t forget the Class-A narcissism.”

“How could I ever forget that?”

“You’re surely on a sarcasm frenzy today,” he said. “Anything on your mind?” Tony folded his arms and leaned against a table. It looked almost realistic–– minus the blue, ghostly tint.

Peter shook his head. It was still odd to see Tony that way, and it was also comforting all the while. It was like he had him back but not quite. While it was Tony, it also wasn’t. He didn’t exist anymore.

“I’m not convinced,” the AI muttered. He had every vocal inflection and physical mannerism that Tony did, which bothered Peter the most.

“No, nothing’s wrong.”

“I didn’t ask if anything was wrong,” said Tony. “I asked if anything was on your mind.”

Peter shrugged. He didn’t look up as he carried on maneuvering the wires in his suit. “Nothing is on my mind. And nothing is wrong. I’m fine. Maybe I just wanna be sarcastic today.” He glanced back over at the AI and sighed. “Could you just help me. Please?”

A disheartened expression washed over Tony, one Peter hadn’t seen before. He nodded. “Yeah, sorry. Sure thing, kiddo.”

“And, I’m not a kid anymore,” Peter mumbled. “I’m an adult.”

“Nope, sorry,” Tony said, “you’ll always be my kid.” He cracked a grin and reached out his hand. Peter believed it was to ruffle his hair like his mentor used to do, but the realization quickly hit, and Tony pulled away. And he looked sad about it.

While the afternoon dragged on like normal, there was an unspoken feeling hanging in the air. Tony knew that Peter wished he was real, and Tony wished he was real, too.

___

Peter had planned on stopping by the workshop on his nineteenth birthday, but he never got the chance. The night before, he spent eleven hours stuck in his suit because he didn’t want to go home––the summer dragged, and not even Spider-Man could save it. On his birthday, he let May take him into the city for a peaceful day out, but his senses never allowed him to relax. Peter didn’t think about the AI he kept hidden away upstate.

He never took Tony with him, but he’d thought about it over a dozen times. Somehow, it felt wrong. It felt wrong to remove him from a place that Tony belonged. Even though he had been created for Peter––even though the system had been crafted into his own web-shooter––it still didn’t feel like it. Maybe it never would.

“Believe it or not,” said Tony, “I do miss you when you’re not around.”

Peter wanted to laugh and roll his eyes at the hint of sarcasm, but he couldn’t. He lacked energy. He wished he was home.

“What do you do when I’m not here?” Peter asked, gaze lingering on the blueprints of his brand new suit. Well, it wasn’t necessarily brand new, but after falling from a building only for a tree to catch his fall, there were too many snags and tears to sew up. So, he figured he would take the time to add a few improvements.

“I’m just ones and zeros, Pete. I don’t do anything.”

Peter frowned. “Yeah, sorry.” He minimized the blueprints and sat down at the desk with a long sigh. “Why’d Mister Stark even bother making you, then?” Peter mumbled aloud, rubbing two fingers along the bridge of his nose. “You just stand there and talk. What’s the point in having you if you can’t even help?”

“Pete––”

“No!” Peter suddenly exclaimed. A fit of newfound anger had boiled over. “I’m––I’m so annoyed that he thought he was being so clever with you when all he did was make a shitty version of himself. I’m tired of you just standing there. I’m tired of you just telling me what to do. You can’t help. You’re not him, so there’s no purpose. Like you said, you’re just ones and zeros. You’re just a stupid code.”

The AI barely moved; for a moment, Peter assumed that he had shut him down with his words.

“You’re right,” he uttered with a shrug. “I’m useless. Just a code.” Tony walked over and sat on the desk, his movements disrupting the hologram while his legs disappeared briefly. He used to be alive. He used to have a real body. “But honestly, Tony didn’t make me to be another Tony.”

Peter titled his chin up, but his frown didn’t budge. “What do you mean?” he asked lowly.

“I’m a ghostcomp,” Tony said. “A ghost-on-a-chip. I was made in case Tony died, but I’m not a replacement. He figured that his death would be too sudden. He figured he’d had to leave just as fast as you left him. He wanted to make sure you had something at least a little concrete.”

“He made you because he knew that I’d miss him?” Peter sat up, eyebrows furrowing. “That’s bullshit.”

“I don’t think he was ready to say goodbye either, kiddo.”

Peter shook his head. “Stop. Please.”

“The real reason––” Tony began as stood. He walked over to where his hologram was being projected from. The web-shooter. “––is that I was designed to be a helping hand when you’re in the suit. Technically, you’re not using me the way Tony wanted you to.”

“I don’t care,” Peter said. “I don’t want you in the suit.”

Tony looked at him. His expression was unreadable. It was like the words had hurt his feelings, but he didn’t have the right programming to emote them. He nodded. “That’s fair. It’s your choice.”

And Peter nodded, too. Slowly, he rose to his feet and walked over to where the holographic Tony stood. Peter tugged his hands into his sleeves. “I’m gonna go see if Morgan wants to hang out,” he mumbled. “See you later, Mister Stark.”

Tony’s lips tightened into a weak smile. “See you later, Mister Parker.”

___

Peter was ready to go back to school. A few days after his twentieth birthday, he kept his mind busy and his muscles burning as he swung up to White Plains. He hitched rides from there on out, and Pepper always greeted him on the porch with a pitcher of ice water.

“Morgan’s at a friend’s,” she sometimes said.

And Peter would breathily reply, “May is at work. Is it okay if I––?”

Pepper always interrupted with, “of course” and a smile.

There were many things in the workshop that had been rearranged over the years, but Peter kept most of it the way he found it. He didn’t want it to become his workshop, which, in his mind, it almost had. He wished he could pack it up and take it to school with him, but it was a nice home away from home to visit on special occasions.

On this particular day, the bad thoughts in Peter’s brain had won the fight. He climbed out of the suit, made his way down to the workshop, and curled himself onto Tony’s chair.

It was Tony’s chair. The chair that had belonged to Peter’s mentor, the person he had looked up to ever since he was nearly eight years old––and now he was sitting in his chair, crying over the fact that he spent more time grieving Tony than personally knowing him. But then again, Peter realized, Tony had done the same thing, too.

It hurt more today, Peter couldn’t deny that. It hurt to be in the same room Tony had once been in––he had once lived in. The past four years were hard, but some days were harder.

He wasn’t sure if he wanted to speak to the Tony AI today. But, nevertheless, Peter picked himself up. He held the web-shooter in his palm, internally fighting with his thoughts before brushing his thumb over the button. He pushed it without hesitation, and Tony came to life.

“Hey? You look so glum, kiddo. What’s up?” Tony stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Peter set the web-shooter back down and shrugged. “Bad day,” he said, strolling over to the desk so he could flop himself back into the chair. “That’s all.”

Tony hummed. “Damn,” he said. “Sorry to hear that. Well, we’ve got quite a few things in here that could get your mind off of it. What do you say to a little holographic basketball with some trashed files, yeah? And before you ask, yes, we can do best two-out-of-three.”

“No.” Peter shook his head as he wiped his nose with his sleeve. “No, I don’t really wanna do that.”

Tony’s eyebrows knotted together. “What do you wanna do, then?”

Peter shrugged again. “I-I wish––I wish I could hug you,” he whispered.

The AI’s expression relaxed.

“I wish you were here.”

“I am here,” said Tony.

Peter let out a huff. “But you’re not. You’re not here. You’re not you. I want Tony back. I want my Tony back. Not a hologram I can put my hand through. I-I can’t hug you. I can’t help you build your suits, and you can’t help me build mine. You can’t go out into the world and live. You can’t––you can’t take me out to lunch. You can’t be with your wife and your daughter. You can’t drive me upstate or make me coffee I’ll never drink. We can’t do superhero shit together because you’re dead. You’re not alive. And you haven’t been for four years, and for some reason, it still feels like yesterday. I’ve done so much. I’ve changed so much. B-but I come back to you, and I’m just reminded of how much I loved being around you. How much I loved you. You just––you can’t be there like Tony was there. You’re not him.”

Tony stayed quiet. It seemed as though he hadn’t been programmed for such an emotional range. But then he said, “I’m sorry” so softly, and Peter felt the impact of his words. He had truly meant them, and he knew there was nothing else he could do.

___

“Whatcha packin’ up there, Pete?”

“Just a few things Pepper said I could take with me.”

“Where are you going?”

Peter’s college career had come and gone. His life had never been so different, and it was time to let change run its course. New York was still home, but sometimes home wasn’t necessarily a place. And Peter understood that. He needed to do a bit more living, and that required moving on.

“I got a job,” he said, stacking a few of Tony’s old belongings into a large box, “in New England.”

Tony grinned. The light from his hologram had dulled through the years, and Peter never found the time to fix it.

“Look at you, Mister Parker,” said Tony. “All grown up. I swear you were just fourteen and getting your ass beat by Cap.”

Peter chuckled. “I would go back in a heartbeat. Not to high school, though. High school sucked.”

“I literally don’t even remember high school.”

“It’s a blur,” he said. He lifted the box onto Tony’s desk and leaned against it. The moment felt sad and surreal. Peter couldn’t find the right words, so he fiddled with the edge of the cardboard instead.

“You okay?”

Peter glanced over at Tony. He hadn’t aged a day. “Sorta,” Peter said. “I’m––I’m not taking you with me, you know. And I’m gonna be gone for a while. Are you gonna be okay without me?”

“Pfft.” Tony rolled his eyes. “I lasted five years without you. I’ll never be okay.”

Peter smiled sadly. He still wished he could hug him. “I’ll miss you, Tony.”

“I’ll miss you too, kiddo.”

[anistarrose]

If The Sky Comes Falling Down (GF One-Shot)

Summary: Stan’s (and Ford’s) birthdays throughout the years.

Word Count: ~2300

Warnings: none

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19226707

Happy June 15th! (Title is from Hey Brother by Avicii!)

***

Stan and Ford are ten years old, and every one of their birthdays has been shared.

Every year, from the second the final school bell rings and onwards, the twins’ number one priority is planning the best birthday ever — what type of cake they want, which comic issues each of them should beg their parents for in order to maximize their combined yield, how they want to spend the day in order to make it the best day of the whole year.

Other kids at school seem to feel sorry for them, like having to share your birthday ruins all the fun of it, but to Stan and Ford, sharing has always been the whole point. With a twin, you’ve always got someone just as dedicated as you are to making your birthday perfect.

They’d never want it any other way.

Stan and Ford are seventeen years old, ready for their final year of high school, and as always they spend their birthday together. Today, they’re using the morning to work on the boat.

Freedom is tantalizingly close — just one more year of school, one more year of putting up with Dad. It feels just barely out of reach, just barely over the horizon.

If they time this thing right, and put in enough work, they might be able to complete the repairs just in time to sail out of town on the very day they turn eighteen. It’ll be a poetic and dramatic exit, as they journey onwards to clearer waters and grander adventures.

Just the two of them, going wherever they want to go. Stan can’t wait.

Stan (and Ford) are eighteen years old, and they aren’t spending their birthday together this year.

Ford is probably with his family — or maybe he’s already headed out to college and made new friends replacements there, for all Stan knows…

No, don’t waste time thinking about that, it won’t end well. The only thing Stan knows is that for the first time in his life, he’s spending his birthday alone, and he doesn’t have any idea what to do. Birthdays without Ford are a foreign concept to him, like an entirely new holiday that he’s never celebrated before, and he just feels empty.

Eventually, he settles on going to the nearest comic store and blowing his dwindling supplies of cash on the installments he’s missed over the past few months. He ends up not even having enough money to both get fully caught up and eat tomorrow, so he only buys a few issues — but it’s still enough to put a smile on his face that evening, even if that smile is only brought about by indulging in denial, by pretending he’s back home and everything with Ford is just as it’s always been.

Stan (and Ford) are twenty, twenty-five, thirty years old, and Stan still treats himself for his birthday however he can most years — if not the fifteenth, then the eighteenth, or even the twenty-eighth if it takes him that long to get ahold of a few spare dollars. And many years, he enjoys himself, but on others it just isn’t worth the painful memories that always tend to surface.

He’s realizing that sharing your date of birth with someone isn’t so fun after all, if you’re not sharing the celebration too.

Stan is thirty-one years old, and he doesn’t know if Ford is too because he doesn’t know if Ford’s even alive.

Summer is peak tourist season, so he has plenty of cash to spare, but he doesn’t do anything to celebrate when his birthday rolls around. He briefly has the notion that he should buy a cake and bring it downstairs to the portal room, but he discards the idea just as quickly. It just hurts to much to acknowledge.

Stan is fifty-two years old, and has been for nearly a month now as he gives Soos a reassuring pat on the back. The kid’s tears slow down a little, but not enough.

“Hey now, what’s the matter? Do you need to go home, ‘cause… well, it pains me to say this, but you haven’t missed a day of work since I’ve hired you, and I guess I could give you one day off with full pay…”

Soos shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. I — I don’t wanna be at home today.”

“Uh…” That surprises Stan, because as far as he knows Soos has a pretty idyllic home life with a grandmother who does nothing but dote on him — but if Stan has to curse out an old lady for reducing Soos to a bawling wreck, then he’ll do it, damn it. He’s cursed out stranger characters before.

There’s a sharp rap on the door — specifically the door to the private side of the Mystery Shack, not the side that’s open to tourists.

“Shoot, I gotta get this. Be right back,” Stan tells Soos, tossing him a box of tissues on the way out. Soos makes no effort to catch them, and the box bounces off his shoulder with a thwack as Stan cringes internally and hurries to the back porch.

And speak of the devil, it’s Soos’s Abuelita who’s waiting for him there, anxiously fidgeting with the straps of her apron.

“Has Soos come into work today?” she asks. “He said he would take the day off for his birthday party this afternoon, but he is not at home!”

Oh. So it’s a birthday thing.

“Yeah, I think I saw him swing by today,” Stan answers slowly. “I’ll go find him for you.”

“Thank you! I was so worried…”

Stan heads back inside, and sits down on the ground next to Soos even though his back protests against him with a burst of pain.

“Hey, kid. Your Abuelita’s looking for you.”

Soos buries his head in his hands, and mumbles something incomprehensible.

“Not a fan of birthday parties, huh? It’s okay… I’m not either.”

Soos looks up. “Really?”

Stan looks away. “Yeah, they’re just… not my thing.”

“My dad always promises he’d come visit on my birthday,” Soos mumbles. “But then he never does…”

“Oh, kid. I’m so sorry about that.” Stan pauses, and then throws an arm over Soos’s shoulder.

“I get it,” he whispers. “When it’s supposed to be the greatest day of the year for you, but then the people you care about — or the people you want to care about you — aren’t there, year after year, then it… it really wears you down.”

“Does your family never visit you on your birthday, Mr. Pines?”

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, something like that.”

Soos wraps his arms around Stan’s chest, trapping him in a surprisingly tight hug.

“I thought I was the only one who hated my birthday,” he whispers. “I’m sorry your family’s like that, Mr. Pines, but… I’m glad I’m not the only one.”

Stan is sixty-one years old, and he’s perfected the art of doing nice things for himself in early June and then lying to himself about it.

The party’s just a moneymaking scheme, nothing more. Getting to dance all night and eat marshmallows and other junk food? Those are just bonuses, and the timing? Falling exactly on the fifteenth of June? Well, that’s definitely just a coincidence.

Mabel is a whirlwind of energy and excitement on the dance floor, having apparently made some new friends, and Dipper is who-knows-where, probably off shirking his responsibilities and making trouble. They’re both good kids — their weirdness and stubbornness and just general twin-ness is a comforting kind of familiar on some days, and a worrying kind of familiar on others, but that’s not their fault. They don’t know.

Something about the presence of the younger twins tells Stan that it’s this summer that everything will finally change, though. That this is the last birthday that he’ll spend alone, unable to share.

