#alas i am lonely and drive people away so…

[dmitrimolotov]

Bound to a Rock and an Eagle - 8

Chapter  8

No. 8: Everything hurts and I’m dying

Stomach pain | Head trauma | Back from the dead

1 | prev | Read on AO3  

There were several pages of handwritten notes in neat cursive script on lined paper with a pre-ruled margin. Initially Victor was impressed, the creature had more legible handwriting than him, even without the shaking, which he was glad to see had greatly subsided. Victor grabbed another medicated lozenge and popped it into his mouth as he perched on the edge of his bench and began to read.

 To the man who stole a gift from the gods, only to throw it away.

My creator, Frankenstein, I have written you an account of the most relevant parts of my short life so you can understand the trials I have faced. Perhaps this will make you better sympathise with my humble desires.

When an infant is born into this world, they are born not knowing, we are unable to recall the day of our birth because we do not yet understand how to process the world around us and make memories of that day. But the same is not true for me.

I remember the moment of my animation, and, more than that, I remember the agony of all your terminated trials as you practiced and refined the process. Knowing life for a moment, life without a complete body to inhabit is an excruciating experience – pray you never have to suffer it – but then to return to death the next, only to be pulled once more from oblivion so you could test my raw nerves, my responsiveness… Often I have had nightmares of these moments, such are horrors I feel I could never fully describe.

Despite this, I don’t remember what it was like to be dead, and I imagine I won’t know when I am again either. I do not fear it, and that is freeing.

I was alive before, I think. Whatever human brain or parts you chose for me clings to some residual activity that now and then longs for things I don’t understand the reason for. It helped me, I think, to learn speech and writing, as I am now quite fluent. It was less like learning and more like remembering something long forgotten. Like riding a bike, as you might put it. That part of me does not want to die again and it is also what drives me onwards.

I recall waking in this very spot on a night not dissimilar to tonight. The air was heavy with electricity as it usually was when I was brought to wake in your lab. I recall wondering how long my life would be this time and then the sudden realisation that I had more than the usual faculties about me. I could see and hear, and I now had a complete body that I was thrilled to learn I had autonomy over. I remember the joy of flexing my muscles for the first time, the alarm at realising I was restrained, but the ease with which I broke free made me giddy. I think it was at that time that you fled the house. The initial excitement you showed rapidly gave way to apprehension, disgust, then soon, fear. Once I freed myself and found my legs, I tried to follow you – although I did not yet know how to speak, I instinctively questioned my being and believed you, as the lone person responsible for my life, would have answers for me. Alas, you were gone, and I did not yet have the awareness of my surroundings to find my way back, instead wandering in the cold and stormy night alone. I was fortunate to have taken a single belonging of yours as I left the house that night – your coat that I had found hanging by the door. I wrapped it around myself to shield from the cold wind, and later, I would find inside a ticket with your name and place of residence so that I may one day make my way back here.

Finding the city streets and buildings overwhelming, I kept walking until I came to the forest, where I stayed, living off the land and equipment leftover by campers or hikers. As the weather got colder, I grew bolder, and started stealing packs for food and warm clothes or sleeping bags. This was how I came into possession of the most wonderous device I had seen. I had often seen people looking at these slabs, sometimes for hours at a time, sometimes they made noise and sometimes they spoke into them. And now I had one of my own. I was again fortunate that the hiker had no lock or passcode set, so I was able to access videos and music and teach myself about the world. I learned fast, but the battery life of the phone was limited and soon I found myself looking at a blank screen again. But I had gotten a taste and I was determined to find more. I was torn between retaining my anonymity and revealing myself to the campers. The first encounter I had, well, it did not go well. A man camping alone had drank through several bottles of strong-smelling liquid, I would later identify as alcohol. I approached him with the intention of asking him for food and to share his fire, but much like your response, the man reacted with similar horror and disdain upon seeing me. In his fear, he lashed out, and out of rejection, I retreated. I was hurt that the humans I had interacted with had shunned me simply for how I appeared to them without further thought or reason. I was determined to prove I could win someone over though, if just one person would listen to my tale, then I could find a place of acceptance. So I continued to learn, practice my language skills, stealing phones and laptops wherever I could, as well as books and I was even lucky enough to find a radio, which lasted considerably longer than the phones.  

And so, I learned. And every so often I would reveal myself to a human – I was careful to ensure they were alone, I tried approaching them unseen and reasoning with them, but it almost always ended the same way. Until one day, in my frustration, I let my rage loose on the person. I struck him with my fists, and I grasped his neck, and I squeezed the very life from him with my own fingers. And it felt good. I felt powerful.

I felt not like Adam at the will of his creator, but like a god myself, with authority over life and death.

What god would punish me, when I was not bound by the same laws as you and yours. If I was made not by the same laws of nature, then why should I be bound by them?

I killed again. And again.

But it did nothing to fill the absence in my heart.

Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay to mould me man? Did I solicit thee from darkness to promote me?

No.

But even Adam had his Eve.

You have your Henry.

And yet I remain lonely.

The humans who know of my existence either fear me or seek to do me harm. Their anger and hatred are misdirected at me – the vitriol in their heart is intended for you. So perhaps, with my arrival here, you shall soon receive it.

 I never knew my name, if I ever had one. I should think myself Adam, but I relate more to Lucifer. Perhaps better fitting still, is Lazarus.

~ Until we meet again, Frankenstein.

 Victor reread the letter before passing it to Henry an Elizabeth, but as he was about to hand it over, he suddenly noticed that the paper was torn along one edge, as if ripped from a notebook. Victor snatched it back before Elizabeth had a chance to take it and squinted at the margin. He was able to make out an impression of a date and some of the shorthand notations he used when taking notes. The paper had been torn from his lab book. A surge of panic ran through him as he pulled open the draw where he normally kept his notes. They were all gone. The creature had taken all of it, and now effectively, possessed the only existing description of how to restore life. Victor handed the letter over and slumped backwards where he sat, now laying flat on his back on his workbench, staring at the ceiling, turning the creature’s words over in his mind.

Henry and Elizabeth read the letter quickly and quietly together.

“Victor,” Elizabeth started quietly after a moment, “A question I probably should have asked earlier: what did you make this creature out of?”

Victor grimaced. “Parts… mostly human, some synthetic, some things I built from scratch,” he rasped.

“Oh god Victor, human parts? That is incredibly illegal. And dangerous. How were you not caught? How were you not fired?”

He shrugged, still laying on the bench. “Lucky.”

“And reckless,” Henry added.

Victor couldn’t argue with that. His gut twisted at the realisation that although this was bigger than him, bigger than any of them, he could still face the very real and human consequence of going to prison for defiling human remains.

“Ok, a couple of things I’m getting from this,” Henry said after reading it all the way through and thankfully derailing Victor’s anxious spiral. “Firstly, it sounds from this like there are more victims we don’t know about or haven’t been attributed to the ‘Ingolstadt Bigfoot’ – what they’ve been calling him-” he explained to Elizabeth- “Secondly, and probably fairly obviously: Victor, you’ve not just made life, you’ve made intelligent life. No joke, he could rival some of the students I’ve had classes with!” Henry flipped through the pages and jabbed his finger into a line. “Here. ‘Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay to mould me man? Did I solicit thee from darkness to promote me?’ That’s Milton. That’s Paradise Lost.” Henry pointed out.

“He’s read Paradise Lost?” Elizabeth asked incredulously. 

Henry smirked, “He learned from the internet, the classics are in the public domain. Can see why it would’ve piqued his interest though.”

“And explains a lot of his religious imagery,” Elizabeth added.

“Also!” Henry continued, sounding more excited than anxious now that he had something tangible to analyse, “The meme is true!”

Both Elizabeth and Victor looked at his quizzically.

“‘The Ingolstadt Bigfoot stole my iPhone14!’ You can’t tell me you never saw it, Victor?”

Victor shook his head; it hadn’t come up – highlighting another hole in his research. How much had he missed?

Clerval continued, “It went around the campus forums just in the last week or so after some first year claimed he’d been robbed by the creature and that’s why he didn’t have the new iPhone. It was hilarious.”

Elizabeth laughed, but Victor just chewed his lip before sitting up again.

“Ok, but one more thing,” Victor said hoarsely, his voice starting to return slightly. “‘The humans who know of my existence… perhaps, with my arrival here, you shall soon receive it.’ What do you suppose that means?”

 There was a knock at the door.

next

#whumptober2022 #no.8 #back from the dead #Frankenstein #fic #religious imagery #molotov cocktales

[weelittleweasley]

my girl (f.w.)

prompt: you always knew fred would be a great dad and every day he exceeds your expectations

pairing: dad! fred x mom! reader

warnings: pregnancy, hospitals, children (yes, children is a warning), mild language, suggestion and brief mention of sex, thunderstorm, fear of thunder/rain.

word count: 6.2k

author’s note: THIS BITCH SO LONG IM SO SORRY this is the last installment of the 60s writing challenge!! thank you to everyone who has tuned in!!

taglist: @rosaliepostsstuff @harrysweasleys @gcdricreads @lumos-barnes @whizboingies @lumosandnoxwriting @pxroxide-prinxcesss @c-t-h @lol-idk-oops @another-lonely-heart-blog​ @kaseyrose96-blog​ @hufflepuff5972 @valwritesx @parseltongueswriting @shilohpug @peachypotter @spacexcowgirl @paintballkid711 @vogueweasley​ @amourtentiaa @sweeterthansammy​ @gryffindcrghost​ @wand3ringr0s3​

It was laughable; the way Fred stared at your large pregnant belly with eyes full of anticipation, hands placed on either sides of it, waiting for your child to kick at his hands. You giggled as he gently whispered to your protruding stomach, “Come on, little one. It’s your daddy. Give us a little kick, yeah?” Your stomach remained still as he lightly groaned, only making you laugh. “This child already likes keeping me on my wit’s end,” he grumbled before kissing your belly. “I’m just teasing,” he whispered again to the bump. “I love you so much.”

You brush your fingers through Fred’s hair, him sighing as you do. Fred had been so darling over the past nine months of your pregnancy. He found more staff for the joke shoppe to take over the early morning shifts and the night shifts so he could spend those hours taking care of you, helping around the house, and preparing for the baby’s arrival. You were always Fred’s number one priority, but that was set in stone after you became pregnant. He would literally drop anything if you even murmured that you needed something. Fred would wake up first and get your prenatal vitamins ready for you to drink with a large glass of water, he’d make breakfast, clean the kitchen, and only then would he wake you up. You had to admit, you could get used to living like this. But alas, you were past your due date and the baby was expected any day now.

“She loves you too, Freddie,” you tell him as you prop yourself up on your elbows, getting a better look at your husband who still rubs his hands over your stomach, searching for your unborn baby’s feet.

Fred looks up at you with questioning eyes. “She?” Fred could honestly care less about the sex of his child, as long as the baby was healthy. That’s all he could truly ask for. But secretly, deep down, Fred wanted a little girl, a princess. Someone who could be his princess since he had already found his queen.

You smiled with a shrug, “I have a feeling. I know it’s supposed to be a surprise, but when you know you know, don’t you?”

With that, against the skin of your stomach, pressed against Fred’s hand is two large kicks. Fred’s eyes widen as he sits up, feeling his child kick against his hands as the two of you laugh. Fred smiles wide and says, “Is that a sign?” he stares up at you with excited eyes as you cover your mouth laughing with glee. “Is that right, baby? A little girl?” he whispers to your belly, earning another two strong kicks as the two of you laugh out with delight. “A little princess and a strong one at that!” he cheers. “We’ve got a little football player on our hands, don’t we? Well, too bad, because your daddy is going to teach you all about quidditch.”

-------

The hospital room was quiet, no one daring to disturb the air that surrounded the newborn baby girl that was fast asleep on your chest. Her plump cheeks squished against your bare chest made you and Fred smile with delight. A healthy baby girl born after a brutally long labor, but it was all worth it. You softly kissed the top of her head, making her stir in her sleep. 

You looked over at Fred to see him, gently wipe tears from his eyes as he gazed upon your newborn daughter. In this room, he had everything he’d ever wanted. The sight of your husband looking so lovingly at your daughter made your heart swell as you felt hot tears prick up behind your eyes. Reaching out, you cupped Freddie’s cheek as brushed away with happy tears with your thumb. Freddie looked up at you with eyes so tender and a smile so warm, you giggled out a sob. “She’s perfect,” he quietly spoke to you as you nodded your head in agreement. 

She really was the most precious thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on. Her button nose and soft features rested upon her gentle skin, tufts of strawberry blonde hair poking out from the cap the hospital dressed her in. Her lips were pink and squished against your chest as small dreaming noises escaped now and again. Your darling little girl, your little flower.

“Daisy,” you spoke softly to Fred as you brushed your daughter’s cheek softly.

The two of you had spoke about what to name the baby for a while, a few names tossed around here and there, but none of them felt right. Until Daisy popped into your head.

Fred nodded his head with a happy smile, “Yeah.” In her sleep, the baby stirred at the sound of Fred’s voice, making him scoot impossibly closer to the hospital bed, leaning close to his daughter. “How do you like that, love bug?” he cooed at the sleeping baby on your chest. “Daisy,” he smiled to himself. “I love you so much. You’re going to give mommy a run for her money,” he joked, making you roll your eyes with a breathy chuckle. Fred looked up at you and placed a kiss to your forehead. “I can’t believe we made something as perfect as she is,” he shakes his head in disbelief. 

You smiled at your husband and sighed. The man before you was so perfect, helplessly in love with you and the child you created. Slowly, you peeled sleeping Daisy off of your chest and handed her over to an eager Fred, scooping her in his arms, cradling the baby close to his chest. Fred cooed down at his baby who slowly fluttered her eyes open, peering her dark eyes, that looked so like Fred’s, up at him. You laid back in the hospital bed, relaxing as you watched Fred murmur to Daisy, speaking gently and kissing her forehead and nose every now and again. As if you couldn’t fall more in love with Fred, watching him become a father was enough to make you fall in love fifty more times. 

Fred rose from the chair he was sat in and started walking around the hospital room, rocking the baby and talking to her about the life she was going to have. “Just wait until Uncle George gets his hands on you,” he whispered as you silently laughed. “Grandma Molly is going to spoil the hell out of you,” he shook his head for his eyes widened and he looked at you. “I shouldn’t curse in front of our baby, should I?” he asks as you shake your head. “Damn it,” he curses again as he winces. “I’ll stop now,” he huffs making you laugh as your eyes feel heavy. The long labor had you exhausted and you had been up with Daisy feeding her and watching her alongside Fred. “Darling,” Fred cooed at you, “get some rest, please. I’ve got Daisy and she’s not due for another feeding for some time. You need to get some rest,” he tells you, walking over to the bed, helping pull the sheets up to cover you as you look up at his handsome face. “I’ll take care of our baby. Don’t worry.”

With a teasing sleepy smile on your face, you say, “I don’t know how much I trust you with a newborn child.” Fred gives you a look, making you chuckle. “I’m kidding, love, I’m kidding.” Fred kisses your forehead, your nose, and then your lips gently, him rubbing your cheek with his thumb. “I love you.”

“I love you,” Fred speaks before placing another kiss to your lips softly. He sits himself in the chair again, Daisy looking sleepy again herself. He sighs before clearing his throat and gently starting to sing a melody that sounded all too familiar to you. “I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day,” he sings, making your heart flutter in your chest. “When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May,” his voice is soothing, the vibrations from his chest calming Daisy down and putting her in a sleepy trance. “I guess you’d say what can make me feel this way, my girl, talkin’ ‘bout my girl,” his deep voice sings the familiar love song.

Fred looks at you as you watch him with a small smile on your face, tears welling up in your eyes. He was singing your wedding song to your baby. It felt like a dream. Being married to the man you’ve always loved, seeing him cradle your beautiful baby girl in his arms, singing the song you would dance to as teenagers. It was unreal, but somehow, you were lucky enough to be living in it.

“I got so much honey, the bees envy me. I’ve got a sweeter song than the birds in the trees,” he continues to sing along, slowly putting both you and Daisy to sleep as you flutter your eyes closed, happy and safe.

-----------

The drive back from the hospital was slow. Fred insisting on not driving faster than twenty miles an hour even though the speed limit was thirty. This caused many cars on the road to change lanes and shoot Fred dirty looks. 

“Fred, honey, you can drive faster than this. She’s in a car seat, strapped in very well as you made sure of before we left the hospital, and the road is very clear considering everyone has driven around you,” you tell him from the passenger seat.

He shakes his head, “No way. I am remaining as safe as humanly possible. Can’t risk putting my little flower petal in harm’s way.”

But eventually, you arrived back to your house where your friends and family awaited your arrival patiently. You turned the keys in the lock and pushed the door open, Fred following closely behind you with Daisy in her carrier. “We’re home,” you sing song out at the bunches of people who awaited your arrival in your home.

Everyone rises from the couches and chairs in your home, big smiles on their faces when they see you, Fred, and Daisy enter the door. Molly gasps and covers her mouth, tears already welling up in her eyes as Fred sighs. “Ron! Mum is already crying, you owe me two galleon!” George calls out. “I call holding it first!” George calls out.

“It?” Ginny makes fun of her brother with a light chuckle as Ron cackles from the other side of the couch, earning a pillow toss in the face from George. “I reckon I should hold the baby first considering I am going to be the godmother, right, (Y/N)?” Ginny asks.

George lets out a laugh, “Hilarious, Ginny. Last time I checked it was my twin who had the baby. Surely, I will be the godparent and the first one to hold it.”

“Stop calling the baby it!” Ginny reprimands him. “The baby is a...wait, you never told us what the baby’s sex is,” Ginny looks to you and Fred as the two of you are too preoccupied laughing at the antics of the group already. You weren’t even home five minutes and there was already arguing. “So?”

You look to Fred, giving him the honor of announcing the baby’s sex. “Everyone will get a turn holding her,” he announces as Ginny cheers out in victory, Ron owing George another two galleons, as Molly and Hermione squeal in excitement. “But who ever holds her first needs to wash their hands. I don’t want any dirty paws on my perfect baby girl,” he coos into the carrier before you take off the buckle and scoop Daisy into your arms as she stretches in your arms.

Ginny and George both make a mad dash to the sink, pushing the other out of their ways, trying to wash their hands first. You shake your head with a chuckle, and look down at your baby girl who is fast asleep still, still too young to understand the chaos of a family she was born into. 

Molly laughs and speaks, “While those two battle of the soap, little do they know I already washed and sanitized my hands when I came in.” You laugh, knowing Molly Weasley came prepared to be the first one to hold her grandchild. 

“Wait,” Fred stops his mother before you can pass the baby over to her. He pulls a vile of hand sanitizer from his pocket and squirts two drops in his mother’s hands, just in case. You slap his arm. “What? Can’t be too safe,” he defends himself. After Molly rubs in the gel, she looks at her son, giving him a sarcastic look. “Alright, now you can hold her,” he speaks as Molly rolls her eyes as you gently place Daisy in her arms.

Molly looks down at the newest addition to the Weasley family and her lights light up. Arthur looks over her shoulder and smiles softly at the beautiful babe in Molly’s arms. “She’s just a doll, isn’t she?” Arthur whispers as Molly cradles your daughter in her arms.

George and Ginny race back into the living room only to find their mother holding Daisy instead of one of them. George groans as Ginny defeatedly flops on the couch. “Snooze you lose, children,” she teases with a smile and George mimics her before flopping on the couch next to Ginny and Harry. Molly looks back at you and Fred with a big smile. “Well done, you two,” she beams as Fred hugs you from behind, resting his chin on the top of your head. “She’s simply beautiful.”

“Thank you, Molly,” you smile. “So, do you lot want to know her name?” you ask the group, earning a symphony of yes’s and please’s. You look up at Fred who gives you an encouraging nod. With a gulp, you reveal, “Her name is Daisy.” Hermione smiles widely and claps her hands excitedly. “Daisy Ginevra Weasley,” you finish.

Ginny’s eyes widen in shock at the baby’s middle name. It was important to both you and Fred that you had a family name in there besides the surname. You were insistent on giving Daisy Ginny’s name as her middle name. Ginny played a big factor in why you and Fred got together and she was always there for you every step of your relationship. It only seemed right to name your child after her. “You...you named her after me?” Ginny asks in disbelief as you and Fred nod your heads. “Bloody hell,” she whispers with a smile, tears making her eyes glassy, but she pushes them down with a shake of her head. “I don’t know what to say. I...” Ginny searches for the words, but just ends up running over to you and embracing you and Fred in the tightest hug. 

You laugh and give her a squeeze before holding her face in your hands. “You’re my sister, Gin. It only made sense to name our first daughter after someone who means so much to the both of us,” you tell Ginny as she smiles, tears now spilling from her eyes. You wipe away the tears with your thumbs as Fred places a kiss to his sister’s forehead.

Ginny laughs before punching Fred’s arm teasingly. “Merlin, you lot have made me soft,” she wipes her tears with a sniffle, making you and Fred laugh. Molly walks over to her daughter and puts Daisy in her arms as Ginny gasps and holds the baby close to her chest. “Hello, little one,” she whispers as Fred holds you in his arms, smiling wide as he watches his little sister hold his daughter. The sight was enough to make you cry again. The person who had been so influential in you and Fred’s relationship was now holding your first born child. “Reckon you have quite a beautiful middle name, eh?” she laughs before taking a seat next to Harry on the couch.

“Georgina also has a nice ring to it. Daisy Georgina Weasley. It’s not too late, you know,” George tells you and Fred, making you laugh and Ginny give him a dirty look.

“Shut it, you wanker,” she whispers through gritted teeth. 

“Ah, ah, ah! No swearing in front of the baby!” George tsks his sister before looking at you and Fred. “You don’t want a godparent who swears in front of children, now do you?” he continues to push Ginny’s buttons as she rolls her eyes, but continues to coo at Daisy who peels her eyes open and peers up at Ginny.

Fred walks towards George who sits in the living room chair and speaks, “Funny you should mention that. (Y/N) and I have both gone back and forth about this for a long while. And we decided that if anything should happen to either of us, we would want you to raise Daisy, George.” George’s eyes widen in disbelief as he looks back and forth between you and Fred as you smile widely. It was a no brainer deciding who Daisy’s godparent would be. George was the first person to know when you were pregnant, he made sure the joke shoppe could function the same now with Fred as a dad, he baby proofed his flat months in advance for Daisy’s arrival. George would be a great uncle and godfather to your child. “What do you say, Georgie?” Fred asks.

George engulfs Fred in a massive bear hug, making your heart swell as Molly wrapped her arm around you, pulling you into her side. Today was surely one of the best days of your life, watching your family care for this new life with so much love and tenderness. George pulls away from Fred with tears in his eyes, clearing his throat, and speaking, “Of course. Yeah, ‘course I will. If anyone lays a finger on that child consider them dead meat.” Fred laughs and hugs his brother again, the two of them sharing a tender moment.

Ginny rises from the couch and with a smile, passes Daisy over to her godfather and uncle. George holds Daisy with utmost care and carefulness. He carefully sits down and smiles at the small baby in his arms. “Hey, peanut. I’m your Uncle Georgie,” he smiles down at Daisy who yawns and stretches in his arms, pushing off her hospital cap in the process to reveal her tufts of strawberry blonde hair. “Ah, the Weasley signature,” George laughs. “Sorry about that one, (Y/N),” he winks as you laugh, sitting on the couch with Ginny’s legs folded over your lap as she kisses your cheek. “Godric, she’s beautiful, Freddie,” George gushes. “You’re gonna be a heart breaker, kid. Just like your mum before she met your dear old dad. You know it took him three times before she finally said yes to go out with him?”

“Alright, no need to embarrass me in front of my three day old child,” Fred laughs, sitting on the arm of the chair.

The whole lot of you sits in the living room, quite still, watching Daisy as she gets passed around the room, each person interacting with her, cooing at her. When she gets passed around to Ron and Hermione, Ron huffs, “So, Ginny is her namesake, George is her godparent, does that make me the cool uncle?” 

With a laugh, you shake your head, “Absolutely. Every kid needs a cool uncle and aunt.”

Ron smiles, “Wicked.” 

Hermione coos at Daisy, Ron gently brushing her cheek with his forefinger as Daisy yawns widely. “You are a darling,” Hermione blushes to the baby before looking at Ron with pleading eyes.

“Oh, don’t give me that look. I have the daunting job of being cool uncle. Let me get that job done first before we get involved with something else,” he warns as Hermione laughs along with the rest of the group.

You look over to Fred who is already looking at you, love plaguing his eyes as you sigh happily. He smiles at you gently before mouthing an I love you, you reciprocating the action. Everything in this moment felt so right, so perfect.

----------

“You’re coming over for dinner on Wednesday, right?” Ginny confirms with you as Harry helps her into her coat, baby Lily on Ginny’s hip.

Everyone had come over for Sunday dinner at you and Fred’s house, like every other week. But as the years went by, the dinner guest list had changed and adapted to include more people. Harry and Ginny’s first child as well as Ron and Hermione’s first child became a part of the guest list along with Angelina as she was now engaged to George. It was always something to look forward to at the end of the weekend, having family over. Not to mention, Daisy was obsessed with her cousins. 

“Of course. I don’t think Daisy would let us miss it,” you tell Ginny as you kiss Harry and Ginny goodbye. “Dee! Come say goodbye Aunt Gin and Uncle Harry!” you call out to your daughter who is still running around with James, Albus, Rose, and Hugo. 

Daisy, now three years old, whines, “I don’t want to say goodbye, Mummy!” She stomps her foot in protest and folds her arms in protest. Daisy loved every moment she spent with her family which only made you and Fred happier. Family was so important to the two of you and the fact that her best friends where her cousins always warmed your hearts. 

You smiled at your daughter and replied, “I know, darling. But you’ll see everyone again on Wednesday when we visit Aunt Gin and Uncle Harry’s house.”

Ginny chimes in, “And when you come over, I’ll let you wear my quidditch gloves like last time. How does that sound?”

Daisy’s face lights up and she immediately runs over to Ginny and hugs her legs as Ginny scoops her up and peppers her face with kisses as Daisy laughs wildly. Daisy looked up to Ginny. She always told you and Fred how much she wanted to be like her and play quidditch and fly around on a broom and win all of the games. She even started to demand being called by her middle name and not her first name, but you compromised with Daisy Gin.

Ginny places Daisy back down before calling out, “Alright, Potters! Let’s get a move on. You boys both need a bath,” she huffs when she sees chocolate smeared over both of her boy’s faces as they giggle wildly, running to Harry as he scoops up Albus and sets him on his hip. “Maybe if Uncle Fred didn’t let you eat half of the sweets bin, you wouldn’t need a third bath today,” she speaks, ruffling her hands in James’ hair, giving Fred the stink eye.

“Cool uncles let their cool nephews eat a bit of chocolate now and again, isn’t that right, James?” Fred asks, James fist bumping him in response with a wide grin. 

The Potters leave the house with a final round of goodbyes and kisses before Ron and Hermione follow suit, putting on jackets. Hermione bundles Hugo up in his rain boots and rain coat as Rose appears at your feet. “Auntie (Y/N), can Daisy and I have a sleepover again?” she asks, batting her eyes at you with the most devious smile she could conjure up.

Ron rubs his face, “Sweet Merlin, Rose, you are trouble with a capital t.”

