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nephilimsss · 4 months

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𝘁𝗼𝗼 𝗯𝗮𝗱, 𝘀𝗼 𝘀𝗮𝗱 ! michael langdon

PAIRING ➨ michael langdon x brides of dracula inspired ocs GENRE ➨ fiction SUMMARY ➨ shortly after the apocalypse happens, survivors go into hiding in outposts that are set up around the world. outpost 3, however, doesn't realize that three of the people that have taken up residence in their walls are vampires, feeding on the others whilst they are asleep. all they know is that they are finding bite marks on them, and have little to no recollection as to how they are getting them. when michael langdon makes his way into outpost 3, the vampires are keen on making him the fourth in the relationship. WARNINGS ➨ maybe some smut in later chapters, death, manipulation, vampires, blood, it's michael, so there might be a few satanic references, though i am not one myself, the end of the world. the title is taken from the song IYDKMGTHTKY (gimme that) by type o negative, but it's mostly due to the vibes of the song. it's dark, sexy, and it always reminds of michael and the brides of dracula from van helsing (2004). MAIN MASTERLIST SERIES MASTERLIST

the voice of coco st. pierre vanderbilt was annoying, to say the least. to aleera, marishka, and verona, it was worse than nails on a chalkboard, which was surprising because they had a heightened sense of hearing than the rest of the residents of the outpost they stayed in. whenever she began complaining, they would find a way to sneak out of the room she was in, going back into the room they shared against venable's wishes. "why can they wear that," coco points an accusing finger towards the three vampires standing together in the corner of the room, "and we have to wear this? it's not fucking fair!"

"aw," marishka placed her hands on her knees, which were clothed with the thin white fabric which shone brightly with small encrusted diamond dust, and tutted her tongue. "too bad. so sad!" she flashed her brilliant teeth, which, for some reason, always put coco on edge. she hated whenever the three women showed their pearly white teeth, something about the action seemed dangerous and wrecked her nerves. marishka was the only one of the three to wear pants, the other two opting for dresses of the same fabric and edging, the same concepts but different designs being put to good use.

coco never had clothing like that before the nuclear apocalypse. she crossed her arms, wishing she had spent her money beforehand to create something as beautiful as the three women were wearing.

venable stayed quiet. she never knew why she allowed the women to wear their own clothes instead of the purple dresses every woman was required to wear here in outpost three. something about them had set her on edge, and she never outright said anything to them about breaking the rules. yes, she hated the fact that they were not following her rules or the dress code she had put in place, but she did not dare say so. she just allowed her disgust show on her face, and that was all. she could not bear to go against them, for whatever reason. coco opened her mouth to say something snarky, but seeing aleera, standing to the right of marishka, made her snap her mouth shut and simply say a small, "hmph" while crossing her arms and looking toward the fireplace. no one dared to answer coco's question. they were all uneasy, being watched by the three women, which they had little knowledge as to why, and the news that had come to them that morning, that the perimeter had been breached.

who came close to the outpost? what did they want? were they inside the building now? here to hurt any of them if they were to come out any day soon?

everyone sat in silence for the emergency meeting venable had called for, the purples, the greys, all sitting or standing as they waited for any word. footfalls in the distance make them raise their heads, wondering who had been missing from the room, and verona, the vampiress with the dark hair, raised her head as she breathed in deeply. a smell of sulfur and death began coming closer to the dining room, a smell she hadn't come from anyone else but her and her wives. aleera grabbed onto verona's sleeve, looking excited at what's to come. what other unimaginable creature of the dark had come to the outpost? this one with the smell of death and sulfur, all but missing the scent of iron and blood that they carried themselves? marishka merely stared at the entryway, brown eyes gauging at whoever was going to come through them.

a man with long, straight blonde hair appears, hands behind his back as he wears a look that screams he is unimpressed. the smell became stronger once he stepped in, and the vampiresses stared down at his clothing. expensive fine black fabric covered him from head to toe. a long trenchcoat went down to his claves, his shirt made of silk and his shoes of expensive black leather. the inner corners of his eyes had been highlighted with a red eyeshadow, and the clear blue eyes that adorned his fine face swept across the room.

they fell on venable, and as he walked along the right side of the room when he smelled blood and death to his right, he ripped his vision away from the cane-using woman at the head of the table. they landed, instead, on the vampiresses who stared at him with wonder rather than the fear the others were staring at him with. they flashed smiles at him, grasping onto each other's sleeves as they continued to gauge him. like him, they were something other than human.

he continued his walk and looked away from them once he reached the spot venable stood in. he stopped an inch away from her, his face coming near her cheek as he stared her down, daring her to do anything other than move. venable turned to face him with a proud smile, but his glare upon her was unnerving, forcing her to look down and walk away, her cane echoing in the silent room.

"my name is langdon and i represent the cooperative," he began, sweeping his eyes across the faces that stared back at him. fear, determination, curiosity, and with the three curiosities standing in the corner, excitement. "i won't sugarcoat the situation. humanity is on the brink of failure." one of the women giggled, covering her smile with her hand. "my arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on earth. the three other compounds - in syracuse, new york, beckley, west virginia, and san angelo, texas - have been overrun and destroyed." marishka shook aleera's shoulder as she continued to giggle uncontrollably. mr. gallant scoffed and looked back at them, angry that they were finding the doom of humanity hilarious.

"we've had no contact from the six international outposts, but we are assuming that they, too, have been eliminated."

"what happened to the people inside?" one of the men asked.