Stan and Ford are both sixty-one, and all of those years have only led up to this. To the sky being ripped apart, and a demon burning the town to the ground.

“We used to be like Dipper and Mabel,” Ford says. “The world's about to end and they still work together. How do they do it?”

“Easy, they’re kids,” Stan tells him. “They don’t know any better.”

Ford stands up, a determined but wistful look in his eyes.

“Whoa, where you going?”

“I'm going to play the only card we have left — let Bill into my mind,” Ford explains. “He'll be able to take over the galaxy, and maybe even worse… but at least he might let the kids free.”

“What? Are you kidding me?! Are you honestly telling me there's nothing else we can do?!”

“Bill's only weak in the mindspace. If I didn't have this darn plate in my head —” Ford makes a fist and hits the side of his skull for emphasis, producing a metallic clang. “— we could just erase him with the memory gun when he steps inside my mind.”

“What if he goes into my mind? My brain isn’t good for anything.”

Ford chuckles sadly. “There's nothing in your mind he wants. It has to be me. We need to take his deal, it's the only way he'll agree to save you and the kids.”

“Do you really think he’s gonna make good on that deal?”

Ford sighs. “What other choice do we have?”

“You could… holy shit, Ford, quick! Put on my clothes!”

“Excuse me?!”

Stan takes off his fez and slaps it on Ford’s head. “If we switch places, Bill can go in my mind and then you can erase him! If it fooled all our teachers, why can’t it fool a demon?”

Ford throws the fez to the ground and grabs him by the shoulders, and Stan braces himself for a reply of you idiot, that’ll never work, don’t you think I would have thought of that myself if it would? — but he’s left completely unprepared for the words that actually come out of Ford’s mouth, quiet and slow and afraid in a way Stan hasn’t heard in decades:

“Stanley, that won’t just erase Bill. It’ll erase you.”

“But will it work?” Stan doesn’t even need to ask — Ford has a certain gleam in his eyes, a certain look of awe upon his face that only appears when he’s truly blown away by a revelation that never occurred to him, but makes all the sense in the world. It’s a look that’s partially obscured behind an expression of fear, of guilt, of desperation — but it’s definitely there.

“It will work,” Ford whispers, “but I don’t want to lose you.”

“It’s either erasing one idiot’s memories or letting a lot of people die, Ford! We’re — we’re running out of time, damn it!”

Ford stares at the ground as he begins to pull off his trenchcoat. “I’m so sorry, Stan.”

“I am too, Ford.”

A man wakes up in a clearing and remembers nothing, least of all his age.

Strangers approach him, cry over him, call him a hero and hug him uncomfortably tight, and he doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know what to say.

Ford, the older man, tells him that his name is Stanley, and that the two of them are brothers, that they’re twins, but something about the realization rings hollow. Any connection Stan might’ve once had with this man has since been severed, leaving them to share a face, a birthday, and nothing more.

…Or at least, that’s what one would think, because surely a disoriented and confused shell of a man with ill-fitting clothes and no memories can’t be a brother to anyone, not in any of the ways that truly matter — but when Stan looks at Ford and sees him staring off into the distance with a defeated frown on his face, looks at any of these strangers and sees them in anguish… his heart feels like it’s about to be torn in two. So maybe, just maybe, some fragment of a connection has persisted.

He tries to lighten the mood, to no avail, and tries to remember the scenes in the scrapbook the girl shows him — and when words start spilling out of his mouth on instinct, he’s relieved not for himself, but for the others. (For his family.)

He’s relieved when he sees them start to smile, to hope, and finally thinks Yeah, these faces look familiar.

Stan and Ford are sixty-two years old, and they blow out the candles on their birthday cake together as Dipper takes pictures and Mabel showers both of them in confetti.

“Mabel, sweetie, that’s kind of a fire hazard,” Stan warns her. “You know, with the candles and all —”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Ford cuts in. “We all know where the fire extinguisher is, don’t we?”

“Yeah, because you’ve already come seconds away from blowing us into the stratosphere twice this summer!”

They laugh, and then Stan and Ford argue over who gets to cut the cake, but there’s no malice behind the words. It’s just the usual sibling banter — one of the many little things that Stan and Ford have found themselves appreciating more than ever this past year, after having gone so long without it.

Everyone is stuffed except for Stan, who’s cleaning out the last few spoonfuls from a tub of ice cream, when Ford pours one last glass of milk and raises it towards Stan like one would for a toast.

“Here’s to more birthdays together,” he says, and Stan hastily picks up his own cups to clink it against Ford’s. It’s not a very satisfying clink, since both cups are plastic, but it’s good enough. It’s the sentiment that really makes the toast, after all.

“To more birthdays together,” Stan echoes.

***

Endnotes:

Thanks for reading, feedback and reblogs are appreciated as always! I realize Stan acted in Blendin’s Game like he didn’t know what caused Soos to hate his birthday, but I feel like it’s plausible he wouldn’t have wanted to share something so personal with the others if Soos clearly didn’t want to talk about it (and also I wrote that scene before realizing this potential continuity issue and just really wanted to keep that dialogue).

Anyways, I could go on and on about how much these two stubborn old men mean to me, but to keep it brief, thinking and writing about them has helped me through a bunch of rough patches, so I felt like it was about time to write something for their birthday (which I’d hoped to do last year, but writer’s block was a bitch). I’m so proud of this whole dumb fictional family, and I had the biggest smile imaginable on my face while I was writing that scene of pure fluff at the end :’)

[thedyingmoon]

🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

~ A V X Reader set in an Alternate Universe wherein fancy Nero gets schooled by V. 🖤

~ That's my Bloody Palace screenshot ( What level am I now? Nah, I'm not telling ). 🖤

~ I hope you enjoy this part, @heaven-on-a-landslide and @acieoj ! 🖤

***

VI

***

"She's just tired as hell. You'll see her in the morning."

At least, that's what Nico said.

But then, V should've known better.

The next morning, the girl left a note on the glass top table, saying something about going to a friend's and staying there until Saturday. Somehow, the chit got past him without making any noise to wake any of them ( that's him, Nero, Griffon, and Shadow ) up, who all snoozed on the living room in sleeping cots provided by Nico, who spent the rest of the night on the guest room. V, being the most alert among all of them inside the unit, didn't hear her footsteps, even the creak of the door. What's more, Nico found out that the formal wear she provided for her was also gone.

Which meant that, to V's frustration, they will not be able to see her until the event, itself, which would take place the next day.

And so, the day finally arrived.

Nero was struggling with the lacy jabot on his neck, grimacing at it, and how he looked as a whole, in the mirror every once in a while.

And to add further insult to the injury, Griffon, who was flapping his wings non stop above his head, was laughing at him really hard.

The young and dashing Devil Hunter, who recently became famous for defeating the infamous Demon King Urizen, who almost plunged Red Grave with Qliphoth roots, let out a loud curse and threw the jabot on the floor.

Nico, who just finished putting on her dress and makeup on the guest room, heard this and came out, curious as to the source of that very colorful language.

And when she finally saw what Nero looked like, she could not help but double over in stomach pain as she failed to suppress her laughter.

"FUCK!" Nero cursed, angry at the tattooed woman who was still laughing her ass off at his appearance. "You think this is funny?!"

"What the hell are you wearin'?!" Nico bursted out through her uncontrolled fits of laughter.

"I bet it's her grandma's dress!" Insulted Griffon, which only made Nico laugh even more, and Nero angrier.

"SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU FUCKING BIRD!"

"W-w-wait, don't tell me your granny wore that to snag herself a boyfriend in the eighteenth century?!" Nico added.

"I swear if you don't stop - " Nero warned, then clicked his tongue, unable to stop the woman and the bird from laughing. It's true. With the heavy, lace coat of powder blue and purple ensemble, the equally lacy white undershirt, the pair of black breeches, the white knee - high socks, and the high - heeled pair of dancing shoes, Nero absolutely looked like a bratty, noble kid who came directly from the French Revolution era, or earlier.

"What? You'll hit me?" Nico taunted, pointing at Nero with a finger, flaunting her carefully manicured nail.

Griffon picked the jabot from the floor, graciously, if not mockingly, giving it back to Nero. "Here, you forgot this, Your High Nobleness."

Nero snatched the jabot from Griffon's talon, almost damaging it, and said, "Just to inform you, Credo owned this, not me!"

"Kyrie's older brother, huh?" Nico asked.

"Yes, him!" Nero answered, almost wrongfully getting mad at someone who was innocently and peacefully resting six feet under the grounds of Fortuna. "And, I'm not wearing this FUCKING thing!" he announced through gritted teeth, starting to remove the offensive - smelling coat. Apparently, Kyrie found it proper to drench the thing with an awful amount of floral fabric conditioner, making Nero reek of fresh flowers.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait!" Nico held her hands up, stopping Nero's movements. "I'm telling Kyrie if you do that! You'll make her cry, man!"

"No! Don't you dare tell her."

"Stop being a bitch! It isn't that,..." Nico said, failing in her attempt to lie at him with her mirthful eyes. "... bad."

"Ha! You think I look bad? Just wait for V!" Nero mocked, hands on his hips like the "nobleman" that he was. "He crammed yesterday looking for one, since he didn't find any last Thursday."

"Ya think?" Griffon maliciously asked, his eyes devilishly looking down at Nero's pitiful and funny form. He flew towards the bathroom and shouted, "Hey, Shakespeare, you done now, or what? The pimple kid is mocking you! Come out already!"

"You'll see." Nero mouthed at Nico with a sinister smile, so sure that V would look even worse than him.

Oh, how very wrong he was.

When V finally came out, Nico's mouth dropped open in shameless admiration, and Griffon beamed with pride for his boy. Shadow, who was patiently waiting for V to come out, stretched her forelegs, yawned, baring her fangs at Nero, and went to her master with a proud swish of her tail. She was getting tired looking at the boy for an hour, and the sight of V changed into his formal wear was a real fresh change.

Nero, in an infernal kind of frustration, took off his coat and flung it to the other end of the room, knocking off one of the painted vases, making it plummet to the ground and break into tiny little pieces.

"Hey, psycho!" Nico shrieked at him. "Watch the furniture!"

"FUCK!"

***

The massive ballroom that held about a hundred people was, indeed, the topic of every male and female guests. The three crystal chandeliers that shone illuminated the pleasant below. The black - clad musicians mainly played jazz, and would sometimes add in classical numbers for the dances like the foxtrot and the waltz. The food was great, courtesy of the best chefs in the city, and the rich vintage, matched by the sparkling ones for the ladies, that was being offered by the maroon - liveried servants, never warmed, always cool and ready for some hot - headed guests.

The head of the house, who sat at the tallest box with some servants at his tow, watched in admiration for his feat of bringing together the country's most powerful Demon Hunters. He chuckled at the sight of the two most powerful ladies in the room, lively chatting with some noobs. He grunted at the sight of that lone man who was pestering the servants with more wine. But, most of all, he was getting anxious, for his most awaited guest have yet to arrive -

"Sire," a servant whispered to his ear. "Nero of the Devil May Cry Agency has finally arrived with his, ah, entourage."

The lord of the house rubbed his hands. "Perfect. Kindly inform the musicians to sound in their classics. I want to make this dramatic."

"Naturally." the servant nodded and left at once.

But, Nero and company was not aware of this, and the importance the lord actually held for him. So, when he descended the stairs, fancy coat, lacy jabot, sleek hair, and all, he could not help but miss a few steps at the sudden change of music, almost stumbling down if it weren't for Nico who helped him by holding unto his arm as tight as she could to prevent him from falling to the carpeted ground.

"Get a grip, man!" Nico, who began sweating, whispered savagely at him. "Hold it together."

"How coud I - !" Nero whispered back. "They didn't have to change the goddamn music!"

Nero was right. Now that the rest of the Demon Hunters in the room noticed his fanciness, and the matching harpsichordy - classical music, they couldn't help but giggle at his grand entrance.

"Stomach in, chest out." V, who was descending beside him, whispered to him in that velvety - low voice of his, subtly slamming the tip of his cane on Nero's back. "Chin,... up and proud."

Nero, who was honestly mad at V for wearing a less fancy formal attire and seriously thinking that he was just being mocked by the man, retorted angrily. "Stop embarrassing the hell outta me!" he gritted.

V gave him a sideways glance, jade eyes dangerously narrow and wicked grin deathly threatening. "I'm teaching you how not to embarrass yourself even further with that,... attitude of yours." he warned. "Now, if you do not want to stumble all the way down and sully the name of your great father, and his even greater father before him, I suggest you follow,..." then, as if by one last ounce of threat, V pushed the tip of his cane harder unto Nero's back, hurting him and making him stand up straight in the process as a gentleman should. "... my unsolicited and valuable pieces of instruction."

"Damn you, V - " angrily whispered Nero, gaining him a painful pinch from Nico, who was still holding unto his right arm. "Ouch!"

"Do as the man says or I'll hurt you!"

And so, with so much struggle, Nero finally made it down the stairs, surviving Nico's vicegrip and V's cold stare. And once he was down, the younger, less experienced Demon Hunters, who came there before them, started bugging him with questions regarding the Demon King he recently defeated.

V, having isolated himself from the crowd that started to form near Nero and Nico, breathed a sigh of relief. He leaned on the wall, watching them from a safe distance, when the classical music came to a halt.

If it weren't for the boy's lovely attitude, V would've enjoyed the evening. It was a fine event, after all, not considering the danger they would possibly get into later.

Some refined Demon Hunters, who actually bothered to listen to the otherwise boring music, clapped their hands, giving the artists enough motivation to start a new one. The leader signalled for a change of genre and a turn of a page, and when the musicians started playing once more, the room was filled with the most beautiful bossa nova that V has ever heard. These men really do have talent, he admitted.

And as if by some magical and wild form of chance, a very familiar scent made its way towards his nostrils.

Flowers. Freshly blooming in the morning.

He looked up at the staircase,...

... and became wide - eyed at the spectacle that was unfolding right before him.

For there, clad in something that only rivalled the stars above, was the most beautiful female he has ever seen in his entire, miserable, demonic and non - demonic existence.

***

🖤🖤🖤

[another-blog-bites-the-dust]

The one that got away.

Summary: After a stupid mistake, Roger realises that the best thing in his life was always going to be the one that got away.

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating

A/N: Okay so this is a little different to what I usually do but I thought about giving it a try! The song behind the fic is 'The one that got away' by Katy Perry but if y'all would like me to do something like this again, you can send me some songs if you'd like to and I'll try and create a fic from them 😁 I hope you like it! Enjoy! 💖Bold italics are lyrics!

Summer after high school, when we first met

We make-out in your Mustang to Radiohead

And on my eighteenth birthday, we got matching tattoos

"My mum and dad are doing to kill me!" You laughed tracing your fingers over the jet black ink on your skin. "But I love it! I love it so much!" You grinned and faced Roger who was lovingly gazing at you from the drivers seat. He had parked in front of his house, his parents were out for the night and yours were out of town so you decided to spend the night together.

Roger leaned forward and captured his lips with yours, almost pressing you into the window. You gasped feeling his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He pulled back with a soft gaze, his eyes flickering between your lips and eyes- it made your heart skip a beat seeing how innocent and impure he could be at the same time. "I love them too," he smiled. "Less painful than I thought..." he admired the little piece of art on his arm. "I could never love it as much as I love you though." He flashed a charming smile and you couldn't resist kissing him.

"I love you too, Rog." You murmured against his soft, warm lips.

The pair of you still had cling film wrapped around your biceps to keep the fresh tattoo protected. They were matching- almost identical. You had both got skulls but the crossbones on yours were a pair of drumsticks and on Roger's, they were film reel strips. An ode to one another and what you both wanted to do in the future. Roger gently squeezed your thigh before getting out the car and then opening your door for you like the gentleman he was. You linked your arm with the drummer as you approached his house. When you reached the door, he passionately kissed you and dragged you inside.