You laugh and give Rose a kiss on her forehead, “Of course we can. How about next week you can sleepover here and we can go pancakes in the morning like last time?” Rose’s eyes widen as she and Daisy squeal with excitement. 

“Come on, darling,” Hermione calls over to Rose, holding her hand out for Rose to take. “Thanks again, dinner was delicious, (Y/N),” Hermione kisses your cheek goodbye. 

“Don’t mention it,” you speak. “We’re still on for drinks with Luna on Friday, right?” you ask as she nods excitedly. “Brilliant. That means cool uncle and cool dad are in charge of the kids,” you beam before giving Ron and hug goodbye.

Ron laughs, “Coolest uncle. I’ve been promoted.” You chuckle before waving goodbye to Ron, Hermione, and the kids. This just left George and Angelina which was always the toughest part of the night.

George slips on his coat as Angelina follows, before he calls out. “Alright, my flower,” he speaks. “Hit me with your best one.” He holds out his arms as Daisy giggles, running into his arms and throws her arms around his neck as George picks her up and swings her around, making Daisy squeal. “Oh, Uncle Georgie loves you so much,” he kisses her cheeks before blowing fart noises in her neck, making her laugh even harder. “I’ve got a proposal for you, my darling. How about little Daisy here helps up open up the shop next Saturday? Teach her about the family business?” he tickles her sides as Daisy giggles, Angelina watching her fiancé lovingly as he entertains the child with ease. “What do you say, (Y/N)? Dad will be there to make sure Uncle George doesn’t corrupt the child,” he teases as you roll your eyes.

You sigh and look at your husband and brother in law. “Yeah, alright,” you comply as Daisy cheers while George spins her around in victory. “Only if that means Angie and I get to have a night out on Saturday.”

Angelina laughs in agreement. “Absolutely. And it’s you lot’s treat,” she adds as you smile before giving her a hug and kiss goodbye. “I’ll see you soon, (Y/N). Thank you again for dinner.”

You watch as George dances around with Daisy, her smiling widely. George was a brilliant uncle and godfather. He was always willing to drop anything when you or Fred needed some help with her. Not to mention, he never minded playing babysitter when you and Fred needed a night alone. 

Fred sighed, “Alright, Daisy Gin, time for a bath and bed. You’ve had a long day.”

“No!” she protests, wrapping her arms tighter around George’s neck, pressing her cheek against his as George laughs. 

Fred pretends to gasp, “What do you mean no?”

“Uncle Georgie stays with me!” she demands. “And Auntie Angie!” 

Fred’s heart swells at how much his young daughter loved his twin and his soon to be wife. “I know you want them to stay, my petal, but it’s time for bed. Besides, we’ll see Uncle George and Auntie Angie on Wednesday,” he tells your three year old as she pouts.

George speaks, “Hey, don’t be upset. That’s very soon. And besides, next time I see you, I’ll have a surprise...” This makes Daisy’s eyes light up with joy and clap her hands. “I’ll see you soon, okay? I love you bunches.”

“Love you,” Daisy smiles in her tiny voice as George places a kiss to her cheek, Angelina placing another kiss to her opposite cheek, making Daisy giggle. Daisy is handed off to Fred as the last couple leaves with another round of hugs and kisses.

“Get home safe! And be careful on the roads! It’s supposed to storm tonight!” Fred calls out as George and Angelina hop into their car with another wave. Fred closes the door with a sigh. Now it was just you, him, and Daisy. “Alright, you,” he teases Daisy who smiles. “I think it’s time for you to take a bath,” he scoops your daughter up into his arms, taking one of her bare feet in his hand, lifting it up to his nose. He feigns disgust. “Those stink, Daisy Gin!” he exclaims as Daisy giggles. “Mummy, we’ve got a 2342! Stinky feet!”

You gasp, “A 2342?!” Daisy laughs louder. “Get her in the bath! Stat!”

With that, Fred runs up the stairs and to the bathroom as Daisy shrieks with delight as you can’t help but chuckle. Even the simplest things Fred made fun. Each day with Fred as the father of your child was an adventure. He made the simple days extraordinary and the extraordinary days out of this world. He was the center of Daisy’s world; that baby girl loved her father more than anything. Sometimes it made you a little jealous, how much she adored Fred, but you couldn’t stay mad for too long. It was just so damned adorable how she stared up at Fred with so much idolization. 

From your bedroom, you could hear Fred and Daisy sing nursery rhymes in the bath, Fred doing silly voices which only made Daisy giggle. The sang, they counted, talked about animals, and colors. Each babbling conversation made your heart swell with love. 

“Mummy!” you hear Daisy call from her bedroom. 

“Coming, my peanut!” 

You walked down the hall and into Daisy’s room, decorated in white and yellow flowers on the walls with a bookcase filled with books and toys, and her small bed with sheets adorned with Holyhead Harpies sheets as per Daisy’s request. She sat on the bed, wrapped in her towel, waiting for you to change her into pajamas. It was your favorite part of the day.

You smiled at your daughter with freshly washed hair, wrapped in a green towel. “There’s my flower,” you smiled as Daisy kicked her legs excitedly. “What pajamas are we wearing tonight? Your Harpies pajamas are in the wash, but you have your daisy pajamas from Uncle Neville and your rainbow pajamas from Auntie Luna.” Daisy thinks for a moment before requesting her daisy pajamas from Neville. 

As you change your daughter into fresh pajamas, you listen to her babble about how much fun she had with her cousins and how she couldn’t wait for Wednesday. You smiled to yourself, still wondering how you were so lucky to get the sweetest, most darling little girl in the world as your daughter. You brushed her hair gently before plaiting her red hair that matched Fred’s into two pigtail plaits. Daisy smiled at herself in the mirror as you peppered her right cheek with kisses making her giggle. “I love you, Daisy Gin,” you tell her.

“I love you, Mummy,” she bats her eyelashes, looking up at you with those big chocolate brown eyes that so resembled Fred’s. All of Daisy reminded you of Fred. From her hair to her eyes to the way she spoke, it was all so Fred which only made you love your little tike more fiercely. 

You carried her back to bed, tucking her in her sheets before calling out for Fred. Within seconds, Fred appeared with a smile on his face. “Bedtime for my princess,” he smiles before kneeling next to you at her bedside. “Goodnight, my baby,” he kisses her forehead as Daisy closes her eyes with a smile.

“I’m not a baby!” she protests. “I’m a big girl! Like Auntie Ginny!” 

Fred smiles as you laugh. “Oh, pardon me! Goodnight, my big girl,” he corrects himself as you lean over and give your baby a kiss on the forehead. 

You run your finger through the loose strands of hair that are wispy around her face. “Sweet dreams, my girl,” you speak softly.

“Goodnight, Mummy,” she speaks sweetly, enough to make your heart burst. “Goodnight, Daddy,” she coos at Fred who smiles.

The two of you shut the lights and shut the door gently. You and Fred make your way into your bedroom, getting ready for bed yourselves. As Fred shuts the door behind him, you feel his arms wrap around your waist as you sigh. He presses a trial of kisses up your neck as you smile. “She’s getting so big,” you whine, turning around and facing Fred. He places a chaste kiss to your lips.

Fred sighs. It was true. Daisy was growing up way too fast for your liking. It was exciting, watching her become her own person. But at the same time, you loved her at this age. How small and confident she was. How she thought she was so in control. It was adorable. “I don’t like thinking about it too much,” he confesses. “But...” he trails off before starting to unbutton the buttons of your shirt. “We could prevent that...if we had another...” he suggests as you smirk. “It’s been nearly three years. Don’t you think we deserve another one?” he wiggles his eyebrows. “Another baby to keep Daisy company...”

You shake your head, “Fred Weasley, you are relentless.” You press a kiss to his lips and Fred deepens it, kissing you slowly and tenderly as you gently moan into his mouth. He smirks as he pushes the shirt you wear off your body. Quickly pulling away, you look at him. “Are you sure she’s asleep already? I don’t need our daughter walking in on a situation neither of us want to explain to a three year old,” you tell him.

Fred huffs before kissing you again, mumbling against your lips. “I’m sure.” You give him a knowing look as he groans, “Fine. I’ll lock the door. But you better get your ass in that bed.”

You giggle as Fred runs to the door, locking it as you crawl into the bed, a little too excited.

----------

A few hours later, you and Fred are fast asleep, Fred shirtless, arm draped around your torso as you wear his shirt to sleep. The sounds of rain hitting the window sound through the master bedroom, the occasional rumble of thunder here and there. To you and Fred, the rain always helped you sleep, but the youngest Weasley disagreed.

Slowly, the bedroom door creaked open further. She held onto her hippogriff plushie tightly, eyes full of worry. “Mummy?” she quietly asked into the room as you stirred in your sleep, slowly recognizing the voice. “Mummy? Daddy?” she called out again.

You woke up, sitting up straight to see your baby girl standing in the door way, fear in her eyes as she clung onto her plushie. Thunder rumbled outside as Daisy gasped, scared of the noise. “Daisy? Baby, what’s wrong, petal?” you asks, sleep laced in your voice.

She ran to the side of the bed as lightning flashed, you scooping her up in your arms as she held onto you tight, shivering lightly. Sadness coursed through your body as you realized your baby was afraid of the storm that was outside. “Aw, my flower,” you cooed as you rocked her back and forth, her sniffling into your chest. “It’s okay, my love,” you speak, kissing her head.

Fred rubs his eyes and realizing that his daughter was crying into his wife’s chest. Panic rises in Fred’s voice, “Is she alright? Do I need to call a Healer? Muggle doctor?” 

You shake your head no. “Our little Daisy Gin is afraid of the storm,” you whisper to Fred who nods his head. “It’s alright, baby. Mummy and Daddy are here,” you flip yourself around so Daisy can see her father. “See? We’re here, petal. Everything is alright.”

Daisy sniffles as she looks at Fred and gives him a timid wave. Fred smiles sadly at his princess and speaks, “Hello, flower. The rain woke you up, huh?” Daisy nods her head. “Bloody rain. Should I yell at the rain? And tell it to stop bothering us?” he asks, still groggy, but you can hear the smile in his voice.

Daisy giggles and nods her head as Fred rises from the bed and walks over to the window, opening it up mid-storm despite your protests. He sticks his head out of the window and screams out, “Hey! Rain! Go away!” 

Your daughter laughs madly in your arms as you can’t help but chuckle. Surely the neighbors think you have lost your minds. Fred shuts the window and climbs back into bed as you and Daisy’s laughter fades. However, the laughter is replaced with another shriek from Daisy as lightning strikes and thunder rumbles. She retreats further into your chest as you rub her back, kissing her head. 

An idea pops into Fred’s head as he opens his arms for Daisy to curl into. He clears his throat and starts, “I’ve got sunshine on a cloudy day. When it’s cold outside, I’ve got the month of May.” Your heart instantly melts at the sound of Fred singing to your daughter like he did the day she was born in the hospital three years ago. “I guess you’d say what can make me feel this way, my girl,” he sings as he looks to you to join him.

“Talkin’ ‘bout my girl,” you join Fred as the three of you lay in the bed, Daisy cuddled in between the two of you, her sniffles fading. You continue to sing until her eyes start to flutter close and her mouth emits small snores. Slowly, you fade out as she is soundly asleep. Fred brushes his little girl’s hair out of her face with a soft smile. You are too occupied looking at Fred and how he stares at your daughter, your heart racing. As if he couldn’t be a better dad.

Fred looks at you with a smile. “I love you,” you tell him with a small shake of your head. “I love you so much.”

“I love you so much more, my dear,” he speaks before placing a kiss on the tip of your nose. “You’re my world. The two of you complete me. My girls.”

With that, you and Fred cuddle up to your sleeping daughter, falling asleep to the sounds of the rain.

#Fred and George #fred weasley #Fred and Goerge Weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred imagine #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley x reader imagine #fred weasley x muggle!reader #fred weasley x female reader #fred weasley x fem!reader #fred weasley x fem #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasly x reader #fred weasley fluff #fred weasley fic #Harry Potter #harry potter fandom #harry potter fanfic #Harry Potter Smut #harry imagine #fred weasley smut

[mmvalentine]

Spaghetti (extended edition) pt 2 | Feysand

Single dad AU, domestic fluff and smut. Read part 1 part 3 part 4.

Of course Feyre hadn't left, despite the diaster that was dinner, and now the boys are in bed and they're on the couch with glasses of wine and exhaustion. Then again, Rhys always feels exhausted, these days.

"You need it, after tonight," Rhys had said as he poured the wine.

"They're delightful," Feyre told him, eyes twinkling at the mention of the twins.

"They're terrors," Rhys corrected.

That was three glasses ago. They've kicked off their shoes, and she's got her feet curled under her on the couch. Feyre's hair is coming out of its braid and she's leaning toward him as she laughs. She has such a gorgeous laugh- Rhys can't remember what he even said to her now. He can't remember the last time he got drunk.

"So," Feyre asks, and maybe she's a little drunk too, because it's only now that she asks the big question. She asks it quietly, softly with her head cocked to one side and gentleness in her eyes. "Is... there a mother in the picture?"

Rhys looks down at his wine glass, and wishes it were a little fuller. Alas, the bottle is empty between them.

"No," he says slowly. "She died." He turns the stem of the glass in his fingers. "With their father, in fact."

Feyre waits, doesn't raise her eyebrows or ask questions. Just watches him. Rhys takes a deep breath.

"Cass and Az are my nephews. Their parents were in a car crash when they had just turned one. They know there was another dad, a different dad before me, but they're still so young it's hard to tell how much they understand or remember." Rhys looks at her. "I don't really tell a lot of people though."

In fact, he doesn't tell anyone this. The boys are legally adopted, they already had the same last name, and it's just easier this way. In the beginning, when Rhys first got them, people would either react with pity, or give him hero-praise. He couldn't say which made him more uncomfortable.

"I think... when everything happened, it just really hit me that suddenly, I was all they had in the world. My sister was gone, she was married to my best friend and he was gone too. We don't have any other family. So I guess they were all I had, too."

Feyre says, "That must be very lonely."

And Rhys doesn't know how to tell her she's right. Over the years, he dove into being a father, which meant he lost contact with many of his friends. The only significant women in his life now are Mor and Emerie, a couple from parenting group. Feyre is the first adult company he's had in... too long.

Before he knows what he's doing, Rhys leans forward and kisses her on the mouth. He's never this impulsive, and it surprises even him. He draws back quickly, looking more shocked that she does, and starts to apologise.

"I am so sorry, I shouldn't have-"

But Feyre grabs a hold of his shirt as he moves away. She pauses, inches from his face, while the words die in Rhys's mouth. And then she presses her lips back to his, and it's so slow, languid, wine-drenched kiss she gives him.

Rhys leans into her, and his hands find her jaw. He thinks for a second that he really needs to slow down- but Feyre has other ideas. The tip of her tongue touches his lower lip, and he's a dead man.

Rhys pushes her back against the couch, sure that he is moving too fast but completley unable to stop it. A hunger opens up in his chest, and it's a cavernous need that drives him to get her lying back, head on the armrest while his hand strokes her ribs and his tongue touches her teeth. His thumb finds the underside of a breast and again his mind says slow down, slow down.

He doesn't know how.

There's a part of him that begs Feyre to take control, to pull away or indicate somehow that this isn't what she wants. That will force him to put the brakes on before he fucks it all up. He's so relieved when she doesn't.

Quite the opposite- Feyre's hands slide into his hair and her nails send shivers down his spine when they scrape against his neck. The tip of her foot is sliding up his ankle, and every kiss he gives her she exhales back to him in lush, hot slides. He's so hard against her, there's too much fabric between them, and when he flexes his hips against her she bumps up to meet him.

Rhys couldn't tell you later on how they got to his bedroom, but when he rolls Feyre on top of his body, his back hits his own mattress instead of falling on the lounge room floor. His hands slide under her sweater and stroke the petal-smooth skin of her back, and his fingers skitter on her spine when she goes for the buttons of his shirt.

"Wait," Rhys mumbles, when Feyre's mouth is on his bare chest. She looks up at him, and gods she looks cute from here. Her lips and her chin are a little red from where his stubble has scratched her, and her hair is falling in her eyes again.

"Is... is this okay?" she asks him, suddenly uncertain. Rhys barks a laugh.

"Better than okay," he says, and kisses her palm. "I just..."

He sucks a breath in through his teeth, and runs his hands over the blue jeans that were once so appealing and now suddenly must go. He tangles their legs together, and then flips then over so suddenly that Feyre gasps a little when her head lands on the pillow. Rhys settles his hips over hers, and lightly strokes the pink of her cheekbones. His eyes watch her lips when he speaks. "I want to take my time... with you."

Feyre reaches for him once more, but Rhys folds her fingers in his and stops her hands by her head instead. He wants her touch- is utterly coming undone beneath her touch- but more than that, he wants to touch her. First this- first the gorgeous warmth of her beneath his lips and his fingertips. He has not let himself miss this, not while the twins needed everything to be the same for good length of time. But now he drowns in her.

Rhys lets Feyre's hands go and hums his contenment when she does not move them. She simply grips the edges of the pillow while Rhys pushes the hem of her top up and sweeps his hands over her ribcage, her stomach, her hips. When his thumbs travel the bottom edge of her bra, Rhys looks to her face for confirmation. Feyre just shivers a little and arches up toward him, and Rhys watches her eyes as he unclips her bra underneath her. Feyre bites her lip as she smiles, and lifts her arms above her head. The sweater and the bra come off together.

Rhys lets out a low groan at the sight of Feyre shirtless. His tongue now traces the paths his hands made, while his hands cup the soft fullness of her breasts. Feyre lets him, not moving apart from little twitches up to his lips as he moves over her. The first moan comes when he closes his mouth over her nipple, and then it's only a few moments before she's pulling his face back to hers.

Feyre tugs Rhys's shirt the rest of the way off him, and drops it to the floor. His naked stomach now slides over hers, and he doesn't want to lose the body contact even as his hand moves down between them. Feyre's back arches as he touches her, rubs up and down her through her jeans. He shoves the zipper down, slides his fingers under her waistband and hisses at how wet she is. Rhys's tongue moves under her ear, in time with his fingers between her legs.

"You are so gorgeous," he mumbles onto her skin. "You're...mmm you feel just perfect."

Feyre's first orgasm is breathy and whimpering, and her eyes fly open with the shock of how fast it comes. Rhys only smirks and keeps his pace steady. He watches it build and crest in her, and she's trying to touch him back by Rhys won't let her. He waits till she's coming down, then drags her jeans the rest off the way off. When he kisses her now, she's soft and pliant beneath his hands. He strokes his fingers softly down the centre of her underwear, knowing she'll be over-sensitised for a moment.

After a second, Feyre opens her eyes and smiles gently at him. "My turn," she whispers, and goes for the button of his own jeans.

"Not yet," Rhys tells her, and presses kisses into the hollow of her neck until she's trying to move on his fingers, seeking more friction with her hips. He watches her writhe for a while, loving how much she wants it, before moves her panties to the side and hovers his fingers over her entrance. "You want this?" he asks her.

"Yes," she breathes. "Yes, yes, all of it, please..."

It's the 'please' that gets him. "Where did you come from," Rhys groans softly, as he slides his fingers inside her. Feyre doesn't answer, just moves her mouth silently, head tilted back and eyes closed as he works her.

Rhys kisses the exposed arch of her throat, the line of her collarbone, and down her sternum. His teeth scrape at her navel, her hip bones, the soft inside of her thigh. He licks over her clit and she cries out so sweetly he does it again. Again.

Again.

The second orgasm is shuddering and sweet, and Rhys nearly laughs at how easy it is. He's forgotten how it feels to bring someone over the edge like this, and he's not willing to give up control just yet. Not when she looks so good coming on his fingers and when being able to turn someone on like this is doing no small thing for his ego.

So Rhys rides the high, speeds his fingers on that rough patch inside her that makes eyes roll when he rubs it and it's only as Feyre's second climax blends into her third does the ache in his cock become so insisitent that he lets her grab him through his jeans.

Feyre's eyes open on his as she catches her breath, and Rhys leans his forehead on her chest. His eyes squeeze shut and her hand between them feels divine- it's with great reluctance that he rolls off of her and lies on his side next to her.

"Where are you going?" Feyre asks him, turning toward him.

"Slight hitch here," Rhys says with a rueful grin. "I didn't exactly plan this." Feyre raises an eyebrow, unsure where this is going. "I don't have any condoms," Rhys clarifies. "You've been the first one here in... a while."

"Oh," Feyre says. She bites her lip, and it's so cute Rhys immediately leans in and kisses her. "I can still take a turn," Feyre says softly.

"You want to do something for me?" Rhys says. Feyre nods. He slides a hand up her back and studies the freckles across her nose.

"Stay the night?" he asks quietly.

"Okay," Feyre whispers.

She looks at him a moment longer, then sighs before rolling over and leaning her back against him. Rhys folds his arms around her, and strokes his hands over her belly and her hip and her flank until he falls asleep with the smell of her hair in his nose.

...and wakes with Feyre's mouth around his cock.

Rhys groans in his throat and is pulled from sleep into pleasure in the early hours of the morning. Pale dawn light is only just slipping in through the plantation shutters and Feyre's tongue over the head of him makes stars burst behind his eyelids.

He reaches out blindly and his fingers slide in the tumbling curls of Feyre's hair. Rhys's other arm folds behind his head and his heels push against the sheets. He cannot say how long this goes on for but it doesn't take long before his hips are stuttering beneath her hands.

"I'm so close," he breathes, but Feyre only sucks him harder. He watches himself disappear behind her lips and he's the fucking luckiest man on the planet. "I'm gonna come..." Rhys mumbles, and Feyre scratches her nails against his stomach and keeps moving her damn mouth.

When his climax hits him it pulls his back off the bed and the world goes fuzzy as he's spilling between Feyre's lips. He groans low and long and the sound is distant in his own ears.

"Fuuuck," he exhales, and Feyre just smothers a laugh as she wipes the corners of her mouth. She sildes up his chest even as his heart is calming down and kisses him with her teeth on his lower lip.

"You're incredible," Rhys tells her, and she just bites his chin lightly and then goes back to sleep in his arms.

They get another hour of sleep before the twins break in.

It's not unusual for a Saturday morning, and there's no lock on the door. They take one look at Feyre, just now stirring, and scream.

"Feyre's here, Feyre's here," the chant, running around and around the room. Rhys has to admit for the last hour or so, he had completely forgotten he had two children.

"Out, out, out!" he tells them, but they don't listen. They never do.

They climb straight up onto the bed, the opposite of what Rhys said, and jump on the covers only narrowly missing shin bones and other, more sensitive body parts. Rhys groans, and Feyre giggles as she tries to push her hair back and hold the sheets up to her chin. Finally, he sits up and roars "THERE'S PANCAKES DOWNSTAIRS" and the twins freeze, look at each other, and bolt for the door.

Rhys falls back against the pillows as little feet thunder down the stairs, and it's only out of one eye that he risks taking a peek at poor Feyre. It's the first time he's looking ast her properly at her since last night.

She rolls over and gives him a look that nearly has him reaching for her. Her hair is early-morning mussed, her cheeks are flushed and there's a glimmer in her eyes that trips up his heart.

Rhys leans across, and kisses her sleep-swollen lips as if he could press his apology there. This woman who is in his arms and in his bed. He looks her in the eye and says, "We have approximately thirty seconds before they realise they've been tricked."

Feyre flashes him a grin that makes him regret his words instantly, but he knows it's more than necessary as they tug on clothes haphazardly, and indeed Feyre has just straightened her sweater before the boys are back and all over her like a rash.

****

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @pitrsattabhaadmeinjao @achernarlight @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @hopefulacademia @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @fandomstalker27 @realbookloverproblems @dealfea @s-tormwitch @cretaceous-therapod @whenyadoesntcutit @scatterbrainedgirl @whoever-you-choose-to-love @endlessdaydream @themoonthestarsthesuriel @rarephloxes

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #sorry that was... just smut #i could have sworn i had some plot around here *somewhere*

[fafulous]

Take Me Home (4/5)

Andy Barber x Reader (Post!Defending Jacob)

Summary: After the unfortunate events of the trial and after, a depressed Andy Barber decides to call it quits and start a mundane life far away from Newton. He decides it is best to have a fresh start away from prying eyes and alone, but he never thought his caring neighbor (and her son) would change all of that.

Chapter Warnings: MAJOR D.J. SPOILERS (BOOK Ending), Reminiscing the Loss of a loved one.

Andy soon came to realise that walking out on you was never ever really a solution. In reality he knew with his current state, without you he was doomed.

He needed you because he has no one. He needed you because it was his chance at something new; something no one would understand.

He needs you because in between all those shenanigans in these few months, he was falling hard for you.

But he did what he had to that day because he just wanted some space. In his head it seemed to be fine, but alas it hurt like a bitch.

On the other hand, Nikolai had no idea what was going on. It only took him minutes to fall in love with his new room. The lights, the colour of the room made him so jubilant, later on only to see you a bit unhappy. You were able to deflect from your son’s questions, but how on earth were you going to tell him that Andy won’t be meeting him anymore.

It hurt. So hard. All you needed was one conversation with him to settle things away but he wanted his space and so you half heartedly respected it.

Nikolai on the other hand was hitting a real low seeing you unhappy the whole day sporting stuffy red eyes. Like any other kid, Nikolai jumped to the conclusion that their mother is crying because she got a boo-boo or lost her favourite toy.

But that little brain of his pieced it slowly once he realised Andy never visited them for any of the dinner nights.

“Mommy pwese don’t cwy” his nimble fingers wiping your fat tears rolling down your cheek.

“I know peaches. I’m trying so hard to get Andy back okay. I’m sorry for crying around you like this baby.”

“B-but Wandi pwomised he neva gonna hurt you mommi…”

“Oh Niko,” you wiped the cookie crumbs around his tiny lips, “Your little brain won’t get it. It’s okay.”

“No. Not owkay. Wandi hurt you. Wandi bad. I don’t wike Wandi cahr now.”

You couldn’t help but surpass a giggle. “Niko. Andy is never bad. Never. He is just feeling sad and lonely. We just need to tell him we have him and love him okay?”

Love? Too soon. Maybe it’s more than like but it was too late to change it for your son and for yourself. You always saw how Niko’s eyes sparkled whenever Andy was around; he was soon accepting him to be a member of the household.

“Owkay,” he dug his head to your neck, “I wike Wandi and his cahr.”

–

The following week were hard for you and him. From sharing couches to kisses, now the only thing you both shared were small talks.

Yes. Small Talk. Or texts rather.

Andy told you he finally found a therapist to speak to and slowly expressed his wish to still visit Nikolai till you both figured out what was happening between you two.

Why did this have to get so complicated?

You on the other hand replied he was free to do so because to be real, the little kid missed him too. So, the next day he asked you for permission if he could take Nikolai on a car drive.

You had no idea what would go on in his head at times. From seeing Andy’s perspective, he was denied of the choice of telling you his story. It was his fucked-up childhood, his story that he wanted to tell you. Not a pity tatter-tale gossip story that was to be heard from your characterless, ex-husband.

Andy later in the evening sent a message that he was ready, and you saw the man your heart so longed for.