"massacred," michael says the word as if were a love letter, and tilts his head to the right as he looks down at gallant's grandmother. she looks uneasy, happy that she was one of the few that was still alive here in the outpost. "the same fate that will befall almost all of you."

"almost alll?" mallory can't keep her mouth shut, standing in the back by the entryway, her glasses reflecting the light of the fire behind michael's body.

michael sighs, hating that he was being interrupted again. "in the knowledge that this very moment might occur, we built a failsafe - the sanctuary." he brings his arms from behind his back and large rings, with what looked to be onyx stones set into them, glittered in the firelight.

"the sanctuary?" venora rolled her eyes at coco.

"the sanctuary is unique," michael was beginning to get angry at the people of the outpost, but was still in surprise of the same three standing women. "it has certain security measures that will prevent overrun."

"excuse me, sir, what measures?" ms. mead interrupts, but michael could not be angry at her. "why weren't we given them?"

"that's classified," he waves her off, however, having to keep up pretenses that he did not know her. "all that matters is that the sanctuary will. . . survive so that the people populating it will survive, so humanity will survive."

"who are the people who are populating it?"

"also classified," michael points both pointer fingers in his hands. "however. . . i have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us." murmuring begins to come across the room, people wondering who will go and who will stay. "the cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous question technique we like to call. . . cooperating." he shifts his focus to the wives. "i will then use the information gained to determine if you belong."

"what is this, the hunger games?" coco exclaims, hating over the fact that they were being plucked as if prize horses in a show. "this is bullshit. i paid my way in here, and that is the only cooperating i plan on doing."

"that's no longer a viable option, coco," the accented voice of marishka forces everyone to look at her. "the governments are all over with. banks, homes, and important places that were once the standpoint of our lives are gone. you, like everyone else who survived the nuclear fallout, are broke. money is no longer an influential power. everyone here is starving, the people still outside are starving. your best bet is to give food away for your spot, but oh!" she gasps, looking over to verona, placing a hand over her heart. "we have none. we are down to half a gelatinous cube a day, and you have zero control over it. so you, like everyone else here, are going to get questioned, and you will wait in line for your answer!" her eyes flashed, and a different look came over them. instead of the brown they once were, they became a white iris with a ring of red and black covering part of the sclera.

#michael langdon #michael langdon imagines #michael langdon series #american horror story #american horror story apocalypse #ahs: apocalypse #ahs fandom #cody fern #cody fern's avacados

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nephilimsss · 4 months

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𝗴𝗶𝗺𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 ! michael langdon masterlist

PAIRING ➨ michael langdon x ooc brides of dracula GENRE ➨ fiction SUMMARY ➨ shortly after the apocalypse happens, survivors go into hiding in outposts that are set up around the world. outpost 3, however, doesn't realize that three of the people that have taken up residence in their walls are vampires, feeding on the others whilst they are asleep. all they know is that they are finding bite marks on them, and have little to no recollection as to how they are getting them. when michael langdon makes his way into outpost 3, the vampires are keen on making him the fourth in the relationship. WARNINGS ➨ maybe some smut in later chapters, death, manipulation, vampires, blood, it's michael, so there might be a few satanic references, though i am not one myself, the end of the world. the title is taken from the song IYDKMGTHTKY (gimme that) by type o negative, but it's mostly due to the vibes of the song. it's dark, sexy, and it always reminds of michael and the brides of dracula from van helsing (2004). MAIN MASTERLIST

o.oi :: too bad, so sad !

#michael langdon imagines #michael langdon smut #michael langdon #michael langdon series #cody fern #american horror story #ahs: apocalypse #brides of dracula inspired #brides of dracula

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nephilimsss · 4 months

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𝗶 𝗵𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗮𝗶𝗿 𝗵𝗲 𝗯𝗿𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵𝗲𝘀. coriolanus snow

PAIRING ➨ coriolanus snow x fem!oc (named brutus) GENRE ➨ fiction SUMMARY ➨ taken after the song brutus by the buttress, it essentially goes lyric by lyric, and the chapters will be based off the lyric i choose that day ! WARNINGS ➨ maybe some smut in later chapters, death, manipulation, the hunger games, friends to enemies, enemies to fake lovers, fake lovers to murderers. MAIN MASTERLIST SERIES MASTERLIST

brutus watched as coriolanus looked around the classroom to see if anyone else was laughing about the way his tribute, lucy gray baird, had acted towards the girl in the audience. when he saw that everyone was, in fact, laughing, he let out a few chuckles himself, relieved that his tribute was good at something that might get him something good from the citizens of panem. however, this short-lived moment came to a halt when he saw his former friend, brutus, remain stoic whilst watching him.

she had cut off all contact with him after she had found out that he was, actually, using her for his own personal gain, wanting to feel a mother's love that he hadn't felt since his own mother had passed away a few years before he began befriending brutus. he didn't want to admit it, but she was pretty smart in figuring out his intentions, though it took her a little while to understand them. he guessed that she had even told her own mother about how they were to never speak to each other again because they had passed each other multiple times since then, and her mother had looked desperate to call him over.

he had remembered what brutus had told him years prior: her mother wanted a boy and had given birth to her, a girl, instead, and now that he had come into her life, she treated him better than she did her own daughter.

it wasn't his fault that her mother barely loved her, and it sure as hell not his fault that he was treated better.

brutus glowered at him, hating every aspect of him, hating that he had used her to get to her mother. perhaps he was also using her for her money, since she had given him food out of the pure kindness of her heart, clothes to keep him warm in the winter, and knew that he had little to no money of his own whilst she was the heir to her family's fortune once her parents passed away.