You had been with Roger for a while now, the two of you had a natural spark. You both knew what the two of you were feeling, thinking, wanting. And tonight the pair of you wanted each other.

Used to steal your parents liquor and climb to the roof

Talk about our future like we had a clue

Never planned that one day I'd be losing you

You kept your head on Roger's shoulder as you looked out to London illuminating the horizon in the distance while the two of you stargazed on the roof with an almost empty bottle of brandy. Roger had wrapped you up in one of his fuzzy dressing gowns, keeping you warm from the cool air. You had climbed up through the attic to see the breathtaking view. Underneath you had a pair of your sweats that you kept at Roger's house along with a few other bits of clothing but you were wearing one of his t-shirts, the one that hugged your frame just as well as he did when he held you. "I've got an audition next week," you announced.

Roger went wide eyed and had a huge grin on his face, his hair was sticking up a little thanks to the sweat he had manged to built up when he was having his way with you. "That's amazing! For a movie? Or tv show?"

"Movie," you smiled. "Something called 'Star Wars'. They haven't told me much about the role I'm up for but I'm looking forward to giving my all to try and bag the part."

"What's the part?" He asked, not taking his eyes off you.

"A princess, it sounds like a good role. I feel like I haven't had any luck lately trying to get roles...I often wondered if I was just throwing away my future pursuing this career." You looked up to Roger with a soft smile on your face "But then I look at you- how far you've come with the band and then I smile. And I'll know I'll always have you in my future somehow. As long as I have you, everything else falls into place." You laced your fingers between the gaps of his and gently squeezed his hand.

"You'll always be with me- either in person or the tattoo," he joked and you laughed. Roger wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pecked your temple. "But in all seriousness, I love you and I'll always be with you." You softly smiled and rested your forehead against his.

Neither of you had a clue what the future held but you were both less worried knowing the other person would be in it.

In another life, I would be your girl

We keep all our promises, be us against the world

In another life, I would make you stay

So I don't have to say you were the one that got away

The one that got away

"I'm so nervous, Rog," your hands were shaking as he drove you to the studio for your audition. "Thank you for taking me," you sweetly smiled. Roger reached across and squeezed your hand before bringing it to his lips while keeping a hand on the steering wheel.

"Not a problem, love." He pulled up outside the studios and you inhaled a deep breath. Roger turned to you "Don't be nervous- you've got this!" He gently cupped your cheeks "Believe me when I tell you this," he moved a little closer to you. "You will achieve anything if you face the challenge with a smile and an open mind and an open heart." He pressed his lips to yours and looked deeply into your eyes, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones. "Always keep your heart open- even when you're scared it might hurt." You blinked away the tears welling in your eyes and nodded at his words. "Go knock em' dead, Y/N."

Roger gave you a kiss good luck before he watched you skip into the building with a grin on his face. He swallowed hard however when he rubbed his sweaty palms over his jeans and his fingers hit against the little box in his pocket.

He only hoped you would say yes.

I was June and you were my Johnny Cash

Never one without the other, we made a pact

Sometimes when I miss you, I put those records on, whoa

You lay next to him later that night wearing nothing but the sparkling engagement ring on your finger. Roger kept rubbing his fingers over it, making sure that he was living in the real life and not a fantasy. You had said yes. You were going to be his wife. "So..." he began with a growing smirk "Do I have to refer to you as Princess Leia now or...?" He trailed off and you giggled, snuggling closer to him.

"Soon-to-be Mrs. Taylor will do just fine," you playfully retorted. You gently brushed away the stray hairs on Roger's face "You're the most beautiful human being on this planet," you whispered and softly kissed him while he blushed.

"I get inspiration from you..." he flirtatiously murmured and you laughed into his shoulder, the sensation of your hair on his sensitive skin made him smile. It felt so pure and so natural.

Your smile soon disappeared when you were reminded of the inevitable when your eyes flickered up to his drumsticks that were laying on the table in the bedroom you both shared. "I'm going to miss you when you're on tour," you felt a little deflated knowing you weren't going to be seeing him for the best part of a year.

"I'll be back before you know it," he reassuringly smiled "Plus you'll be too busy being a badass space princess to notice that I'm gone!" Roger winked and then touched your ring again. "Will you promise me you'll always keep this on?" He asked in a whisper.

"Always. I promise."

Six months later you were surrounded by newspapers with Roger's face plastered over it while in your dressing room. You had just finished your final scenes and were supposed to be feeling elated and full of joy but you felt nothing by anger and pain. On most of the papers you could barely see Roger's face as he was too busy smashing it up against a girl with bright red hair. He didn't kiss you like that. With tears welling in your eyes, you slowly removed the ring. But a promise was a promise and you kept it on you- only you kept it in a place where you could easily keep it hidden from everyone if you wanted to. Around your neck on a chain. Right now it felt like a noose.

Even though he did what he did, you still had a special place in your heart reserved for Roger. You would always have it.

Roger arrived back to a house that only felt like half a home. Everything that belonged to you was gone. He had stupidly kissed a groupie he could barely remember the name of and had let you slip right out between the gaps of his fingers. He knew it was his fault. He knew you would always be the one that got away.

Someone said you had your tattoo removed

Saw you downtown, singing the blues

It's time to face the music, I'm no longer your muse

You walked passed the large crowds of people screaming your name as cameras flashed with a smile on your face. A year later you were at a party in London. The club was warm but there was a little patch on your chest that always remained cold- where the cool metal of the ring rested against your skin.

You then heard more screams when a band came on stage, you looked up and saw Roger under a spotlight. He was wearing a top that exposed his muscular arms and you could just make out the blisters on his arm where the tattoo used to be. Roger knew that a faint outline would always remain no matter how much he had the laser removal machine try to burn it off. A painful reminder of what he once had and lost.

You kept yours- you knew it was no use running from the past. The past helped shape you as a person. It shaped you both. You decided to leave, he didn't spot you in the crowd- or so you thought.

In fact, all he could see was you. But then you disappeared into thin air. Roger decided to play something a little different, just for you. He even dedicated it to you, fully knowing that you were already gone. "This next song is for the girl that got away," he sadly announced and began banging on his drums.

In another life, I would be your girl

We keep all our promises, be us against the world

In another life, I would make you stay

So I don't have to say you were the one that got away

The one that got away

You both watched each other blossom and flourish in life from afar. You found out a lot from talking to Freddie, Brian and John and then the rest from newspapers and various magazines- most of it was tabloid garbage though. Roger read the Oscar nominations that were in the paper one night in 1984- you had been nominated. "Your dream came true," he whispered with a small smile with tears welling his eyes as he brushed his fingertips over your name, a tear of his falling on your smiling face.

Your real dream hadn't come true- it was likely it would never.

The dream was still hanging around your neck.

You had won the Oscar that year and had also bagged a husband a few years after. Roger eventually got married and that crushed you. The hole in your heart caused by him was filled by your new love and co-star Harrison whom you met on Star Wars. He was very different to Roger but he made you happy and understood what you went through in the industry better than anyone.

But there was still a crack in your heart that was caused and being kept jammed open by Roger. A piece of you felt guilty for still loving him- especially when you had married such a wonderful man. Harrison had questioned the ring on your neck but you had told him that it was just a piece of jewellery that was a little too big for your finger but you still liked wearing it- you claimed the necklace was a compromise. He also questioned your tattoo- you told him you were blackout drunk when you got it. You were, only you were blackout drunk on love rather than alcohol.

The one, the one, the one

The one that got away

You were on the carpet on the Golden Globes years later with Harrison by your side. You were up for a special recognition award for all your work. A reporter called you over to ask a few questions. "Congratulations on your award tonight, Y/N- this will be your seventh Golden Globe!" He gushed.

"Thank you so much! I can't quite believe I'm receiving the award!" You bashfully admitted.

"Now, you really started your career in one of the biggest movie franchises of all time- do you remember your humble beginnings?" The reporter asked.

You were transported back to Roger's car, his lips on your hand and those words of advice he gave you before you went in and got the part. You nodded and tightly smiled, trying to not focus on the twang of pain in your heart. "I do. Very well." Your hand found itself holding the ring on the necklace. It was on show tonight thanks to the low décolleté on your dress that exposed your neck and a little of your chest.

"Now a little birdie told me that you knew Queen back in the day," he slyly grinned and you felt like your heart was being placed in a vice and slowly being crushed. "Have you seen 'Bohemian Rhapsody?'"

"Yes I have," you smiled, keeping relaxed demeanour. "Rami's portrayal of Freddie is incredible- he did him proud and I wish him well tonight!"

"Yes! The first of many nominations I think!" The reporter grinned "Brian May and Roger Taylor are here," your smile dropped a little hearing his name. "Will you have a good ol' catch up with them?" The reporter asked, wiggling his eyebrows slightly. Your relationship with Roger was unknown to the media and most of the world. You kept it between yourselves and your close friends.

"If I get the chance," you forced a tight smile "Thank you!" You waved and walked off, your hands were trembling and your heart began to beat a little bit faster. After years being apart you were finally going to be put in the same room with one another. You took your seat at the table, Harrison sat beside you and reassuringly squeezed your hand. He thought you were nervous about making your speech but really you were nervous about potentially seeing Roger again.

Roger sat down at the table beside Brian and Rami, making general chit chat with everyone at the table. His eyes glanced up for a moment and at that same time your eyes locked onto his. The pair of you just stared at each other for the longest amount of time, neither of you knew what to do. Somehow you both looked the same but so different at the same time. You thought it was the eyes- they were the exact same pair you loved looking into, only with a few wrinkles around them. It felt like it was only the two of you in the room- even in the world- at that moment in time. He thought you were just as beautiful as the day he first met you. Roger's eyes flickered down when he saw something shining in the light. He felt himself gasp and Brian asked him what was wrong. Only nothing was wrong- he was just shocked that you had kept your promise after all these years.

All this money can't buy me a time machine, no

Can't replace you with a million rings, no

I should'a told you what you meant to me, whoa

Cause now I pay the price

You swallowed hard and managed to smile, Roger returned it after a few seconds. You turned and talked with someone next to you, subconsciously reaching up and nervously playing with your necklace- Roger noticed you doing it. When you reached your arm up to do so, he caught a glimpse of your- now slightly faded- tattoo. His was still on his bicep- albeit very faint remnants of it where the laser removal failed to burn it off. A part of him was happy that it didn't.

When they called your name, Roger was the first one to rise to his feet and clap for you. You smiled and thanked them all with a wave and a smile, you spotted Roger and Brian and sent them a small grin. Especially to Roger.

You held on to your award with one hand while unfolding a small sheet of paper with the other and began reading from it. "Firstly, I'm so unbelievably thankful to everyone that has helped me reach this stage in my life. I honestly can't believe it!" You nervously laughed and then looked down at the piece of paper you had wrote your speech on and then your eyes flickered up to Roger. You then folded over the sheet subtlety, deciding to speak from the heart instead. "Sometimes I often wonder what I'd be up to in another life. I wonder if I'd ever become an actress...I wonder if things would have worked out in the end and turn out the way I always imagined them to. The way I dream they'd be." Your eyes were locked on Roger and he was looking at you. He knew what you were really talking about. "You never really know what the future holds." You softly admitted before clearing your throat and smiling to try and break the serious tension you had created. "I certainly didn't think I'd be holding another Golden Globe!" You laughed and everyone joined in. You looked at your award and fondly smiled, remembering his advice. "I guess that in this life- and in any life- you will achieve anything if you face the challenge with a smile and an open mind and an open heart. Always keep your heart open- even when you're scared it might hurt." You wiped away a tear with the back of your hand and looked around the whole room, finally breaking your eye contact from Roger. They were all welling up at your words. Especially the drummer. "Thank you!"

Roger managed to catch you after the award show had finished in one of the rooms where other winners and actors had gathered. "Hi, Y/N." You softly smiled at him. "Congratulations," he leaned forward and quickly kissed your cheek. Your skin still remembered those lips well and your eyes shut feeling the contact of his skin against yours.

"Thank you, Rog. Congratulations to you and everyone on BoRhap too!" You grinned "Freddie would have been so proud." You swallowed away the lump in your throat. "It's good to see you." You honestly admitted.

Roger had his eyes on the ring he had once slipped on your finger but was now around your neck. "You kept your tattoo," he chortled when he saw it up close before turning serious. "And you kept your promise..." he whispered.

"When I said always, I meant it." You said in a low voice. "If you want it back, I can -"

He quickly cut off your ridiculous statement "No! No! It's yours!" He looked at you with a soft gaze. "Always."

In another life, I would be your girl

We keep all our promises, be us against the world

In another life, I would make you stay

So I don't have to say you were the one that got away

You jumped slightly feeling Harrison place his hands on your waist. "We've got to get going," he looked down at you, flashing a grin. "The car is waiting."

"Oh, course," you looked at him with a smile that didn't quite reach your eyes. "I'll get you there!" He kissed your lips and then shook Roger's hand hello and then goodbye in the few shakes. You turned to your former love, the ring on your necklace felt ten times heavier than usual. "It was good seeing you, congratulations again on the nominations and wins." Roger took your hands in his and gently squeezed them before leaning in and pressing a long, soft kiss to your cheek. Tears began to sting both your eyes. "Goodbye, Roger," you softly spoke when he pulled back, his face still close to yours.

"Maybe in another life I wasn't so stupid," he whispered and then let you go. It was agonising for him to let your hands slip out of his. "I'm sorry."

You nodded "I know you're sorry." You glanced to your feet for a moment before gazing into Roger's glossy eyes with your own tearful ones. "But is it bad that a part of me wishes I was living in that life sometimes?" You whispered so only he could hear before walking away. You glanced over your shoulder at Roger to take one last look at him up close.

"I don't think it's a bad thing..." He mumbled to himself. Roger sighed because a part of him wanted to be in that life too. A life where he still had you. But that was just a fantasy.

The one that got away

————–—–—————–

Tags- (Tag list is open! Just let me know if you want to be tagged or not!)

@rrrogah-tayluhh @rogerofmylife @phantom-fangirl-stuff @pyrotechnic789 @deacytits @mercurys-bike @happy-at-home @mhftrs @dannydelay @queenismylifenow @whitequeen-blackqueen @stateofloveandvedder @blondyfel @mespetitestortues @trickster-may @xtrashmammalstefx @the-garnet-rain @makapaka11 @killerqueenbucky

[etlunainmorte]

🖤 I See My Future Before Me 🖤

***

VI

***

“She’s just tired as hell. You’ll see her in the morning.”

At least, that’s what Nico said.

But then, V should’ve known better.

The next morning, the girl left a note on the glass top table, saying something about going to a friend’s and staying there until Saturday. Somehow, the chit got past him without making any noise to wake any of them ( that’s him, Nero, Griffon, and Shadow ) up, who all snoozed on the living room in sleeping cots provided by Nico, who spent the rest of the night on the guest room. V, being the most alert among all of them inside the unit, didn’t hear her footsteps, even the creak of the door. What’s more, Nico found out that the formal wear she provided for her was also gone.

Which meant that, to V’s frustration, they will not be able to see her until the event, itself, which would take place the next day.

And so, the day finally arrived.

Nero was struggling with the lacy jabot on his neck, grimacing at it, and how he looked as a whole, in the mirror every once in a while.

And to add further insult to the injury, Griffon, who was flapping his wings non stop above his head, was laughing at him really hard.

The young and dashing Devil Hunter, who recently became famous for defeating the infamous Demon King Urizen, who almost plunged Red Grave with Qliphoth roots, let out a loud curse and threw the jabot on the floor.