His eyes were back to being sunken, those blue irises not having the guts to meet yours. His hair was ruffled like he just woke up from a nap. Looking at him made you realise how much your hands were twitching to just hug him. You were reminded of the first night you spent at his house; that blue sweater he gave you while you two made out on his couch for the first time was now worn by him.

You walked towards him as you held Nikolai’s convertible baby seat to be fixed in his car and he was kind enough to open the door for you.

Andy on the other hand knew he had to- no, wanted to strike a conversation with you; but didn’t know what to say.

Hey long time huh?

Y/N. Hey, how are you?

Hey listen…

Nope nothing came out of his mouth while you fixed the seat.

He took in your appearance too; that ray of sunshine that beamed from your smile was non-existent; replaced with a forlorn look that he hated to see on you. The past few days were definitely much harsher on you than it was for him. Andy knew he couldn’t get any more foolish. He had to get back to what you two had before.

He needed it.

“Have we gone back to square one? Because of what? My ex-husband?”

Andy came out of his tiny reverie and focussed back on you. He didn’t pay attention, but he did realise you said something bitter that meant to sting him.

“Honey listen-”

“Oh, don’t you honey me Andy. How could you? How could you be so- so-“ you tried so hard to not break into a stream of tears.

How could you be so hateful to yourself Andy? Did you not trust me?

“How could you just desert me like that? D-did you think I was going to throw away my second chance at life for something you father did? Did you want to throw away your second chance at life because of your father who has no role in our lives right now?”

He sighed dejectedly, disappointed with himself. Hearing your voice break wrecked him, “I know Y/N. I was an asshole that day, leaving you without an explanation.” He found himself taking steps towards you and cupping your cheek, tilting his forehead onto yours, “I am so sorry hon- Y/N. I am sorry.”

You bit your lip and looked up at him, his eyes still closed; now content that he and you could just touch each other after a very long time.

Any other situation, you wouldn’t let a man walkover you so easily after fucking up. But this was Andy. The man who made you believe in second chances. You gave him a first chance already, and now it was again your turn to give him one more.

“You weren’t an asshole Andy,” you held on to his hands, “Its just, I don’t know…”

“I know you know exactly what you want to say Y/N. Just say it.”

You could hear Nikolai running around his circles with his unicorn plush doll behind you, “I was angry when you left, but at the same time I tried to understand your point of view, your emotions and your feelings about this whole situation. But I think or- or I know that I didn’t deserve to be ghosted like that Andy, because I liked you for you, not what your father did, especially when we had something so good going on.”

He removed his hand from your cheeks and looked down like a disappointed child. He knew he was at fault and so he didn’t say anything; head hung in shame looking at the little, carefree boy that he loved so dearly.

“It’s only had if you want it to be,”

“What do you mean?”

You saw a glint of that eagerness that Andy always had with you before, “I told that we had something good going on? It’s only had if you want it to be…“

Andy took some time to find his words. Again. It was the second time he fucked up so bad and here you were, taking him back even after he exploded like a mine. Was this woman for real?

“Of course, I want this honey. I always want us. You’re always so good to me.”

He reached out to graze your cheeks, but he was blocked by your squealing son.

“Cahr Wandi! Can we gooo?”

You were surprised that you weren’t interrupted by your son sooner, but nevertheless your son’s new founded patience was found to be a blessing in disguise.

The cutest sight unfurled before you as Andy made grabby hands at your son, only for the latter to be scooped into Andy’s arms like a cocoon.

“Come on Y/N, join us wont you? For a drive?”

You shook your head, “I think I’ll pass.”

“Y/N. I want to really make it up to you. Like real time. Please come with us?”

“I know Andy, but who will make dinner if I come along with you boys?”

Andy slowly grinned at your implications. He never ceased to be impressed by your gracious generosity and the small acts of kindness.

“I’m not mad, not as much as I was before I promise,” you dared to but tiptoed to place a kiss on his cheek, “We can talk over dinner today.” You saw how his cheek sported a cherry red tint, slowly creeping up till his ear. A teenager in a old man’s body.

“Peaches,” you turned to your son right now jumped into Andy’s arms, nuzzling his face in that soft sweater, “Be good and behave okay peaches? Don’t trouble Wandi- I mean Andy for anything on the way okay?”

Everything drowned inside a chorus of laughter when Andy realised how you had called his name. Niko had no idea what the humour was for but joined the chorus when he found his two most favourite people in the world giggling.

Were you forgoing all that pent-up sadness that this man gave you this week? Yes. Yes you were.

And you would soon realise that it was the best decision you made.

Hours passed by and the boys came back home. Nikolai was gleefully pulling onto Andy’s beard and curiously asking him when he was going to get a ‘bweard’ like him and heard both the boys animatedly inhaling; the smell of aromatic food that stirring their tummies.

“MOMMY IS MAKING PAWSTAHH!”

Andy was so confused. You always made the best Italian food for your child.

“Let’s just say after that episode we had with Chad, I was cooking boring greens and ordering takeout for the little one and me. I lost the will to cook. Thought I’ll revive the poor kid’s taste buds.”

It was always these small gestures that pulled you towards Andy; like this one. He tugged you by your shoulders and placed a soft kiss on your forehead and then cupped your cheeks so lovingly.

“Sorry Momma bear.”

“Shhh. It’s okay grumpy cat,” you winked.

Dinner on the other hand did go relatively smooth than you expected it to. Andy explained himself, his feelings and what he felt that day when he left you and tried his level best to process your emotional state that day.

The baked pasta was licked clean by your two boys and you while Andy also spoke about his past few days with his therapist, who seemed to help him more than he possibly could ever think of. Over a glass of wine, Andy held your hand promising you that he wouldn’t do any more foolish stunts that ended up hurting all of us in the process.

But as you and Andy were doing and drying the dishes, you felt that he was holding back something.

“You’re doing that thing.”

“What thing.”

“That thing you used to do when I used to pick movies that you don’t like.”

His grin could make your whole body mushy and soft like a teenager having their first crush “So? Is that my fault honey?” he feigned hurt, glad that he could now call you back with his favourite sweet name.

“Nah,” you playfully tapped his shoulder. “You give me that look so prominently so that I understand that you want something from me, or you want me to do something for you.”

Andy looked so lost and you knew something was biting his thoughts because he enjoyed doing domestic chores with you; his favourite being you washing the dishes and him drying them out and keeping them inside the cupboards. He didn’t reply until the last wine glass was kept inside the cabinet

“It’s just-” hesitated Andy. You waited patiently for him to find his words.

“It’s about Jacob.”

“Oh.”

For a startling few seconds, you held your breath; thinking about Andy’s son was something wrecked your thoughts and heart every single time.

“My therapist says that I haven’t, you know, fully processed Jacob’s death. Like I’m holding on to something. But parents don’t, right? They can’t move on from their child’s death right? It’s practically impossible.”

You weren’t sure what to say but you nodded, gripping on to his arm and gesturing to sit with you to the couch where little Niko dozed off with two of his stuffed dolls clenched in his hand.

“But she did say one statement that made sense to me, I don’t know. It made sense about how we can’t forget our children who are no longer with us but we can learn to accept the fact that they are no longer with us.”

Oh bub, how much have you been through? “Do you agree with this Andy?” You asked him to keep yourself strong during this conversation for him, and you did.

“Of course, yeah. Maybe. But the thing is I think I haven’t accepted it honey.”

You took both of his hands and squeezed reassuringly, “I have no idea what you are going through bub but I’m glad you are talking to me about this. Take your time; its going to be hard, but I’m right here okay? Whatever you need, I’ll do within my best ability.”

He hummed, but still hesitant.

“Andy its okay, tell me. Talk to me bub.”

He squeezed your palms even more tightly, turning towards you completely. “C-can I ask you a favour? I mean you can say no, I will understand.”

I’m ready to give you all the happiness in the world to you bubba. “Anything for you Andy? Tell me now.”

He didn’t meet your gaze, but instead shifting his focus to trace your knuckles, “My therapist told me to visit Jacob’s grave whenever I was ready, to mourn him, to accept he is no longer with me and you know…talk to him I guess. To process my emotions. And um…Oh god I am a bubbling mess Y/N.”

“Hey its okay baby take your time. There is no pressure.”

“I can’t do this alone honey…I need you there with me. Can you come with me to the graveyard?”

How could you ever say no to this solemn situation?

“Of course, honey. Absolutely anything you need.”

And what seemed like after ages, Andy Barber enveloped you into his signature bear hug. Both of you left a huge sigh of breath, relief washing over that both of you were slowly getting back on track.

Until you heard a rugged whimpers from the little boy beside Andy.

You didn’t want to tell Andy about this, but Nikolai’s nightmares were back and the little boy was finding it difficult to sleep at night. The new nursery still did not work for him, so he ended up sleeping on top of your chest; your heartbeat probably soothing him to sleep.

But Andy the experienced father he was, quickly scooped him into his arms and started cradling him, rocking him side by side with his arms protecting him, humming a familiar soft tune that seemed to calm you in the process too. You saw how Niko’s head was cushioned between Andy’s pecs and muscles, slowly relaxing and nuzzling into his touch.

Niko’s scrunched up face was now back to a peaceful baby lost in slumber. 

Andy met your gaze and blinked at you with a smile and it conveyed so much than you think.

We got this baby. We all gonna get through this.

–

The decision to take Nikolai along with you and Andy was refuted by the latter saying that a young boy like him shouldn’t be visiting such desolate place.

“Children are the embodiment of new birth, new life. And graveyards, quite opposite.”

But you knew secretly he also didn’t was your son to see him in such a vulnerable position. You were grateful for the fact that the rough patch between you and Andy was solved; for the little boy saw Andy as his new father figure with Chad gone away with a new girlfriend.

Talking about Chad, he did not make efforts to meet his son; and you didn’t bother contacting him. Better off without him you wondered.

The drive to Jacob’s grave was a couple of hours away and ride in itself was a quiet one. Andy and you were informally dressed in dull colours, hearts dull too. You knew it was a big step for Andy and you were going to support him till he thinks he is over it. Car windows were rolled down, the fresh air making efforts to refresh you both.

You could also see Andy’s urge to interlink his hands with you while your drove and you did; Gripping onto his palm or occasionally rubbing his shoulders or thighs throughout the ride would help him calm down and relax his creased forehead.

When you both got down from the car it was so hard to read Andy’s thoughts. He came over to you and interlinked your palms and made way to the place where his son was buried.

Jacob’s grave was flowerless when arrived. Andy soon fixed that after leaving a wreath of Jacob’s most favourite flowers, daisies.

A graveyard, a place of death, sprouting trees filled with life here and there. The irony of life.

You didn’t know the boy but the aura of the graveyard, the impersonal feeling towards the dead even though you have no idea who they were beneath the stones made you heart sink. It then came to your senses.

The boy was just fourteen.

Both of you sat down near his grave, not caring about the grass and mud staining your clothes. He finally took away his palms from yours.

Andy spoke some kind words, rekindling memories of his son’s favourite pastime, his favourite stories and one of his embarrassing yet kind-hearted moments. He sought an apology on behalf of his mother, trying to make Jacob understand that his mother loved him so much, that it unfortunately ended tragically.

Another thought popped into your head, how couples these days separate over trivial matters, over materialistic matters, and infidelity. But Andy? He separated because his wife- No no. You didn’t want to complete that thought.

But after a while passed and you decided give Andy some needed space. He was probably going to be anxious, but it was for the best.

“Andy, you feel a bit better?” you whispered.

“You can say probably.”

Here we go. “I’m going to leave you two alone okay?”

“What? Honey. If I can’t-”

“You can Andy. He is your son, remember that. So, don’t hold back. I know you wanted me to be here with you and I did and I’m so proud of you, bubba,” you stroked his hair. “But unintentionally you may be holding back on expressing because I’m here and that’s normal.”

Why are you so good to me?

“I’m just going to be near the parking lot okay? I’m not going anywhere,” you reassured him with a peck on his cheek and made your way back.

You shed your tears while you sat inside his car, thinking about the little boy. It was difficult thinking of losing a loved one that you gave birth to. He was too young. Too fucking young.

Oh, this cruel world, how you hated it so immensely right now.

Half hour passed by and you saw Andy making his way towards the car. It was so strange to think of this, but he didn’t look red eye rimmed like you; he looked the same with much more solemnity. He didn’t cry and that slightly bothered you. Maybe you had to accept the fact that different people process emotions differently.

He got into the car and took in your red eyes. He knew you had cried. Seeing you like that made his pull your lips onto his for just a chaste kiss, the first time you two felt each other’s lips after an eon. All he breathed into your lips was that we are going to be okay and drove back home with no word exchanged. For the upcoming hours, the fresh air offered you comfort, drying out those spilt tears along with the lingering touch of his palms; interlinked like their souls.

After coming back, you took advantage of Andy’s silence and maneuvered him to your home. He seated himself on the couch pulling out his phone and wallet from his pants and placed it on the coffee table.; trying to steal a quick nap while you picked up Nikolai from your neighbour Mr. Arthur.

Andy sleeping gave you an immense sense of peace, but for the little boy in your hands; not so much.

“WANDI!!!!”

He groggily woke up thanks to Nikolai running towards him, lying on his chest like he does with you. “Hey buddy.”

“You home yaay!” Probably meant that he was excited to see the man in house like the usual dinner nights. Nikolai calling him and telling he was home pricked him and at the same time felt so right. As cliché as it sounds, he always has heard this quote where Home is never a place with four walls to cover your head; home is where the heart is.

His heart was with you and Nikolai.

After eating Andy, and you began to do your dish washing routine, this time he washing the dishes. He was slow, but that was alright, you had all the time in the world.

Niko on the other hand was singing all the rhymes he learnt from daycare in different pitches, earning a chuckle from the both of you here and there. He was also carelessly playing with Andy’s phone and wallet, both of you seeing that the little boy had dropped all the contents of the wallet on to the floor. Once they were done Andy picked up the falling things patiently without chiding the little one like any other adult would. 

He picked up his Dollar bills, receipts and then a forgotten thin strip of a photo roll.

It was him and Jacob.

The roll had four pictures of him and his son posing for the silliest pictures, the first three with their tongues sticking out in the goofiest angle possible. The last one however was so pure; Andy giving a  forehead kiss to Jacob because he was so proud of his son, remembering he had bagged the highest grade in English that term in school.

Minutes pass and he didn’t notice his waterworks brimming. A blink and they would fall down.

And they did, when he heard Nikolai nudging him by the thigh. “Why you cwyin Wandi?”

That startled you enough to stop whatever it was you were doing and went to see what was happening.

Oh bubba.

You sat near Andy, touching his thigh for comfort while your son got closer to the photo that was in Andy’s slightly quaking hands.

“Who that Wandi?”

“Th-thats my son buddy. His name was Jacob.”

“Can he play with me Wandi?”

Everything just pricked. The boy’s innocent questions and Andy’s realisation of his emotions. This was too much to bear.

“No buddy he can’t-“

A hand around his shoulder, it was you. When he looked up his eyes were blurry from the tears that were falling. He was so upset he didn’t even realise you were next to him. It was you. Only you.

It was then you realised it finally that it hit Andrew that his son was dead.

“You don’t have to answer that Andy. He’s just a kid. It’s okay.”

The little one feeling that he had said something wrong hugged his arms with his little arms. “I’m sowwy Wandi. Don’t cwy.”

“I’m not buddy, I-I’m not.” He reassured the kid, and falsely assuring himself too.

“Wandi, I’m feelin sleepy…” “Yeah, let’s get you to bed buddy,” he cooed with his quivering voice.

“Andy I’ll take him-” But he refused to and took the child. You took a few minutes to pull yourself together after witnessing Andy so vulnerable. Even in these moments, he took care of your son. When you reached the nursery, Andy was whispering a lullaby to a dozed off Niko for a good ten minutes. He even spoke to the little boy, telling him that the measly Audi car painting he did in the room was going to protect him and his nightmares; and the boy believed because Andy said so.

Few minutes later and Andy didn’t refuse to hold back.

“I held Jacob like Nikolai, put him to sleep like Nikolai. My sweet precious baby,  my innocent child Jacob. He didn’t do anything and he is away from me Y/N. Far far away-”

Andy let out a loud whimpering cry, the sound swallowed when he buried his head into your neck and your tears began streaming, him sobbing uncontrollably the next minute.

Andy and your tears began streaming; you pulled yourself together soon but Andy? He was weeping uncontrollably. You only could take him in your arms and offer him comfort. No words could heal his wounds instantly. He buried his face into your neck, his safe place, which made you remember the initial days with Andy when he lent a shoulder when you cried. Now it was your turn.

You whispered in ears how it was best not to do this near Niko and maneuvered Andy to your room. He held onto your arms as you took him to your room. You urged Andy to talk to you if the visit to the grave was still bothering him. He sought recluse in your safe place again, lying down on the bed, head tucked in your neck.

“Andy you can tell me anything. I promise it won’t affect whatever is between us.”

It was too twisted, he was distraught. He ranted about Laurie and how she unravelled into killing her own son. He slipped some details of how Laurie always kept bringing up past incidents of his son to prove that Jacob was the possible killer. He kept blaming himself that he was too weary with Laurie and that he should’ve seen her actions. Your whole body pricked; he was crying as he said all this.

You couldn’t imagine Nikolai and yourself in that situation. It brought tears to you eyes but wiped them off before he could see it. You let him talk as much as he wanted to, calming and soothing Andy in the process, running your fingers through his hair gently. You comforted him as much as you could and kept reminding yourself that this was the first time he came to his senses and realised he was crying out for his dead son; and so you were patient.

“My own wife murdered him Y/N. My Jacob. If I had been more attentive”

“Shhhhh Andy,” you cooed into his ear “Your circumstances were horrible. Don’t blame yourself bubba, none of this was your fault okay? Jacob’s death was out of your hands, it was an unfortunate accident Andy.“

Andy could stay all day in your embrace, his head on your gentle shoulders while your soft hair caresses made him doze off to sleep.

But his head felt like it was going to explode and he couldn’t let you see that.

“I’m going back home honey. I think I need to be alone tonight. I- I am not abandoning you okay, I promise, I’ll be okay tomorrow.”

“Andy are you sure? Stay with me, I don’t want to leave you alone.”

“I- I think I need to be alone for sometime you know? Please don’t be upset.”

“I’m never ever upset okay? As long as you are sure bubba; whatever you think is best for you okay? This house is always open to you.”

Kisses on the cheek were exchanged before he left your home. But you stayed awake, in the hopes he’ll be back because deep down you knew, he needed you.

You would give him space, and why not?

He was your home.

–

Andy soon realised he couldn’t. Staying alone was the worst decision he made.

Yes he did get the desired space he absolutely needed for like an hour and he did try to cease his crying, but his heart, oh his heart was pounding like nobody’s business. Anxious. Alone. Not cared for.

The walls of his room closed around him, his breathing becoming rugged, the laughter of his dead son echoing in his head. But he remembered he was cared for. By you. He had only you now.

He wanted, needed your soothing embraces, your kind words, your optimism, your affection. Everything.

He just wanted you now.

He had to forget.  It was a bit past midnight, but it was you. His reliable rock; soon to become the love of his life. He had to forget what he was going though and in a moment of desperation, he texted you. His thought was confirmed, you would always be there for him.

—

Last and Final Part 5 on its way :)

#Defending Jacob #Andy Barber #Andy Barber Imagine #Chris Evans Imagine #Chris Evans #Andy Barber x reader #Chris Evans x reader #Andy Barber Smut #Chris Evans Imagines

[nerdyfangirl67]

My Angel - Phantom of the Opera Reader Insert (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Phantom/Erik x reader 

Warnings: Sad!Phantom🥺

Word count: 1783

—Chapter 1—

You wake up in the middle of the night, shivering and wondering where you were. Feeling around with your hands you could tell it wasn’t in your bed. You were on the ground, which not only was cold and hard, but also damp.

Memories of the night before came crashing back to you. You remember finding your way into the tunnels, following the call of your musical angel, and finding the master behind the notes that were never just in your head. Your heart started beating quicker at the thought that you had a real angel, albeit one dressed in entirely black but an angel nonetheless, that had created music that seemingly only you could hear. A musical angel solely for you. The thought alone had your cheeks heating up rapidly.

You cringe at the stiffness in your joints from sleeping on the ground as you pull yourself up, bringing your apron with you. Something is urging you to look into the cavern and you do.

A tight feeling seizes in your chest as you see the figure you have dubbed your angel asleep on the four poster bed, half covered in shadows as many of the candles have been diminished. He was lying flat on his back, his arms strewn out at strange angles, but the only part of him that looks relaxed, even in sleep. Lying in a pile of broken glass and wood fragments, half hidden in the shadows is the mask. Even though he isn’t wearing it, you are too far away to make out any features of his face, which disappoints you, but also intrigues you further. His cape is hanging from one of the posts at the end of the bed, like a satin covered ghost.

After another long, lingering look at the man, you turn and try to find your way back to the well-lit chambers of the Opera Populaire. You don’t struggle as you find you remember the trip through the tunnels quite clearly. As you come to the small, weathered door separating your reality from your angelic dreams, you heave out a soft sigh. You wonder if it would be possible to stay here in this place where your music lives, and where you aren’t alone. You deeply wish you could shut that door, keeping your days of lonely darkness locked away. Alas, you could not, and with your trouble keeping track of time, you must return to reality, for tardiness could mean the loss of your job, however much you disliked it. 

You pull the rickety door open slowly, not wanting to reveal this secret passage to anyone who may be on the other side. After reentering the opera house you see that the door is virtually undetectable from the other side, causing you to wonder if you stumbling upon it was merely the accident it seemed. 

Nonetheless, you hurried back to your room, which was now much easier to find as the early gray light of the morning was seeping in through the skylights of backstage. You enter your room, revealing one of your still sleeping roommates, which means you were on time, as she was always a bit slow at waking in the morning, regardless of possible unemployment. You grab your only other apron, casting aside your dirty, damp one from the day prior before hustling to check-in with your work overseer. 

The day drags by slowly as your mind is consumed with the music of your angel. You feel the music within you, dancing along your bones, twinkling along your nerves, mingling with your soul. The music holds so much more meaning to you now that you know someone was creating it just for you.

You’d been caught daydreaming multiple times by the time you were finished for the day. Your overseer wasn’t happy and had told you quite plainly to get your head out of the clouds and come with a clear mind for work the next day. 

Being a weekend evening, the opera house was currently packed as droves of people, dressed in their finest clothes came to see the beloved soprano, performing not only one or two, but three solos in the performance. The crowd was buzzing with anticipation and created the perfect distraction for you to sneak back into the tunnels.

You had been vibrating with excitement the entire day, knowing that that evening you’d be returning to a concert performed just for you. And as you maneuvered through the tunnels, you could barely keep yourself from running in unrestrained exhilaration.

You finally reached the small cave that you dubbed the ‘balcony’, as you felt like a socialite in your private viewing balcony as you watched your angel perform.

The music was different today even though the core of the composition remained the same. There was a jarring contrast between the rhythms and the key in which it was being played. Instead of being consumed by feelings of joy, comfort, and warmth, the song now left you cold, melancholy, and lonely. 

A hand to your cheek had you realizing that tears were streaming down your cheeks. Seeing the hunched over form on the organ, much different than the confident, almost frightening figure that had sat there the day before.

It was as if everything inside you was calling you to his side, to take him in your arms and say sweet nothings in his ear. To let him rest his head in your lap as you sing to him. To take away the sorrow that was infecting him in such a way, it was bleeding through to his music. You didn’t stay long as the tone of his music effectively doused your excitement and it physically hurt you to see him so dejected, so you had left after only an hour. 

That night you lay in bed, silent tears falling as the pain, both physical and emotional, kept you awake. 

——

You didn’t return to the tunnels for days after that. You couldn’t bring yourself to see the pain your angel was in and not do something about it. And you knew, if you went from hiding in the shadows to revealing yourself to him, you would lose him.

When you finally decide to return, you bring an old journal you had received from your parents before they passed, as well as your favorite fountain pen. You also bring your cloak, as both times you were in your ‘balcony’ room, you were quite chilled in your dress alone. 

It doesn’t take you long to get settled, and once you are, you watch your angel as he plays. This composition is new. The melody is dark and full of hate, entwined with a rhythm reminiscent of the sorrow filled notes you had last heard him play. His apparent pain has your heart aching and before you know it, your feelings are flowing out of you and onto the paper.

My angel,

Your pain is my pain. The darkness and melancholy you are emanating through your music, I can feel deep into my soul. I feel like I have suffered the agony and insults that you have.

I may never have met you but I feel that I know you. Your soul is connected to mine, through some magical force. I’m drawn to you because I have seen that you could be, nay, you are my future. All I want is for you to see me in your future as well.

I feel that your music is my driving force. All I have heard since I have arrived at the opera house is your music. It lingers in my mind and I can hear you in everything I do. Your music is there when I clean the soprano’s chambers. It is there when I trudge through the long dark tunnels to you. It is there when I slowly make my way back to my room at night. I realize that I am never alone because you are there, inside my mind. 

You may never know I exist, but I feel you. You have become a part of me.

Forever and always

You fold the letter up and place it gently in one of the envelopes you brought along. You return your attention to the music, listening and memorizing each individual note. It is not long before the music lulls you asleep.

----

Hours later you wake, warmer than you had ever felt in the tunnels before. You slowly rise up, analyzing your surroundings as you do. You can tell it is later in the night because the lighting from the cavern is a dim soft glow. You notice nothing different in the room you are in, but when you strain your hearing, you hear it. The music, which is noticeably quieter than before, is something you recognize. Your angel is playing the composition that he had been the first time you travelled through the tunnels. 

It is the composition that dances intimately around in your head each and every day. It is not the remade, dark toned version that you had heard the day after, the version that had kept you away for days. 

After observing your angel play the composition you have begun to call your own, you reach towards your feet, looking for the letter you had written prior to you drowsing off for a short time. The more you search, with no luck, the more frantic you become. You rip off your cloak in an futile attempt to see if the letter was sticking to you as a result of static. 

Coming up empty handed yet again, you huff out a heavy sigh. You begin to wonder if you had even written the letter, or if it was all a dream. You still haven’t found it after five minutes of looking and are starting to feel the lack of a good night’s rest. You reluctantly give up on finding the letter before heading back through the tunnels in hopes of catching another hour of sleep before work. 

----

The cloaked figure bent down to pick up the slightly damp envelope that was precariously perched on the steps up from the underground river. The handwritten title is smeared beyond recognition and after a careful moment of consideration, the phantom of a man delicately opens the envelope. He unfolds the piece of parchment from the envelope, and slowly reads the words. Reading these words causes the biting rage of doubt to consume him as he does not believe that there is someone who would write these words as anything but a joke. He does not know though, that these words, this letter, will forever change his life. 

#phantom of the opera #the phantom reader insert #phantom of the opera reader insert #phantom of the opera fanfiction #POTO #phantom x reader #phantom x you #erik destler reader insert #erik destler x reader #follower celebration #phantom 2004 imagine #phantom of the opera imagine #multi-chapter poto fic

[michaelbogild]

Quotes by Lord Byron

Adversity is the first path to truth.

All farewells should be sudden, when forever.

All who would win joy, must share it; happiness was born a twin.

Always laugh when you can, it is cheap medicine.

And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils, They do divide our being.

And gave no outward signs of inward strife

And mind and dust- and passions and pure thoughts

And when we think we lead, we are most led

As long as I retain my feeling and my passion for Nature, I can partly soften or subdue my other passions and resist or endure those of others.