"coriolanus got himself a good tribute," someone from their grade told brutus, nodding over to the blonde boy that stood, also staring at brutus.

"just cause she sings doesn't mean that she's a fighter," brutus crossed her arms. this year, she was not part of the mentor program that they decided to implement, but her father had paid her way into being part of the inner circle so she could give some more insight about the Games. "her songbird wings can be clipped. just you wait."

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow imagine #lucy gray #lucy gray baird #tbosas #the hunger games #tom blyth #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth series

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nephilimsss · 4 months

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𝗶'𝘃𝗲 𝗯𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝘄𝗮𝘁𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗵𝗶𝗺 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗺𝘆 𝗲𝗻𝘁𝗶𝗿𝗲 𝗹𝗶𝗳𝗲. coriolanus snow

coriolanus snow was a strange child, no matter what he said against it. he showed little to no emotion, and sometimes he had to look around him to figure out which emotion he had to put forth to make himself look normal. however, coriolanus believed brutus—a girl with a boy's name—to be strange, from the way she picked haphazardly at the frayed edges of her uniform, to how she picked apart her steak sandwich and ate it in three separate pieces. first the bread slices, then the meat that was once in the middle, though she would nibble slightly at it before placing it in her back, wrapped in an expensive silk handkerchief.

if corio did that, his grandma'am would surely be angry with him for dirtying up something that was more than likely older than his father. he did not want to associate with brutus, no ma'am or sir, he was perfectly fine with sitting away from her, halfway across the classroom. she didn't exactly look dirty or poor, since every time she frayed her skirts, they would be immediately repaired or replaced with ones made of a heavier, more expensive material, or how she once complained about how the water had tasted funny when it was coming out of the drinking fountains—which, to be honest, corio did agree with her ramblings—and the next day it was announced that brutus' father had paid for an entirely new purification and fountain system in the academy so his precious daughter didn't have to drink the disgusting water.

nonetheless, when the professor announced that they were to do a group project, coriolanus wanted to team up with one of his friends in the class, however, his wish was not answered when he heard he was paired up with brutus. he was hit with a gust of what he once knew to be the smell of champagne and strawberries.

"hello coriolanus," she stuck out her hand for a shake, the pleasantries that had been drilled into them before the war had not left the younger capitol citizens. the adults, however, were still haunted by the monstrosities they had committed during it, and sometimes struggled with keeping face.

"hello brutus," he grasped her hand in his, shaking it gently before letting it go and grabbing his pencil. something about her was fascinating yet slightly unnerving, whether it was the way her auburn curls fell softly about her shoulders or the fact that her left eye was a bright green while the right a muddy brown. the green seemed to see straight through him, see that he needed the others' emotions to influence him because he did not seem to feel anything other than possessiveness, anger, and a slight need for vengeance after the death of his parents. his father he barely knew, but his mother. . . he was angry at the world for the way it took her from him. . . both her and the unborn sister he was going to have. if it weren't for the districts, he wouldn't be an orphan.

it had taken a while, a few months, to be a little more exact, for coriolanus to think of brutus as a friend. he found out why her name was brutus—her mother had wanted a boy, and was angry to find out that the child she bore was a girl—and why she stored the meat from the steak sandwiches they got at lunch—she wasn't the biggest fan of meat, and she had a pet dog at home that would be happy to eat it.

sometimes brutus was a little strange, but corio did not care for that as long as it did not affect his own image. sometimes she would invite him to her home—much larger than the apartment he shared with the grandma'am and tigris—to play with her dog, which was much larger than what he had imagined (he thought she had gotten a lap dog, which was very much not the case), and would sometimes even spend the night after he called the grandma'am back home to tell her where he was. after he had fallen asleep there a few times, on the ninth sleepover he had, he found out that brutus' mother had begun getting him his own clothing and even an armoire for the things she had bought. brutus's mother would even send him to school with a full belly of eggs, bacon, and a nice toast with some goat's cheese, and he was ever more thankful for her presence in his life.

brutus had broken off their friendship.

years of it in the making and she had broken it off.

corio thought he wasn't a bad friend. in fact, he was the best person that anyone could have in their lives. sure, he used them for his own personal good, but they received some of it back. when he felt like being nice. however, when brutus came to him to break off the friendship, she had been crying for who knows how long before she approached him. the puffiness of her eyes and the ring of red that marred the once-white sclera told him so. "what is it, brutus?" he snapped. "your mother wants me to come over tonight," he tapped his foot impatiently on the ground.

"you're no longer invited," she replied, quiet sobs marring her speech.

"did your mother say so?"

"no," she shakes her head. the curls, once at her shoulders, now hung by her waist, and they flew softly around her. "i say so. you have gotten closer with my mother, and i see that you are now only using me to get closer to her. she has always wanted a son, and now that she has you, she has cast me aside. never come by again." she breathed in, but it was broken by a few unshed tears. "i'll leave your things in a box outside the gates. but after you get them, leave. never come back. go back to that shabby apartment of yours. never talk to my mother ever again. don't contact us any more. and stay away from me."

thank you to @tinfairies for feeding into this illusion! love you will all my heart <33333

#tom blyth #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow #tom blyth series #tom blyth imagine #tbosas #the hunger games #the hunger games prequel #lucy gray #lucy gray baird #lucy will make a later appearance in this!

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nephilimsss · 4 months

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𝗯𝗿𝘂𝘁𝘂𝘀. coriolanus snow masterlist

oo.i :: i've been watching him for my entire life

oo.ii :: i hate the air he breathes

oo.iii :: his foolish decrees, his words so contriving

oo.iv :: and i hate the way the townspeople gather outside. . .