Nico, who just finished putting on her dress and makeup on the guest room, heard this and came out, curious as to the source of that very colorful language.

And when she finally saw what Nero looked like, she could not help but double over in stomach pain as she failed to suppress her laughter.

“FUCK!” Nero cursed, angry at the tattooed woman who was still laughing her ass off at his appearance. “You think this is funny?!”

“What the hell are you wearin’?!” Nico burst out through her uncontrolled fits of laughter.

“I bet it’s his grandma’s dress!” Insulted Griffon, which only made Nico laugh even more, and Nero angrier.

“SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU FUCKING BIRD!”

“W-w-wait, don’t tell me your granny wore that to snag herself a boyfriend in the eighteenth century?!” Nico added.

“I swear if you don’t stop - ” Nero warned, then clicked his tongue, unable to stop the woman and the bird from laughing. It’s true. With the heavy, lace coat of powder blue and purple ensemble, the equally lacy white undershirt, the pair of black breeches, the white knee - high socks, and the high - heeled pair of dancing shoes, Nero absolutely looked like a bratty, noble kid who came directly from the French Revolution era, or earlier.

“What? You’ll hit me?” Nico taunted, pointing at Nero with a finger, flaunting her carefully manicured nail.

Griffon picked the jabot from the floor, graciously, if not mockingly, giving it back to Nero. “Here, you forgot this, Your High Nobleness.”

Nero snatched the jabot from Griffon’s talon, almost damaging it, and said, “Just to inform you, Credo owned this, not me!”

“Kyrie’s older brother, huh?” Nico asked.

“Yes, him!” Nero answered, almost wrongfully getting mad at someone who was innocently and peacefully resting six feet under the grounds of Fortuna. “And, I’m not wearing this FUCKING thing!” he announced through gritted teeth, starting to remove the offensive - smelling coat. Apparently, Kyrie found it proper to drench the thing with an awful amount of floral fabric conditioner, making Nero reek of fresh flowers.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait!” Nico held her hands up, stopping Nero’s movements. “I’m telling Kyrie if you do that! You’ll make her cry, man!”

“No! Don’t you dare tell her.”

“Stop being a bitch! It isn’t that,…” Nico said, failing in her attempt to lie at him with her mirthful eyes. “… bad.”

“Ha! You think I look bad? Just wait for V!” Nero mocked, hands on his hips like the “nobleman” that he was. “He crammed yesterday looking for one, since he didn’t find any last Thursday.”

“Ya think?” Griffon maliciously asked, his eyes devilishly looking down at Nero’s pitiful and funny form. He flew towards the bathroom and shouted, “Hey, Shakespeare, you done now, or what? The pimple kid is mocking you! Come out already!”

“You’ll see.” Nero mouthed at Nico with a sinister smile, so sure that V would look even worse than him.

Oh, how very wrong he was.

When V finally came out, Nico’s mouth dropped open in shameless admiration, and Griffon beamed with pride for his boy. Shadow, who was patiently waiting for V to come out, stretched her forelegs, yawned, baring her fangs at Nero, and went to her master with a proud swish of her tail. She was getting tired looking at the boy for an hour, and the sight of V changed into his formal wear was a real fresh change.

Nero, in an infernal kind of frustration, took off his coat and flung it to the other end of the room, knocking off one of the painted vases, making it plummet to the ground and break into tiny little pieces.

“Hey, psycho!” Nico shrieked at him. “Watch the furniture!”

“FUCK!”

***

The massive ballroom that held about a hundred people was, indeed, the topic of every male and female guests. The three crystal chandeliers that shone illuminated the pleasant below. The black - clad musicians mainly played jazz, and would sometimes add in classical numbers for the dances like the foxtrot and the waltz. The food was great, courtesy of the best chefs in the city, and the rich vintage, matched by the sparkling ones for the ladies, that was being offered by the maroon - liveried servants, never warmed, always cool and ready for some hot - headed guests.

The head of the house, who sat at the tallest box with some servants at his tow, watched in admiration for his feat of bringing together the country’s most powerful Demon Hunters. He chuckled at the sight of the two most powerful ladies in the room, lively chatting with some noobs. He grunted at the sight of that lone man who was pestering the servants with more wine. But, most of all, he was getting anxious, for his most awaited guest have yet to arrive -

“Sire,” a servant whispered to his ear. “Nero of the Devil May Cry Agency has finally arrived with his, ah, entourage.”

The lord of the house rubbed his hands. “Perfect. Kindly inform the musicians to sound in their classics. I want to make this dramatic.”

“Naturally.” the servant nodded and left at once.

But, Nero and company was not aware of this, and the importance the lord actually held for him. So, when he descended the stairs, fancy coat, lacy jabot, sleek hair, and all, he could not help but miss a few steps at the sudden change of music, almost stumbling down if it weren’t for Nico who helped him by holding unto his arm as tight as she could to prevent him from falling to the carpeted ground.

“Get a grip, man!” Nico, who began sweating, whispered savagely at him. “Hold it together.”

“How could I - ?!” Nero whispered back. “They didn’t have to change the goddamn music!”

Nero was right. Now that the rest of the Demon Hunters in the room noticed his fanciness, and the matching harpsichordy - classical music, they couldn’t help but giggle at his grand entrance.

“Stomach in, chest out.” V, who was descending beside him, whispered to him in that velvety - low voice of his, subtly slamming the tip of his cane on Nero’s back. “Chin,… up and proud.”

Nero, who was honestly mad at V for wearing a less fancy formal attire and seriously thinking that he was just being mocked by the man, retorted angrily. “Stop embarrassing the hell outta me!” he gritted.

V gave him a sideways glance, jade eyes dangerously narrow and wicked grin deathly threatening. “I’m teaching you how not to embarrass yourself even further with that,… attitude of yours.” he warned. “Now, if you do not want to stumble all the way down and sully the name of your great father, and his even greater father before him, I suggest you follow,…” then, as if by one last ounce of threat, V pushed the tip of his cane harder unto Nero’s back, hurting him and making him stand up straight in the process as a gentleman should. “… my unsolicited and valuable pieces of instruction.”

“Damn you, V - ” angrily whispered Nero, gaining him a painful pinch from Nico, who was still holding unto his right arm. “Ouch!”

“Do as the man says or I’ll hurt you!”

And so, with so much struggle, Nero finally made it down the stairs, surviving Nico’s vice grip and V’s cold stare. And once he was down, the younger, less experienced Demon Hunters, who came there before them, started bugging him with questions regarding the Demon King he recently defeated.

V, having isolated himself from the crowd that started to form near Nero and Nico, breathed a sigh of relief. He leaned on the wall, watching them from a safe distance, when the classical music came to a halt.

If it weren’t for the boy’s lovely attitude, V would’ve enjoyed the evening. It was a fine event, after all, not considering the danger they would possibly get into later.

Some refined Demon Hunters, who actually bothered to listen to the otherwise boring music, clapped their hands, giving the artists enough motivation to start a new one. The leader signaled for a change of genre and a turn of a page, and when the musicians started playing once more, the room was filled with the most beautiful bossa nova that V has ever heard. These men really do have talent, he admitted.

And as if by some magical and wild form of chance, a very familiar scent made its way towards his nostrils.

Flowers. Freshly blooming in the morning.

He looked up at the staircase,…

… and became wide - eyed at the spectacle that was unfolding right before him.

For there, clad in something that only rivalled the stars above, was the most beautiful female he has ever seen in his entire, miserable, demonic and non - demonic existence.

***

🖤🖤🖤

***

[doomedhowell]

Swapped

Summary: Soulmates AU where you switch places with your soulmate on your eighteenth birthday and you switch back once you meet each other.

Genre: AU, Fluff

Word Count: 1,516

Trigger Warnings: hint of homophobia but nothing major

A/N: Hopefully this isn’t too confusing but basically in the beginning Dan is in Phil’s body and then Phil is in Dan’s body. They switch back when they meet.

The first thing Dan noticed when he woke up this morning was the fact that he was not in his own bedroom. His normal black colored walls were now a bright blue which is totally not his aesthetic.

Dan slowly pushes himself up in the bed and looks around. This is definitely not his bedroom.

Dan looks over and sees a few photos on the nightstands that he did not recognize. He reaches over and grabs one of them. It’s a photo of two boys with whom he assumes is their parents. One of the boys have black hair which Dan is weirdly drawn to. He gently strokes his thumb across the photo of the boy.

“Philip!”

Dan’s head snaps up as soon as he hears the woman’s voice.

Philip? Who’s Philip? His name is Dan.

“Um, yes?” Dan asks. He blinks a few times when he hears himself speak. His voice seems deeper?

“Good, you’re awake. Phil, breakfast is ready,” the door opens and an older woman is revealed.

Dan stares at her. “My name is not Phil,” he says. “It’s Dan. And, who are you? Where am I?” He asks.

“What do you- oh. Oh. This is so exciting!” She claps her hands excitedly.

“I don’t… what the hell is going on here? Are you going to answer any of my questions or not? Who are you?” Dan asks, getting slightly frustrated.

“Well hopefully I’m going to be your mother-in-law,” she grins. “You’ve swapped bodies with my son. Haven’t you ever heard about your soulmate? Surely you must have.”

“Well, yeah…” Dan frowns and then it suddenly dawns on him that he’s going to be meeting his soulmate, which is what he’s been waiting for his whole life. He totally forgot about the whole ‘body swapping’ thing. His mother told him about it when he was younger but it must have slipped his mind.

“I’m sure this is a lot for you to take in. Why don’t you get dressed and come downstairs? We’ll talk more about this once you’re actually awake,”

“Thank you,” Dan says as he looks up at the woman. She seems nice and he feels bad that he practically snapped at the woman but it’s not his fault. Anyone would be confused about this. “Sorry if I seem rude. This is a lot to take in.”

“That’s alright, dear. I was the exact same way when it happened to me,” she smiles reassuringly at Dan before turning around and walking out of the bedroom.

Dan takes a deep breath and flings the blankets off of him. He stands up from the bed and looks around, taking everything in. This is his soulmates bedroom. His personality seems… a bit nerdy from what Dan has seen so far. There’s posters everywhere in his room of his favorite movies and singers.

Wait a minute… is that a Muse poster on his wall?

“We’re going to get along just fine,” Dan grins. He looks around again and then he finds the bathroom. He’s got his own bathroom in his room which Dan finds a bit fancy. Maybe his family is rich.

Dan yawns as he walks into the bathroom and looks over. He jumps slightly when he looks in the mirror and doesn’t see himself. He hesitates before stepping forward and staring at the mirror.

Wow. At least his soulmate is cute. And a boy. That’s the most important thing to Dan. He had been stressing out ever since he was thirteen years old about his soulmate turning out to be a girl.

His soulmates mum didn’t seem to care that he was a boy either so they’re not homophobic, which is nice.

Dan takes a deep breath before reaching up and touching his face. This is weird. Very weird.

Dan finally managed to get cleaned and get dressed. It was weird for him to clean someone else's body. He didn't know anything about his soulmate so he didn't know what to do and what not to do.

“Hello?”Dan called as he walks down the stairs, hoping his soulmates mum is still around to help him. The house is huge so it took him awhile to find the stairs.

“Come on down, love. I'm just in the kitchen,”

Dan sighs in relief and then he walks down. He looks around and manages to find the kitchen. He looks up and sees there are two more people as well.

“Come in. There's still breakfast left. Did you say your name is Dan?”

“Yes,” Dan answers before hesitantly walking into the kitchen. “My name is Dan Howell.”

“Welcome to the family. My name is Martyn,” Dan looks over at the youngest male sitting st the kitchen table. “I'm Phil’s older brother. Nice to finally meet you.”

Dan smiles a little. “Thanks. Um, can I sit?”

“Of course you can. I'm Phil’s dad, by the way,”

“Nice to meet you, Sir. Um, I have some questions…”

“Of course you do, silly. You’d be crazy if you didn’t have any questions. I bet you're wondering when you get to meet your soulmate, aren't you?”

“Actually… yes,” Dan nods. “When do I meet him? And when do we switch back to our own bodies? No offense but this is weird being in someone else’s body.”

“You can meet him whenever you want to, actually. I’m sure I can give Phil a call and he can come down as soon as he can. You’ll switch back as soon as you two meet. Well, you have to kiss but…”

“What?” Dan’s eyes widen. “We have to kiss in order to switch back?”

“I’m just kidding!” She laughs and shakes his head. “No, you meet as soon as you two meet each other.”

“Oh, God…” Dan sighs in relief. “I’d like to meet him as soon as possible.”

“I’ll give Phil a call later. He’s been so excited about meeting you. Oh, and happy eighteenth birthday, dear,”

****

“Take care of my Daniel. And bring him back safely, and in his own body,”

Phil chuckles as he stands with his soulmates mum. “Of course. I’ll bring him back as soon as possible,”

“I can already tell you’re a sweet boy. Of course it’s going to take some time getting used to the fact that Daniel’s soulmate is a boy but we’ll be supportive of him and you no matter what,”

“Thank you Mrs. Howell. I know we had a rocky start already but I’ll do whatever it takes to protect Dan,”

Mrs. Howell smiles. “You should get going. I bet Daniel is freaking out about meeting you right now.”

Phil grins. “I know I don’t look like it but I am also freaking out,” he chuckles.

“Okay. You should get going. Be safe,” Mrs. Howell smiles as she waves to Phil as he walks off the porch.

It was a three hour train ride back to his own home. He was excited to get back to his family but also nervous because he’s about to meet his soulmate for the first time.

Will his soulmate even like him? What if they don’t get along with each other and are miserable for the rest of their lives? That’s not what Phil wants. He wants him and his soulmate to be happy, and together.

Phil takes a deep breath as he walks up to the front door. He holds his hand up and hesitates before finally knocking on the door. It only takes a few seconds before the door finally opens.

Phil expects to his mum, but is surprised when he’s staring at himself.

“I…” Phil begins, but he’s too speechless to even say anything.

“Phil?”

“Whoa, this is weird,” Phil whispers as he stares at himself, but knows he’s talking to his soulmate.

“Very,” Dan chuckles. “It’s… It’s nice to finally meet you.”

Phil rolls his eyes, and smiles before reaching over and pulling Dan into a hug, surprising Dan.

Dan pulls away and gasps when he realizes that he’s back in his own body. He looks up and sees Phil standing in front of him instead of staring at himself. He didn’t think it would be that quick.

“Phil?”

“Hi,” Phil grins. “Dan? Come inside…” he chuckles and steps aside, letting Dan inside.

“Was everything okay at home?” Dan asks once he’s inside.

“We had a bit of a rocky start once your parents realized I was a boy but… I think we’re going to be okay,”

“Yeah… I-I never told them that I liked boys,” Dan blushes. “It must have been a surprise for them.”

“It’s okay now though. We talked about it and I don’t think they have any problem with it,” Phil replies with a shrug. He bites his lip slightly as he looks over at Dan. “So… now what do we do?”

“I… I don’t know. I guess we should start getting to know each other. We are soulmates and we’re probably going to be spending a lot time together from now on,” Dan suggests.

“I think that would be a good place to start,” Phil smiles.

[blueboxesandtrafficcones]

Written on Your Heart - Chapter 7

When you’ve hit rock bottom, the only way to go is up.  Rose begins that climb.

Warnings for hospital scenes, IVs, etc.

Fic masterlist

Tagging @doctorroseprompts and @timepetalsprompts as it’s a soulmate AU.

Now being beta’d by the wonderful @starry-nightflyer!  Thanks!

Rose woke slowly, feeling like she was rising through a fog.  Her first thought was that her head was pounding.  Her second thought was “James!”  Gasping his name, she tried to sit up before pain exploded in her temple and she was forced to sit back and take deep breaths.  After a few moments, she dared to reopen her eyes, before carefully leaning over to the table at her bedside, scrambling for a pen.  She only realized she had an IV when it tugged painfully.

“Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?”  An unknown, male voice asked in alarm.

“Need pen.”  She grunted, trying to stretch to reach.

The boy plucked it from the table top, but didn’t hand it over.  “Why, need to write the next great Oliver Twist?”  He asked in amusement, twirling the pen.

“No, I-” She looked at him for the first time and froze, eyes widening.

He was gorgeous.

Chocolate eyes, dark brown hair she instantly wanted to run her fingers through, a kind, cheeky smile.

He looked older, too, like he was in his late teens.  That snapped Rose back to why she wanted the pen in the first place.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but that’s how I communicate with my soulmate.  I need to talk to him.”  She informed him as seriously and maturely as she could.

The strange boy considered her words for a moment before handing her the pen.

“Fine, if that’s what you want.  But considering the IV in your wrist, don’t you think it might be easier to just talk to him?”  He leaned back in his seat, stretching out his impossibly long legs with a slight, though not unkind, smirk on his face.

“And how do you propose I do that?”  Rose snapped, pen poised above her arm, wondering where to start.  She was sure she’d written to him the previous night, but she couldn’t remember what she’d said and someone had washed her arm off.

“With your mouth?  Like we are now?”  He suggested cheekily.  Rose rolled her eyes, a witty retort on the tip of her tongue, when what he was saying sunk in.

“James?”  She whispered, stunned.

“Hello, love.”  Eyes sparkling, he grinned back at her.

They spent the next several minutes just goofily staring at each other, each drinking the other in.  Though James had spent most of the night watching her sleep, he was amazed at how different she looked awake.  He still couldn’t believe they were sitting together in the same room.  Even though he knew they would have to talk about what led her to drink at the party, for now he just wanted to look at her.

Just as Rose had decided to actually ask him a few questions, the curtain secluding her bed moved aside and her mother appeared, followed by another woman.

“Mum!”  She cried, feeling embarrassing tears well up.

“Good, you’re awake.  Not that himself let anyone know.”  Jackie shot the older teen a look.

“Uh…”  James ran his fingers through his hair sheepishly.  The other woman laughed.

“Oh, come now Jackie.  You can’t blame them for wanting a few minutes to themselves.  If she had needed anything, he would have moved mountains to get it for her.”

“Aunt Sarah!”  James complained, and Rose realized who the other woman was.

Rose tried to push herself up, but the movement pulled at her IV and she sat back, grimacing in pain.

“Here.”  James was instantly at her side, helping her raise the bed and sit up, before fluffing her pillows.  Instead of going back to the chair he’d been in, he perched himself on the side of the bed, within reach.

She stared at him, awed to think that after eighteen months he was so close, but he must have misunderstood because he flushed and moved away, muttering apologies.  She quickly reached out, touching his arm for the first time.

“No!”  She was momentarily distracted by the sparks that made her whole arm tingle where they touched.  “Please don’t leave me.”  She whispered, and he bit his lip in indecision before saying, “All right.  Budge up.”

It took some maneuvering, but eventually they were seated side by side on the bed, with James carefully on the other side from her IV.  Rose nestled closer, feeling safer than she could ever remember, and he only hesitated a moment before carefully wrapping his arm around her shoulders.

“So, Rose, how are you feeling?”  Sarah Jane asked kindly.

“Um…”  In all the excitement of meeting James, her pain was the last thing on her mind, but as she concentrated the ache in her arm and the pain in her head came rushing back full force.

It must have shown on her face, as both women clucked sympathetically and James’ arm around her tightened.

Jackie nodded slowly before saying, “All right, we’ll get you some pain meds soon sweetheart, but first we need to know – what happened?”

At her question, memories began to come back about the awful two weeks previous, and Rose stiffened.

Before she could come up with a satisfactory way to delay answering, James stepped in.

“Uh, Jackie – I mean Mrs. Tyler – can Rose and I have a few minutes?  I think we need to talk before she starts explaining.”

It wasn’t quite the reprieve she was hoping for, but given that he was here and she could look him in the eye for likely the only time before she turned eighteen, she decided to seize the opportunity.

Once they were alone, however, her courage fled and she was unable to meet his eyes, watching her own hand pick at a loose thread on the blanket instead.

Eventually, unable to take the silence any longer, she looked up to find him watching her, waiting patiently.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”  She giggled a little at the exchange, amused that after a year and a half of daily communication, they were actually meeting in person.

“How about we start over, yeah?”  He suddenly suggested, sticking his hand out.  “I’m James.”

“Rose.”  She said pseudo-seriously, giving him a firm handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Rose.”

There stared at each other stupidly again, grinning like fools until James’ smile fell and he glanced away, before looking back at her.

“So, Rose,” he began hesitantly, trying to start off on the right foot.  “Can I tell you a story?”

Her nose crinkled adorably, but she nodded, curious.

“So, I first contacted my soulmate a year and a half ago.  We got on like a house on fire, no problems at all.  Then out of the blue, two weeks ago, she goes to her first dance.  She’s nervous, and not having a good time.  I encourage her to have fun, and enjoy those experiences as they only come around so often.  Everything’s fine.  Starting the next day, she completely ices me out, until she tells me she wants to take a break from each other.  Now, I have absolutely no idea how being supportive of my soulmate caused me to lose her – do you have any ideas?”

She flushed, and instinctively pulled her knees up, trying to hide behind them.

He gave her a few moments to respond, but when she didn’t say anything, he sighed.  “Rose, love, please tell me what I did wrong, because I haven’t got a clue.  I can’t lose you.”  He confessed, reaching out to touch her but pulling back at the last second, leaving his hand on the bed six inches from her foot.

“James…”  She whispered.

“Rose, please.”  He pleaded softly.

“I – I don’t - ”  She sniffled, before deciding to go for broke.  “I’m thirteen.”

“I know.” The upward pitch his voice took on made it sound like a question, prompting her to keep speaking. She sighed heavily.

“You’re seventeen.”

“Yep.”

She shot him a look.  “This is hard enough, do you mind?”

“Sorry.”  He mimed zipping his lips closed and throwing away the key.  Any other day that would have made her laugh, but not now.

“Look, I live on an estate.  I’m not an idiot, I know about the ‘birds and the bees’, and how it is for older teenagers, especially blokes.  I guess I just thought-” She bit her tongue, trying to keep from crying.  “I realize now it probably so naïve to think-” She sniffled, not sure she could get the words out without tears.

James raised his hand, like he was a student in class.

“Yes?”

“Rose, I’ve been waiting my whole life for you.”  He told her seriously, frowning when she snorted.

“I have.  And I’m not particularly – I’ve never been girl crazy, so to speak, even less so after I found you.  I believe in soulmates, in all the wonder and joy, and this past year and half has proven me right in spades.  There are no girls.  I’ve never kissed a girl, romantically I mean, and I don’t plan to start until your eighteenth birthday.  I am yours, Rose, absolutely, unashamedly, unreservedly.  And it kills me to think that you doubt that.”

“But you said-” Rose argued, and he cut her off.

“I said that you need to live your life for you, however you see fit.  I said you don’t owe me anything just because we’re soulmated.  How and with whom you choose to spend your time is up to you.  If you want to date some idiot, that’s your right.  I believe we belong to each other, but that doesn’t mean that you’re my property.  I choose you, Rose.  I choose to wait, to have all of those ‘firsts’ with you.  But if you don’t choose me, or you don’t choose me right now, then that’s fine.  That’s your call.”  He told her firmly.

She stared at him.  “Do you honestly believe that?”

He nodded firmly.

“I thought…”  She trailed off, now feeling even more embarrassed after his passionate speech.

“You thought I was a typical estate bloke, who only cared about himself and doing what he wanted.”

“Yeah.”  She admitted softly, staring down at her knee.

He was quiet for a good minute.

“I can’t deny that doesn’t hurt, a bit.  I’d like to think you know me better, but the truth is if you’ve never seen that, it’s hard to believe.  My parents, they were the perfect couple, completely devoted to each other.  For me, that kind of adoration is as instinctual as breathing.”

“I want that.”  She whispered.

He didn’t say anything, and eventually she looked up to see him watching her.

When their gazes met, he smiled, though she noticed it started with his eyes before moving to his mouth.

“Oh, love.  You’ve already got it.”

[zalrb]

Defining Moments {SE Pt. 4}

OK folks! We are winding down now, part 5 will most definitely be the final part of this series. I want to thank you all again for the continued interest/discussion/support of this series and I hope that I continue to keep you guys entertained with this section. Hopefully it surpasses your expectations.

Link to first part: http://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/162905370050/guess-whos-coming-to-dinner

Link to second part: http://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/163149696545/just-this-night-se-pt-2

Link to third part: http://zalrb.tumblr.com/post/163425957080/true-north-se-pt-3

People to tag (and if you want me to tag you, say so in a reblog or response to the specific story): @thefangirlgoddess @stefan4president @kissmebluesexyvioletsme @misslilmel @stefan-is-too-sexy-for-you @humbu-bumbu @starrystelena @stelenacaryl4life @savagetore @youareatypo @wasabicakes @stelena-lover-forever @beverllarke @tea-moonn @stelenaliveson @stelenaisforever @emjo029 @fiftyshadesofstelena @demetrias-stelena @annoyinglydecadentface @foreveryoursnyoursalone @flamesxembers

Caroline didn’t know how fast she was going before she crashed the car into a tree. Well over 100 kilometers per hour that was for sure. It was hard to tell if she was driving that fast because she urgently needed to get to the airport or because she’d wanted to express her rage somehow far away from the girls.

                She hadn’t been sitting in the car long, the hood dented, airbags deployed, before a police car flashed its lights in her rearview mirror. She groaned. The gash on her forehead was already healed. She didn’t want to talk to anyone, see anyone, she wanted to be left alone. Her husband, her loyal and kind and honest husband, had been honest with her and told her about the affair he’d had with her best friend, the one woman in the world he would do anything for, and she just needed some fucking space.

                Caroline fought back tears. She’d let herself believe that Stefan would do anything for her too. He’d sold his soul to save her children, after all, and once, he’d died protecting her, but it now occurred to Caroline that sacrificing his body, his humanity for such righteous goals was … not easy for Stefan but clear, almost necessary, something he wouldn’t hesitate to do because it was right. But letting go of Elena, no matter how much he tried, it was something he plainly couldn’t do. Not even for Caroline.

                A flashlight beamed into her window. Caroline decided she was going to compel the officer away, but when she rolled down her window, she realized she was stopped by Matt.

                “Matt?” She closed her eyes and sighed. “Hey.”

                “I recognized your car. What happened?”

                “I just lost control,” she said.

                “I’m guessing you’re OK. Everything’s healed.”

                She snorted. “Healed,” she said. “Sure.”

                “Well I can call a tow,” he said. “Maybe Stefan can give you a lift?”

                “No,” said Caroline sharply. “I don’t want to talk to Stefan.”

                “Whoa,” said Matt. “Dare I ask?”

                Caroline looked up at him. “Get in,” she said.

                “What?”

                “Get in,” she said again.

                “You want me to get into your completely totaled Prius?”

                “It’s perfectly safe,” said Caroline impatiently. “Just get in.”

                Matt sighed and clicked off his flashlight, walking around the car to the other side. He got into the passenger’s seat.

                “What’s up?”

                Caroline didn’t say anything for a minute then turned to look at him. “When did you get over Elena?”

                He furrowed his eyebrows.  “What?” he laughed.

                “I’m serious,” she said. “When you and I started dating, you said you weren’t over Elena yet.”

                “Oh, Care.” Matt sighed.

                “I just want to know what it is about her.”

                Matt shook his head. “Elena and I knew each other basically from the moment we were born.”

                “I know, you two shared a crib, I’ve heard the story.”

                “Yeah and … I loved her longer than I could remember and it sort of just became a habit to love her, you know? It wasn’t until I started dating you that I realized what I felt for Elena was just a strong attachment to someone I cared about. It wasn’t until she started dating Stefan that I realized she never loved me. Not in the way I thought anyway.”

                Caroline laughed bitterly. “Leave it up to Stelena to teach you the meaning of love.”

                Matt looked at her. “What’s going on with you?”

                “He’s not over her,” she said. “Stefan. He’s still in love with her after all of this time, he just can’t let her go.”

                “Oh come on, I’m sure that’s not true.”

                “It is,” said Caroline. “And I knew it too. I’ve always known it, I can’t say that I didn’t. I watched him try to get over her, I watched him trust her when he thought he was over her and … we got together and he was perfect. He was thoughtful and kind and supportive but … distant in a way he wouldn’t even know he was. Still, I thought he was mine. I thought he committed himself to being mine.”

                “Caroline, Stefan and I may’ve had our differences in the past but … he’d walk through fire for you.”

                “Yeah he would,” Caroline agreed. “He’d die for me and his last word would still be ‘Elena’.”

                Matt sighed. “Maybe this isn’t what you want to hear but … I was front row for a lot of the drama and Stefan and Elena … they just had something, you know? Something you can’t really understand completely because of how special it is? Maybe something like that just … doesn’t go away and maybe they just have to live with that.”

  Caroline looked at him, her eyes brimming with tears. “Why couldn’t he have had that with me?”

                “Don’t you think you already had that with Tyler?”

                Caroline sighed. “Not like what they had.”

                “No one can have what they had.”

                “Yeah,” said Caroline. “That’s the problem.”

 Stefan threw a bunch of clothes into a duffle bag. He had dropped the twins off at Alaric’s twenty minutes before and now he was packing for a trip to New York. He didn’t know what Caroline planned to do or say but he couldn’t let Elena face it alone, he couldn’t let Damon hear it or see it without being there to answer for what he’d done. He’d booked a red eye flight and called a cab to rush him to the airport.

                It had been twenty minutes into the ride when his phone rang. He still hadn’t changed her ring tone even though this was the most they’d spoken in eight weeks. He’d given Elena her own ring tone for practical reasons; it made it easier to know when to answer or ignore calls, but he’d mostly given her her own tone because knowing she was calling him always made his heart flutter, made the corners of his mouth twitch with an urge to smile, and even now, even in this mess, his giddiness at her ring, at knowing she was calling him, hadn’t dampened.

                He picked up. “Hi,” he said.

                “Hi.”

                Silence.

                “I told Damon,” she said.

                Stefan’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected that. He’d anticipated telling Damon himself. He didn’t know if he preferred it but he’d always imagined being the one to confess to his brother. The fact that Elena did made him oddly glad because it meant she was sick of it too, she couldn’t hold it in anymore, like him.

                “Why did you tell him?” he asked.

                “Why did you tell Caroline?” said Elena.

                “Because she doesn’t deserve my dishonesty.”

                “Damon doesn’t deserve mine either.”

                Stefan paused. “And because I…”

He heard Elena sniff.

                “I can’t pretend like that night didn’t happen,” she said. “It’s with me everyday.”

                Stefan exhaled heavily and shook his head. “I miss you,” he whispered breathlessly.

                “I miss…” Elena took a deep breath, hyperventilating. “I miss you.”

                Stefan squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his head against the window.

“I’m coming to New York,” he said. “I need to speak to Damon. I owe that to him.”

                “Don’t try to stop Caroline, OK?” said Elena. “I owe it to her too.”

  Damon lay on the ground behind the bar, empty bottles of scotch and vodka clustered around him. His head pounded, his stomach was sludge, he felt like death. His phone started buzzing and he yelled in frustration as he rooted around the pretzel-covered floor to find it.

                It was Alaric.

                He picked up. “What?” he groaned.

                “Stefan dropped the girls off last night and said that he and Caroline had to go to New York. Is everything OK?”