Be thou the rainbow in the storms of life. The evening beam that smiles the clouds away, and tints tomorrow with prophetic ray.

Being of no party, I shall offend all parties

Between two worlds life hovers like a star, twixt night and morn, upon the horizon's verge.

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

But what is Hope? Nothing but the paint on the face of Existence; the least touch of truth rubs it off, and then we see what a hollow-cheeked harlot we have got hold of.

But who, alas! can love, and then be wise?

But words are things, and a small drop of ink, Falling, like dew, upon a thought produces That which makes thousands, perhaps millions think

Come, lay thy head upon my breast and I'll kiss thee unto rest.

Dark-heaving; boundless, endless, and sublime, The image of Eternity, -- the throne Of the Invisible! even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone

Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is passed in sleep.

Eat, drink and love...the rest is not worth a nickel

Eternity forbids thee to forget.

Even innocence itself has many a wile, And will not dare to trust itself with truth, And love is taught hypocrisy from youth

For Earth is but a tombstone

For the sword outwears its sheath, And the soul wears out the breast, And the heart must pause to breathe, And love itself have rest.

For there was soft remembrance, and sweet trust In one fond breast, to which his own would melt, And in its tenderer hour on that his bosom dwelt.

For truth is always strange; stranger than fiction.

Friendship may, and often does, grow into love, but love never subsides into friendship.

Had they been wisely mingled; as it is

Hath all the energy which would have made

he knew how to make madness beautiful

I am ashes where once I was fire...

I am so changeable, being everything by turns and nothing long - such a strange melange of good and evil.

I can never get people to understand that poetry is the expression of excited passion.

I do not believe in any religion, I will have nothing to do with immortality. We are miserable enough in this life without speculating upon another.

I feel my immortality over sweep all pains, all tears, all time, all fears, – and peal, like the eternal thunders of the deep, into my ears, this truth, – thou livest forever!

I had a dream, which was not at all a dream.

I have a great mind to believe in Christianity for the mere pleasure of fancying I may be damned.

I know that two and two make four - and should be glad to prove it too if I could - though I must say if by any sort of process I could convert 2 and 2 into five it would give me much greater pleasure.

I linger yet with Nature, for the night Hath been to me a more familiar face Than that of man; and in her starry shade Of dim and solitary loveliness, I learned the language of another world.

I only go out to get me a fresh appetite for being alone.

I slept and dreamt that life was beauty; I woke and found that life was duty.

I suppose I had some meaning when I wrote it; I believe I understood it then.

In secret we met - In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? - With silence and tears

In solitude, where we are least alone

In vain!—As fall the dews on quenchless sands, Blood only serves to wash Ambition's hands!

It is an awful chaos-light and darkness-

Life's enchanted cup sparkles near the brim

Love will find a way through paths where wolves fear to prey.

Mix'd, and contending without end or order

My pang shall find a voice.

Oh too convincing - dangerously dear - In woman's eye the unanswerable tear

On with the dance! Let joy be undefined!

One certainly has a soul; but how it came to allow itself to be enclosed in a body is more than I can imagine. I only know if once mine gets out, I’ll have a bit of a tussle before I let it get in again to that of any other

Opinions are made to be changed – or how is truth to be got at?

Prometheus-like from heaven she stole The fire that through those silken lashes In darkest glances seems to roll, From eyes that cannot hide their flashes: And as along her bosom steal In lengthened flow her raven tresses, You'd swear each clustering lock could feel, And curled to give her neck caresses.

Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean - roll! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin - his control Stops with the shore

She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes

Sigh to the stars, as wolves howl to the moon...

Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and existence: Sleep hath its own world, And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development have breath, And tears and tortures, and the touch of joy.

So, we'll go no more a-roving So late into the night, Though the heart still be as loving, And the moon still be as bright.

Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.

Start not—nor deem my spirit fled: In me behold the only skull From which, unlike a living head, Whatever flows is never dull.

The best of prophets of the future is the past.

The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.

The dew of compassion is a tear

The drying up a single tear has more of honest fame than shedding seas of gore.

The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain

The great object of life is sensation—to feel that we exist, even though in pain. It is this ‘craving void’ which drives us to gaming—to battle—to travel—to intemperate but keenly felt pursuits of every description, whose principal attraction is the agitation inseparable from their accomplishment..

The heart will break, but broken live on.

The morn is up again, the dewy morn, With breath all incense, and with cheek all bloom, Laughing the clouds away with playful scorn, And living as if earth contained no tomb,— And glowing into day.

The power of thought is the magic of the mind.

The thorns which I have reap'd are of the tree I planted; they have torn me, and I bleed. I should have known what fruit would spring from such a seed.

There are four questions of value in life... What is sacred? Of what is the spirit made? What is worth living for, and what is worth dying for? The answer to each is same. Only love

There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, There is a rapture on the lonely shore, There is society, where none intrudes, By the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but Nature more

There is music in all things, if men had ears.

There is no instinct like that of the heart

There is the moral of all human tales: ’Tis but the same rehearsal of the past, First Freedom, and then Glory - when that fails, Wealth, vice, corruption - barbarism at last. And History, with all her volumes vast, Hath but one page

There's music in the sighing of a reed; There's music in the gushing of a rill; There's music in all things, if men had ears; The earth is but the music of the spheres.

Think you, if Laura had been Petrarch's wife, he would have written sonnets all his life?

This should have been a noble creature: he

Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.

Though the night was made for loving, And the day returns too soon, Yet we'll go no more a-roving By the light of the moon.

Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark our coming, and look brighter when we come

To have joy, one must share it.

To him the magic of their mysteries; To him the book of Night was opened wide, And voices from the deep abyss revealed A marvel and a secret.

Truth is a gem that is found at a great depth; whilst on the surface of the world all things are weighed by the false scale of custom.

We of the craft are all crazy. Some are affected by gaiety, others by melancholy, but all are more or less touched.

Who knows whether, when a comet shall approach this globe to destroy it, as it often has been and will be destroyed, men will not tear rocks from their foundations by means of steam, and hurl mountains, as the giants are said to have done, against the flaming mass? - and then we shall have traditions of Titans again, and of wars with Heaven...

Why I came here, I know not; where I shall go it is useless to inquire - in the midst of myriads of the living and the dead worlds, stars, systems, infinity, why should I be anxious about an atom?

With just enough of learning to misquote.

Yet he was jealous, though he did not show it, For jealousy dislikes the world to know it

You don't love a woman because she is beautiful, but she is beautiful because you love her. Never underestimate the power of love. The way to love anything is to realize it may be lost. The heart has its reasons that reason does not know at all. Music is love in search of a word. There is pleasure in the pathless woods; there is a rapture on the lonely shore; There is society, where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar.

[mythriteshah]

The Sultan’s Dream

“Nyra… Glacius…  It has been a journey of ten-thousand malms since we stepped foot upon Eorzea.  I was but a simple lordling that wanted to make a name for himself, with nothing but my two greatest companions – my best friends – by my side.  You two were always there.  Through my triumphs and my failures, you were all I had to depend on.

Yes, I have my Angels to watch over and safeguard myself and the Regalia, but even they are not always around – unlike you two. ‘Tis not often I am given an opportunity to simply enjoy the scenery and share my thoughts; there are few whom I trust enough to divulge my deepest secrets.  And to tell you the greatest truth of all, Nyra & Glacius… I’m tired. My time spent in Eorzea was one filled with so much turmoil that I would not even wish such a life on my worst enemies. And although I’ve brought the Regalia to a shining age of prosperity, I had still suffered a great deal since I first became an adventurer.

All this conflict is for the cloudkin.  I’ve already cavorted with enough primals to live three full lives.  And the repeated incursions of the Garlean Empire are evolving into quite the proverbial broken record.  There are numerous other adventurers and ‘heroes’ strewn about the realm to make an army; what’s one merchant-lord in the grand scheme of things?

We’ve played our part on this grand stage of imbeciles, Glacius.  Nyra. But now it is time for the curtains to descend.  I am done fighting and tempting fate – I’ll grow old doing this for so long. ‘Tis time we returned back home to where we belong.”

Thiji reflected back on his speech he gave to his two most trusted companions some summers ago.  While he has gained and lost much throughout his time as an adventurer, he was tolerant of the outcomes and made peace with them.  Of course, there are certain moments in time he wish would have changed for the better.

His confrontation with the Harriers and their leader in the heart of Snowcloak, though successful in its objective, costed Thiji the life of the only Angel who ever loved him – Mamai Mai, who was given the title of “Lady” posthumously.  She insisted on accompanying the then Mythrite Prince and his comrades-in-arms in his assault, offering her pugilistic skills to the table. Unfortunately, she was waylaid unexpectantly by what may as well have been a sub-zero blast of cold by the Lady of Frost.  Thiji may have withstood the brunt of it, but Mamai was not so prepared, and she fell as a result.  This was the beginning of a martial awakening within Thiji, for this event catalyzed his ascent – or descent, to some – into the path of the Dark Knight.  This would later be realized in its fullest when he battled against the fourfold master of the blade in His home turf: Ravana, Lord of the Hive.

“Martial perfection”, the Amalj’aa called it.  The apex of one’s skill for which all Amalj’aa seek to strive.  This concept stuck close to Thiji as he eventually took up the sword and shield, continuing his adventures as a Paladin during the campaign to liberate Ala Mhigo.  When he had faced off against the Lady of Bliss, whose Qalyana dreamers were coaxed into summoning their false deity due to threats from the Garlean Empire, he had received word from Nyra, who bore a message from one of his Angels informing him that his then-Sultana, Nanago Nago - whom was with child and under the care of Sarielle - had succumbed to her own avarice, consuming gratuitous amounts of aether from his weapons collected throughout his journeys during the Dragonsong War.  The resulting effulgence – combined with her own innate powers as an Astrologian – caused her and their unborn child to perish in a stellar explosion, effectively removing them from existence.  Another crushing loss – greater, even, than the one incurred from losing Mamai. Thanks to the laws of time and space, no one but he and his Angels know of this event.  Once more unhinged, Thiji found new strength in not only his martial, but his magical prowess, effectively dispatching of the Lady of Bliss, though at the cost of his own blade and board… and his soul crystal, which he casted away with his armor following the battle.

It always seemed passing strange that the Dunesfolk nobleman from the Near East would gain new strength and prowess by leaps and bounds at the expense of some tragedy – this only further added to his eccentricity.  He was a calm individual, but was incredibly vindictive – especially if one ever crossed his Angels, whom he cared for so dearly.  Others may not have picked up on the cause of these… awakenings, but Thiji was more than aware of it.  Some days following the Largesse, when he was alone in his Aldenard Branch office, he gazed upon a glistening blue greatsword of exquisite make.  It was made by a Dragoon friend of his who had a fascination for all things Allagan, and upon the length of the blade was an engraved sentence:

“As long as you make it out of a battle alive, you're one step closer to fulfilling your dream.”

More than just pretty words to the Mythrite Sultan.  He had experienced many battles and came out of each intact.  Even now, as the kingpin of the Higuri Regalia, Thiji had even conquered a battlefield which extended beyond the physical: the realm of high fashion. He toiled for many winters to get to where he is now; to be the titan of aesthetic and philanthropy which has earned the respect of many (and, for some reason, the ire of some).  Yet therein lies the problem:

What dream remained?

Sure, Thiji Higuri was a man of ambition and intellect.  But he had not enjoyed the pursuit of a dream since the assault on Djanan Qhat.  Ever since he was a child, he was spellbound by a particular play, and never missed a single showing.  Thiji had experienced it so many times that he could (and probably still) recite the entire script verbatim.  It was a tale of romance and tragedy; of a powerful sorceress with a good heart who stood up for a broken country’s people, and the solitary man who rose up to defend her:  the Sorceress’s Knight.

A dream he may have fulfilled after the Dragonsong War, but was snatched away prior to Ala Mhigo’s freedom. It was a sensitive topic, and seldom brought up in the Mythrite Sultan’s presence, lest an Angel earns his anger. Why keep the claymore, then, if he had no dream to pursue?  What other meaning could the decorative sword have to Thiji if he is a man bereft of that driving force?

The evening following the Largesse, the Mythrite Sultan was no longer present at the Aldenard Branch. He had begun making for the Main Branch for reasons as of yet unknown – probably to oversee the release of the Blessed Wardrobe’s second clothing line.  As usual, his Advisor, Veeveena Veena, was present in his chambers, enjoying some Winter Lassi as she gazed upon the moon with that lovely smile on her face.  It was yet another peaceful night in Radz-at-Han, and though she has seen the view many times, it was no less breathtaking to behold for the Near Eastern flower.

Veeveena took a few sips of her drink as the winds suddenly began to rise.  The trees amidst the emergent layer of the jungle which could be seen from the city began to sway and billow, and would eventually cause a whisper or three to blow through the balcony.  The sudden shift in temperature caught her off guard as the Dunesfolk woman let out a soft gasp, stumbling somewhat, but maintained her posture as the numerous jewels and decorations on her sampot clinked like wind chimes against her body.

“This breeze…” she whispered to herself.  “Could it be the North Wind?  Has he arrived in Radz-at-Han?”  The sheer thought of meeting the elusive debonair was too enticing to resist, and Veeveena would quickly down the last of the lassi, enduring the brain freeze that would follow.  As swiftly as she could, she doffed her garb to put on some evening attire before making her flight from the Main Branch Headquarters.  Forgoing the usual method of taking the bridge out from the city, she utilized her fans to conjure wind-aspected aether to propel herself upward, gliding down gracefully toward the canopy.

Meanwhile, as Veeveena made her way to the rivulet, a lone figure was seen dancing about.  It was shrouded entirely thanks to the shadows cast by the dense canopy beneath Menphina’s light.  The figure’s movements were seamless, effortlessly transitioning into fouettes, sliding along the waters from one side to the other as they froze over, striping the rivulet with bands of ice.  All throughout was the sound of steel ringing through the night air, and that same icy wind began picking up once more as the figure gathered aetherial energy for a brief moment before soaring from one end of the river to the other in a twirling flourish.   Upon reaching the apex of the jump, it performed a flawless jete, the silvery moon cloaking the figure all the while as if the spectacle was taken straight out from a painting. The concealed terpsichorean was releasing the stored energy as it did its finish, resulting in an arch of slick ice to form over the rivulet.  Sticking the landing with one final twirl into a plie, it detected movement within the trees.  It did not bother to take the time to discern the incoming presence, and instead fled the scene with a blinding dash into the forest floor.

When Veeveena had finally emerged, the figure she believed to be the North Wind was nowhere to be found. All that she beheld was the stark scenery of a partly-frozen rivulet, the banks dotted with shards of frost, and an arch spanning its breadth.  “This is beautiful… but the North Wind could not do this,” she thought, as she felt the scintillant snow particles kissing her face.  While she was awestruck at the sight, Veeveena had to report this occurrence to her peers.  Without wasting another moment, she contacted the Angels at the Main Branch, who would then arrive within the bell.

The “S” Trio (Sena, Sona, Suna) and the “L” Trio (Lena, Luma, Lina) were investigating the area as Veeveena brought them up to speed on what happened to the best of her ability. Sosona was easily able to deduce that the lingering aether was not the result of a primal’s thanks to her aetherometer obtained by the Scions of the Seventh Dawn (who, when asked about how she acquired them, stated that they didn’t seem to be using them anymore anyway);  Lelena and Lilina, with their own unique abilities, further deduced that the culprit was not using the ambient aether or the influence of a construct; Luluma and Susuna had also come to the conclusion that the focus area was away from any wildlife or beastmen, so none were harmed from the result of this… phenomenon.

What really stood out, however, was Sesena’s observation after gazing upon the frozen arch for several minutes:

“Hey, Angels… do any of you feel… different?” she asked them.  “Miss Veeveena?”

“Yes,” she replied. “I thought I was the only one who felt such… emotion from this scene, so I did not address it.”

“Miss Veeveena’s right… I don’t feel all that chipper,” Lilina commented, holding a hand to her heart. “It’s not… aether sickness, but when I gaze upon this scene, I’m seemingly overcome with… sorrow.  But it’s a sort of… beautiful sorrow – like a dying maiden being held in her lover’s arms before the last flames of life fade from her eyes…”

The other Angels absorbed Lilina’s words, taking in the scenery, watching the snow particles dance in the air.  The longer they remained, the more these senses seemed more profound.  They may have been involved in many conflicts both small and large, but the Angels were no strangers to emotion – especially ones as palpable as what they were experiencing.  They felt tranquility… yet sadness; bliss… yet loss.  It was as if they were traversing a thin line between positive and negative emotion.

“I’ve heard tales of his prowess, Angels, but I don’t think even the North Wind is capable of something like this,” Sesena commented.

“Whomever it is,” Sosona began, “they’re damn good at expressing themselves.”  The Angels remained for a while longer, until the icy spectacle would be whisked away by an errant gust of wind, freeing the rivulet from its frozen state in a cloud of diamond dust.

From atop the city in the Main Branch Headquarters, a Lalafell woman veiled in mythril blue and silver watched silently from her vantage point.  Lady Mimizo, the Valide Sultan, was surprisingly awake during this bell, her face obscured by one of her fans.  But for what reason was she spying on the Angels?

As Nyra flew to her side, Mimizo looked over her shoulder to find a slumbering Thiji, who seemed to be well into his sleep, a rare smile of content made visible on his face.  His mother would grin in kind as she gave a kiss to the owl’s cheek.

“[I am indebted to you, Nyra.  Thank you for keeping this secret for so long.  But soon, the Angels will have to know. Until then, pray hold your tongue a while longer],” Mimizo whispered to Nyra in their native tongue.  She would bow her head before taking wing, flying off into the night sky.  Mimizo gazed upon the vestiges of the ice particles swirling into the heavens, enjoying the sight for a moment before quietly leaving her son’s bed chambers.  She would return to accompany her husband before the Angels would make their way back to report this event to the other branches.

“May your dreams bring you the bliss you so rightfully deserve, my beloved son…”

#thiji higuri #ffxiv #higuri regalia #ffxiv a realm reborn #balmung #lalafell #endwalker #thavnair #hannish #radz at han #thavnairian #short story #dancer

[d0ntw0rrybehappy]

i’m going insane lol

so i feel like the next step in working hard is to not even perceive the work i’m doing as tiring. (rereading this it’s making me lol.) it seems weird that i find a part time job at a restaurant this exhausting? and like i can’t pretend that i’m not tired, but i have to somehow take better care of myself and set the conditions to not be tired from it.

i’ve been thinking about baudrillard/barthes a lot still -- pleasantly surprised that their theories are interesting to apply to any- and everything. for example, they both go into how every statement can also be read as its opposite or negation. so, to quote baudrillard, saying “i am not afraid of communism” also implies that communism is something you should be afraid of.

i’ve been using this as a kind of paranoid way to gain insight into why people tell me that i am “strong” because i don’t really know what that means. (other things i am told i am often: sweet, intense). it’s like what they’re saying is, there’s some kind of context, a milieu of weak people i’m being compared to. or like they want to reassure me that i am strong, because i actually come across as how i feel: like a particularly lost, unstable, emotional, sensitive, and lonely person.

i can’t with restaurant work anymore. it. SUCKS. i want to fucking get out, i am like a rat scrabbling at the walls of a glass aquarium. all novelty has worn off, all misguided overtures of honest work or “people skills.” and i’m still stuck here, still holding my breath in the deep end until i can find the eject button. i am tired, my body aches. my body aches!!

i want to just grind my way out (here we are with barthes again -- well if you truly wanted to do that you’d just shut the fuck up and do it instead of writing about it), but here i am, eating another round of chocolate (i don’t smoke, i don’t have sex, i truly just eat), constantly fucking hungry. then like a bull mowing into a red flag i realize i have been grinding...in a completely useless direction. it is like my passion for learning about things gets scattered every which way and i just can’t start, every path is equally exciting and awful and the injunction to “choose” is not “clicking” in my “head.” it’s like my mind cracked open at some point in my teenage years (when i started smoking weed, when my child universe was decisively fractured by a friend) and now the crack is snowing fireworks and glitter and i shift in and out of unreality. 

reality is almost too painful to bear. nobody’s happy: you can find contentment by accepting your current lot, but “happiness" is really just contrast or relief from pain. it comes in and out. most people are too lazy or small-minded or too busy complaining to feel content, or their lives are just too twiggy, got too long in the wrong direction or are just too fucking hard. i guess i still am happy, and still love life, in a sort of ferocious and bloody and hungry way. 

love is bleak, though. i barely even know how to define it anymore. (culture defines a love which we yearn for; we experience “love” insofar as our real love fleetingly resembles this model, only to come up short -- baudrillard). re: love, to use my mom’s favorite school-of-hard-knocks memory device for the laws of thermodynamics -- a subject she took? -- you can’t win, you can’t break even, you can’t get outta the game (and death and taxes). you are going to get royally FUCKED by love just like everybody else, and you are STILL gonna play, you beautiful mortal fool. like the tarot cards lauren dealt me, putting away the three cards she’d used to describe my near future and then flipping through the entire deck, picture side up, without realizing that i was quietly watching it describe my whole entire life -- clinging at the edge of my seat to see some eventual combination that spelled good, strong, lasting love and seeing only struggle, happiness, struggle, pain, struggle, and finally ending, at my death, in a small statue made of gold. 

see also, other realities i hate to swallow: nearly all interpersonal problems are insurmountable and better left undealt with, and work basically sucks unless you are very lucky and very smart. 

work. let’s go back to that. i used to think my work would be respected off its merit; now i see the merit in literally fucking my way up. i wonder if i should even be an artist at all. artists are kinda like showponies or whores; they’re not actually important. the more honest and wonderful they are, the less important they probably are, like schoolteachers. they have an impact on an individual level. but on a societal level, you have no control as an artist. you just get played by bigger fish. better to find a way to have your hands on the gears; that way you have a shot at making a higher-order change to society. but alas, the (capitalist) system is totally out of everyone’s hands and will keep running as usual no matter what you do, still savage in equal amounts, i think. doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try. but at this point i’d give a toe or finger to work for someplace like youtube. at least it’s reached critical mass where i could do something cool and make a difference with emerging media. 

that or i pander to whatever blathering brain-melting slop, drivel, they’re putting on tv for kids and adults. or manage to convince a smaller nonprofit that i am “good at talking to people from diverse socioeconomic backgrounds,” whatever the hell that fucking means. or maybe, ugh god, i’ll work for an ad agency? or do digital strategy? and um, i could say some shit about how capitalism is darwinism and money is a form of social control that works so well because it’s out of the hands of any individual person, and i should probably just stick with art and believe in it, and maybe like, apply for grants. but i want a job, a full-time job. i want stability and enough money that i don't feel guilty buying new underwear and i don't want to hustle to keep the tap running month-to-month and i want to spend the majority of my time doing something i find fulfilling. and soon enough i'll get that, and all my dreams will come true: i’m going to get married and become a fat mom taking my kids to piano practice and saying “the meeting went on forever today,” and i’ll have a husband who never cleans the house enough, and then we’ll get divorced and he’ll find someone 20 years younger and i’ll live out the rest of my years semi-happily alone and i don’t know how i will ever have time to make art again. or if i do i just hope it’s not hobby-like, second-rate.

i wish i could have (feel) the bare-faced honesty and love of sha’carri richardson hugging her grandmother after she worked her ass off for a race. instead everything is this weird simulation where i never feel like i love anybody enough or like i’m working hard enough. i can’t speak honestly except when i am writing about myself (strong, sweet, intense, narcissistic) or things i have noticed, as directed to my own imaginary friend. when i try to communicate irl (or, worst of all, “be real”) it’s all so overthought, overwrought, self-conscious. the only person who knows my real private self is the girl winking at me on my black lives matter poster. i hope she doesn’t mind being here in my room. ducky, the stuffed animal brandon gave me, was also supportive but i put him away because it seemed bad to tell future guys that my stuffed animal is “the child of divorce.” and now /you guys/ know me a little bit, because i took the time to pretend you were all my imaginary friend, my dearest pen pal who laughs at all my jokes and gets all my references, and stopped pretending i was anything besides what’s written here. 

and i think, like, a lot of people now live in this weird simulation? and are so confused about romantic and familial love to the point where everyone is getting off on family members fucking each other and can’t decide if it’s normal to think kids are hot? but i guess that was always some weird fucked-up demon side of human existence? another thing i’m supposed to accept. (also sorry trigger warning.) and another thing i took for granted as a child, that most people, if not everyone, is weird/gross/evil, but now that my mind is cracked this shocks me all over again and i seek some sort of explanation. it’s like i can’t find a real hunk of closeness anywhere. i’m close to my own family, but in my other relationships we’re either too distant or too close and i’m desperately searching for just some normal friends. and to be able to give a speech where i tell someone i really love them and for it to ring true. but i try to be grateful that i live in driving distance to the beach and there’s air conditioning and once i stop being a stupid baby there’s probably more friends and work and stuff out there for me. and then i’ll have some new problem.

#i would put this as read more but it doesnt work on my blog SORRYYY

[yandere-romanticaa]

Freedom...

This is dedicated for my son, who has been raised back from the dead in chapter 77!

"I am free..."

That was the sentence the (h/c)ette would tell herself the very moment she woke up. No longer was she in that dreaded, stuffy cage. No longer was she a puppet, a toy, for that clown! He had died so suddenly, she couldn't have believed it. It was wrong to feel such joy at someone elses tragedy, but the bastard was more then deserving of it. His death had been both painful and brutal, and a part of her wishes that she could have been able to see her captors demise with her own two eyes. Alas, the only thing she could really focus on was to break that cage and just turn her life back to normal.

She was able to find a small place to live, and a decent part time job. Everything was going rather smoothly, but the paranoia was eating her from the inside out. She knew all too well just how tricky, cunning and smart Nikolai was. In a dark corner of her mind she doubted that he was really dead. It happened too quickly, it made no sense what so ever! Plus, she never actually saw his body, despite checking the crime scene for herself numerous times...

Still though, she tried to look on the brighter side of life and things seemed to be going well for her. Yes, she was always on her toes and it had become a habit of hers to look behind her shoulder, but that didn't stop her from making some friends. She made sure to always have someone by her side, just in case if things went downhill. She even bought a gun for herself, and that weapon really made her feel safer once she got home. She hid it in a drawer in her bedroom, and that drawer could only be opened by a key that she always carried. Things really were looking up for (y/n) and she could finally love a normal, happy life...!

Then the letters started to appear.

(y/n) worked in a little café, and whenever she came in there was always a letter waiting for her at the counter. She had first dismissed it as a joke by her co-workers, but over time the letters became a lot more... personal.

The letters described (y/n) in great detail, and everything the writer wanted to do with and to (y/n). Alarm bells were screaming at the top of her head so she decided not to read them anymore. They were still there for her, but she never dared to open them ever again. She just ripped it to shreds and threw it in to the garbage bin, where it belonged.

Not to mention how some of her latest customers were just plain weird. Every day, someone new would come in and they would always catch her eye. There was just something so familiar about these people, but she couldn't quite figure it out. There was no way any of them were conected, they were all so diffirent from each other! A secretary, a janitor, a teacher... Their faces were always so similar to someone who shouldn't be in this world anymore...