#coriolanus snow #coryo snow #president snow #tbosas #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow imagine #tom blyth #tom blyth imagine #tom blyth series #lucy gray #lucy gray baird #the covey #the hunger games

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nephilimsss · 5 months

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HE NEEDS TO GROW OUR HIS HAIR LIKE THAT AGAIN

Okay this picture has me down bad well I’m already down bad but you know what I mean …. It’s just ummfff and I can’t and he’s just AHHhhhhh

Me:

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nephilimsss · 5 months

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This might also explain why Daenerys was able to say speeches to many of her followers, and they were all able to hear her.

Also sorry if it might’ve been a little weird to send this at midnight but I was having a little bit of a moment last night lol!

I just realized that the Targaryens more than likely have stronger lungs than anyone else in the ASOIAF world. Cause they’re dragons go into extreme heights, flying for who knows how long at that height, where there’s bitter winds and thin air. So the Targaryens would have to have a stronger set of lungs to support their breathing while at these heights for however long their dragons fly up there. Cause just at a normal height, fighter pilots have to wear oxygen masks to get proper air flow, as well as climbers who go up Mt. Everest. So this is just adding a little more proof that the Targaryens have a little extra lung capacity than the rest of the population.

THIS IS SO TRUE Or just none of the creators thinking out such things but yes!!

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nephilimsss · 5 months

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Author's Note: Attended a wedding yesterday and those always get me weepy. 🥹 Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

Inside the church, several pews behind the altar, you and Nanami stand beside each other, watching the bride walk down the aisle. A coworker of yours, someone you befriended throughout the years, is getting married today. She glides in her beautiful wedding dress, tears glittering in her eyes as she gazes at her soon-to-be husband just a couple feet ahead of her. Her father kisses her cheek, whispers something sweet into her ear, then leaves the two lovebirds to smile and giggle at each other before the officiant begins. That’s one of the things you like to focus on the most during weddings: the way the couple looks at each other. Seeing how much they absolutely cherish one another.

You’ve been to plenty of weddings now throughout your lifetime. Church, destination, even one at a Vegas chapel. No matter where it is, you always end up crying by the end of it, full of love and hope for the couple. Same as you were the day you and your husband got married all those years ago.

Before you can search your purse for a tissue, Nanami reaches into his pocket, handing you a clean one. You bite your lip, holding back a smile, taking it to blot the tears collecting in your eyes. Of course he’s prepared, he always is. He knows how mushy you get at these things. Without saying a word, he slides his hand around your waist, pulling you closer to him, squeezing the side of your belly twice to get your attention. You peer up to meet his gaze, a reassuring smile on his lips.

“What?” you mouth.

He shakes his head, whispering back. “Nothing.” All his attention is on you rather than the couple up in the front.

You nudge him gently in the ribs, grinning. “What?”

He bows slightly, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “I was just thinking about how beautiful you are.”

You lean against him, always a perfect fit by his side. Joking, you say, “You better not be thinking anything naughty. We’re inside a church.”

He chuckles. “I suppose I’ll have to confess my sins later then.”

You remain like this until the vows, exchanging subtle touches during your favorite parts of it. Eventually, your left hand finds his to hold. He feels for the ring on your finger, the one he placed on you at your own wedding. It’s as if it happened both yesterday and centuries ago. Each passing day is just as exciting as the last, but it seems like you’ve known each other in this life and all the other past lives from before. Nanami squeezes your hip once more. “I’d do it all over again, you know.”

“What?”

“This. With you.”

You beam at him, tears returning to your eyes. “Yeah?”

He smiles back at you, genuine and sincere, like he always is. “In a heartbeat. I’d do it a million times over if it means I get to spend forever with you.”

He always knows exactly what to say to make your heart swell the same way it did the moment you fell in love with him. “Well, lucky for you, one time is enough.”

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nephilimsss · 8 months

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give me a minute (1/2) | chef luca

pairing: chef luca x ex-wife!reader word count: 4.7k warnings: established former relationship, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort, discussions of separation and divorce, luca and reader has a son, unresolved sexual tension 👀 notes: this fic has been the bane of my existence for the last couple of months or so. it all started as a simple thought of "ooh it would be fun to have a steamy smut with ex!luca" and then it turns into a whole thing with like proper angst and stuff lol. this will be split into two parts, and i think i need encouragement to finish the second part. so please enjoy this first part and tell me what you think! ✨follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass and turn on the notifications to get alerted of my latest fics! ✨

03:49 PM

Everything is fine, you keep telling yourself.

Your soon-to-be ex-husband is flying in from Denmark to finalize the divorce—and even after two years of exhaustive paperwork and mediations and court proceedings, you still don’t know how to feel about this. His visit to New York is meant to be a consolation prize for your six-year-old son Alfie, whose only facetime with his dad lately is through… well, FaceTime. But, given how extraordinarily difficult he’s being—fussing over his breakfast, stalling shower time by a record of 48 minutes, refusing to wear anything you picked out for him… you have an inkling that he might be a little nervous to see his father.

And to make matters worse, it’s raining cats and dogs outside, which delays Luca by two hours now and actively threatens the zoo outing he has planned out for him and Alfie.

So… despite the shitstorm that is happening in your apartment and out, you keep telling yourself that everything is fine.

Because it is. Your home is tidy enough, with all the toys and the mess tucked away in their little cubbies. Your son is dressed up enough; he’s finally put on his pants and shirt, although you missed a button and he won’t let you fix it. The storm is outside, and you’re safely sheltered in. And your relationship with your ex is civil enough, so you feel…

Fine enough.