                “The world as we know it is over since you’re asking,” said Damon. “Everything is going up in flames, there’ll be nothing left but ashes.”

                “Okay, I need to know if there is an actual supernatural emergency I need to prepare for or if that’s just hyperbole,” said Alaric.

                “Hyperbole,” said Damon. “Doesn’t make it any less true, though.”                 “What happened?”                 “Ric, let me ask you something,” said Damon, sitting up, cradling his head in his free hand. “Do you think Elena loves me?”

                “What? She married you.”

                “That isn’t answering the question,” said Damon.

                “Of course she loves you, Damon. What’s this about?”

                “Do you think she loves me more than Stefan?”

                There was a beat. “Why does that matter?”                 “You’re terrible at being evasive,” said Damon. “I have a hangover the size of Montana and I can still tell you don’t want to answer the question.”

                “It’s a stupid question. She chose you.”

                “She did choose me, that doesn’t mean she stopped loving him.”

                “Well their love isn’t the kind of love that stops, that doesn’t ---”

                Damon blinked. “What does that mean?”

                “It means that you need to get off your bar floor, clean yourself up and apologize to Elena for whatever the hell it is you did that got you on the floor in the first place.”

                “No, Ric,” Said Damon. “What did you mean?”

                He sighed. “Look, I’ve seen how Elena loves you, OK? I was the one who erased her memories of you because your death hurt her too much.”                 “Believe me, I remember,” said Damon. “What’s your point?”

                “For any of it to work, Elena had to hone in on the moment she realized she loved you,” he said. “Her eighteenth birthday party.”                 “And?”

                “And she loved you for a moment because you were selfless enough to put her love for Stefan above your love for her,” he said. “You gave her back the necklace, she called it a symbol of hope between her and Stefan, a symbol of their relationship. She loved you for giving it back to her even though you knew what it meant.”

     Damon cleared his throat. “So you’re saying that Elena loved me because she loved him.”

                “Those two are just …” Alaric sighed again. “They’re a part of each other, Damon. Haven’t you made your peace with that yet?”                 Damon looked at the empty bottles. “I gotta go.”

                “Wait, you still haven’t told me why Caroline and ---”

                Damon hung up the phone and whipped it to the side so it broke a part against the counter.

 When Elena returned to the table, Caroline was in the seat across from hers, sitting utterly still. Earlier in the morning she had texted Elena to meet up at the café around the corner from her loft and Elena came early so she could rush to the washroom to vomit as many times as she could before Caroline arrived. She’d ordered peppermint tea for herself and then told the waitress that if a pissed off blonde woman came into the café, to direct her to her table and when Elena came out of the washroom for the fourth time, Caroline was waiting for her.

                Elena sat down and said nothing, not even hi. She knew Caroline would want to have the first word and the last and after everything Elena put her through, it was the least she could. Elena’s stomach lurched whether from the anxiety of the situation or simple nausea she wasn’t sure but she took a sip of her tea.

                “You must think I’m an idiot,” said Caroline. “Or delusional.”

                “Caroline, I don’t think ---”

“Don’t interrupt me,” she said severely.

                Elena pressed her lips together.

                Caroline clenched her jaw as the waitress placed her cappuccino in front of her. She picked up the spoon and started stirring the coffee methodically.

                “How long did you know?” she said. “Did you know from the minute I told you I had feelings for him or when I turned off my humanity because he couldn’t just give me an answer? Did you know then that me and you would end up here having this conversation and just laugh to yourself as you watched me make a fool out of myself?”

                “I wanted you two work.”

                Caroline looked up at Elena, her expression deadly. “Did you honestly just say that?”

                “I really did,” said Elena. “You’re perfect, Caroline. You’re everything that Stefan deserves and all I ever wanted was for Stefan to get what he deserves.”

                “And you had to ruin it by sleeping with him?”

                “It wasn’t like that.”

                “You just couldn’t let me have this.”

                “I didn’t seek out hurting you.”

                “Then why did you sleep with my husband?” said Caroline, raising her voice.

                Elena looked at her, teary-eyed. “Why did you sleep with Klaus?” she said. “The moments before you did it, what did you feel?”

                Caroline’s eyes narrowed. “What does that have to do with what you did? Don’t you dare tell me that you’re using what happened with me and Klaus to justify---”

                “No,” said Elena, shaking her head. “I’m not judging, I’m not passing blame or throwing anything in your face, I just want to know what you felt.”

                Caroline didn’t say anything.

“Was your heart pounding so loud and so fast you were worried he would hear it, that he would know how nervous you were, how excited you were? Were you dizzy, light-headed? Was your skin on fire? Did something erupt in you that just took a hold of your body and it just, it had to come out?”

                Caroline stared at her, breathing heavily, her expression tense.

“And what about before you kissed Tyler for the first time?” said Elena. “It happened at my birthday party right? You were jealous and fighting and did you feel like … like if you didn’t kiss him you’d go crazy? Like if you held in how you felt about him for one more second then you would just … explode? Did you need him to know how much you liked him with every ounce of your being just so you could get a moment of peace?”

Caroline’s eyes started to water.

Elena swallowed hard. “Combine all of those emotions, mix in a few more, multiply it by a billion and add seven years,” said Elena. “That’s what I felt that night.” 

“So what are you trying to say, that forces out of your control made you sleep with Stefan?”

                “I’m saying that I love him.”

                “You love him?” Caroline repeated incredulously. “You broke him! Seeing you with Damon ripped him to shreds, Elena. Time after time I told you Stefan was the better choice and you still stuck with Damon even after everything that he did to me, to Jeremy, to everyone, and it completely wrecked Stefan!”

                “He didn’t think he’d be able to live after that day in the library! I had to be his sober sponsor because he was just so devastated and tempted to go on a ripper binge! He was heartbroken!”

                “Don’t you think I know that?” Elena yelled.

                Other customers in the café started shifting in their seats, looking at the two of them nervously but Elena didn’t care, they were well passed waspish decorum.

                “You think I don’t know how badly I hurt him? You think I didn’t see it? Well I did Caroline and it killed me. It killed me that I caused him so much pain!”

                Tears sprung to Elena’s eyes.

“I care about Stefan with everything I’ve got and Damon had to be my choice because there had to be a reason that I hurt someone I love so much. If Damon wasn’t the one, then what was it all for? Why did I do that to Stefan? How could I justify the heartache I caused? I couldn’t face knowing that it all happened because I just needed to get something out of my system. That would’ve been …” Elena shook her head frantically.

“And Damon?” she said. “I … I don’t know what he would’ve done if I’d left.” She rushed through her words, agitated and panicked. “I don’t know what he’s going to do now. Every time my phones rings I’m scared it’s the police telling me they found his body floating in the Hudson or on the sidewalk outside of the Empire State Building.”

Elena put her hands to her mouth and her shoulders shuddered with her anxious breathing.

                “I can’t be responsible for him dying,” she said.

                Caroline leaned back in her chair and stared at Elena, hostility emanating from her glare. “You should just make a career out of destroying lives,” she said.  

                Elena swallowed the insult and let a tear roll down her cheek.

                “But do you know what’s the most pathetic thing about this entire situation?” said Caroline. “I am having the shittiest couple of days and there are two people I instinctively want to vent to. One of them is Bonnie who is MIA and the other one…” Caroline shook her head. “Is you. My brain still has you wired as my best friend. But then I look at you and all I want to do is claw your eyes out. Literally.”

                Elena lowered her head.

“I feel like I’ll hate you for the rest of your life,” said Caroline.

Elena opened her mouth to speak but it was a few moments before she said anything. “Caroline, I have to tell you something,” she said. “And hopefully it’ll change your mind about what you just said.”

Caroline sighed and took a sip of her cappuccino. “I’m listening.”

  Stefan opened the door to Damon’s bar. It was very grunge, very 80s, very Damon. He’d rehearsed what he was going to say on the flight, going over and over the various apologies he’d come up with, scribbling things down on cocktail napkins, muttering to himself, arguing with himself. It all seemed useless now that he was here.

                Damon’s back was to the door when Stefan entered. He was stacking chairs on grimy tables.

                “We are not open for business today. Scratch that, we won’t be open for the rest of the week,” he said over his shoulder.

                Stefan didn’t’ say anything and just stared at Damon’s back, an overwhelming guilt crushing his windpipe. His brother was wrecked. He had wrecked his brother.

                “Are you deaf?” said Damon. “I said ---”

                He turned around and then froze when he saw Stefan by the entrance. Neither of them said anything. Stefan didn’t even dare move. His mind was blank. Damon’s expression looked blank enough, maybe vaguely surprised to see Stefan there. All that time spent on finding the right words and Stefan couldn’t remember anything he’d decided on, he could only stand and watch as his brother’s expression turned dangerous. Damon let the chair fall to the floor and walked, determined, up to Stefan. 

                “Damon, I’m sorry. I ---”

                He punched Stefan in the face so hard that he spit out blood. Damon pushed him so that he slammed against the wall.

                “Come on,” said Damon. “Fight me.”

                “I’m not going to ---”

                Damon punched him again so that Stefan fell to the floor, his head pounding with the blows. “Just fucking fight me! HIT ME.”

                Stefan shook his head. “No, I don’t want to. I’m just, I’m so sorry ---”

                Damon hit him again so that Stefan’s lip cut across his teeth.

                “You’ll fuck my wife but you won’t hit me?” Damon yelled.

                Stefan tried to stand up but Damon knocked him back down, hitting him so the back of Stefan’s head crashed against the wall. He winced and rolled over to the side. “I’m so sorry,” he said.

                “STOP SAYING THAT!” Damon exclaimed. “Stop feeling guilty, stop martyring yourself, just stop it! Everyone says you’re the better Salvatore, everyone says you’re a good man but good men don’t go around screwing their brother’s wife!”

                Stefan stayed on the ground, bloodied and panting. “I know,” he said. “I have no excuse. I’m a terrible brother.”

                Damon’s eye twitched. “SHUT UP!”

He punched him again. Stefan wheezed.

                “Do you think I like this life?” said Damon. “Do you think I like being a half-broke human bartender? I don’t like tending bars, Stefan, I like drinking at them! But I did this for her. To be with her. I gave up immortality to give her everything she wanted and it turns out that what she wants, still, is you! And you just had to give in! Had to get one over me!”

                Stefan coughed. “I didn’t do it to compete with you.”

                Damon gritted his teeth and punched Stefan again, blackening his eye. “FIGHT BACK.”

                Stefan shook his head. “No,” he said. “I’ll take it. I’ll take whatever punishment you give me. I’ll do anything for you.”

                “Except get over Elena,” said Damon.

                Stefan swallowed hard, his breathing shallow. “I love her, Damon,” he said. “I love her and I’m sorry.”

                Damon turned around and kicked a chair, yelling. “I don’t want you to be sorry, I want you to get out of her head! I want you for once to just act the bad guy! I’m the one you screwed over and even now I feel like the bad guy!”

                “It’s not my intention…”

                “I KNOW!” Damon seized Stefan by the front of his shirt and shook him. “I KNOW IT’S NOT. I KNOW YOU DIDN’T WANT TO SCREW ME OVER, STEFAN. I KNOW YOU HATE YOURSELF RIGHT NOW AND THAT JUST MAKES THIS WORSE.” Roughly, he let go of Stefan’s shirt, knocking the back of his head against the wall for a second time.

                “I want to kill you!” said Damon.

                “I wouldn’t hold it against you,” said Stefan.

                Damon rushed at him and started punching him again. “Stop being so goddamn understanding! Get mad! Get defensive! JUSTIFY YOURSELF!”

                Neither of them heard the door open or the flurry of footsteps but Elena’s voice echoed in the air.

                “Damon, stop it!” she screamed.

                She rushed toward him and pushed him back, standing in front of Stefan, her expression horrified. “Are you trying to kill him?”

                “Get out of my way Elena,” said Damon, his voice low.

                “Elena,” Stefan mumbled. “Elena, let him do this.”

                “No!” She crouched next to Stefan, quickly examining his face. She looked back at Damon and stood up.

“If you need to take out your anger on someone, take it on me”

                “No,” Stefan muttered. “Elena, go… I deserve this…”

                “He’s your brother, Damon,” said Elena. “For better or for worse, he’s your brother who you’ve shared two lifetimes with. Just stop this.”  

                Damon shook his head, taking a few steps backward. “You two deserve each other,” he sneered before leaving the building.

 Elena put Stefan’s arm around her shoulder to prop him up as they shuffled up the stairs to the loft.

                “Easy,” she whispered. “Easy.”

                She eased him onto the couch. “I have a kit in the cabinet,” she said, rushing to the washroom.

                Stefan lay back on the sofa and winced. “Elena, it’s OK,” he said. “I’m fine.”

                “Do this for me then,” she said, walking swiftly back into the living room, sitting next to him on the couch. She passed her eyes over his bruised, slightly puffed face.

                “Nothing looks broken,” she whispered, opening the kit. Her hands trembled slightly as she took out Band-Aids and gauze but they steadied when she gingerly touched Stefan’s face to begin cleaning his cuts.

                He watched her tend to his wounds, his eyes soft and fixed on everything she was doing. The longer he stared at her, the calmer he felt, the more he could ignore the pain that burned his face and raged inside his head. He wanted to watch her all day, all night, for as long as he could; even when he was bloodied and broken, simply being near her flooded him with serenity. He didn’t deserve it --- the tranquility he felt just looking at her but he clung onto it anyway, cherished her presence by his side, the feel of her touch. He couldn’t help but relish it.

Elena’s attention shifted from his gash to his eyes, his beautifully green, intense eyes that never failed in rendering her speechless. She held his gaze as she placed the bandage on his skin, tracing its outline. He closed his eyes as she smoothed her fingertip along his cheekbone and his expression of relief made her lips part and heart thud. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Elena’s teary expression. Alarm surged through him and he shook his head.

 “Don’t cry,” he said.

                “I did this to you,” she whispered.

                Stefan put his hand over hers. “No, you didn’t.”

                She nodded. “I did,” she insisted. “I keep hurting you.”

                “No…”

                “I’m sorry,” she gasped. “I hate this. I---”

                “Shh.” Stefan shifted so that he brought Elena to his chest, cradling her head in his hand. She gripped his sleeve and pressed her forehead against his torso, he could feel her tears on his skin. She shuddered with quiet sobs and Stefan held her until her body relaxed. He exhaled when her breathing steadied, Elena slipping her arm around him, and then they stayed like that, entwined in a solace they provided each other.

After a while, Elena raised her head to look up at Stefan who peered down at her, his jaw clenched, their gaze full of unspoken need, a ripe wanting that made their eyes shine. Slowly, she leaned forward and kissed him, closed-lipped and tender. When they broke apart Stefan sighed deeply and turned so that he sat sideways on the couch, pressing his lips hard against hers so that she inched even closer to him. She moved away slightly, breathing heavily, their lips still grazing each other.

                “Doesn’t your jaw hurt?” she whispered.

                Stefan nodded. “Yes.”

And then he kissed her again, deeper this time. His mouth opened hers with a conviction that made her arch her back. She gingerly put her hands on either side of his face and intensified the kiss by leaning into him and bringing him closer at the same time.  

She moved her hands to the bottom of Stefan’s shirt and pulled it upward as she shifted position so that she sat astride him, making him raise his head to keep kissing her. She lightly skated her fingernails over his torso so that his stomach tremored, sensitive to her touch, and lowered her lips to his ear, moving slowly down his neck, kissing his bare shoulder, grazing his lips over a bruise on his chest. She heard his shallow breathing and continued kissing everywhere she could. She wanted to be there for him, comfort him, kiss the agony away; she wanted to love him as passionately as she could.