She didn't even feel safe in her own home anymore. The all to familliar feeling of being watched was unbearable, and (y/n) had lost countless hours of sleep because of it. She wasn't even safe with her friends and whenever she brought up her concerns, they would either tell her that she is overreacting or they would comfort her but quickly change the subject. It was driving her insane, she couldn't take this anymore!

She kept telling herself that it wasn't him, that it couldn't be him! He was dead, he was fucking sawed in half for Christ's sake! Still, this constant feeling of pure and utter terror, the way she felt someone's shadow just hovering over her as she slept...

What really drove (y/n) up the wall though was when she found out that her gun was missing. It. Was. Freaking. Missing!!! How could that happen?! She never opened that drawer for these past couple of days, and there were no signs of a break in... She could hear whispers in the shadows, taunting, teasing, breaking her to itty bitty pieces. She really was going insane, huh...?

The darnkess had already engulfed the little city (y/n) resided in. There were no signs of life on the dimly lit streets, aside from a few stray cats here and there. Despite being awake in such an ungodly hour, (y/n) was still very much awake. She felt so cold and lonely, the bitter tears streaming down her face felt like daggers against her soft skin. She cried and whimpered to herself, completely unaware of the danger that was so terribly close.

He was so close to her, he could almost taste the sweetnes of her blood on his tounge, he could almost feel the rapid heartbeat in her chest. Nikolai knew everything about (y/n), including all of her quirks, habbits, fears and tics... He needed to dissapear for a while in order to help his dear friend Fyodor with their grand plan, but he never expected his little birdie to fly away from him oh so quickly. She had spread her wings and flew in to the world, not knowing of the dangers that lurked around every corner.

He too was one of those dangers.

He had missed her so much! All he wanted was to hear her sweet voice, to feel her soft skin pressed up against his, to be reunited with his little darling. But for now, he'd let (y/n) taste the freedom she so desperately craved. He watched for such a long time now, but he just couldn't handle it anymore. He came in to her little café every single day, but he always wore a diffirent mask. After all, Nikolai was a master of disguise! Why shouldn't he keep his (y/n) company, even if it's not direct?! She broke down so many times and yet she always found the strength to get back up. A large grin adorned the clown's face as he knew that in no time his little bird would no longer be able to fly. And when that happens, he will wait for her at the bottom to catch her, where they can finally be together once more.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #bungo stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #yandere bungo stray dogs #yandere bsd #yandere bsd x reader #nikolai gogol #bsd gogol #bsd nikolai gogol #yandere nikolai gogol x reader #yandere nikolai gogol #yandere bungo stray dogs x reader

[staticscreenwriting]

12 Days of Christmas - [Day 4]

A/N: Day number 4 for the Christmas coundown with @mattysheelies. This one’s almost 6k words. I loved writing this and I hope you like it too. It’s cheesy and cutesy and maybe cliché but it’s Christmas so idgaf. ENJOY ♥

Prompt: Snowed in together.

Pairing: Billy Hargrove x Reader

“I felt so lonesome, all of a sudden. I almost wished I was dead.”

It happens, every once in a while, that you read a sentence in a book that you’ve read a hundred, maybe a million times before and it suddenly hits you like a punch straight to your gut. Because it’s different now. The book has stayed the same all through the seasons but you realize, you’re a whole new person who’s been through a whole new set of trials and tribulations. And all of a sudden you understand. 

I slump back into the cold, sticky plastic of the bright blue seat and clutch my beat up copy of Catcher in the Rye closer to me. I face the huge windows, looking out into the black of the night and the airplanes, firmly rooted on the ground. There’s a heavy downfall of snow and no sign of it stopping anytime soon. 

Maybe, I realize, this is my reckoning. Isn’t this what I’ve been wishing for ? A white Christmas like the one from the songs and the movies ?

Well merry fucking Christmas, (Y/N).

Every snowflake is a sick reminder of what could have been. Of what isn’t. 

I let my eyes travel around the area. Rows and rows of blue plastic seats. There’s not a lot of people waiting around here. I assume most people have flown home a few days ago to make it in time for Christmas and the few that weren’t smart enough to do that, have resorted to some bar or a restaurant or something. 

In theory, I could do that too. The thing is, spending Christmas eve by myself in an airport restaurant, would just seal the deal for this being the most depressing and downright sad Christmas of my whole life. 

So I stay seated and lose myself in Holden Caulfield's delightful pretentiousness. 

They’re playing Christmas music from a nearby speaker. I wonder if they want to taunt me. Me and everyone else stuck in a fucking snowstorm on Christmas Eve in god damn Indianapolis. They even have a tree set up and where it should make people happy, it only makes me even more sad. I wanna be home with my family, decorating my own tree with all the weird and quirky ornaments we’ve collected over the years. They all come with their own stories and it fills my heart with bittersweet nostalgia.

I’ve never known what being homesick feels like until tonight.

Again my eyes move along the rows of plastic seats. There’s a man in a sharp suit a few rows down. He’s got neatly combed hair and a red tie and shiny shoes and a face that says “ My name is Michael and I don’t allow anyone to call me by a nickname and I have an important job and I drive an expensive car and I probably fuck my secretary. “ 

It’s not a face you particularly want to look at. Except maybe if you’re said secretary. 

A family of 3 sits by the end of the row. They seem — at peace. And for a moment I wish I could be them. I guess it’s different being stuck if you’re stuck with the people you love. 

It makes me bitter to think about it so I avert my eyes and let them travel down the other side of rows. Which turns out to be no better for my mental state because there’s a couple there and they do not seem to care that an airport terminal is not the ideal place for some serious tongue action.

Across from them sits a guy, he’s got a mean mullet. Strands and strands of golden curls. He’s wearing a leather jacket and big black boots and there’s a deep scowl permanently edged onto his face. If he’s aiming for the whole bad boy vibe, he’s really nailing it. 

I can see him shaking his head, as he too notices the couple getting awfully touchy, and I can’t suppress a laugh.

He notices and he looks at me and even across two whole rows of plastic seats I can see just how gorgeously blue his eyes are. 

He doesn’t laugh or smirk or does anything to give me any indication of his feelings. Maybe I’m grateful for it. Maybe I wish he would. It would be quite nice to make a connection with someone right now. Just to make being alone feel a little less lonely.

“ the snow's comin' down

(Christmas) I'm watchin' it fall

(Christmas) lots of people around

(Christmas) baby, please come home”

It’s quite ironic, really,that they would chose this damn song. Of all the Christmas songs in all of the world. 

Mullet boy seems to be a kindred spirit in this regard, I can see him sigh and murmur a “for fucks sake” into to collar of his jacket, as he sinks deeper into the chair.

“They’re singing deck the halls, but it’s not like Christmas at all. “ 

Yeah it really fucking isn’t. 

A smacking of lips catches my attention and I focus back on the couple just to witness the guy’s hand travel straight under the sweater of his girlfriend. It’s a sight I don’t particularly want to see. 

A sight that apparently makes my face screw up in aversion. And as it does, old blue eyes looks back at me and this time, I see a smirk. It vanishes as quickly as it appeared but I know for a fact that it was there. Maybe I don’t have to be all that lonely after all.

I close the bruised and battered orange book that, at this point, is hardly orange anymore, and place it in my backpack. If my life was a John Hughes movie or maybe any other romantic comedy, I’d get off my seat and walk over. There’d be some cheesy some playing in the background, maybe by the Smiths. I would throw him a smile and he’d look at me, an angel’s choir singing wonderous melodies. And tonight would change both our lives forever.

Alas my life is not a movie that Morrissey wrote any songs about. I am a coward and my heart already lies in several little pieces at my feet. So I don’t walk over just like that with no idea what to say, no incentive.

Instead I grab my backpack and walk past him, down a long corridor and end up at a vending machine that sells both, coffee and soup and I secretly pray that they don't come from the same jet. 

The last coffee I had, I think as the warm liquid fills the paper cup, I bought at the little cart by Kelvin’s dorm room. It was a good coffee, had Hazelnut sirup in it. I remember the warmth of it in my hand. I remember the taste on my tongue. I vividly remember the sound of the cup hitting the floor and the stains on my pants and the feeling of my heart as it broke in two.

I don’t want to remember that though, so I will myself to ignore it. To push the thoughts away. I fill the second cup, grab it, put lids on them and then carry them back towards the row of seats.

Mullet boy doesn’t as much as glance at me as I drop down in the seat next to him. Only shows me that he notices me as I hold one of the coffee cups out to him.

“ Sorry it’s not booze. I know that would make looking at these two a little more entertaining. “ 

For a second he just looks at me in confusion, contemplates whether or not to trust me. In the end he takes the drink so I take that for a good sign.

“ Thanks. “ 

His voice is deep and raspy and I really really like the way it sounds. 

“ I wonder if they even realize there’s other people around “ I say, watching the dude’s hand travel down the girls back, as they dreamily blink at each other like the main characters on a romance novel. Maybe those two get the romance and the the Smith song in the background. Maybe I’m just a sad side character in their story.

Mullet boy scoffs, takes a sip of coffee then speaks up. “ Don’t even think they’d notice if we joined in “.

He smirks at that. There’s an absolute underappreciation for people who laugh at their own jokes. I think it’s charming, endearing even. If you can’t laugh at your own joke, how do you expect anyone else to do it.

“ Least they’re not alone on Christmas fucking eve “ 

I don’t know why I say it. I don’t necessarily want to share my sob story. Sometimes my words just move faster than my head does.

“ Christmas is overrated anyway “ blue eyes says and shrugs his shoulders in a way that’s supposed to look casual. Only you can’t say shit like “Christmas is overrated” and be casual about it. There’s always more to a statement like that.

“ You think ? “ 

“ I know. “

“ How come ? “ 

He turns to face me and raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. It’s like he’s straight from the cover of one of my mom’s romance novels. I think it’s quite unfair that he gets to look like this on a day like today and I — I look just the way I feel. Sad. Exhausted. 

“ It’s none of your business. “ 

“ Oh geez, and here I was thinking we were bonding over our shared distaste for PDA. Guess not. “ 

“ You guessed right. “ 

For a moment, we fall into silence as another song plays over the stereo that has entirely too many obnoxious jingle bells in the backing track. For a moment I feel very lonely again.

It’s then, that the universe seems to have pity on me. It sends me a sign. A gift. A little Christmas miracle if you will.

That comes in the form of the couple getting more touchy, more — obnoxious. So obnoxious that the girl leans back, presumably to lay on the seats, only that’s not what happens. It seems to happen in slow motion when really it’s probably only the blink of an eye. She leans back and back and back and suddenly tumbles off the seats and onto the cold linoleum floor, her mister holding onto her so tightly, he falls right down with her.

My mama always told me not to laugh at other people’s misfortune. But at 18 years of age, I feel it’s time to break some rules my mama set. And this is one of them.

I can’t help it. I laugh. It comes from the deepest corner of my belly and fills my entire being. Then I catch those gorgeous blue eyes looking at my and I notice he’s laughing too. A hearty laugh. I think it’s a good one. No halfway laugh. No bullshitting. It’s a proper laugh and, as we lock eyes, our laughter only seems to increase.

The magic bubble that, until now, has surrounded the couple, seems to have been popped. It’s vanished. For them at least. Because as our laughter rings in unison, a proper harmony of joy, I feel like maybe me and mullet boy have been given a tiny spark of magic ourselves.

“ I’m (Y/N), by the way “ I say, trying to hold in more chuckles.

“ Billy ” 

“ No no, you got it all wrong. His name is Michael and he’s on a business trip that he tells his wife he couldn’t postpone but actually he just wanted to get away from his family for the holidays. “ 

“ Michael ? nah. This dude’s not a Michael. “ 

“ So what’s his name then, Billy ? “ 

He thinks for a moment, face scrunched up in a way that is absolutely adorable. It makes him look way younger than he probably is. Very boy-ish. Very cute.

“ Edward “

“ Edward ? “ 

“ Yes. Look at him, he looks so boring. And can you think of a more boring name than fucking Edward ? “ 

I have to admit, he has a point. So I shrug and nod. “ You have a point. “ 

The little family from earlier, passes us and, as the mom glances towards us, her eye linger on Billy just a moment too long for it to be accidental. And he notices, the cocky bastard. He notices and revels in it, letting the corner of his lips lift up in a teasing smirk.

“ What the fuck was that ? “ I asked, flattened by the sheer audacity for both of them.

“ I got that effect on women of all ages. “ 

“ Wow, your ego is really tiny, huh. “ 

When he looks at me, grin widening and eye filling with mischief, I know I just said the wrong thing. I set myself up with this one, I admit that.

“ That’s the only thing tiny about me. “ 

“ Aaaand that’s my cue to leave. “ I pull myself halfway out of my seat when his arm shoots out and his hand grabs onto mine. The mischief in his eyes in gone, completely replaced by a pure and unfiltered honesty.

“ Stay. Please. “ 

I sink back down and we fall into a silence. He knows that I saw it in his eyes, the fear of being left alone and I know that he knows and so we’re stuck in this weird limbo of whether to ignore it or spill our sorrows to one another. And maybe it’s because today is Christmas and on Christmas you tell the truth, even if it to a stranger at an airport, but he suddenly breaks the silence and starts talking.

“ I don’t wanna be alone. “ 

“ Yeah me neither. “ 

“ I uh — I was supposed to be in California, to visit my mom over Christmas. I haven’t seen her in — in years. This was supposed to be our first Christmas together since I was 8. I called her earlier, from the payphone. I thought she might be devastated. She’s not. I don’t think she cares very much if I’m there or not. I’m still debating whether or not I wanna get on the plane if it ever goes. “ 

“ I came to visit my boyfriend for Christmas. Surprise him, you know. He’s going to college here in Indiana. We’re both from California and we haven’t seen each other since the summer. I thought It was the ultimate proof of my love to him. Well — turns out he’s been fucking his way around campus while I’ve been busy making plans on how to rearrange my life and all my dreams, to come study with him in Indiana after I graduate High School. “

Another silence fills our hearts but this one isn’t thick with anticipation and tension. It’s one that settles deep in our bones as we realize, that sometimes there’s comfort in shared misery. 

“ Merry fucking Christmas to us. “ Billy murmures.

“ Do you wanna go see if we can get a drink at the bar ? “

“ That’s the best idea I’ve heard in a while. “ 

“ I can not believe your fake ID says you’re name’s Ricky Hardman. “ 

“ If you’re mocking me I can just drink this myself, you know. “ 

“ Oh come on. It’s just — that sounds like such a porn name. “ 

“ So what. “ 

I have to snort at his complete lack of self reflection. He knows I’m right but he’s so stubborn. Again I find myself thinking it’s endearing rather than annoying.

To come back to a statement I made earlier, I also think we don’t appreciate the people enough, that make us snort-laugh. Is it a bit embarrassing and cringy? Sure but it’s a laugh either way and I don’t think we should ever take that for granted.

“ Put the cups down so I can spice it up a little bit “ Billy instructs me and I do as he says. This is probably our 4th refill of coffee for the night, my mom would have a go at me for all the caffeine but whatever.

Billy opens the bottle of booze he just purchased at the airport store and pour us both a decent amount into our coffees. Might as well have our own little Christmas celebration if we’re stuck here with nothing else to do.

Cups clutched in our hands we roam around the airport, cheeks warming up from the alcohol. I feel more at peace now and yet my heart is ever as heavy with the longing to be home. 

A sign directs us towards the visitors terrace where families usually gather to watch the planes take off and land. It’s deserted now but that’s not really a surprise. It’s cold, it’s snowing and there’s no flights going anyway. It’s just a dark, snowy night and a lonely runway illuminated by small lights that, if you believe hard enough, almost look like fairy lights in the distance.

“ I know it looks pretty, “ I say as I lean against the banister of the terrace “ but I really don’t find snow all that great.” 

“ I fucking sucks, “ Billy replies. “ It’s cold and wet and turns into gray slosh in the matter of a few minutes. “ 

“ I always dreamed of a white Christmas, now I can’t wait to never see snow again. “ 

“ Me too. I hate it. Snow. Indiana. At least you get to stay in California once you make it there. I have to wait until graduation to finally move back home. “ 

I don’t want to pry, I really don’t but there’s something about him that intrigues me. Everything he says and does in scrowded in some kind of mystery. Some hidden meaning in all of it. 

The way he looks and the way his words hold a certain softness to them, is a whole enigma in itself.

“ You wanna come back to Cali ? “ 

“ Fuck yes. I can’t stay here longer than I need to. I miss the sun and the beach and — my home. “ 

“ Oh god yes, the beach. “ 

“ See, and you wanted to give up on all of that for a guy called Kelvin. “ 

“ I — he’s nice.” 

“ Oh I’m sure he is. And secure and smart. “ 

“ He is. We’ve been together since my sophomore year in Highschool. He was my first — everything. He studies business and is gonna take over his dad’s company one day. “ 

Billy blows a raspberry before turning to me with his perfect eyebrow raised in mockery. 

“ That is so dull. “

“ It’s not “ 

 “ But it is ! Tell me honestly, do you really love this guy or is it just — comfortable. Being with him ? “ 

And once again, something that I’ve considered so many times in my life, suddenly affects me in a completely different way than I am used to. I understand all of a sudden. 

I get it.

“ I mean, maybe you have a point. What makes you the relationship expert though ? “ 

“ Nothing. I’m not saying I am. But I know I never plan on spending my whole life with someone because I am comfortable with them. It’s your goddamn life, you should live it for yourself. “ 

It hits me light a freight train. Straight in the heart. He’s right. Whether I want to admit it or not, Billy is right. I don’t let him know that though, it’s hard enough admitting it to myself. I think he knows anyway, by the way I look at him. By the way he looks at me. 

“ Have you decided whether or not you wanna get on the flight ? “ I ask. It’s still not my place to ask those questions but it feels like something has shifted between us. Like tonight is ours entirely. A night of truths. Of heart opened and unguarded.

“ The alternative is spending Christmas with my dad and his wife and my stepsister. “ 

“ Sounds alright to me. “ 

“ Yeah, only my dad is the biggest asshole on the planet. He’s not a nice guy. His wife is a fucking nutcase, obeying his every will. She has the backbone of a jellyfish. And Max — Max hates me. That one’s my fault though. “ 

I want to hug him. It’s a strong urge that overcomes me. A sudden rush. His words are soft and sad and frustrated and I can see in his eyes just how much this hurts him. And god, it’s Christmas Eve. I just want to make him feel a little less alone.

So I do. I hug him, rest my head on his shoulder and together we look at the snow falling around us, covering the world in a thick white frosty blanket. 

“ I’m sorry about that. Just so you know though, I’m glad we’re stuck here together. “ 

“ Well yeah, I’m hot and fun and I have great hair. “ 

“ Oh there we go again with the ego. “ I laugh. He makes me me laugh. Like genuinely laugh. I can’t remember the last time I felt like this around Kelvin.

“ What’s that book you’ve been reading. “ Billy asks as the laughter settles down again.

“ Catcher in the Rye. It’s one of my favorites. “ 

“ Uh-huh. What’s it about ?” 

“ This boy, Holden. He gets kicked out of prep school and runs of to New York City and yeah it basically chronicles his days in NYC. It’s about loss of innocence and isolation. “ 

“ Sounds absolutely — “ 

“ Wonderful “ 

“ Boring. “ 

Here’s the thing about interests and hobbies. They’re a very personal, very individual experience. They’re yours. And yes, maybe it’s nice to share your passions with another person who feels the same. But let’s be honest: It doesn’t really matter. I am not hurt by Billy’s disinterest. Not even by his mocking scoff. Because it in no way lessens my love for the book. The story it tells and the nostalgia it brings me.

It also doesn’t lessen the affection growing inside me, towards Billy. An affection that both scares and excites me at the same time. By all means, it is delusional to fall for a stranger at an airport, who doesn’t even live in the same state as me. Someone I’ve only spent a few hours with.

Then again, life is never a straight path. I used to think it was but after tonight, maybe I can let myself take some backroads. Take a road less traveled. See where it leads me and if it brings me to a dead end, turn around and try again.

Maybe sometimes it needs a boy with a leather jacket and gorgeous blue eyes, to make you realize that life can be so much more if you just let yourself live it.

“ Okay sure. What are your interests then ? I’m sure there’s something you like doing, something you care about. “ 

“ My car. “ 

“ That’s such a guy answer. “ 

“ Pff, whatever. “ 

“ What else ? “ 

He takes a moment to answer. Contemplates. Mulls his answer over in his head. There’s a vulnerability in his eyes I haven’t seen since he talked about his mom earlier tonight.

“ Music. “ 

“ Music ?” 

“ I really care about music. Not — not playing it but just music in itself. You can’t tell anyone this, okay ? It’s a bit ridiculous and It’s not really realistic, but I would love to work at a record label. Or maybe have my own music venue. To help discover bands and find new, awesome music. Whenever I’m sad or angry or frustrated, or even happy, there’s a specific songs for any emotion, any situation. I want everyone to be able to have that in their life. “ 

There’s something undeniably sexy about someone being passionate about something. He only just started but I could honestly listen to Billy talk about music for hours and hours and hours.

“ So who’s your favorite band then ? “ 

“ I’ll sound pretentious as fuck but my favorites are probably some local bands from my hometown in California. “ 

“ Maybe when you’re back home after graduation, you can take me to a gig. Show me some of those bands. “

My heart beats faster as I realize this is the first time either of us has mentioned there being a future. More than just one magical night at the airport. 

It slipped out but I’m glad it did. The idea of more nights together, more time spent listening to him talk about his music. Experiencing that music with him. It doesn’t scare me. In fact, it excites me so much.

“ Yeah. Sounds like a plan. “ 

“ A good plan. “

“ A great plan. “ 

I don’t know if he notices that I notice, but his hand drops to the small of my back, so gently it’s but a whisper of a touch. It warms me up more than our boozy coffee ever managed to.

Airports have a weird energy. A specific mood that transcends through every corner in every room. It’s loaded with the arrival of change. It might be good and exciting or it might be sad. But something is about to change and you can feel it sizzling in the air.

As I stand next to Billy in the softly falling snow, I know that the girl that arrived at the airport earlier today, heartbroken and without purpose, is not the same girl that’s gonna get on that flight home. Something has changed. I think I like this new girl better.

“ They’re singing deck the halls … “ 

“ Oh Jesus, what is it with this fucking song ? “ 

“ What, you don’t like it ? “ 

“ Do you ? “ 

“ Totally “ 

I don’t know what hits me. Maybe it’s the fact that the future is so awfully unknown. I don’t know if after tonight I will ever see Billy again. Or maybe because it’s Christmas. 

Or maybe because I’m a little drunk and half in love.

But I start to dance and sing along. With the snow falling down on me. Snowflakes dropping onto my hair and melting, leaving it wet and streaky. But it doesn’t matter right then. All that matter is the music and the night and him and I.

“ Come dance with me. “ 

“ I don’t dance. “ 

“ It’s Christmas Eve, Billy. It’s my Christmas wish. Come on. There’s no one around. “ 

Here’s some piece of advice from me to you: If you’ve never had a guy in a leather jacket and biker boots twirl you around while the snow is falling and Christmas songs play over the stereo, then you’re missing out.

Billy’s hand is warm, his smile is gentle. It’s all so vastly different from the way I felt when touching Kelvin. Everything that comes with Billy is an enigma, a surprise. Nothing is certain and yet I am sure that I’ve never felt more alive than I do right now.

The last chord of the song echoes through the night as Billy pulls me close to him, I can see his breath in the cold, accumulating in little clouds. I can feel his skin in mine. 

“ You’re gonna get on that flight, Billy Hargrove. “ I say, my voice but a sigh. A whisper

“ I’m gonna get on the flight. I’m gonna graduate and then come back to California. Permanently this time. I’ll find you and take you to all the underground clubs and show you all my favorite bands. And I’ll even listen to you talk about your books. “ 

“ Even if you think they’re boring. “ 

“ Uh-huh. “ 

“ Hey Billy. “ 

“ Hmm ? “

“ I think I wanna write a book. I think that’s what I want to do with my life. “ 

He’s so close now, our noses touching, our breaths touching, our lips touching. Warm and soft and gentle.

“ Write about us, so you don’t forget me. “ 

I kiss him then. Or he kisses me. I don’t know for sure but really what does it matter. In the grand scheme of things it’s irrelevant who initiated the kiss. It matters that it happened. And by god I will never be able to forget this kiss or the boy that gave it to me. 

“ Dear passengers, we are delighted to announce that the runway has been cleared. The sky is blue and free of any downfall. Flights will resume shortly. More information about departure times will be available shortly. Feel free to turn to our staff for guidance or additional information. 

“ Billy. Hey, Billy. “ I say, and shake him awake. He looks so peaceful and boyish while sleeping, it breaks my heart a little to interrupt his sleep. 

“ Hmm.. ? “ 

“ I think our flights are gonna go soon. Snow’s stopped. “ 

“ Oh. “

I don’t have to ask to know what he’s feeling. What he wants to say. “ Oh. this is it for us. “ 

We gather our stuff, stretch our limbs and get off the uncomfortable plastic seats. The board on the wall shows us that our flights go in just two hours. His to San Diego, mine to LA. 

Our time is numbered and we finally have an expiration date. My heart breaks once again though this time I try to hold onto the fact that we both want a future of whatever it is we’re sharing. Even if it’s just a friendship, I want Billy Hargrove in my life.

“ Hey uh — “ Billy speaks up and takes my hand in his “ let’s make a deal. “ 

“ What deal ? “ 

“ To see each other again. Maybe — maybe next Christmas Eve. “ 

“ Where ? “ 

“ I don’t know. Let me — let me come to you. “

“ Santa Monica pier. “ 

“ Okay sure. “ 

“ Cool. “ 

“ Cool. “ 

He kisses me again and this one too, will stay with me forever. In my heart and in my head.

“ Here I’ll give you my phone number. Call me if anything changes. If my dad answers just ignore his stupid comments “ He says, fumbles around in his backpack and come up with a pen and — a cassette tape ?!

“ Something to remember me by “ he points out as he scribbles his number onto the little slip of paper. “ Some of my favorite songs on there. “ 

“ If you give me something, let me give you something too. “ I say and pull out my old worn out copy of Catcher in the Rye, scribble a message on the first page, then hand it to him.

“ There’s a bunch of notes in the margins. I never got to share them with anyone, I’ll gladly share them with you. “ 

Then I kiss him. Again and again and again, until it’s all I can think about and all I can feel.

“ Flight 207 to LAX boarding now. “ 

And that is it for us, at least for now. The magic of last night is broken. It’s Christmas Eve gone, replaced by Christmas day. No snowstorm. No magic. Just the brutal truth that real life awaits.

So we part. With more kisses and a promise.

“ Until next Christmas. “ 

The plane is already high up in the air when Billy Hargrove pulls the book from his pocket. It’s old and worn out and what looks like it used to be orange once upon a time is now a washed out beige.

He opens it up to the first page and can’t suppress a smile. A real one. Not one of those he fakes for his dad and susann. A real smile that reaches his eyes. One he feels in his heart.

“ Meet me at the Merry-Go-Round! “ 

His heart soars as he thinks about next year. A future that suddenly looks much brighter than ever before. 

There’s a lot of notes and scribbles and highlighted sentences. He skims through it until one passage catches his attention.