But the doorman buzzes in, and you can definitely tell the awkwardness in his voice. “Afternoon, Ma’am. I have your husband— I mean, Chef Luca— I mean Mr. Bailey—”

You sigh, not having the energy to let this go on. “Yeah, yeah. Send him up.”

Alfie looks up from his coloring book and practically jumps out of the couch. “My tummy hurts, I’m gonna make a doodie!”

“No running!” You remind him just a second too late, watching him dash over to the bathroom and slamming the door closed. He has a nervous stomach just like you, and as you feel the icky twist in your gut… you can’t help but empathize with his antics today. You would be fucking shit up too, if you only could.

There’s a knock at the door, and you brace yourself as if you’re about to let the storm itself in (although, quite frankly, you probably are). Your hand feels clammy, and you have to wipe it off on your dress before you unlock the door and turn the knob.

“Hey.”

If the storm was a person, you wouldn’t have associated it with the man standing before you. So tall and broad and sturdy. With boyish features and dark blond locks like gentle daylight. It feels like a reach to imagine the seven years of your relationship with him was, indeed, an epic fucking hurricane.

Still.

You can’t help that you miss him.

“Come on in.” You step aside, not really meeting his gaze.

He murmurs a small thanks and apology, a staple combination in Luca’s British vernacular, as he squeezes in through the door with his duffel bag and suitcase.

“I thought you’d dropped these off at your hotel before you came here.”

“I know. I was going to, but…” he puts down his bags close to the jacket closet, like he always does, “But I got held up for ages and traffic was awful and I didn’t want Alfie to wait even longer, so…”

“Right.” You nod absently. “Well. He’s in the bathroom, should be out in a second, so… have a seat. Do you want anything to drink?”

“Um, water’s fine.” He takes his seat on the dining table.

You’re not sure which one is more jarring; the sheer familiarity of this, or the fact that it isn’t anymore. The two of you just hovering in the home you used to share, courteous but distant.

Luca looks around the place, and notices all the differences right away. You kept the glass dining table and two of the chairs, but changed the corner seating into a plush dining bench against the kitchen island. He recognizes Alfie’s favorite stuffed bunny on the couch, although the throw pillows were new. But he takes one look at the wall… and his heart drops.

Gone are any traces of him in the snapshots of your life. The pictures are all of you and Alfie—eating ice cream in the park, grinning and showing his first lost tooth, dressed up on Halloween… He really shouldn’t be surprised or disappointed to find the wedding portrait gone, or the vacation selfie in Italy four years ago. But it hurts quite a bit to find a generic flower portrait replacing the picture of him kissing you on the forehead while Alfie, laying on your chest, merely hours after his birth.

“Yeah, I…” you clear your throat as you hand him the glass of water, “…did some redecorating.”

“It looks good.” He manages a stiff nod, taking a hesitant swig of water.

“You look…” good, you want to say. Because he is. He’s got that tan and the haircut that reminds you of when you first met him years ago. But you can’t say that. So you settle with, “You look well.”

He meets your eyes, really meets your eyes for the first time, and you try to convince yourself the little flutter you feel inside is just your nervous stomach. But he smiles, soft and earnest. “So do you.”

You turn back and open the fridge, welcoming the cold air and how it cools down the burning warmth on your cheeks. Trying not to freak out and decide what you’re getting, so you don’t look like an idiot. Your hand grabs a can of ginger ale, and you sigh in relief.

“How’s Alfie doing in school?”

“He’s doing alright. He’s enjoying his art classes. Math is still a struggle, but Ms. Rashad says his reading is quite advanced for his age.” You relax a little bit into the conversation. The topic of your son resets you a little bit into a somewhat common ground as co-parents. Plain and simple.

“Definitely takes after you. My dyslexic ass could never.”

You smile at that. Small jokes are still there, always a good sign.

“And the, uh…” he lowers his voice, “the anxiety?”

“Comes and goes. He’s been complaining about a stomach ache all day.” You glance towards the bathroom.

He frowns in concern. “Should we go check on him?”

“Sure…” You walk together with Luca following suit, tentatively knocking at the door. “Alfie? Hey bub, how’s your doodie?” It sounds silly, but you find it helps to ask open questions instead of showing your worries outright.

A flush from inside. “There’s no doodie,” he hollers. His voice is murmured from the barrier, and then the running tap water.

You catch the unease in Luca’s features, and you feel a little bad for him. It wouldn’t feel great that your own son is nervous to see you after many months apart. “You wanna come out, then? Your dad’s here.” You try to sound cheerful and upbeat, hoping it’ll hype them both up.

The two-second gap never felt so long. But the door opens, and there he is, standing meekly against the frame. Staring up at you and then at Luca.

Luca’s heart nearly stops as those big doe eyes stare up at him, a spitting image of you. The same softness. The same spark of stubbornness.

The same vulnerable look.

“Hey, bub.”

“Hi.”

“Can I get a hug?”

There’s a brief pause, before he steps forward and throws his arms around his father’s middle. Luca grunts softly, a little surprised by the sheer force Alfie is hugging him, his heart swelling three times over.

“Oh my God, look at you!” He ruffles the boy’s dark hair and kneels down to level with him. His cherubic face is small cupped in his large hand, but not as small as Luca remembered it. “You’re so tall now!”

“Of course. I’m 3 feet and 8 inches tall now. Right, Mommy?” He proudly announces, getting the exact height completely memorized.

“That’s right,” you confirm with a grin.