Stefan’s lips parted. He slipped his hands beneath Elena’s skirt, gripping her hips and pressing her to him. His hands found their way to her tank top and he slid it off of her, bringing his mouth to her throat and chest, expressing his gratitude with his appetite, expressing his need with the intensity. Each short intake of breath, each moan compelled him to communicate with more urgency and he held Elena by the waist as he turned so that she was lying flat on her back and he was lying on top of her, her legs circled around him.

 They had put the last of their clothes on when Damon burst into the loft, an abrupt disruption of the privacy they’d created.

Both of them stood up from the sofa.

Elena started. “Damon, what…”

He staggered into the living room and pointed at Stefan, his knuckles red and bruised from earlier. “I am giving you a choice,” he said.

Stefan stared at him, tense and confused.

“Me.” Damon pointed to himself and then to Elena. “Or her.”

An anguished expression passed over Stefan’s face.

“If it’s me, you can never, you can never see her again. You can never call her, write her … you can’t even so much as think of her. The thought of you thinking about her drives me insane,” he said. “And if you do this … everything will be forgiven. We’ll never talk about it again. We’ll move forward. We will be brothers again. I promise.”

Damon looked at Elena. “If you choose her, neither of you will see me again. No one will see me again and it’ll be your fault.”

Stefan lowered his head, biting his lip. He cleared his throat. “I---”

“Damon, you can’t do that,” said Elena frantically.

He turned to her. “This is between me and Stefan.”

“No---”

“Elena, stay out of it.”

“I can’t do that, Damon, this---”

“I told you I wouldn’t let you go.”

“Damon---”

“Choose, Stefan.”

“I’M PREGNANT.” Elena yelled.

Stefan raised his head, looking at her sharply. She turned to face him and took a deep breath.

“I’m pregnant,” she repeated.

[p-artsypants]

320 State Street: (11) May 3, 2017

FF.net | AO3

Previous

Pay attention to the date.

--

“Hey there, this is Phillis Hofferson. I’m unable to take your call right now, but if you leave a message or text me, I’ll make sure to—“ Astrid hung up the phone and grit her teeth. This was the eighteenth time she’d tried calling in the last hour, and her mom still wouldn’t answer.

She had gotten home from a nearly 12 hour drive, at 10 o’clock at night, only to find the house empty. Barely any furniture and both of her parents were gone. There was no point in calling her dad, considering he couldn’t answer…and her mom had to be with him anyway.

Her phone rang. Finally!

“Mom! What’s the big idea!? Where are you guys? Where is all the furniture!? What’s going on!?”

“Astrid honey, calm down.” Her mom’s soothing voice from the line spoke. “Your father is at Hanson’s right down the road.”

“Hanson’s?”

“You know, the Hospice on Glenlord?”

“Hospice! Since when!? I thought dad didn’t want to go to Hospice!”

“Well, he didn’t. But…” There was a quiet pause on the other line, and Astrid heard traffic.

“Mom, where are you?”

“Honey…I’m not coming back.”

This phrase was foreign to her, like something she had only heard in bad movies. “Not coming back? What do you—What do you mean you’re not coming back!?”

“Astrid, I’m tired. I’m drained, and there’s not much left in your father. So I left. He’s in Hospice, and the rest of your tuition went towards his bill. I’m selling the house in a month…so I suggest you find an apartment somewhere.”

“Whoa whoa mom, wait! You spent my college fund? You’re selling the house?”

“Yes, that’s what I said.” She has the audacity to sound irritated.

Astrid shook her head and looked frantically around the house. This had to be a joke. Her mom would never—

Who was she fooling?

“Why couldn’t you have waited? Were you that much of a coward you couldn’t tell me this to my face?”

“Oh, no Honey…” Phillis sounded like she was talking to a dense child. “It’s just that Marcus and I wanted to get going to Vegas before the weekend and—“

“Who’s Marcus?” Astrid interrupted.

“Marcus Anders? He’s the owner of my salon and spa? You’ve met him!”

“…the dweeby guy with the toupee? But…”

“We’re getting married this weekend!”

Astrid pulled the phone away from her face. She hadn’t even noticed she was crying until she did so. “Married?” She meant to scream in outrage, but shock crushed her throat and no other sounds escaped.

“Your father signed the divorce papers pretty easily. I mean, he can barely write, but I just explained the situation and he signed. Axel was always so good to me.”

“If he was so good to you, why did you leave him?” There was no hiding emotion anymore. Astrid sobbed into the phone.

“Astrid, I’m not even 50 yet. I still have a lot of life to live! I want to see the world! Go to Europe…do all the things I couldn’t do with your father.”

“Couldn’t you have had the decency to wait until he passed away?!” Astrid hated being confronted with her father’s mortality. One day, he’d die and she’d be on her own. It would come without warning or foresight. And she hated it.

“I’ve been taking care of him for years. I’ve done more for him then you will ever know. So now I’m done. Don’t call me again.” And with that, her mother hung up the phone.

The anger that boiled up in her chest was unlike anything she had ever felt before. It ripped from her throat as a tormented scream as she chucked her phone against the wall, cracking the screen. All she could do was cry. The tears came relentlessly and maliciously. They stung and burned her eyes and stained her cheeks.

She had to find a job and an apartment in under a week. She had barely any friends or family in the area. She felt so hopelessly alone, that she wanted to die.

She didn’t know how long she had been crying before her phone rang again. It was her Uncle Finn.

“Hello?” Her voice was thick with emotion.

“Hi Astrid, how are you?” He sounded unbelievably calm. It helped. Uncle Finn had always been eccentric, but he loved his brother and niece.

“I’m okay,” she lied.

“Have you been home long?”

“About a hour, I think.” She wiped her face.

“Did you speak to your mother?”

She sniffed, “yeah, she finally answered.”

“Okay, good. I was the one who urged her to explain herself.”

“Thank you.”

Finn’s voice sounded a lot like her father’s and it made her heart ache. “You know, you did absolutely nothing wrong.”

“I—I know.”

“One day, she’s going to see how much of a mistake she made.”

“I know.”

“And you know you’re always welcome to stay with me.”

“Can I?” She whispered. “Just for a little while.”

“Of course. I’ll come get you in the morning, we’ll pack up your things and then we can go see your dad.”

“Okay, thank you.”

“Is there anything else I can do?”

She shook her head, then realized he couldn’t see it. “No…I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“I love you.”

“Love you too.” And with that, she hung up the phone.

Truth is, she wanted to talk to someone. Anyone to get her mind off of the situation. So she dialed Ruff.

The phone rang several times and then connected. “Astrid! Sup, my dude! You never call me. Everything okay?”

“Um no, there’s something very wrong. Can you come over?”

Ruff made a whining noise on the line. “I can’t…I’m actually still in Washington. But we can talk over the phone, if you want.”

Astrid sighed. “No…I’ll just talk to you went you get back.”

“Okay, one week. Got it? We will have a slumber party and I’m going to braid your hair so right. Okay?”

Astrid chuckled. “Okay Ruff, I’ll see you then.”

“Ciao!” And she hung up.

Despite the cheerful encounter, Astrid still felt empty inside. She scrolled through her phone looking for a friend. Most of the people she was acquainted with in high school, she wanted nothing to do with anymore. Then there were a handful of friends she made at Yale. They all lived across the country, not that it mattered. It wasn’t like she was returning there anyways.

Then she saw his name.

During winter break, Astrid and Ruff had met up and gone bar hopping together. At one such bar, Astrid had met a man that was handsome and kind. He didn’t seem to be after tail, but was genuinely having a good time. They had exchanged numbers and been talking ever sense.

So she sent him a text. “Hey Scott, I know it’s late…but are you free?”

His response was almost immediate. “Yes, what’s up?”

She felt her throat constrict again. “My mom left. I’m…lonely and scared. Could you come over for a little bit and keep me company?”

“Address?”  

She sent it to him.

“20 minutes.”

“Thank you.”  

She sighed, relaxing a bit. Though she hadn’t seen him in person since before Christmas, the prospect of meeting him again only brought peace and a wonderful thrill.  

She walked into the kitchen, taking inventory of what remained. Her mom had taken all appliances, the nice dishes and silverware, and most food. Opening the fridge, she found a gallon of milk with a note on it.

"Astrid, I bought you some Captain Crunch and a couple boxes of Mac and Cheese. I hope that will keep you for the week. ~Mom."

At least she had left some food. Not that she was had any appetite at all.

She continued her walk through the house. Her parent's bedroom was empty, except for a note on the door.

"Astrid, I sold most of your father's clothes. The rest of his possessions are at Uncle Finn's. He is also taking care of Stormfly. ~Mom."

Sadness weighed heavily on Astrid as she realized just how thoroughly planned out everything had been. And yet, she had been left out of all of it. Had no one the curtesy to let her in on her family life? If not her mom, then surely Uncle Finn. With a sigh, she supposed he didn't want to worry her. After all, what could she do if she was several states away?  

Her room was mostly in the same state she left it. Save for several boxes placed in the middle of the floor, assumably for her to pack up her junk to be moved. She didn’t even even want to think about that chore and walked downstairs.

It wasn’t but a moment later that there was a knock at the door. Astrid ran to it, her pain pushed away.

Scott was the type of guy that attracted girls just with his smile. And it was that smile that broke the dam.

“Hi,” she managed to whisper.

“Hi,” replied, just as shyly.

Then she threw her arms around him. It might have been reckless, knowing that she had only know him for a few months. Regardless, his strong arms and thick torso felt like an anchor of solidarity. And she clung to it like a lifeline. He didn’t apologize, didn’t ask what happened, didn’t say anything at all. He just held her back with a firm grip.

She didn’t realize they were moving until she felt the couch underneath her. As the tears flowed, the world became more stable and focused. She was here. It was just her and Scott, and in this moment, everything was okay. She could take an hour or two to breathe. Tomorrow was another day.

She wiped her face with her sleeve and sniffed as he rubbed her back. “I’m sorry, I don’t know…I guess I just needed a friendly face.”

“It’s okay,” he stated simply.

“You’re the first person I’ve seen all day, besides the creepy guy at the gas station.”

“You drove through Ohio, right?”

She laughed awkwardly. “Yeah…that was rough.”

“I bet.”

Astrid finally gained the courage to untangle herself from her new friend. “Sorry again, I’m not usually this forward with people.”

“It’s okay,” he assured again. “I kind of figured we were passed the ‘just friends’ stage anyway.”

“Yeah.” The idea was nice, but she wasn’t sure if it was practical. For now, she would allow the term ‘boyfriend’ to roll around in her mind. “I know how to survive on my own. So, being on my own isn’t that scary. It’s just…still overwhelming.”

“Yeah, I know it was pretty scary when I got out on my own. Trying to find an apartment that I could afford. Pretty crazy. I didn’t have to worry about school though. Now I’m pretty well off, so it’s better.”

“Yeah…well, I won’t really have to either. I have no tuition money.”

“Yikes.”

She leaned forward, resting her head in her hand. “I suppose I have some money saved up that I could invest some classes.”

“For law?”

She shook her head, “No, LMC doesn’t really have a ‘Law’ program. They have a Criminal Justice Program…which I guess I could do, but I’m not that passionate for it..”

“Well, LMC has a pretty good nursing program. You could try that.”

“Nursing, huh?”

“Nurses make pretty good money.”

“You know…I could probably do that. I grew up having to help with my dad. If I could swing it, I could end up caring for my dad and getting paid for it. That’d be pretty cool!”

Scott seemed to think for a moment. “You know, if you need some help financing this, I could lend you some money.”

“Oh…oh no Scott, you don’t have to do that.”

“Hey, I know you’d pay me back. And it’s interest free and it beats having to take out a loan.”

“I guess…” She scratched her head. “There’s always scholarships, I still have some that I should be able to reapply for.”

“Sure.”

She could see that he was trying to help and she appreciated it. “But if I do get in a rough spot, it’s nice to know that I have someone willing to help me out.”

He smiled. “Of course.” He glanced around the room. “Sooo…How did your exams go?”

Astrid recognized he was trying to get her thinking about something else. She appreciated it. “They were good. Straight A’s.”

“Probably had to study a lot for those, huh?”

“I took good notes in class. So it wasn’t too hard.”

“Good! I was never good at studying. But I ended up in a factory, I’m sure you’ll get a great job.”

“I sure hope so.” Astrid tucked her hair behind her ear, and chuckled. “Actually, my boss at Bath and Body told me that I can’t get a professional job with my hair so long.”

“Do you think she’s right?”

“I mean, maybe? She’s a manager at a mall store, so I don’t know how accurate her advice is.”

Scott turned and looked at her for a moment. “You know, now would be the perfect time to cut your hair.”

“Huh?”

“Trust me, cutting it off is kind of giving you a new start. You can be whoever you want to be. I think you’d look better with short hair.”

“You think so?” Astrid tugged on her braid and looked at it. “You know? I’ll do it.”

“Cool.”

“I’ll get some scissors.” She stated, standing up.

“Wait…what? Right now?”    

“Why not?” She went to upstairs to find her scissors, and he followed, still very concerned. “This is the beginning of a new life, like you said. And I’m going to be more impulsive.”

“I have no background in cutting hair.” He warned, peaking around the rooms.

“Don’t worry, I do. I’ll clean up after.” Shuffling around her desk, she threw various items in a box, until she found a pair of scissors. She handed him the scissors, leading him into the bathroom. She went into a closet and grabbed a folding chair, resting it in the middle of the bathroom floor. Then she sat down, facing away from the mirror.

“Alright, I’m ready.”

Scott muttered to himself, “you drive over to a girl’s house in the middle of the night and she wants you to cut her hair.”

“You can’t get mad. You were the one that brought it up.”

“Yeah well…I didn’t think you were crazy enough to do it.” He lifted her braid and opened the scissors. “I don’t know how comfortable I am with this.”

“Just hack it off.”

“How long do you want it?”

“I don’t know! That’s why I’m having you do it! For spontaneity.”

“Okay, fine…Did you ever watch Teen Titans as a kid?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I’m going to cut your hair like that one chick with the purple hair.”

“Raven?”

“Yeah, that one. Or at least, I’m going to try.” Scott lined up the scissors at the base of her neck, and with a long snip, the deed was done.

Her hair poofed out from where it was clustered and touched her ears.

It was very short now. And he kept snipping at the edges in an attempt to even it out.

“Uh, there…um…I think it looks good.”

Astrid stood and shook the hairs from her shirt. “Thanks!”

“What do you want me to do with your…um…” he held up her limp braid.

She took it from him and tossed it in the garbage. Then she prepared to turn around.

“Keep in mind,” he called out. “You asked for this!”

“I know!” She reminded, delicately.

She turned around,  and nearly jumped at the sight of herself in the mirror.

Scott stood in the doorway, gauging her reaction.

Astrid took out a brush and began to comb the tangled locks. It wasn’t terrible, just different…and needed an extreme clean up. Maybe more than she could handle. She was just lucky he didn’t attempt to cut her bangs.

“Well?” He asked.

“This wasn’t…the best idea.”  

Scott sighed and walked closer.

“If it helps, I think you’re pretty cute.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” He whispered, leaning in.

She pondered on his closeness for only a moment, before he closed the distance and kissed her.

Her first kiss. Warm, sweet, and wonderful. She felt her chest swell with happiness and desperation.

She didn’t know how it happened. One minute, she’s mourning the loss of her mother and her hair, the next, she’s tumbling onto her bed, lip-locked with a handsome man she barely knew.

She pulled away, her heart pounding in her chest. “I don’t think I should do this.”

Scott had her pinned with his dark eyes. “Why not?” He asked, kissing her cheek down to her neck.

“I just..don’t think I’m emotionally ready for a relationship right now. I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have called you over here.”

Scott leaned over her, forbidding her from moving from the bed. “Astrid, now is the time to have a relationship.” He ran his hand up her side. “Now is when you need it.”