“ Make sure you marry someone who laughs at the same things you do. “ 

And so he thinks back to the overly touchy couple and their magnificent tumble from the plastic seats. And he remembers her laugh and his ringing up in unison.

He understands. That Holden guy has a point. Maybe it’s worth reading the book after all.

A year later.

I’m rushing through the crowd of people, a vibrant clementine sky the backdrop for my misery. God, why can I never be on time.

My heart hammers in my chest. Please don’t leave. Please don’t leave.

His eyes meet mine across the way as he leans against the banister by the Merry-Go-Round and I feel like I am back at the airport. The magic is back.

“ Sorry I am late. I am so so sorry.  “  I say and can’t help myself but pull him into a kiss. One filled with passion and longing and a promise kept.

“ Ah If a girl looks swell when she meets you, who gives a damn if she’s late. “ He replies.

“ You read the book. “ 

“ I read the book and all your notes. “ 

“ That’s good, I uh — have something else for you to read. “ 

It’s a bundle of papers, no cover art or fancy pictures on the front page. All it says in big bold letters is “ A white Christmas - a story of girl meets boy. “ I hand it to Billy and he looks at me in confusion.

“What’s that ? “ 

“ That’s the first draft of my book. “ 

“ You wrote it! “ 

“ You believed I could so I did. “ 

“ What’s it about ? “

“ Oh you know, just a girl and a boy and a magical night at the airport. Lots of snow. Lots of kissing. Little bit of magic. “ 

“ Can’t wait to read it. So, you wanna go see a band ? “ 

“ They any good ? “ 

“ Pretty fucking good!” 

Darlene Love’s voice echoes through the stereo and for the first time I have to disagree. This feels like Christmas more than any moment before ever did.

And my baby is finally home.

 Taglist; [I copied this from @mattysheelies​ and just added a few new ones, if you wanna be added or deleted from the taglist please let me know]

@sebastiansloserclub ; @killer-queen-xo ; @william-hargroves ; @billysgodcomplex ; @daisyxbuckley ; @allabouthargrove ; @mcrmarvelloki ; @charmed-asylum ; @1998--js ; @naiomiwinchester​ ; @hargrovesprincess​ ; @mystrangerfics​ ; @teafrompari​ ; @staybruuutal​ ; @colourado​ ; @higher-further-faster-bb​ ; @ayybtch​ ; @carlaangel86​ ; @baebee35​

#billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove fanfiction #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fanfic #billy hargrove imagines #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things fanfic #stranger things imagines #stranger things imagine #12dayswriting

[kkintle]

Map: Collected and Last Poems by Wisława Szymborska; Quotes

Dreams flickered on white canvas.

The future—who can guess it. The past—who’s got it right.

Trite Rhymes     A great joy: flower upon flower, the branches stretch in pristine blue, but there’s a greater: today’s Tuesday, tomorrow will bring mail from you, and still greater: the letter trembles, strange reading it in spots of sun, and still greater: just a week now, now just four days, now it’s begun, and still greater: I kneel on top and make the suitcase lid shut tight, and still greater: the train at seven, just one ticket, thanks, that’s right, and still greater: rushing windows, with view on view on view on view, and still greater: dark and darker, by nighttime I will be with you, and still greater: the door opens, and still greater: past the door, and still greater: flower on flower. —Ohhh, who are all these roses for?

Do you open each human fate like a book, seeking feelings not in fonts or formats? Are you sure you decipher people completely?

Are people really so simple as far as people go?

Lovers     In this quiet we can still hear what they were singing yesterday about the high road and the low road . . . We hear—but we don’t believe it.   Our smile doesn’t mask our sorrow, and goodness needs no sacrifice. The pity we give to nonlovers is even more than they deserve.   We’re so astonished at ourselves, what’s left to astonish us? Not a rainbow in the night. Not a butterfly in snow.   And when we sleep we dream of parting. But it’s a good dream, it’s a good dream, since we wake up from it.

Nothing can ever happen twice. In consequence, the sorry fact is that we arrive here improvised and leave without the chance to practice.

One day, perhaps, some idle tongue mentions your name by accident: I feel as if a rose were flung into the room, all hue and scent.

Why do we treat the fleeting day with so much needless fear and sorrow? It’s in its nature not to stay: today is always gone tomorrow.   With smiles and kisses, we prefer to seek accord beneath our star, although we’re different (we concur) just as two drops of water are.

If we haven’t had enough of despair, grief, all that stuff, lofty words will kill us off.   Then we’ll stand up, take our bows: hope that you’ve enjoyed our show. Every patron with his spouse will applaud, get up, and go.   They’ll reenter their lives’ cages, where love’s tiger sometimes rages, but the beast’s too tame to bite.

I TEACH silence in all languages

FOR PROMISES made by my spouse, who’s tricked so many with his sweet colors and fragrances and sounds— dogs barking, guitars in the street— into believing that they still might conquer loneliness and fright, I cannot be responsible. Mr. Day’s widow, Mrs. Night.

We know ourselves only as far as we’ve been tested. I tell you this from my unknown heart

An Effort     Alack and woe, oh song: you’re mocking me; try as I may, I’ll never be your red, red rose. A rose is a rose is a rose. And you know it.   I worked to sprout leaves. I tried to take root. I held my breath to speed things up, and waited for the petals to enclose me.   Merciless song, you leave me with my lone, nonconvertible, unmetamorphic body: I’m one-time-only to the marrow of my bones.

Leave me, leave, but not by land. Swim off, swim, but not by sea. Fly off, fly away, my dear, but don’t go near the air.   Let’s see each other through closed eyes. Let’s talk together through closed mouths. Let’s hold each other through a thick wall.

Since eternity was out of stock, ten thousand aging things have been amassed instead.

Everything’s mine but just on loan, nothing for the memory to hold, though mine as long as I look.

One day the answer came before the question. Another night they guessed their eyes’ expression by the type of silence in the dark.   Gender fades, mysteries molder, distinctions meet in all-resemblance just as all colors coincide in white.

Sunny. Green. A forest close at hand, with wood to chew on, drops beneath the bark to drink— a view served round the clock, until you go blind.

Parable     Some fishermen pulled a bottle from the deep. It held a piece of paper, with these words: “Somebody save me! I’m here. The ocean cast me on this desert island. I am standing on the shore waiting for help. Hurry! I’m here!” “There’s no date. I bet it’s already too late anyway. It could have been floating for years,” the first fisherman said. “And he doesn’t say where. It’s not even clear which ocean,” the second fisherman said. “It’s not too late, or too far. The island Here is everywhere,” the third fisherman said. They all felt awkward. No one spoke. That’s how it goes with universal truths

Ballad     Hear the ballad “Murdered Woman Suddenly Gets Up from Chair.”   It’s an honest ballad, penned neither to shock nor to offend.   The thing happened fair and square, with curtains open, lamps all lit:   passersby could stop and stare.   When the door had shut behind him and the killer ran downstairs, she stood up, just like the living startled by the sudden silence.   She gets up, she moves her head, and she looks around with eyes harder than they were before.   No, she doesn’t float through air: she steps on the ordinary, wooden, slightly creaky floor.   In the oven she burns traces that the killer’s left behind: here a picture, there shoelaces, everything that she can find.   It’s obvious that she’s not strangled. It’s obvious that she’s not shot. She’s been killed invisibly.   She may still show signs of life, cry for sundry silly reasons, shriek in horror at the sight of a mouse.                      Ridiculous traits are so predictable that they aren’t hard to fake.   She got up like you and me.   She walks just as people do.   And she sings and combs her hair, which still grows.

I let myself be invented, modeled on my own reflection in his eyes. I dance, dance, dance in the stir of sudden wings.

Exiled by style. Only their ribs stood out. With birdlike feet and palms, they strove to take wing on their jutting shoulder blades.   The thirteenth century would have given them golden halos. The twentieth, silver screens. The seventeenth, alas, holds nothing for the unvoluptuous.   For even the sky bulges here with pudgy angels and a chubby god— thick-whiskered Phoebus, on a sweaty steed, riding straight into the seething bedchamber

He grew rozes with a “z.

(...) the rest of your life? Old age is a precipice, (...)

I am too close for him to dream of me.

Silence—this word also rustles across the page and parts the boughs that have sprouted from the word “woods.”

Funny little thing How could she know that even despair can work for you if you’re lucky enough to outlive it.

The Railroad Station     My nonarrival in the city of N. took place on the dot.   You’d been alerted in my unmailed letter.   You were able not to be there at the agreed-upon time.   The train pulled up at Platform 3. A lot of people got out.   My absence joined the throng as it made its way toward the exit.   Several women rushed to take my place in all that rush.   Somebody ran up to one of them. I didn’t know him, but she recognized him immediately.   While they kissed with not our lips, a suitcase disappeared, not mine.   The railroad station in the city of N. passed its exam in objective existence with flying colors.   The whole remained in place. Particulars scurried along the designated tracks.   Even a rendezvous took place as planned.   Beyond the reach of our presence.   In the paradise lost of probability.   Somewhere else. Somewhere else. How these little words ring. Alive     These days we just hold him

But this is ancient history. I can’t dwell on it forever or keep asking endlessly, what’s next, what’s next.   Day to day I trust in permanence, in history’s prospects. I can’t gnaw apples in a constant state of terror.

Arduous ease, watchful agility, and calculated inspiration.

Old Folks’ Home     Here comes Her Highness—well, you know who I mean, our Helen the snooty—now who made her queen! With her lipstick and wig on, as if we could care, like her three sons in heaven can see her from there!   “I wouldn’t be here if they’d lived through the war. I’d spend winter with one son, summer with another.” What makes her so sure? I’d be dead too now, with her for a mother.   And she keeps on asking (“I don’t mean to pry”) why from your sons and daughters there’s never a word even though they weren’t killed. “If my boys were alive, I’d spend all my holidays home with the third.”   Right, and in his gold carriage he’d come and get her, drawn by a swan or a lily-white dove, to show all of us that he’ll never forget her and how much he owes to her motherly love.   Even Jane herself, the nurse, can’t help but grin when our Helen starts singing this old song again— even though Jane’s job is commiseration Monday through Friday, with two weeks’ vacation.

Sell me your soul. There are no other takers.   There is no other devil anymore.

I’m bound to pass by all these poppies and pansies. What a loss when you think how much effort was spent perfecting this petal, this pistil, this scent for the one-time appearance, which is all they’re allowed, so aloofly precise and so fragilely proud.

The abyss doesn’t divide us. The abyss surrounds us.

In Praise of Dreams     In my dreams I paint like Vermeer van Delft.   I speak fluent Greek and not just with the living.   I drive a car that does what I want it to.   I am gifted and write mighty epics.   I hear voices as clearly as any venerable saint.   My brilliance as a pianist would stun you.   I fly the way we ought to, i.e., on my own.   Falling from the roof, I tumble gently to the grass.   I’ve got no problem breathing under water.   I can’t complain: I’ve been able to locate Atlantis.   It’s gratifying that I can always wake up before dying.   As soon as war breaks out, I roll over on my other side.   I’m a child of my age, but I don’t have to be.   A few years ago I saw two suns.   And the night before last a penguin, clear as day.

True love. Is it normal, is it serious, is it practical? What does the world get from two people who exist in a world of their own?

Let the people who never find true love keep saying that there’s no such thing.   Their faith will make it easier for them to live and die.

And it so happened that I’m here with you. And I really see nothing usual in that. 

Under One Small Star     My apologies to chance for calling it necessity. My apologies to necessity if I’m mistaken, after all. Please, don’t be angry, happiness, that I take you as my due. May my dead be patient with the way my memories fade. My apologies to time for all the world I overlook each second. My apologies to past loves for thinking that the latest is the first. Forgive me, distant wars, for bringing flowers home. Forgive me, open wounds, for pricking my finger. I apologize for my record of minuets to those who cry from the depths. I apologize to those who wait in railway stations for being asleep today at five A.M. Pardon me, hounded hope, for laughing from time to time. Pardon me, deserts, that I don’t rush to you bearing a spoonful of water. And you, falcon, unchanging year after year, always in the same cage, your gaze always fixed on the same point in space, forgive me, even if it turns out you were stuffed. My apologies to the felled tree for the table’s four legs. My apologies to great questions for small answers. Truth, please don’t pay me much attention. Dignity, please be magnanimous. Bear with me, O mystery of existence, as I pluck the occasional thread from your train.   Soul, don’t take offense that I’ve only got you now and then. My apologies to everything that I can’t be everywhere at once. My apologies to everyone that I can’t be each woman and each man. I know I won’t be justified as long as I live, since I myself stand in my own way. Don’t bear me ill will, speech, that I borrow weighty words, then labor heavily so that they may seem light.

Non omnis moriar—a premature worry.

Thank-You Note     I owe so much to those I don’t love.   The relief as I agree that someone else needs them more.   The happiness that I’m not the wolf to their sheep.   The peace I feel with them, the freedom— love can neither give nor take that.   I don’t wait for them, as in window-to-door-and-back. Almost as patient as a sundial, I understand what love can’t, and forgive as love never would.   From a rendezvous to a letter is just a few days or weeks, not an eternity.   Trips with them always go smoothly, concerts are heard, cathedrals visited, scenery is seen.   And when seven hills and rivers come between us, the hills and rivers can be found on any map.   They deserve the credit if I live in three dimensions, in nonlyrical and nonrhetorical space with a genuine, shifting horizon.   They themselves don’t realize how much they hold in their empty hands.   “I don’t owe them a thing” would be love’s answer to this open question.

Dentistry turned to diplomatic skill promises us a Golden Age tomorrow. The going’s rough, and so we need the laugh of bright incisors, molars of goodwill. Our times are still not safe and sane enough for faces to show ordinary sorrow.

Our solitary existence exacerbates our sense of obligation, and raises the inevitable question, How are we to live et cetera? since “we can’t avoid the void.

No way out? But what about the door? No prospects? The window had other views.

You think at least the note must tell us something. But what if I say there was no note— and he had so many friends, but all of us fit neatly inside the empty envelope propped up against a cup.

(...) to linger longer, not to go home again. Since only prisoners want to go home.

In Praise of Feeling Bad about Yourself     The buzzard never says it is to blame. The panther wouldn’t know what scruples mean. When the piranha strikes, it feels no shame. If snakes had hands, they’d claim their hands were clean.   A jackal doesn’t understand remorse. Lions and lice don’t waver in their course. Why should they, when they know they’re right?   Though hearts of killer whales may weigh a ton, in every other way they’re light.   On this third planet of the sun among the signs of bestiality a clear conscience is number one.

I know nothing of the role I play. I only know it’s mine, I can’t exchange it.   I have to guess on the spot just what this play’s all about

The star is large and distant, so distant that it’s small, even smaller than others much smaller than it.

Small wonder, then, if we were struck with wonder; as we would be if only we had the time.

God was finally going to believe in a man both good and strong, but good and strong are still two different men.

“How should we live?” someone asked me in a letter. I had meant to ask him the same question.   Again, and as ever, as may be seen above, the most pressing questions are naïve ones.

Whatever you say reverberates, whatever you don’t say speaks for itself. So either way you’re talking politics.

Who knows you matters more than whom you know. Trips only if taken abroad. Memberships in what but without why. Honors, but not how they were earned. (...) Price, not worth, and title, not what’s inside. His shoe size, not where he’s off to, that one you pass off as yourself.

Nothing’s sacred for those who think. Calling things brazenly by name, risqué analyses, salacious syntheses, frenzied, rakish chases after the bare facts, the filthy fingering of touchy subjects, discussion in heat—it’s music to their ears.

During these trysts of theirs, the only thing that’s steamy is the tea.

May delivery be easy, may our child grow and be well. Let him be happy from time to time and leap over abysses. Let his heart have strength to endure and his mind be awake and reach far.   But not so far that it sees into the future. Spare him that one gift, O heavenly powers.

For the sake of the children that we still are, fairy tales have happy endings. That’s the only finale that will do here, too. The rain will stop, the waves will subside, the clouds will part in the cleared-up sky, and they’ll be once more what clouds overhead ought to be: lofty and rather lighthearted in their likeness to things drying in the sun— isles of bliss, lambs, cauliflowers, diapers.

I prefer, where love’s concerned, nonspecific anniversaries that can be celebrated every day.

A miracle, just take a look around: the inescapable earth.   An extra miracle, extra and ordinary: the unthinkable can be thought.

When I see such things, I’m no longer sure that what’s important is more important than what’s not.

Hatred is a master of contrast— between explosions and dead quiet, red blood and white snow.

Perhaps all fields are battlefields, those we remember and those that are forgotten: (...)

Without us dreams couldn’t exist. The one on whom the real world depends is still unknown, and the products of his insomnia are available to anyone who wakes up.

Every beginning is only a sequel, after all, and the book of events is always open halfway through.

We agreed to death, but not to every kind. Love attracted us, of course, but only love that keeps its word.

We were besieged by doubts. Does knowing everything beforehand really mean knowing everything.   Is a decision made in advance really any kind of choice.

We’re extremely fortunate not to know precisely the kind of world we live in.

I am who I am. A coincidence no less unthinkable than any other.

They aren’t obliged to vanish when we’re gone. They don’t have to be seen while sailing on.

The Three Oddest Words     When I pronounce the word Future, the first syllable already belongs to the past.   When I pronounce the word Silence, I destroy it.   When I pronounce the word Nothing, I make something no nonbeing can hold.

But how to answer unasked questions, while being furthermore a being so totally a nobody to you.

Talking with you is essential and impossible. Urgent in this hurried life and postponed to never.

Understanding came only later: not all misadventures fit within the world’s laws and even if they wanted to, they couldn’t happen.

And what can you say about one day of life, a minute, a second: darkness, a lightbulb’s flash, then dark again?   KOSMOS MAKROS CHRONOS PARADOKSOS Only stony Greek has words for that.

There must be an exit somewhere, that’s more than certain. But you don’t look for it, it looks for you, it’s been stalking you from the start, and this labyrinth is none other than than your, for the duration, your, until not your, flight, flight— (...)

Life on Earth is quite a bargain. Dreams, for one, don’t charge admission. Illusions are costly only when lost. The body has its own installment plan.   And as an extra, added feature, you spin on the planets’ carousel for free, and with it you hitch a ride on the intergalactic blizzard, with times so dizzying that nothing here on Earth can even tremble.

At times I get fed up with her. I suggest a separation. From now to eternity. Then she smiles at me with pity, since she knows it would be the end of me too. 

Assassins     They think for days on end, how to kill so as to kill, and how many killed will be many. Apart from this they eat their meals with gusto, pray, wash their feet, feed the birds, make phone calls while scratching their armpits, stanch blood when they cut a finger, if they’re women they buy sanitary napkins, eye shadow, flowers for vases, they make jokes on their good days, drink citrus juice from the fridge, watch the moon and stars at night, place headphones with soft music on their ears and sleep sweetly till the crack of dawn —unless what they’re thinking needs doing at night.

It’s good you came. Sit here beside me. He really was supposed to get back Thursday. But we’ve got so many Thursdays left this year.

Page after page at a snail’s pace. But we’re still going in fifth gear and, knock on wood, never better.

We eat another life so as to live. A corpse of pork with departed cabbage. Every menu is an obituary.   Even the kindest of souls must consume, digest something killed so that their warm hearts won’t stop beating.

In the end I stopped knowing what I’d been looking for so long.   I woke up. Looked at my watch. The dream took not quite two and a half minutes.   Such are the tricks to which time resorts ever since it started stumbling on sleeping heads.

#poems #poetry #Wislawa Szymborska #literature #quotes

[kyndaris]

Phoning It In

As an introvert, the current COVID-19 situation has not ruffled much of my feathers. There has been no gradual descent into insanity. Nor have I clawed at the windows or doors, hoping to leave the confines of my house. In fact, I’ve continued to plug away at all my favourite hobbies: writing, watching Netflix/ YouTube, reading incredibly thick novels and playing video games. Who needs social interaction when I am validated by the silence of the internet? 

So, it came as a mystery when I reached out to my friends on Facebook Messenger, checking in on them after months of inactivity. Perhaps I was curious how they were holding out in the current climate. Or maybe I was lonely and wanted some actual human contact. True, we wouldn’t be able to physically touch even if we caught up, but at least I wouldn’t be constantly living in my quarantine bubble.

To cut a long story short, after initiating the conversation, my friends thought it was best to see each other in the meat space. I immediately groaned. While it would have been nice to actually see more than just my colleagues at work, I would have to drive to someone else’s house? What about my gaming? Or the long journey back? 

Reluctantly, I agreed. And so I waited for the weekend with dread. Yet, before D-Day, one of the other friends said that they were too tired to physically visit. They worked on the front lines as an essential worker. It made sense that they would be drained from work - particularly as they would be finishing up at 2pm. A part of me rejoiced. If this fell through, I would be able to stay in the four walls of my house. And be able to play my video games.

Alas, we were able to figure out an alternate solution to an actual meat space meeting. With the advent of technology and numerous software applications, we were able to hold a video call. No Zoom or Skype for us, though. We held our meeting on Discord. After much hewing and hawing as we waited for the fourth member (it turned out she decided to nap after returning home from work and did not check her phone until much later),  we began in earnest around 3.30pm.

Though we had initially wanted to watch a movie together, it devolved instead into trying to sing karaoke with a time lag and playing games such as Jackbox. It also afforded us the opportunity to see each other and catch up on what was going with each of our lives. This was different, of course, than visiting each other’s islands on Animal Crossing. There would be no colourful representations in our villagers. What we had was the unvarnished truth.

I also discovered why some people in South Korea actually preferred to livestream eating. There was a nice sense of companionship watching my friend eat as I ate. Sharing dinner, despite the distance between us, actually helped me feel less alone in the world.

And so, I actually enjoyed myself. Even though my gaming time was cut short. It was nice to see my friends after three months of keeping away. Once we had enjoyed ourselves for most of the afternoon and long into night, we made a promise to see each other again on a more regular basis through video conferences. Whether or not we keep to that promise is an entirely different matter entirely. Still, I can’t wait for the next event.

I will, however, need to invest in a proper gaming chair and streaming camera if I ever wanted to create a Twitch channel. 

#personal blog

[spirit-of-the-void]

Echo Chamber (Vergil x Reader) Chapter Two

Author’s notes: Sorry this came out so late--my laptop is having issues. But alas! We’re finally moving on to actually meeting Vergil, in which our reader feels a bit of gremlin activate.

Chapter Two

Why am I doing this? Why am I still going here?

The drive to Capulet was an hour long, not nearly enough time for you to get through all the thoughts and doubts banging around your poor cranium. Driving used to be cathartic, damn it. Something done to relax, to free oneself from troubles and worries in the pounding bass of the car’s stereo and through the wind flowing from open windows. Sadly, doing the former stopped being an option after the incident with your leg. Music didn’t provide relief anymore, only serving to make you feel lonely and nostalgic in ways that brought all the memories back. Which sucked, because listening to music used to be the best coping mechanism, one that made you so happy and free. It was why the band had been formed in the first place, why learning to play a guitar freed you from so much stress.

But silence had its own downsides. It left your apprehension free to dig in roots, watered by empty space between the sounds of the engine running and  wind gusting through open windows. Thoughts of where you were going, and with what purpose in mind left you growing steadily more anxious as the drive lasted on. That hour felt both like an eternity and far less time than needed, which left you feeling even more dazed about the whole situation. Was this really the best idea, coming to this place to meet absolute strangers in some jaded attempt to suffocate your own trauma? To bring inspiration and motivation back? It seemed so logical when Kraven said it, but now you were having doubts considering just how far-fetched it sounded. Maybe turning around was the proper thing to do, maybe continuing therapy would help in its own time. 

Problem was you didn’t want to disappoint your band members anymore.

They were being so patient, so caring. How many different scenarios had you turned down in this similar way? Getting to the midpoint of the process before turning tail and running back to the safety of your home. Too uncertain, too afraid. You were sick of crawling back into bed, heart aching and prosthetic feeling like a heavier and heavier weight when it was removed every night. If this followed through, if you managed to make it to this place and talk to the devil hunters working there...well, even when nothing came about it then at least you could say an attempt was made. It felt less like going to accept a job offer and more like scouting out some strange, mysterious unknown that promised to be the key to all the solutions. Strange, especially since it definitely wasn’t.

Anyway.

Before long you were turning off the interstate onto side streets, buildings rising up on either side. This part of town was far more Gothic in design, less of the modern housing from your neck of the woods. Many abandoned shop fronts passed by your car, houses that definitely didn’t look lived in for quite a few years. Yikes, this was a bit shifty. Capulet wasn’t very well known all things considered, one of the numerous towns either ravaged by poverty or demons themselves several years ago. Upside was that the rent on a lot of these buildings was dirt cheap, downside was that practically no one wanted to move into places of this caliber. Minus Devil May Cry itself, obviously.

You knew right away when the building approached, the bright red neon sign a far cry from everything else around it. There was plenty of parking space considering how very little people lived in the area, your car coming to a slow halt right in front of the store and settling while you tried to calm down. Engine off, deep breaths taken--you could do this, right? This was definitely the place, as off-putting and strange it appeared to be. Honestly, what was to be expected from the devil hunting headquarters? A church? Normal house? An office building? There was no handbook for this sort of thing, and you made the mistake of setting up expectations in the first place. 

Regardless, you tried to swallow down the hesitation and worry in a desperate attempt to build yourself up. Kraven had expectations for you, they all did. And each moment you waited was another moment everyone’s carriers were forced to stay on hold. Interests would wane, fan support would eventually fade with time if you weren’t careful. And with the popularity of Eidolon’s Fall being on the rise at the time...this setback needed to be taken care of, and fast. Your hesitations be damned, this wasn’t happening anymore.

You just wished your dumb head would listen.

Self-deprecation isn’t helping, The reminder felt firm despite the glum thoughts, your hand reaching for the door handle and popping it open with a firm click, Time to wake up and face the music, kitten. This is meant to help me, remember?

You kept trying to tell yourself that as you left the solace of your vehicle, one hand gripped tightly on the cell phone and the other a fist at your side. Baby steps--only way to go is forward, right? Would be easier if that particular limb wasn’t so god damn heavy. You winced as your weight settled on it, looking down briefly after shutting the door to make sure it wasn’t obvious that it was a prosthetic. Between the boots, leggings, and the length of your jacket...your legs looked downright normal. My legs ARE normal, you corrected yourself, frowning at the train of thought and feeling a bit disappointed at its course, losing a leg doesn’t make me strange in the slightest, it doesn’t make me different. 

That was the truth, you knew it well.

The doubt managed to be swallowed down a little bit, your heart thudding quietly against your ribs as you locked the doors on your vehicle. Shifty neighborhood, fairly okay car--no chances taken. No offense to Devil May Cry of course, you just didn’t really want to risk losing anything inside, like the various CDs or essentials that were kept in the back seat in case of emergencies.

Regardless, you managed to pry yourself away from the symbol of familiarity, feet dragging as you approached the double doors of the building itself. The sun was still out, half obscured by clouds that seemed to hint at a storm coming later, which wasn’t a surprise--your phone had long alerted you to the potential weather threat, so this definitely wasn’t a bad omen. Screw that, you didn’t fall into such silly superstitions, especially not when some of your best days happened during storms. Weather brought forth so much inspiration, after all.

At least...it used to. 