Luca gasps, a smile blooming on his face. “What?”

Alfie nods. “I’m gonna be as tall as you.”

“No! Don’t grow up so fast!” He playfully cries out.

“Why?”

“Because I won’t get to do this anymore!” Luca seizes his boy into his arms and sweeps him off of his bunny-socked feet, sending Alfie into a fit of hysterical giggles.

The sight makes you chuckle, but the feeling could bring Luca to happy tears. He’s been gone for so long, he’s afraid he’d forget how it feels to hold his son in his arms again. Or worse, that his son would find his presence alien.

But he’s here now. With you and the son you share. Attacking Alfie in tickles and noisy kisses, and letting the boy climb him like monkey bars. And it calms his anxious heart a bit as he reminds himself, everything’s fine.

And as things fall back into place, thunder crashes outside, as if sobering all of you back into reality. Alfie shirks into himself, climbing off of his father’s back. You want to reach out for him so badly, but at the same time, not wanting to interrupt his bonding time with his dad.

“It’s okay, bub. It’s just thunderclap,” Luca soothes emphatically over the sudden silence, bringing Alfie back down to his feet. He smooths his son’s hair gently, comfortingly. “I got you, I got you…”

“Do animals even come out in the rain?” Alfie is back to his withdrawn self, mumbling his words and avoiding Luca’s gaze.

“Some animals actually love playing in the rain,” you chime in helpfully.

Luca keeps his tone cheerful and bright. “Yeah, and you can wear your raincoat and your wellies and I’ll even let you jump in puddles—”

“I don’t wanna do that! I wanna stay home!” He whines, voice raising a little.

“It’s your dad’s time—”

“No!”

“Alfie.” Your tone is firmer now, as he struggles out of his father’s arms and runs to his favorite corner of the couch in the living room, holding his stuffed bunny tight.

But Alfie’s got a point. This is not the kind of rain where you can take a leisurely stroll in. No, this is the kind where you stay huddled inside and hope it doesn’t flood the streets. Luca takes a thoughtful look at Alfie who is sulking and shrinking from the sound of thunder, at the window completely obscured from rain, and then at you… offering an apologetic smile.

So much for quality time with his son.

Luca’s heart sinks a little. He sighs in defeat. “Maybe we should just wait it out…”

“Are you sure? I mean, you flew 9 hours to see him—“

“And I don’t want him to be pissed at me the whole time we’re hanging out,” he reasons. “Besides, I don’t think any Uber would take our order at this time.”

It makes sense, you think. As much as you want this awkward little broken family dance to end, you know that staying in and waiting it out is the best option. Alfie would feel much more comfortable at home than in whatever hotel Luca is staying in. And maybe it’s your protective side talking, but if he ever gets fussy, you’d prefer to be around to deal with it.

“Alright, fine.”

“Yeah? Is that okay with you?”

You shrug. The truth is a little more complicated, but ultimately you settle with a simple, “yes.”

Alfie takes a quick glance at you and Luca emerging from the hallway (you have your mother’s side eye, Luca always said), before returning to fiddling his stuffed bunny’s ears (your father’s neutral look of disapproval, you would say). Like clockwork, Luca takes the seat next to Alfie, while you take the puffy stool in front of him.

“That wasn’t very nice of you to raise your voice at me and your dad like that. I get that you’re nervous about the weather—a bit startled, too— but still. We don’t raise our voices in this household.”

Alfie looks at you and Luca. “I’m sorry.”

Luca nods in acknowledgement. “I’m sorry for being late, buddy.” He gingerly reaches out to touch the boy’s hand. “You’re right, though. It might be best to stay in for a bit.” He motions at the rain hammering down on the window outside.

“I told you. I wanna stay at home.”

“I know. And we are for now. We can…” Luca scans around for something to do. His eyes fall on the coloring book and the open box of color pencils next to it. Bingo! “We can… color some drawings in that book?”

He pouts, not entirely sold on the idea but not outright refusing it either.

“Or, hey, I got some new drawings on me. You can color them, too.” Luca takes off his hoodie and shows off the tattoos on his arms.

God, you forgot about the plethora of trashy tattoos adorning his skin. Even worse, you forgot how it highlights the defined curves of his biceps. Focus, for fuck’s sake! You avert your gaze towards the flower portrait on the wall.

Alfie perks up a little. “This is my old drawing.” His tiny finger pokes at his forearm, on a tattoo of a stick figure climbing up the stairs. “You still have it?”

“Of course. It’s there forever. I’ll always have it.” Luca finds himself choking up at that simple admission. A little token of childhood of his ever-growing love. “Go on, get your crayons.”

Alfie looks at you as if seeking permission, and it makes you want to laugh that he shares the same animated eyebrows as his father.

“Go ahead, bub,” you usher him off lightly, and as soon as he’s out of sight, nods at your ex. “Good save.”

Luca half-smiles. “Thanks. You should chill out. Read a book, take a nap or something. I got him.”

“What, are you trying to kick me out?”

“No, I just—”

Your smile breaks out. “I’m kidding! Go hang out with Alf. I got a Zoom meeting in a few minutes anyway.”

He sighs in relief, chuckling lightly. “You almost got me there…”

You briefly pat his shoulder and for an even briefer moment, his hand is atop yours. The big ‘A’ tattoo on the back of his hand—your son’s initial in a bold Gothic letter— serves as a reminder of what’s past; a whirlwind romance, the wild days of being a family of a merry band of misfits…

Misfits. That’s the biggest takeaway here, you suppose. Your pieces don’t quite fit right. Not without little Alfie gluing you together.