Her breath caught in her throat. “I don’t know…”

He kissed her again, her mind becoming fuzzy. “Just relax, and stay with me.”

“I’m not very experienced with…these things.” She gasped, helplessly.

“You’ll get used to it.”

[aniallstory-blog]

Chapter Thirteen

Charlotte and I met when I was ten years old which meant that when my mum died she was there for me every step of the way, just as much as my family were. She saw the tears, the breakdowns, the weight loss from not eating and the stress that came from the fear of going through life without my mum to guide me. Her heart broke for me and this led to her trying to help in the well meaning, but often misguided way that teenagers do. She bought me a pack of cigarettes.

“I tried to get a bottle of vodka, but I kept getting asked for ID and I wouldn't have a clue where to buy marijuana so I stole these from my brother.”

That was her explanation. Apparently she'd seen someone chain smoking on the telly when they were anxious about something so she figured it might help ease my tension. At first it was awful, it tasted horrible and burned my throat, but I was desperate to try anything that might ease my pain so I stuck with it until I finally understood the appeal. It became a pretty regular habit whenever I was down or in a bad mood, but my dad caught me just after my eighteenth birthday (a few months before I met Niall) and forced me to stop. It was never something I relied on too heavily so quitting wasn't that difficult for me, but it was still something I tended to turn to at times of extreme stress.

Which is why I found myself sitting on my dad's porch the day after I'd arrived in Holmes Chapel having a cigarette. I'd just finished and was about to head back into the house when a very familiar range rover pulled up in the driveway behind mine.

My forehead scrunched up in confusion, but my heart fluttered with relief when I saw Niall step out of the car and I instantly launched myself down the drive, practically tackling him when I threw my arms around him.

“Whoa, Ava,” He chuckled, stumbling backwards to keep his footing. “I missed ya too, love.”

I kept my face buried in his chest, knowing that as soon as I said a word he would notice the tears that had burst out the second I saw him, but my fingers clutching into his shirt like I was scared to let him go ever again soon gave me away.

“Are ya cryin'?” He asked, his face covered with concern as I pulled away slightly to look up at him, revealing my damp cheeks. “What's the matter?”

“I'm just,” I paused to sniffle and attempted to pull myself together. “I'm just overwhelmed, it's been a hard month and I'm so glad you're home. Why are you back early?”

Niall stared at me for a moment, trying to figure out what was really going on as he clearly saw right through my only partially true explanation.

“Came back for Ariana's show in Manchester tomorrow,” He explained. “Ya weren't home when I got there and yer phone kept going straight to voicemail so I called Charlotte and she said you came here for a few days.”

“I just needed to clear my head for a bit, get away from the city, ”I informed him as I wiped my eyes. “I forgot I have spotty service up here, I should've checked my phone more. Sorry, Ni.”

“S'fine,” He assured me, worry still etched on his face. I wasn't surprised, I hadn't cried at one of our reunions since we first got together when I wasn't used to the distance or time apart.  “Why do ya smell like smoke, love?”

My cheeks flushed slightly at the fact that he caught me, knowing he didn't approve of my self-medicating with cigarettes. It was slightly hypocritical as he had been known to have one occasionally on a night out, but he claimed that using it as a crutch was different than enjoying it with friends.

“I've been stressed,” I mumbled, burying my head back into his chest to hide my embarrassment. “I only had one.”

I felt Niall's grip on me tighten just a tad.

“Stressed? Just about us? C'mon, love. Whatever issues we've had this last month isn't worth starting all that up again, is it?”

There was a slight hesitation in his voice and I could feel a new, anxious vibe radiating from him.

“No, no, it's not just that!” I rushed to assure him, peaking out from his chest to look up at him again. “I, uh, I read some stuff online.”

Niall relaxed slightly at my confession, but still felt tense and concerned.

“What kinda stuff?”

“Bad stuff, mean stuff, stuff that says I don't deserve you and you could find someone so much better for you,” I admitted, feeling more tears well up in my eyes. “It's not wrong either. For once they're just a little bit right. I acted like a brat before, throwing a fit because we couldn't get married exactly when I wanted. You deserve someone more understanding than that, someone who supports you all the time, not just when it fits in their life and-”

I was about to continue my self-deprecating rant when Niall interrupted.

“Ava, stop it. Ya had every right ta be upset with me,” Niall assured me. “And jealous girls on the internet and their opinions don't matter t’me. If the whole world was watching, I'd still dance with you. I don't care what they think ,they don't know us. I've told ya that before.”

I blinked back my tears, giggling slightly at his comment.

“Did you just quote your own song?” I asked as Niall smirked and nodded. “You're a dork.”

“But I'm your dork,” He chuckled, placing a kiss on the tip of my nose. “Now let's go talk inside, yeah?”

I pulled away from him and reluctantly nodded.

“Can we cuddle while we talk?” I asked, keeping hold of his hand as I walked towards the house. “I have cramps and they always feel better when we cuddle.”

Niall rolled his eyes slightly at my claim, one I made almost every month to guilt him into giving me extra cuddles during my sensitive time of the month, but nodded his head.

-

“You've had a tough week, huh?” Niall asked, referring to my current discomfort and the things I'd read online. I was curled up on my bed after changing into a comfy, loose dress while Niall brought me some paracetamol from the kitchen.

“I have,” I pouted as I took the pills and the bottle of water from him and quickly swallowed them. “But it was my own fault. I know better than to read the stuff they write online. I just knew they must have picked up on the tension between us and couldn't squash my curiosity.”

Niall crawled on the bed, adjusting my pillows before leaning back against the wall and putting his arm around my shoulder.

“Well ya shouldn't take any notice of what they're saying, none of it's true anyway,” He assured me as he kicked off his shoes to get comfortable. “But I might have an idea that will brighten your week up a bit.”

“Yeah?” I asked, intrigued by what his idea might be.

“I got the schedule for the tour the other day and there's a four week gap in October. Perfect amount of time for us to get married and enjoy the honeymoon.”

I pushed myself out of his arms and looked at him, a frown on my face.

“October? Really, Ni?” I questioned, wondering for a moment if he'd completely lost his mind. “How on earth are we going to organize a wedding in three months?”

The smile on Niall's face dropped and he looked at me with confusion in his eyes.

“Four months,” He corrected. “And a month ago ye were desperate to get married and mad that we might have t’wait and now ya do want t’wait? Not sure m'followin', love.”

I sighed and tried to squash the annoyance that was bubbling in my chest.

“I didn't want to wait two years,” I explained. “But four months is no time to organize a wedding. If you'd given me that date a month ago when I asked for a timeline then maybe we could have made it work, but I can't see that happening now.”

“I didn't know a month ago, I just got the tour dates the other day,” Niall defended himself. “And that's the best I can do. It'll be chaos after that and I can't say when I'll be free again.”

I felt the anger I'd managed to get past over the last month rise up again when I was once again faced with Niall's my way or the highway tone, but the look of dejection in his eyes helped keep my temper in check.

“We'll never get a venue in four months. The place we wanted will definitely be booked and most likely everywhere else will be too.”

I wasn't trying to be negative, but it was a reasonable objection.

“We'll get married at the house. There's plenty of space there, maybe in the garden if it's nice, and we can use the money we'd save renting the venue on the decorations,” Niall suggested, showing he'd put quite a lot of thought into this. I was mulling over his idea when he sighed and spoke up again. “Look, Ava. If we get married in October then I can help with the planning whenever I'm here and I'll have time to do some things even if I'm travelling a bit over the summer, but if we just pick a date and demand they clear my schedule then it could end up being in the middle of a world tour. I have no issue flying back from wherever I may be, but you'd be stuck doing all the work and I'd be whisked away right after our honeymoon. M'trying me best here, love.”

“I know you are, I appreciate that,” I assured him. “I'm just trying to think of all the logistics, that's all.”

“I've thought of them all,” Niall boasted with a smirk. “Don't see a single reason why it wouldn't work. Might be harder than if we waited, but we can do it. Was thinking October third? Harry has a break from the first to the fifth and my last show is on the first so we can both get home in time and Harry won't have to rush off right after the ceremony.”

I smiled at the fact that he'd even gone so far in his planning as to check Harry's schedule too and ran through a list of things we'd need to do in my brain. He was right though, it would be difficult, but if we didn't need a venue there wouldn't be anything we couldn't do in four months.

“Okay,” I nodded after a moment of thought, a grin slowly sliding onto my face. “October third it is then.”

A smile burst onto Niall's face and he instantly pulled me back into his arms, pressing his lips against mine. It was intended to be a quickly, celebratory kiss, but as my hands tangled in his hair and his arm around my waist pulled me closer to his chest it quickly grew steamy. The month we'd been apart suddenly flashed into my brain and I was reluctant to pull away especially as he let out a quiet little groan of enjoyment.

When we finally did separate a few minutes later, our lips were both swollen from the pressure. He looked adorable, all weary eyed and dishevelled and my heart soared at the knowledge that he would be my husband in four months.

“I can't wait, Ava,” Niall smiled down at me. “And I swear it'll still be as big and beautiful as you want it to be.”

I shook my head and placed another soft kiss on his lips.

“I don't care about big and beautiful, Ni,” I insisted. “As long as our friends and family are there with us to celebrate we could just get married in the kitchen in our pyjamas for all I care.”

Niall laughed and pulled me against his side.

“Not a chance, love. M'dying to see ya all dolled up in a pretty white dress for me.”

I smiled at his words before playfully letting out a groan and resting my head on his shoulder.

“Oh god, if we're getting married in four months then I'm going to have to go to the gym six days a week to get in shape in time,” I whined. “It'll just give those fans of yours more reasons to criticize me if I look like a whale in all our wedding photos.”

Niall's shoulder jostled my head as he chuckled.

“Ya could never look like a whale, love,” He assured me. “But here,” He shifted off the bed, grabbing his phone from the nightstand as he went. “If yer still worryin’ about them, I'll post something to put them back in line.”

I frowned and shook my head.

“It won't make a difference,” I pointed out. “Some of them will still hate me no matter what you do.”

“They're just jealous,” Niall insisted, holding his phone up to take a picture. “Now, pose.”

“No!”

I looked away, hoping to deter him, but he simply moved to the end of the bed and snapped his picture.

“Perfect,” He smirked, typing away on his phone. “October third,” He mumbled under his breath. “Can't believe yer gonna be my wife on October third.”

I couldn't stop the smile that burst onto my face as I reached over, took his phone out of his hand and pulled him back onto my bed to resume the celebratory kissing we had started earlier.

[highandlowculture]

Overkill’s Finest Hour

I was introduced to thrash in 1989 via Metallica’s ...And Justice For All. Within a year I had every Metallica and Testament album and a few from Megadeth and Anthrax. Slayer was too raw and heavy for my precious young ears. I wouldn’t acquire a taste for the rawer and heavier stuff until years later. And Overkill. Dear lord! What was going on with the singer’s voice!? My young ears likewise couldn’t deal. Vocally Bobby “Blitz” Ellsworth is Rob Halford, Udo Dirkschneider and Bon Scott combined. His psychotic snarling and shrieking is Next Level Metal. I wasn’t ready for Next Level Metal. I needed to be older. I needed to embrace the majesty of singers like Halford and Dio before digging the Blitz.

That day wouldn’t come until many years later.

In 2014 everyone was buzzing about Overkill’s “last three albums”. They seemed to represent some kind of benchmark for legacy thrash acts. I picked up White Devil Armory and it kicked my ass like the most relentless of motherfuckers. I was finally ready for Overkill. I quickly picked up the two prior albums, Ironbound and The Electric Age, and loved them just as much. I then went back and got their classic albums from the eighties and early nineties. It was all great to my older, more evolved ears, but man, those last three albums! They were still my faves (although The Years of Decay and Horrorscope gave them a run for their money). How many bands that have been together for over thirty years still release albums that are competitive or arguably stronger than the albums they made when they were young and hungry? I love the latest Metallica, Testament and Megadeth albums, but those new albums didn’t turn me onto the bands; I had been a fan since I was a kid. Overkill, on the other hand, won me over with their new shit!

Maybe this is because they never stopped being hungry.

Those last three albums weren’t albums made by a band coasting on their past accomplishments. Like the mighty Motörhead, Overkill was all about the long haul. They never hit it as big as Metallica or Megadeth. They had to keep playing and kicking ass or the bills weren’t getting paid.

So now the band has released their eighteenth studio album, The Grinding Wheel.

How does it measure up?

Should we all start praising the last four albums?

Yep. Pretty much.

This might even be their greatest album. It’s some kind of freakish masterwork, that’s for sure!

It doesn’t hit you right away like the last three or some of their stronger earlier albums, but after about five listens it clicks... or clinks like the metal gears on the cover. Though it lives in the sweaty and focussed now, The Grinding Wheel is also a retrospective of the band’s entire career. Whereas the last three albums were more or less uniformed thrash assaults, The Grinding Wheel puts more emphasis on melody and eclecticism. Of course you get the trash, but you also get N.W.O.B.H.M. style rockers, power metal, and one Sabbathy groove track. Of all their past albums, I’d compare it to the similarly eclectic The Years of Decay, but The Grinding Wheel is by no means a clone of that damn fine album. Like all of Overkill’s recent releases, The Grinding Wheel is an album made by men who aren’t hiding their age. This isn’t metal by man-children trying to reclaim their glory days. Fuck no. This is metal made by MEN who have been knocked around by life several times over. These songs are battle hymns for old battered war horses like themselves.

This is why Overkill only gets better as they get older.

Bobby has turned the lines on his face and his scars into strength.

And bassist and founding member, D.D. Verni, has his back: Laying down relentlessly heavy and energized music, with the rest of this killer line-up. The band doesn’t wait for you to catch up. You’re either on the Overkill express or you’re getting lost in the dust, motherfucker.

My favorite track is the Sabbathy groove number, “Come Heavy”, with Bobby’s swaggering melody that culminates in him declaring in biting form, “Come heavy or don’t come at ALLLLLLL!!!” The band takes the chugging groove into all kinds of interesting directions; this is metal music with swing and dexterity. Ultimately, however, Overkill is an album band and The Grinding Wheel is a powerful sum of its parts. There are various highlight moments that stick in my head rather than just individual songs: The melodic breakdown equipped with “whoa-oh-oh-ohhh”‘s in “Mean, Green, Killing Machine”; Bobby’s triumphant wail at the climax of “Goddamn Trouble”; Bobby and the gang vocals shouting the word “Damn Right” back at one another in “Red White and Blue”; the disarming finale when “The Grinding Wheel” introduces a Gregorian chant by way of Accept; etc. And I just love that the title track is preceded by a song entitled “The Wheel”! This places further importance on the album as a whole. With tracks like “Shine On” and “The Long Road”, it’s clear that pretty much every song is about the band’s longevity and endurance. They know they’re still in the zone. The first track released from the album was “Our Finest Hour” and if that doesn’t say it all, I don’t know what will.

Bobby reminds me of Mickey Rourke’s character, Randy “The Ram” Robinson, from The Wrestler. Not just because they’re both working class Jersey guys, but they both insist on getting back into the ring at an age when most of their contemporaries are retiring or, at very least, taking it easier on themselves. When Randy climbs up on the ropes at the end of The Wrestler, some might see a foolhardy man who’s going to die as soon as the film cuts to black, but I don’t see that. I see a man who’s refusing to give up even as his body is grinding down. He’s going to keep on doing what he does best: Deliver his signature move, a diving headbutt named “The Ram Jam”, to the roars and cheers of his loyal fans.

The film doesn’t end on a tragic moment, but a triumphant one.

Surely Overkill will keep on doing what they do best and make more albums. But if The Grinding Wheel was the last one, it’d be a triumphant statement in the face of their own mortality.

It’d be their Ram Jam.

Their finest hour.