You sighed, stepping up to the doors and pausing as you debated whether to knock or not. Was this the kind of establishment that one could just stroll into? What if you did and caught someone in a situation that wasn’t yours to see? Christ, your head just would not settle down at all, playing through every bad scenario and making you want to turn and walk back to the car. You were never like this before, never full of so much hesitation and worry. Just knock and get it over with, the worst you’ll get it embarrassment. You can live with that, right? Seemed easy enough, and once upon a time it would have been.

There was faint music playing within, someone was definitely home. You swallowed, raising the hand that wasn’t holding your phone and rapping it firmly on one of the double doors. 

There was an audible sound of someone moving inside, the music quieting down a bit. A brief pause filled the air, making you a tad bit more nervous before a voice called from within.

“Come on in…!”

Well, there was some relief. You let out a large gust of air, steeling your nerves a bit more before gripping the door handles and pulling them open. Forward and steady, you reminded yourself, staring around warily as you entered the new area with a hint of curiosity mingling in the mix. This place was definitely not what you expected, not by a longshot. Nor was the person waiting inside, sitting at a messy desk with his feet kicked up in a tell-tale posture of laziness. It certainly didn’t look like the business of a demon hunter, nor did he seem like one himself--the whole space was on the messier side, pizza boxes stacked on the floor near the desk and items scattered here and there. Any semblance of order seemed incredibly lacking, a thin layer of dust visible on the floor as you let the doors close at your back. 

You blinked owlishly, meeting the gaze of the apparent demon hunter as he stared with a hint of surprise. It was pretty clear you weren’t what he was expecting, but then again your own expectations weren’t met either. A far cry from priests or what your mind had conjured, this man looked a bit rugged, wearing a black shirt covered by a red leather jacket with black jeans. Unshaven, hair a bit tousled but face handsome nonetheless.

Hell, the vibe he carried reminded you of some of the older musicians you had met while touring--like a rugged metal guitarist, one with a lazy smirk on his lips and an air of non-commitment as he sat up to eye you curiously in the doorway. You straightened up, shoulders firmly squared and heart hammering lightly at the fear of the unknown as you struggled to find anything to say in greeting.

Luckily, he picked up the slack. Head tilted to the side a bit, mouth quirking up in a grin as he said in a friendly tone, “Hey there--how can I help you, sweetheart?”

His casual use of things like sweetheart made you a bit wary, but he didn’t seem to mean it in a condescending or creepy way. There was a comforting note in his expression, like he could sense how nervous you were to be there in the first place. Which wasn’t shocking, you were frozen like a deer in the headlights.

“U..um…” You cleared your throat, taking a few measured steps forward and trying to find your sense of manners again. This was a business, and you were setting up to be a bad first impression, “I saw an ad in the paper for secretary work, so...I came to ask about it, if that’s okay?” 

Could have called first, but you were afraid doing so would throw off the burst of confidence it took to get here.

Regardless, the stranger didn’t seem bothered. Merely surprised, mouth popping open and brows threatening to touch his hairline as he took in your words. It confirmed your suspicions a bit--that was the face of a man who didn’t really expect anyone to answer the request of said ad, and it showed plain and clear. Something about that was kind of funny, and a bit concerning all things considered--why put it in the paper if they weren’t expecting someone to apply for the position? Then again...working for a demon hunting company did seem a bit far fetched, not to mention the risks that would come with it.

“Really?” He asked incredulously, scratching the back of his white-haired head as the chain underneath him squeaked a bit, “Well...huh. Damn. Uh--” The man stood up, grunting when the motion made a few of his joints pop in protest. It didn’t take much to guess that he must have been sitting there for a while. You watched warily as he started rummaging around the desk, looking for items unknown while continuing on, “Didn’t really think anyone would show up to be completely honest. You got any prior secretary experience?”

Cutting right to the chase? Was this an interview? You shifted in place a bit, fingers tapping rhythmically on the back of your phone as you hedged, “Uh...Technically? Not in an official capacity, but I learned how to organize files when taking care of my Grandmother’s legal affairs after her passing.” 

And when the band was still starting out, you handled all the legal funds with Kraven’s help until Mathius was hired on. But this stranger didn’t need to know that yet.

He released a little “huh” at your response, shrugging his shoulders as he pulled out a file from a drawer. There was a thoughtful expression on his face for a brief moment, like the white-haired man was deep in thought before a grin spread across his lips.

“Good enough for me--you’re hired.”

...What?

Shock could not have been any more obvious in your expression, mouth popping open and eyes staring at him in absolute disbelief. Did he just hire you on the spot, with barely any information given and no paperwork? Your idiot brain left behind anything a normal job might need to even fill out an application, maybe on purpose if you were being completely honest. Hell, he didn’t even ask you name and was already declaring that the job was yours to have. Were you hallucinating, or had that really happened?

Your mind completely scrambled, leaving you floundering for a decent response but not managing a single one at all. Honestly, there was nothing to base this scenario on, no other job you had over the years being gained in such an easy, bizarre way. You had been prepared to come here, maybe chat a bit, be turned away after having no references and no papers, but...no such luck.

This was so fucking weird. The man didn’t seemed phased by your shock and lack of response, turning away and starting to pull out files from random locations to set them on his desk. The lack of organization was almost disgusting, papers strewn about and things littering the table top in a messy manner. You needed to get yourself together, he clearly had a game plan already in mind while you were lacking in several bits of information. There were so many questions, so many things you needed to say after him just hiring you on like that, but your tongue felt glued to the roof of your mouth.

“U..um…!” You stammered, hurrying up to the desk and clearing your throat meaningfully, “E...excuse me, but are you sure…? You never even asked my name--Hell, I didn’t bring any paperwork with me, no references…!”

Your inquiries didn’t phase him, summoning forth another shrug of his broad shoulders as his calm eyes turned to meet yours.

“What’s your name, kid?” He sounded amused, like he was asking the question just to appease you in some strange way. There was a hint of mischief in his eyes, one that you weren’t sure made you uneasy or not yet.

Regardless, you bit down the exasperation, tone a bit confused as you replied dutifully, “M...my name is Y/N.”

“Good,” He smirked, extending a hand over his desk to shake yours in greeting, “You can call me Dante, I started this humble little establishment myself so I guess that makes me your boss. As long as you don’t mind being paid under the table, paperwork shouldn’t be an issue.”

Wow, this was all very shocking. You shook his hand in a daze, his grasp warm and firm before he turned away again. Dante, the founder of Devil May Cry--he was definitely bizarre. Paying you under the table was just an added oddity, especially with how cut and dry the whole scenario had been. Most companies wanted a paper trail, wanted to do background checks to make sure that they weren’t hiring a criminal or something like that. Such things clearly didn’t extend to Dante, the white-haired male going about his task like it was no big deal. Kraven was absolutely going to lose his mind when you told him about this, that was for sure.

“Th...that’s no issue,” You replied meekly, holding your phone to your chest and trailing behind him a bit as he moved about the room, “Um...Are you sure this is okay? To just hire me on the spot like this? It’s just a bit shocking, is all, you barely asked me questions and I...um…”

Why were you contesting this so heavily? This was a job you acquired with little to no effort. Most people would kill for such an easy opportunity. 

But you had a job--the issue now was breaking past the trauma that kept you from it.

Dante let out a little hum at your question, turning that charming smile on you again as he chuckled, “Trust me kid, in this kind of business you learn not to ask questions,” The man sized you up for a moment, leaning lazily against the front of his desk and stroking the stubble on his chin, “Like why a lovely lady such as yourself would want to work as the secretary for a demon hunting company in the first place, right? Just as long as the work gets done I don’t really mind, my brother is the one who insisted we hire someone to get things more organized in the first place.”

Brother? There was another person like him here? 

You paused at his words, feeling a bit fidgety again as his gaze held yours for a moment. What he said confirmed what the article had claimed, what everything had mentioned about Devil May Cry in general--this was in fact a demon hunting business, which was absolutely bizarre in its own right. Not to mention his inquiry about you, and what made you want to take the job in the first place. It hadn’t been apparent before that such a thing would be strange or suspicious, but in retrospect...yeah. Yeah it was. There were plenty other places that were far more normal and less dangerous looking for work, yet here you were with your own agenda in mind. It almost made you feel guilty, like all of this was under false pretenses.

But you had come this far, and you couldn’t very well turn back. Nor could you tell him the truth of the matter, the truth lodging in your throat like barbs and refusing to move.

Instead you let out a light sigh, rubbing your arm idly as you mumbled in reply, “I see...Well, I do have my reasons but...they’re a bit personal. I swear I’m here to work hard, I just...” You hesitated, eyes raising to meet his again as you continued softly, “Do you... really hunt demons…?”

Your question seemed a bit perplexing to him, if not amusing. One of those white eyebrows raised again, arms crossed over his broad chest in a display of bulging muscles. You know, for someone who seemed to consist only on a diet of pizza--based on the numerous boxes on the floor--he was surprisingly fit. It did  make sense that he would be physically proactive if it meant fighting creatures of the night and otherwise. And judging by his age, Dante must have been at this gig for a long time. Underneath all that lazy energy was a sense of tiredness, one that touched his eyes and the wrinkles around them. What kind of hardships came with a job like this? How long had he spent fighting demon kind?

Dante let out a low hum at your question, reaching into the drawer of his desk to pull out twin pistols for your view. Honestly, you had never touched a gun in your life, the closest encounter to one being the weapons cops and military used during the concert attack. Seeing some now felt strange, especially with how fancy these particular pistols were. Black and white, fairly big in size and custom made if your eyes were certain. It was almost...beautiful, even to someone who wasn’t particularly impressed with firearms and knew practically nothing about them. There were images engraved on the handles, showing the cameos of beautiful women.

“Demons in the flesh,” He confirmed, palming the white pistol a bit and holding it out for your inspection. Hesitation filled your expression, one hand reaching out to gingerly clasp the weapon and feel its weight. The words for Tony Redgrave were engraved on the side, the gun looking a bit old fashioned all things considered, “She’s put lead in the skulls of more monsters than I can count, for many many years.”

You released an inquisitive huff of air, hurrying to hand the weapon back for fear of touching anything that should set it off. Your knee-jerk reaction made Dante chuckle, sticking the guns into holsters behind his coat and settling back once more.

“Not much of a fighter, are ya?” He observed, pushing off from the desk and heading back around to another pile of files.

Something about that way he said that made you bristle a little internally, head raised high as you replied, “Depends on what the fight is. I may not know how to shoot a gun, but I’m not the lie down and take it type either.” You had been through hell and back, fighting tooth and nail to get your life back to normal. That had to count for something.

I’m not down for the count yet.

Dante nodded once at that, seeming impressed by your firm tone and determination, “Ain’t that the truth--regardless, maybe I’ll teach you how to fire a gun sometime.” He set down another stack, finally satisfied by his own efforts before walking by and patting you on the shoulder, “Hope you’re ready to get started ‘cause I’ve got a few errands to run.”

Oh no, the shock was back again. You stared at him incredulously, mind blanking out as he started to head for the door. Was he being serious? The devil hunter expected you to start now, and worse he was just going to leave you here alone after knowing you for less than ten minutes? It sent your head spinning, mouth open and various sounds of disbelief pouring out as you managed to grab him by the sleeve of his jacket to halt the departure. You hadn’t even been planning on getting the job, and now it was apparently your first day? What order did he want the files in? And where did he want you to put them? So many questions, too many questions.

“Wait!” You protested, meeting his calm gaze as it turned to meet yours, “You’re starting me out already? And just leaving me in your place alone?” Are you insane? Was implied at the end of that sentence, but not spoken aloud.

It didn’t need to be--judging by the smirk the white-haired man wore, he knew damn well what you meant.

“Unless you have prior engagements, yeah,” Dante quirked his brow, side-eyeing you as your expression blanked. There was literally nothing else on your schedule, and he somehow picked up on that right away, “I don’t mind you getting a feel for the place by yourself--the doors will be locked while I’m out so it’ll just be you, kiddo.”

Are you kidding me?

You decided that the nickname “kiddo” was even worse than sweetheart, and far more annoying. But there was no time to complain about it, especially when Dante seemed hellbent on leaving. I was maddening, head refusing to conjure up any viable excuses to counter his words, not in its frazzled state. And to be quite honest anything that could be thought of would be an outright lie, you had zero prior plans and had spent a good majority of your time in the house moping. Well, outside of Kraven, Boris, and Celine forcing you places for events, or hanging out at Kraven’s house for funsies. To be completely honest, this was the longest time you spent not in the house in a very...very long time.

So you blanked again, fingers slipping from Dante’s jacket as you managed meekly, “Is there...any order you want the files put in…?”

Christ, I’m becoming a pushover.

And Dante knew it. A grin tilted his lips, eyes alight with mirth as he said in a lazy reply, “Eh...by date I guess? Whichever way you want to is fine by me.”

With that, he started forward again, hands pushing open the double doors as he left you standing in the foyer in a state of confusion. The white haired man turned partially, giving you a two finger salute before slipping his way outside.

“Good luck, kid. I’ll be back soon--hold down the fort for me, will ya?”

With that, the double doors closed behind him with a solid thud, accompanied by a loud click as he locked them. Suddenly alone, terribly so in an unfamiliar place, unfamiliar neighborhood, unfamiliar territory. You were still rooted to the spot, heart pounding in your chest as the silence stretched on for a solid minute after his quick departure. Flabbergasted didn’t quite cover it, disbelieving didn’t either. Meeting Dante was like meeting a very lazy hurricane, one that seemed calm and chill at first glance before sending one rolling and tumbling in its raging winds. You were still dazed from the encounter, the whiplash of it making you plop down on the floor in that spot and hold your head forlornly. Christ, Christ--what had you gotten yourself into? This place was bigger than expected, and now eerily quiet to boot with you sitting there alone.

At least...you hoped that was the case. No one else lived here, did they? He did mention a brother, but gave no indication on whether or not said brother was home other than saying that it was “Just you”. God damn, if he was anything like Dante you were in for a bad time, the man was a bit much to handle at moments. You released a hefty groan, hands running up your cheeks and carding through your silken locks as you tried to gather the thoughts back together. Well, this mess was yours to handle--a change had come, and all you could do was roll with it. Everything else in your life had been that way, so why not this too? All the strange circumstances aside, the files lined the desk and floor in unceremonious heaps, no order involved.  Best thing you could do was get started.

“I’m an idiot,” Your voice sounded so loud in the quiet space, despite how loud the statement was murmured. You stood up, groaning at the renewed weight on your prosthetic as it carried you to the desk where most of the mess lie in weight, “Kraven is not gonna believe this.”

You checked the time on your phone, debating calling the supportive male to tell him about the entire encounter but thinking otherwise when the time came into view. He and Boris would be going to the Zoo about now, so maybe a text would suffice. You sat down in Dante’s chair, wincing when it squeaked loudly in protest. Old, rickety, definitely in need of a replacement--It was paid no mind, your thoughts focusing on the gentle tap of fingers as you typed out a very carefully worded message to Kraven, because any wrong things said might spurn the vocalist to call you despite his date. And that was definitely not what you wanted.

“Made it there okay, big boy. I uh...I already got the job, apparently. It’s a bit wild--I’ll tell you about it later. Smooches.” 

You felt satisfied enough with what was typed out, setting the device down on your desk and eyeing the stacks of paper awaiting you. There was certainly a lot to do, and by the looks of it there was no good place to start it. Dante did not seem the type to have a system of any kind, so there was bound to be inconsistencies. Which was only proven correct when you lifted a file, reading the writing scribbled on the front before appearing at another. One was dated--the other was not. Another had locations, others didn’t. A growing sense of exasperation started to temper your already confused thoughts, adding in a layer of anxiety as the files started to be spread out one after the other. Honestly you knew Dante for less than an hour and you already wanted to shake him a bit.

Son of a bitch. 

“I am filled with regrets, captain.” You muttered to no one in particular, shrugging off your jacket before sliding down onto the floor to lay out files. Your eyes scanned the surrounding space, annoyance spiking at the mess that littered the wooden floor. Okay, first things first--the pizza boxes and dust had to go. The files were a seemingly impossible task at the moment, so despite not being a cleaning lady you didn’t mind straightening up the space a bit to ease the stress of what was going on.

You stood back up, looking around and wondering just where the hell Dante would keep a broom, if he even owned one. Not likely. 

This man is a goblin.

Your search took you through the lower floor, an impromptu tour that you didn’t necessarily expect to have. The main area lead back into what appeared to be a small living room and hallway, a leather couch resting against a far wall across from a television. You noticed right away how basic everything seemed, lacking in any personal or family photos. A shelf held some strange knickknacks, but they were foreign to you entirely. Even the hallway walls didn’t wear anything minus a couple posters--one of a scantily clad woman, and an old rock band. You recognized them--they were before your time, but their music was fairly nice. They were paid barely any mind on your way to the kitchen, a sigh of relief leaving your lips at the sight of a broom cupboard on the far wall. 

This room was also a bit of a mess, but you weren’t touching that quite yet. Dante’s diet of pizza was growing more and more likely, much to your consistent dismay and heavy disgust. You tried to ignore it, making your way to the cupboard and praying to every known god and goddess that the absolute disaster of a man owned cleaning supplies of any kind--which, luckily, he did. Inside the little, dusty room was a small vacuum and broom, shelves lined with full bottles of cleansers that didn’t look touched at all. It made sense--someone must have bought these with cleaning in mind but fell short of the actual task, whether that was Dante or not you weren’t sure. Regardless, what was needed got taken and the rest was left in case of future uses.

“Captains log, day thirty seven,” You said to yourself, setting about the task with vigor and starting to collect any garbage found into a trash bag, “My hubris has finally led to my downfall, and now I’m a cleaning lady.”

I’m also a bit crazier than I thought.

There was, obviously, no one to answer. But it made you feel better, damn it.

Time started passing quickly as you cleaned, straightening anything your hands could find and dusting every available surface. The repetitive tasks left time for wandering thoughts, but held enough attention to make sure things didn’t go off the rails too badly. Most of them collected around your new boss, wondering what kind of person he was and how many years were spent demon hunting. The occasional weapon hung on the walls on plaques, either things Dante once used himself or items acquired from various jobs. Between that and the neon signs, the room started to actually have a nice vibe when it grew cleaner and cleaner. The atmosphere reminded you of a bar, or various band hangouts that had been bounced between over the years of playing and touring.

There was something very cathartic about cleaning a very messy space, a deep sense of satisfaction filling you after the last swish of a mop traveled over hardwood. You pulled your hair into a ponytail at some point,  making your way across the room bit by bit.The files were safely stacked on top of the two filing cabinets and the now-clean desk, waiting as the next hurdle for you to get over. It would have to stew for a bit, at least until the floors dried and the garbage bags were dragged away. You set about that next, peering around for any place to leave the bags that wouldn’t inconvenience anyone--the kitchen was the only safe place, bags placed in the broom cupboard and a reminder set on your phone to tell Dante about it. The following half hour was spent tidying up the kitchen and small living room, another two bags added to the mix and rooms much cleaner than they were before.

I can’t believe I came here, applied for a secretary job, and ended up cleaning their business. Not that you minded--this was your choice, after all. Plus there was nothing really terrible about cleaning, it was just...relaxing. The exercise felt good on your legs, the prosthetic feeling a bit too warm at times but there would be time to air it out later. The sensation was nice, akin to ripping off your bra after wearing it all day in the heat. It was the one thing you promised yourself upon starting back toward the first area you cleaned, intending to check on the wet floors and see how they fared.

But before you could return to the clean room, a clicking sound rang out through the hallway, alerting you to someone opening the main doors to Devil May Cry. You paused in the living room, worrying for a moment that Dante may have returned to see you made zero progress on the files, but impulse cleaned his house. It hardly mattered, but it was still a worry, one that grew as you hurried into the main room to see who had entered through the double doors. But much to your sudden anxiety, a low voice was muttering before you reached the doorway, one that definitely wasn’t the devil hunter from before. Low, a bit more nasal and sharper in tone--it was released in a low, disbelieving growl that still managed to reach your ears despite how quiet it was.

“What the hell happened in here?”

His tone was incredulous, absolutely disbelieving. Honestly? You couldn’t blame him.

Reaching the doorway, you paused and stared at his face, nervousness spiking considerably as you took in the newcomer with fascinated eyes. He was tall, just as tall as Dante and carrying an aura far more intimidating--this had to be his brother, there was no doubting that silvery hair, eyes a cold blue that was a bit closer to grey and face handsome in a sharp, defined way. They definitely had good genes, that was for sure. You weren’t oblivious to the beauty of your fellow human beings, but it rarely made you stop and try to collect yourself in their presence. Maybe it was the air of hostility this stranger carried? Or perhaps it was the sword attached to his hip, clothing dark and definitely not your average everyday outfit.

A sharp jacket hugged his frame, a lined vest underneath and dark slacks on his legs. Formal wasn’t quite the word to describe it, but he was definitely dressed imposingly to Dante’s laid back jeans and leather jacket. Clean shaven too, less like a goblin and more like seeing a predator walk into the room and bringing that sense of danger with him. Speaking of danger--his eyes snapped up at the sound of your footsteps, meeting your startled gaze in the doorway with not a spec of recognition, which was normal considering he never met you before. You froze instantly, unsure of what to do or say considering that you were a stranger in his home. Dante definitely wasn’t the type to call ahead and warn him, that was glaringly obvious. This man was definitely more on edge than his brother, fingers twitching to the hilt of his sword in an instant and confirming that you needed to do something before he attacked.

Just typical of my luck.

“U...um…” You managed to get out, clasping your hands in front of you in a show of non-violence as you continued quietly, “Y...you must be Dante’s brother--”

“Who are you?” His biting hiss cut you off, your shoulders jolting when the words seemed to whip across the room like a javelin, “What are you doing here?”

You were getting to that, before he interrupted. Christ, today was shaping up to be a doozy.

A sigh left your lips, last hints of patience waning and body slumping against the doorway a bit as you replied in exasperation, “My name is Y/N--Dante hired me as a secretary, so that’s why I’m here. But I spent some time cleaning first so I could have space to lay out the files, especially since they have no rhyme or reason to them.”

The growing annoyance in your voice was apparent, but he didn’t comment on it. Instead, a scowl marred his already frowning lips, hand slowly releasing the sword’s hilt much to your relief. Well, that was one hurdle past. It would be a lot easier to talk without the threat of death looming overhead.

“Secretary?” He growled incredulously, narrowing those chilly eyes on you and sounding very impatient, “I was never informed of this--when were you hired?”

“....Today.” It didn’t sound true even to your ears, but the exhaustion in your tone definitely gave away just how tiring the interactions with Dante had been. He was a man best experienced in doses, at least in your opinion. 

This didn’t seem to be the answer his brother wanted, that scowl growing into a look of pure irritability as he pinched the bridge of his nose. As if the action would somehow bring forth patience, or the return of sanity in some form or another. You shifted anxiously in the doorway, eyeing the floor underfoot to make sure it was dry--this newcomer was walking all over it, but his shoes seemed clean enough. Now all that was left to do was those files, which you were anxious to return to if the chance was given. But something about Dante’s brother made you wary of sudden movements, he was way too twitchy with that Katana on his hip.

“Let me see if I’m correct,” The man growled, tone thick was annoyance and aggravation as he leveled his cold eyes on you again, “My brother hired you today, with no prior interviews to my knowledge. Left you here in the building alone with our possessions, and then proceeded with his job for the day without informing me of a single thing.”

Something about the way he spoke of you was very offensive, like you were already labeled as a petty thief in his eyes. That certainly would not fly despite how correct all his words were, and now validating it was to know that someone else found it all equally ridiculous.

You crossed your arms, one hip jutting out slightly as you protested, “I would never steal something…!” Your tone made his eyes snap back to your face, a flicker of surprise in those cold eyes as you continued, “And if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to get back to work.”

It was only then did you approach the files stacked on the desk, deciding to ignore his presence after such a blatant implication was thrown your way. You couldn’t decide who was the better brother, this one or Dante, but it scarcely mattered. He kept his eyes trained on you, watching your form settle on the now-clean floor and start pulling down stack upon stack of sealed paper. Something about your actions seemed very strange to him, a look of disbelief making its home in his fierce expression. It was a shame that he was so rude--a pretty boy like that could definitely get through the world on modeling alone, or if he had any music talent girls and boys alike would fawn all over his fierce type.

You shook off the thought, trying to find some semblance of order within the files and failing to find a single one. Christ, the need and want to shake Dante was growing with every passing second. How did this place even begin to fare as a business with no semblance of order at all? The incident of the Qliphoth must have forced Dante’s hand a bit--you were willing to bet they could slide on buy on freelance work before then, but now that the government was involved a paper trail was a thing of necessity.

Much to your growing confusion, Vergil did not move from the doorway, continuing to watch you with a frown marring his lips. You did not meet his gaze, just watching out of the corners of your eyes and wondering just what the hell he wanted. This was all growing so very tiring, your leg overly warm and achy from walking around a couple hours. If this persisted much longer, you were going to lose every semblance of sanity and maybe get yourself killed. But before either of you could say anything, the doors behind him swung open again--part of you hoped it would be Dante returning, but two more strangers walked through the door instead.

A man and a woman this time--both complete strangers to you. Dante didn’t warn of them stopping by, but they seemed familiar with this place and with the man who previously insulted you.

Oh dear.

“Afternoon, Vergil,” Greeted an older, dark-skinned male, tipping his hat lightly in the brother’s direction in a less-than-friendly manner. He had a cigar between his lips, wearing a snazzy suit and seeming unimpressed by Vergil’s impressive scowl, “Glad to see you’re cheerful as always.”

Vergil didn’t reply, interrupted by the woman standing in the doorway before any words could leave his mouth. It occurred to you then that she was staring at you, her irises meeting your worried ones for a brief moment across the open space. They were pretty--one green and one red. She herself was very beautiful, wearing a cute outfit of shorts and a blouse with thigh high boots--Dark hair, pale skin. Fair. She looked surprised to see you sitting there cross-legged, and even more so when her eyes traveled around the spotless room with complete disbelief. You couldn’t blame her for that.

“Who are you?” She asked, causing the two men to look at you now. Having all the attention in the room on your person wasn’t unfamiliar, but it still somehow made you nervous, “And what the fuck happened in here? I’ve never seen this place so...livable.”

Before you could muster a coherent reply, the dark-skinned man let out a light chuckle, walking toward you and extending a hand to help you up from the floor. It was accepted easily, your form rising up and jolts popping slightly with the motion.

The man’s words made you relax considerable, the only one there who seemed to have any semblance of knowledge, “Ahh, you must be the new secretary--Dante called to inform me of your presence,” He looked around the room as well, seeming impressed and wearing a bemused grin, “You’re a miracle worker, I can’t imagine having the patience to touch this nasty place.”

Vergil scowled again at his words, aggravation flashing in those cold orbs as he was met with the realization that Dante made sure to warn this man, but not him. Why that was the case, you would never know.

Regardless.

“To be honest, cleaning it was a blur and I barely remember it,” You replied with a weak laugh, the day’s exhaustion catching up now that there seemed to be someone who was actually informed of the situation, “My name is Y/N, by the way...I did mean to organize the files first, but...they’re just a mess.”

“Morrison, pleasure to make your acquaintance” The man, now dubbed Morrison, replied with a look of pure pity at your situation. This was definitely a human being well used to Dante’s bullshit by now, “How about Lady and I give you a hand? I usually find Dante all of his work, and she’s helped out on several of them.”