With a final squeeze on Luca’s shoulder, you make your way to your bedroom, making space for Luca’s puzzle pieces to fit with Alfie’s because they don’t fit yours anymore.

***

05:04 PM

By the time your Zoom meeting ends, the pelting rain outside is louder and the chatter inside is nearly inaudible. It feels nice for about ten seconds… until you remember that you have a six-year-old at home and long bouts of silence can be quite… well, suspicious. You pad out into the hallway to check on him.

“Let’s see. You wanna do the sunflower next? What do you think, my love?”

Oh right. For a moment, you forgot that the thirty-year-old other parent is here with him.

Luca has his t-shirt sleeves hiked all the way up, biceps in full display as Alfie colors in a tattoo on the back part of his upper arm. The boy’s tongue sticks out and his eyebrows furrow in focus. It seems like a delicate operation between them, so you linger out of sight for just a while longer.

“Why do you like sunflowers, Dad?”

The two of you have always supported his inquisitive mind, and he missed these kinds of questions most of all. Even if the answers can be a little complicated. “Because of your mum, actually.”

“You like it because Mommy likes it?” Alfie’s little nose crinkles.

Luca chuckles in amusement, sensing the judgment in his son’s tone. Damn you guys for teaching Alfie not to get carried away by trends. “Well… when your mum and I first met, it was winter in Chicago and it’s pretty bleak and gloomy and freezing. But, your mum had a little sunflower by the window—just like that one.” He glances at the little potted sunflower on the windowsill. “She said it’s a reminder to let the sun shine in. I thought it was adorable. We started doing that everywhere we lived and… I don’t know, it reminds me of home.”

“Do you have a sunflower by your window, Dad?”

His heart catches as he realizes the answer. “No, I don’t…”

“Why? You don’t miss home?”

There’s a sharp pang of hurt in hearing that innocent query. The apartment in Copenhagen, as nice as it is, has never been much of a home for Luca. He would get up before the sun is up and return from work late at night—lather, rinse and repeat. On his days off, he would either go on a morning run and spend much of his time outside, or sleep til noon and live on instant ramen and takeout. There’s no time for a sunflower by the window. No room. He made sure of that.

He doesn’t deserve one after leaving his wife and son for fucking Noma.

Luca swallows back the lump in his throat, although the slight waver in his voice gives him away. “I got my sunflower right here, bub. My little piece of home.” He taps on his arm softly as his son finishes up.

Alfie hums, pleased with how the tattoo looks, now filled in with yellow and black and brown crayons. “I think this is my favorite one.”

“Yeah? Not the tabasco?” Luca grins, looking down at his forearm—specifically at the mostly accurate red and green of the hot sauce bottle.

“No…” Alfie taps his chin with his finger thoughtfully. “This one is prettier.”

Luca maneuvers around to look at the sunflower tattoo a little better. “You’re right, it is much prettier. Maybe I should get the colors in permanently, huh?”

The boy’s face lights up. “Can you?”

“Yeah. I think I will. Nice job, my little tattoo artist.” Luca pulls him into a bear hug and kisses the top of Alfie’s head.

You can’t help but chuckle, glad to see them bonding again, lost in your thoughts for a moment.

“Mommy! Dad says I can be a tattoo artist!” Alfie snaps you out of your reverie.

“Is that right?” Your eyebrows shoot up, struggling to maintain a neutral expression while staring at Luca like with all due respect, what the fuck?

He raises his hands in surrender. “I just said he’s my little tattoo artist, that’s all.”

“I colored in all of Dad’s tattoos! Look!” Alfie tugs at his dad’s arm, beaming as he shows off his work.

You step forward, studying the results of the tattoo makeover. Every single tattoo is colored in; some accurately, like the sunflower and tabasco, while others (like the purple fish and chips and blue scotch bonnet)… not so much. You don’t know which one’s more amusing; your son’s artistic style, or your ex’s bashful look as he models the art works on his arms.

“Looks great, bub. Well done!” You ruffle Alfie’s hair, enjoying his improved mood.

“Can I watch Bluey now?”

You purse your lips comically. “I don’t know, bub. Why don’t you look at your checklist on the fridge and see if you can?”

Alfie bounds past you, towards the fridge, and reads the checklist out loud to himself. “Have you… brushed your teeth? Yes. Brushed your hair? Yes…” He flattens his wavy locks with the palm of his hand, continues reading with a lower murmur. “Mommy, I did everything except tidy up my room and play outside for 30 minutes!”

“Okay. Obviously we can’t play outside, so… why don’t you just go clean your room and I’ll let you watch Bluey for a bit?”

Alfie gamely nods and goes into his bedroom, his bunny socks muting his footsteps against the hardwood floor.

Meanwhile, it takes you an extra beat to realize how close you’re standing with Luca without your child between you. He rolls down the sleeves of his black t-shirt sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck.

“Your meeting went okay?”

“It’s alright.” You look at literally anything but the man in front of you, ultimately stopping at your potted sunflower by the windowsill. “That storm out there, on the other hand…”

“Yeah…”

You take an inconspicuous look at the hallway, making sure your son is out of earshot. “Weather reports say it might last a few more hours.”

Luca huffs, trying not to stress out about the possibility of street floods. Of all the things he missed, New York thunderstorms are not one of them. Still, this shitty weather has granted him some time with his son, at his former home… with his former spouse. And God, does he miss this more than he dreads the weather…

“Want me to make you guys dinner?” He offers earnestly.

You pull back, returning to your normal volume. “Oh. No, you don’t have to—”

“I don’t mind. Really. Might as well, right?”

You hear heavy footsteps from the bedroom and Alfie hollers from the hallway. “I’m all done!”

“Don’t forget your crayons!”

Alfie promptly makes a beeline towards his leftover mess. “Heard, Mommy.” He hurriedly puts his crayons back in the box and rushes into his room to put it away. Returning mere moments later with a newfound spring in his steps. “I’m done for real! Now can I please watch Bluey now?”

“I can cook while he gets his screen time.”

The two boys look at you with their best puppy eyes, and it’s the most disarming thing you’ve seen in a while—and the resemblance between them only makes things worse. You playfully roll your eyes in relent. “Alright, alright. Go ahead. Watch your TV and make your dinner.”

There’s a quiet little yesss from Alfie as Luca low-fives him before they scatter, one to the living room and the other to the kitchen. For a moment, you feel like you were transported back in time. For the first time in over two years, you’re caught between cartoon sounds from the TV and the kitchen alive again. All was well in the household.

“Is he still a picky eater?” Luca mouths the last two words inaudibly.

You raise your eyebrows in confirmation. “All he wants to eat is chicken nuggies.”

“I can do chicken nuggies,” he shrugs easily, rummaging through the freezer and takes out a pack of chicken breasts. “Or some version of that.”

Upon overhearing the key word, Alfie’s head all but whips toward Luca. “We’re having chicken nuggies for dinner?”

“Er, kind of.”

“Can I help?” He perks up from the back of the couch, excitement bubbling over.

Luca smiles apologetically. “Maybe later, my love. Daddy’s gonna be using a big knife…” he says as he checks the blade closely, swiping it with his thumb. “…which is dull, by the way. When was the last time you sharpened this?”

“I… have no idea.” You frown. You don’t even remember sharpening any knives… ever. Meanwhile, Luca simply rummages through the kitchen drawer, which makes you ask, “What are you doing?”

“I’m sharpening it,” he states matter-of-factly, already setting up a makeshift sharpening station which… what?

“Didn’t even know we had that,” you murmur plainly as you watch him work. Taking out a block of whetstone from the drawer (where did that even come from?) and running it under the sink. Laying out a kitchen rag and the stone on top of it.

He chuckles a little, scraping the blade against the stone at an angle, firmly but carefully. “Can’t leave you good Santoku knives without the proper sharpening tools, right?”

“You never taught me how to do it, though.”

“Yes, I have.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“What are you talking about? Back in Chicago, I—”

You burst out laughing. “Oh my God, that was one time forever ago! And you never let me sharpen the knives. You literally always do it.”

He pauses, grinning bashfully. “Fair…”

For the umpteenth time that day, Luca’s heart catches—this time from hearing you laugh. Your warm voice rings so pleasantly in his ears, and the way your face lights up… he almost forgets there’s a storm outside, because he’s got a lovely summer day right here in front of him.

And honestly, what is beautiful sunny Copenhagen compared to this warmth of the two people he loves the most?

“Alright, alright. You want a refresher? Come here.”

You gingerly take the place next to him, arms crossed so as to not invade his space. Neither of you say anything when your shoulders brush against each other. It’s brief, painstakingly so, but eerily familiar. You wouldn’t admit that you want to stay pressed against him a little longer, but… you do.

“Okay, so. You see this bit right here?” His finger runs up the line where the blade flattens into the edge. “Rest the knife on the stone on this angle, start from the heel—near the handle— and just… bring it in,” he demonstrates the inward sliding motion—short and precise and repetitive, “and work your way up to the tip.”

You silently watch him work for a moment, handling the knife. Firm and steady, but not harsh. On the contrary, it’s almost… delicate. You’ve seen many chefs work in your lifetime, but no one is as composed or stoic (or handsome, but that is beside the point) as Luca. It’s quite fascinating.

“And you do this on both sides, right?” You vaguely recall.

“Good memory.” He nods appreciatively. “Some people like to do each side one at a time, back and forth, but I like to do one side, get that burr forming…”

“What’s a burr, sir?”

Luca chuckles at your little Hamilton reference. “So when you work on this side, you’ll feel a nice little rough bit forming on the other side like this.” He slides his thumb from the knife’s spine to the edge and carefully guides your hand through the motion. “Feel that?“

Yes. That should be an easy enough answer, because yes, you do feel the rough edge of the excess metal on the blade. But it’s a bit hard to focus on that when you’re more fixated on the rough calluses of his fingertips instead…

In theory, playing a knife with your almost ex-husband is as bad as a bad idea can get. In practice, though… Having your hand in his again, feeling him so close to you, smelling his perfume…

“That’s the burr. Once you get it on one side, you can switch over to the other side and balance it out.” His voice is lower now. Softer. “And you just… do it over and over again until you’ve worked off the burr and have a smooth and sharp blade.”

Luca switches the knife to your other hand and stands behind you, hoping to God you can’t feel his pounding heart as his chest presses against your back. Gently guiding you through the sharpening motion—the firm, steady, angled scraping of the blade towards you. You swear to God, every pull brings him just a tad closer.

“So you basically have to break the knife a little to fix it?”

“That’s basically it, yeah.”

The storm feels miles away. His hands are still curled against yours. His chest flush against your back. His body heat emanates from within him and shrouds you like your favorite cardigan.

“Listen, I—”

“Thanks… for the refresher.” And with that, you put the knife down on the kitchen rag and pull away.

It takes him an extra second to snap out of it and step back to make way for you as you retreat back into your bedroom. “Yeah, yeah. No problem.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck your fucking life to hell.

***

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