You paused, meeting her curious eyes again and hesitating. This was meant to be your job, right? Maybe it was wrong to drag other people into it, especially considering the fact that they just got here. 

But she seemed to read the guilt on your face, planting a hand on her hip and releasing a light sigh into the clean-smelling air, “Whatever, fine by me,” Much to your relief, she managed a friendly smile, winking her red eye at you as she added, “Nothing more fun than a group effort, right? We can chat a bit while we wait for that dumbass to return.”

Your shoulders relaxed considerably, heart pounding against your ribs in the remaining throes of anxiety in worry. Thank god there was finally a jumping off point for all this paper--you honestly didn’t know how to manage without the help of obvious professionals. Morrison pat you once on the back, chuckling lightly as he strolled toward Dante’s chair sitting in front of two stacks, a cloud of cigar smoke following in his wake. Lady met your gaze again, seeming very interested in you for whatever reason. Maybe it was the fact that you managed to clean up the main room of Devil May Cry, or maybe there wasn’t a lot of girls usually working here? Whatever the reason, a couple friendly faces was nice after the scare that came from Vergil moments prior.

Speaking of Dante’s brother, the surly man stalked past you on his way out of the room, sparing no passing glance in his retreat. You found yourself watching as he went, eyes lingering on the way the devil hunter moved--so strange, precise in every motion and fluid like a predator. His shoulder muscles shifted and moved under his jacket, tense even as he disappeared up the only flight of stairs with practically no sound. Christ, had you ever met someone so wound up in your life? There was something about him that made you sad, like staring at a creature who didn’t have the chance to relax in his life. Something about it made you really interested in picking him apart, bit by bit. To see what was underneath all that prickly exterior, if Vergil was even capable of relaxation.

It looks like those lips never smiled in their life.

But something about that...makes me very interested in taking on a challenge.

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Tagged: @cantcopewithlosingv @bnha201826 @lilbighuman @dylan-o-yumm @veenus-ow @totes-ma-yogurt @pop-vicky-love @meliapis @kingdomhearts378 @kupoopo @slaanessh @pixiedust-and-some-believe @agalaxyfarawayy @v-loves-alicia-dmc5 @nightshadow4713 @sycophantize @nyxsiren @raven-huntress @slightlylunatic @efiicitia

#devil may cry #vergil x reader #Vergil Sparda #devil may cry vergil #echo chamber #chapter two #DMC #dmc5 #vergil

[mashkaromanova]

Alexandra Feodorovna with Alexei Nikolaevich, 1904

“My beloved Nicky dear,

Fondest thanks for your dear telegram which I received with great joy. Well, I drove with Olga. We drove, walked eight minutes - more my insides would not stand, through the English park by the fountains and to the farm, where I dropped her for tea and dancing lesson. The others joined her there. I went back to Baby [Alexei] and lulled him to sleep on my lap. He had taken a nice drive. At 5.00 I flew to the cottage for tea, at 6.00 I came home, kissed my babes, took my bath and popped into bed. I am feeling very tired, morally and physically. Baby lay in my arms, not drinking, sleeping.

At 9.00 I laid him into his bed next to mine, got myself ready for the night and had the lamp taken away. At 11.00 he awoke and I fed him, at 12.00 I put him sleeping into his bed in his room. He had a good night, and Wify too, as she was very tired. At 8.00 this morning he came to me and I kept him till 10 1/2, then he drank with the wetnurse and at 11.00 she took him down to the nursery and put him to sleep.

Fondest thanks for your dear letters and telegram. I’m glad Baby’s little things make you happy. I have asked to drive with Motherdear as she leaves at 10.00. I don’t know how I shall fit in with my nursing our angel. He is as sweet as ever and, I am sure, thinks of you; he has been calm, and I hope will sleep in the carriage. I miss you, it seems so awfully silent in the house, no people, no carriages either.

Goodbye and God bless you. Very tenderest kisses from your own Alix.”

- Alexandra to Nicholas II, 16th/29th September 1904

“My own beloved Sunny,

What joy your sweet letter gave me. My ‘old man’ put it on the table in my cabin where I found it after luncheon, and also in the evening before going to bed, that lovely surprise from our ‘little one’. The tiny shoe and glove smelled so good of him: and the photo, which I never saw, is charming and very like. Thank you ever so many times, darling, for the kind forethoughts that touched me so. Only Wify could have such ideas to give pleasure to Huzy when he is away. Your telegrams are a great comfort, one feels nearer hearing twice a day.

It was hard leaving yesterday. I had to gather all my will. I was so astonished and touched by Olga’s behaviour, never for a moment did I think it was on account of me that she cried, until you told me the reason. I begin to feel more lonely now without the children than before - an experienced old Papa, that’s what it is!!! The night was extremely cold and we all felt it in the train. The day is bright and warm, quite the same fine weather we had at home. I’m so glad it continues so and hope it will keep until my return. We are passing pretty woods in a very swampy country.

Your having shown our ‘little one’ to the [officer] produced a great effect, not only upon him, but on those he saw after that. I must say, it is after all a rest to be travelling in a comfortable train and not seeing people the whole day. If only we were together it would have been happiness and rest both, but alas not. Duty, duty, there is nothing to be done. Now goodbye, and bless you my sunshine and love, and our sweet children. Kiss my son very tenderly for me. Your own Huzy, Nicky.”

- Nicholas to Alexandra, 16th/29th September

#alexandra feodorovna #alexei nikolaevich #nicholas ii #1904 #1900s #romanov #romanovs

[thekingofsaturn]

"Snow Day" (By Drew)

It was quite surprising at how mild the air felt. You’d think with all the ice and precipitation about, it would be much more chilling. 

Ah, Monday. A favorite amongst the working class. That of course implies you belong to the “Nine to Five.” I always question myself when I awaken on a work day. Do I really want to do this? My thoughts were populated by visions of me just driving away, past my workplace and off to God knows where. This idea was especially harkened back to on monday. On this particular monday, the existential agony was amplified by the early arrival of winter. Some of us love winter. I like to call that insanity.  For once in my adult life today, I had a plan. My alarm was set to Four AM, that would allow me ample time for any shovelling. The evening before I already knew it was coming. Snow fell before I shut my eyes for the night; I felt as though I was mentally prepared. 

The sun wasn’t up yet of course, but moonlight graciously provided me with a pretty picture of my front lawn. Not a single car on the road in sight. Could this mean freedom today? I walked to the top of the driveway, lunch pail and trusty notebook in hand. It seemed as though echoes of distant snow plows were my only company. Then, I witnessed something strange.

My road appeared to not have been touched. Sure, tire tracks from probably some lost madman were visible, but besides that the snow was just callously sitting there. This poor uncared for street. Not paved well and coated in potholes, and now unplowed too. The street has seen some abuse over the years like it’s extended family of other weak Connecticut roads. Why did I find this strange? Well, although the road I reside on is no main road, it is frequently used by way too many people I suppose trying to find “a shortcut” from my town to the next. There are several other routes available, but no. Lets go 75 down this backroad. Have you ever almost been unceremoniously murdered by a driver on their phone whilst attempting to retrieve your mail? Give it a shot; you may rethink your life. 

It was enough snow to rate poor driving conditions. I thought to myself, I am not an expert on this, I do not spend my life on the road. Who could I turn to for advice at this early hour? Suddenly, as this thought enraptured me, headlights appeared down the street. A snow plow! It wasn’t going fast (obviously) but it was putting in work. I elected to grab the attention of the driver to maybe ask them what they thought about the roads. His/her entire thing is the roads, right? So I raised a hand and started to wave. My hope was that they wouldn’t take me as a hitchhiker, because that would be embarrassing. The darkness outside and blinding headlights prevented me from getting a solid look at the person behind the wheel. Who knew what type of personality they had. Would they be kind? Give me a quick or perhaps drawn out concise answer on road safety today? Alas, I would never find out, as the plow passed me without even slowing down. I chuckled to myself as the brake lights disappeared down the road. I more than likely looked crazy to this person. That’s an interesting story to recount for them if they even saw me. “There was this guy just standing there in the snow with a lunchbox, waving at Five AM!!” I hope they laugh about it.

My next venture was to saunter down the road to see what condition the main drag was in. I made it one hundred feet or so from the mouth of my driveway, and stopped. It was fruitless. I wasn’t getting anywhere today. It’s odd that we allow our jobs to make us feel guilty for not risking our lives and the lives of others. I turned around and started back home. What would I do now with this free day? Hopefully something with meaning. The snow was beginning to fall faster now, almost as if the Earth itself was mocking me. A prisoner to the elements. My home fast approached, and I soon shut the front door behind me. The comforting warm air wrapped around my frozen extremities. The Maddening drone of the outdoors faded, and only the sound of my living room’s ticking clock captured my ears. Returning to bed would be foolish. I was now wide awake and ready. 

As children we turn on the television to see if school is closed on days like this. We hope it is. There are even myths about making it snow a lot, such as putting a spoon next to your bed at night. School in most cases is not a choice, and kids usually would rather not go. Here I am, an adult. I was just given this opportunity to do whatever I wish for an extra day. I don’t plan on riding a sleigh down my lawn. Building a snowman sounds fun, but only with a lovely friend to help. Maybe I’d file some papers of mine, or work on fixing some personal issues. Catch up on some reading.

 It felt as though I was awake and my home was not. The only light on in the entire house was where I was. I was like a spectre among a still sleeping world, yet I was fully awake. It was a lonely feeling, but I smiled. Do adults have snow days? 

[jinterlude]

"Romantic” Bonding Time

↳This story aesthetic is made by yours truly. I do not own the rights to any of the images used.

➳ Pairing: Gang Member!Mark Lee x Superhero!Reader (female OC)

➳ Genre(s): Superhero!AU, Superpowers!AU, Gang!AU, MCU, Humor, Fluff, Action, & Slight-Angst

➳ Words: 5.7K

➳ Summary: Having yet another date night ruined, you, your brother, and the gang, NCT 127, are called once again to protect the city of Seoul. After discovering that you and brother possess two stones that can enhance the ability of the six infinity stones, Thanos sends Ebony Maw to retrieve them. The two of you continue to battle until Haechan causes an explosion that causes the deformed octopus to retreat. Now, in the rainy city of London, both you and Mark are on a mission to find him. What can possibly go wrong?

Cars zoom by. Screaming, panicking bystanders run as if their lives depend on it. A new threat has come out to play with the beautiful city of Seoul as its backyard.

A menacing laughter fills the atmosphere while a fiery blaze colors the blank night sky. With his army of minions by his side, Ebony Maw, destroys everything and kills everyone in sight. He is given the greatest of privileges by Thanos. He is tasked with retrieving two of the most powerful stones, outside of the six infinity stones. Legends say that the universe has created these stones to enhance the abilities of the other six. Like a supporting system one can say.

Many people, both outside and inside the Milky Way galaxy, have tried to find these stones and claim it for their own but alas, many have failed.

That is…

Until a certain enhanced pair of siblings received them as a last gift from their mother.

Now, they have sworn to protect their beloved country from any invaders that have a sudden lapse in judgement and want to attack anything and anyone under their jurisdiction. Of course, they are times where the dynamic duo has done enough damage to the buildings to the point that their structural integrity has come into question. However, they always brought their president results, and that is more than enough for the government.

At the end of the day, if their city is safe, then it is quite alright with them.

Currently, on a black and white street bike, you are zooming by hundreds of cars, who are going in the opposite direction, with the adrenaline pumping throughout your veins. You rev up your bike, adding more speed, and continue to maneuver through the debris that the Squidward wannabe is hauling at you.

Damn. To think all you’ve asked for was some quality time with your boyfriend, and you get this. What a great date night!

          “Yuta, his buddies are heading towards Hongdae,” You begin, speaking through the shared audio device, “Do you and WinWin want to take care of that?” You ask, activating one of your many abilities. Not even a moment later, you hear Yuta say that he and WinWin will head over there ASAP. You utter a quick thank you as you begin the process of another ability that you possess.

Speaking of which…

The abilities that you possess is based off moon and its lunar cycle. Depending on where it is at, you can either go full defense, offense, or a combination of both. Lucky for you, the lunar cycle is heading towards a full moon, so that means you get to go all out and have a bit of fun. It’s always fun time when you possess the ability of lunar manipulation. You have access to everything and anything associated with the beloved moon.

Holding out your right hand; your palm visible to everyone, you gather enough energy for form this ball of energy. Aligning up your hand, you release a thick beam of lunar energy at the minions, who think it's wise to block your path.

          “Okay…question!” You hear Doyoung through the intercoms, “Why did you have me design a weapon specific for your abilities, and you don’t use it!” He complains, causing you, your brother and the rest of NCT 127 to laugh.

          “I’m sorry Doyoung but given the fact that I’m on a street bike and being chased by Squidward on crack, I think using your specialized weapon is the last thing on my mind right now.” You explain, continuing to attack anything that has gotten in your way.

While with Doyoung, he simply sighs, flopping back in his chair. The joys of being the technology expert for his little gang. He then sits up straight and rolls his chair to a different monitor. He quickly types in some codes and is instantly granted access to your brother's camera feed.

          “How's it going on your end?” He inquires noticing him, Mark, Johnny, and Taeyong struggling a bit.

          “Do I have to answer?!” He hears your brother shout as he sets a few enemies ablaze. Don’t you love having abilities based off the sun?

As if he’s physically there, Doyoung holds up his hands in defense, not wanting to deal with your brother’s infamous temper.

          “Hey now. I am just checking in, especially with your sister sending away Yuta and WinWin to protect Hongdae.” Doyoung states, which instantly alarms Mark.

Mark stops fighting briefly; his pulse pauses as he worries for the woman he loves.

Johnny and Taeyong stop in their actions as well. Not because they worry for Mark’s mindset but because they know how ruthless their chameleon can be when anyone threatens his woman.

This can’t be good…

Taeyong throws his fist back, landing a clean punch on one of the alien invaders. Then, he whips out his favorite gun and fires a few rounds into its skull, hoping that it kills it. It does.

He then rushes over to the second youngest, placing a friendly hand on the boy’s shoulder.

           “Mark…” Taeyong begins, “Y/N is fine. Remember, she has enhanced abilities that —” However before he can finish his sentence, Mark runs towards his street bike, hops on it, and starts it up. Not bothered to wear his helmet, he revs it up and drives to wherever his girlfriend is at.

Your safety is his utmost priority. He knows that his members can take care of themselves. Plus, they have your brother, so they have an extra layer of protection.

Johnny watches his retreating body, letting out a long sigh.

           “You know…” He pauses, taking a moment to fire his weapon one of the few alien invaders that linger around the area, “I kind of envy him and Y/N.” He confesses.

Y/B/N perks up his brow, finding his statement both odd and amusing.

           “Why’s that?” He asks.

           “Because, Mark has time to love his woman amidst this chaos while I barely have time to tinker with our weapons and make them even better.” Johnny answers, reloading his favorite semi-automatic just in case there’s another swarm.

Both Taeyong and Y/B/N laugh at his statement before agreeing with them. In their line of work, it is quite difficult to maintain a relationship. There are days where they are lonely for companionship. On the other hand, with a few of them loving the idea of playing the field, a simple one-night stand will satisfy their manly urges…

Currently fighting as if your life depends on it, you hide behind a cracked pillar, catching your breath and replenishing your energy. This Ebony Maw fella really wants both yours and your brother’s stone.

           “Come out. Come out. You should think of this as an honor. Only a select few can say that they have died at the hands of the children of Thanos.” You hear that creeper’s voice state, further irking you.

An almost animalistic growl emerges from your lips. This asshole has done an excellent job at annoying you to no end, and the weekend isn’t even over yet!

Channeling all of your energy into the palms of your hand, moisture from the air begins to attract to them.

Slowly, it begins to take the shape of your favorite weapon—a Korean style katana. You always do love shedding the blood of your enemies with it.

With one deep breath, you slowly exhale, allowing the nerves to exit your precious body. For this fight, you can’t afford to lose focus. If you do, then everyone you have come to love and cherish will die. It will be a cold day in Hell if someone you love dies on your watch.

Not again. Not ever again.

You open your eyes, taking a step behind the pillar. You swing your katana, hearing this whishing sound from the blade as it cuts through the air.

A smug smirk graces his face as Ebony Maw holds up two fingers, summoning all of the debris from the ground and shaping them into sharp points. Sharp enough to penetrate your body over and over until you bleed to your death. A painfully slow death that you’ll never wish to experience.

You draw back your sword before letting out this battle cry filled with your pent-up rage as you rush him.

Ebony Maw flings the sharpened debris at you, desperately wanting to please his master.

You swing your sword in every direction, deflecting every single one of them, as you close the gap between you and the pain in the ass that has overstayed his welcome.

Using one of the destroyed cars as leverage, you jump on the hood, adding more momentum, before flinging yourself at him. However, that’s a foolish decision on your part.

With just a flick of his wrist, he forces your body to the side. He has hoped to capture you and your brother alive, but one out of two isn’t so bad. Like how he’s a rock in your boots, you’re annoying thorn on his side and quite frankly, he wants you dead more than alive.

           “Shit!” You curse, knowing that your defensive abilities are nonexistent at the moment.

You slam your eyes shut, bracing for impact; however, instead of landing on the cold hard ground, you feel a pair of arms around your body, securing themselves on your waist.

           “Looks like I’m saving you this time, huh baby girl?” You hear a familiar arrogant voice say.

You pry one eye open before opening the other. A breath of relief escapes your lips as a warm smile begins to take shape. Though, you soon pause as you realize that your amazing boyfriend has put himself in harm’s way—again.

Realizing that he has picked the wrong time to play hero, you scramble off of him and punch him square in the shoulder.

           “What are you doing here, Mark?!” You question loudly as you protect both you and him from Ebony Maw’s attack.

Mark yelps, rubbing his now injured shoulder, “Okay…! Ow!” He gives you a look of disbelief, “I’m here rescuing my woman from the drugged-up octopus!” He replies in an obvious tone of voice.

You can’t help but gawk at his words. While you do appreciate that he has come to your rescue, you want to choke him for failing in realizing that Ebony Maw can easily kill him without lifting more than two fingers.

           “I appreciate the thought, babe. I do, but as you can see, his threat level—” You suddenly stop mid-sentence as you throw your body over Mark, shielding him from one of the cars that Ebony Maw has graciously given you two.

Without a second a thought, you press your earpiece, activating the link between you and the rest of the team.

           “Guys…a little help here!” You request loudly as both you and Mark scramble to your feet and rush to cover.

           “Haechan is on his way!” The two of you hear Doyoung announce and just as he says that you hear Haechan’s cheery voice tell you and Mark to get away from the zone of impact.

A look of confusion washes over your faces but instead of verbally questioning, the two of you do as your told.

           “I always wanted to test out my new invention, cherry bomb!” Haechan shouts happily as he grabs a few interestingly designed explosives from his pockets and fling them around the perimeter.

           “Cherry bomb?” Mark asks, observing an almost maniacal smile on his closest friend’s face.

Instead of answering, Haechan simply holds out the trigger presses the red button, activating the explosives one by one. As each bomb goes off, the explosives produce different colors of smoke; a smoke that is toxic to anyone who inhales it. Originally, Haechan has hoped to use his beautiful creation on enemy gangs throughout South Korea but considering their predicament, he might as well test it out now.

Your eyes widen at the rather colorful sight that the explosives are producing. While with Mark, he slowly nods, finally understanding why Haechan calls it, “Cherry Bomb”

           “Isn’t this a tad overboard?” You asks, turning your attention towards the explosive expert.

Haechan gasps, feeling a bit insulted by your words.

           “Nonsense! While, I don’t think it’s enough to kill him, I do think it’s enough to distract him enough for us to get away.” He answers as the toxic clouds begin to disperse.

Just as you are about to answer, you notice that Ebony Maw’s silhouette is not seen.

Odd…

Feeling a bit anxious, you quickly tell Mark and Haechan to ready up just in case he comes for a surprise attack.

Your eyes scan the area; your breath a bit shaky. There’s no way that something simple as toxic cloud can make him retreat so easily.

The three of you continue to wait, feeling the cool breeze brush by your bodies. It’s as if the wind is warning you of what’s to come next. Yet, that moment never came.

           “Doyoung, scan for his whereabouts.” You quickly instruct as you hear the collected roar from a few engines. You instantly snap towards the direction of the noise; your guard at an all time high and ready to fight once more.

Thankfully, your mind registers that it’s only Taeyong, Johnny, and your brother. When you quickly ask about Yuta, WinWin, Jungwoo, and Taeil’s location, Johnny informs you that they have gone back to headquarters. You quickly thank the stars that everyone is alive with only a few injuries.

           “No sign of the Squidward on crack or any of his creepy Resident Evil like minions.” You hear Doyoung announce, lifting a huge weight off your shoulders. Though, deep down, you know he’s going to come back for you and your brother soon.

Honestly, you want to take the fight to him instead of allowing him to wreak havoc on your beloved country. Your home has suffered enough because of him.

Now, it’s time to put a stop to him once and for all.

           “Let’s head back to base. We have some things to sort out. I want him dead once and for all…”

A few days later, you and Mark are currently on a plane heading towards England. Why? Well, it’s because of Doyoung’s brilliant plan. He believes that Ebony Maw has retreated to a different country in order to find the other stones. When you’ve asked him why, Doyoung told you that it’s more than likely because his master ordered him too.

Not knowing who his master is can be unsettling for anyone, but for you and your brother, it’s quite the opposite. If anything, this is like an arousing game of who’s the true puppet master, and the two of you are ready to play.

Staring out the window, you absentmindedly run your fingers through Mark’s hair as you take in the different color hues that paint the sky. You admire the tranquility that radiates from the empty sky as the plane continues to penetrate the puffs of clouds. Fluffy clouds that remind you of pillows on your childhood bed.

Oh, how you miss the simple life. Before you and your brother have discovered the “blessing” that is your gifts. Blessing? More like curse. It is because of them that your parents are no longer on this Earth. It is because of them that your aunt and uncle are being protected by the agency known as S.H.I.E.L.D.

Honestly, you just want it all to end.

Yet…

At the same time, you know that it can’t end.

So as long as you and your brother live and breathe, the two of you will continue to protect the people since you know that they can’t protect themselves.

You both have taken an oath to protect the country of South Korea, and that’s what you will do…

Slowly, a soft sigh escapes your lips as you pry your eyes away from the window and pull down the shutter. You trail your eyes down and notice Mark’s peaceful sleeping face. A warm smile appears on your face as you can’t help but look at him with complete love and adoration.

You can’t help but shake your head as you recall the first day you’ve met this young man. Under a fake alias, you and Y/B/N have enrolled at the School of Performing Arts even though you’re currently “preparing” to make your big debut. There, you’ve had your first run in with Mark and his little gang of delinquents. Little did you know that day, him and the rest of NCT 127 would be the backing force that your team has been missing.

           “Okay, why are staring at me like that?” You hear Mark say in a sleepy tone of voice.

You immediately snap out of your thoughts and kiss him sweetly on the nose.

           “Nothing. I was just admiring how different you become when you’re not talking.” You tease with a playful smile on your lips.

Mark rolls his eyes as he sits up and stretches out his neck muscles. Instead of retaliating, Mark asks how much longer they have on the plane. He’s starting to get a bit anxious as he shakes his leg. He never does like being in one place for more than thirty minutes.

One of the downsides to being the group’s chameleon man. He always has to blend in with the crowd and make sure that no one can retrace his steps.

To calm his nerves, you lean over your seat and place a loving yet soft kiss on his lips. As you are about to pull away, you feel his hand rest against the back of your neck, keeping you in place. You can’t help but laugh into the kiss because of his sudden courageous action. Where’s your shy boyfriend?

The two of you finally pull away and as you do, you hear the one announcement that anyone on a ten hour plus flights longs to hear.

           “This is your captain speaking. Please buckle up your seat belts as we are about to descend onto the runway.” Announces the flight captain.

Mark shouts a quick, “Finally!”, as he swiftly buckles his seat belt, grinning from ear-to-ear.

You shake your head, chuckling at your other half’s sudden childish behavior.

You really can’t take him anywhere…

After what seemed like forever doing the whole airport check in procedure, both you and Mark now stand out in the pouring rain, not caring that you guys are becoming soaked.

Before executing your plan, you quickly establish a connection between you and Doyoung. You see his face pop up on the projector and proceed to ask him about any intel he has gathered while you were up in the air.

           “Nothing new since you left, boss.” He says as he types away on his mini laptop.

Your lips purse as you nod. You then tell him to keep an eye on your brother and provide him with whatever support he needs.

Doyoung laughs at how overprotective you are when it comes to your sibling, but he understands why. You two have been inseparable since you were children, so it’s

kind of weird to be on this mission, and you two aren’t together.

He’s in Spain while you’re in London. Two different parts of the world yet so close in a way.

Oh well…

           “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll make sure that Y/B/N is safe from harm, though, you and I both know that he can take care of himself. Especially, since he has Jungwoo, Yuta, and Taeil with him. Doyoung out!” He says before terminating the connection.

While Doyoung’s words have this feeling of reassurance, you don’t feel it. You’ll always worry for your younger brother.

Noticing the worried expression painted on your face, Mark wraps a loving arm around your shoulders as he places a sweet kiss on your drenched hair. He then sweetly whispers words of comfort, hoping that he can wash away your concerns away.

           “Now, let’s go find this asshole. I’m already kind of sick of this rain.” Mark says, causing you to giggle.

You nod and lead the two of you to the warehouse that Doyoung has graciously found for you guys.

What?

You can’t do your fighting in simple street clothes…

Now standing in front of what it seems to be an abandoned building, you look at your watch, courtesy of Jungwoo, and press a combination of buttons; thus, activating a tiny drone. You then command the small device to scan the building for any signs of foreign life. If it comes up positive, then that means some sort of alien invader is in there. Hopefully, it means that Ebony Maw is being coward and is hiding inside.

What a bitch…

Seconds later, your watch beeps, telling you that there’s no sign of foreign life inhabiting the building.

Okay. Odd.

With a short sigh, you command the drone to return to your headquarters and then tell Mark that it looks like you have to do it the old fashion way.

You unhook a few explosives that looks like an ordinary clock and hand them to Mark. Before fully handing them over, you quickly ask if he knows how to handle Haechan’s rather special inventions.

Mark’s body tenses at your question. Shit. Should he tell the truth or tell a white lie? Well, he did pay attention to Haechan when he explained what they did before they all went their separate ways—sort of.

           “Of course. I know how to use these.” He lies flawlessly, flashing a bright smile.

You raise your brow briefly. Your gut tells you that Mark’s lying, however, you choose to believe him since it’s just the two of you, and you definitely do not know how to use Haechan’s explosives.

Without a moment to spare, you hand over the time bombs before breaking down the door. You signal Mark to follow closely behind and have his firearm ready to use.

As soon as you step inside, you are instantly blinded by this luminescence light. It also doesn’t help that the entire walls are painted white, so the lights are reflecting off it.

And you thought that your brother’s solar flare attack were blinding. Nope. This takes the cake.

The two of you continue down the empty, quiet corridor. Both of you on high alert as you inspected every single room throughout the first floor.

After seeing yet another empty room, you and Mark stand up straight; this feeling of confusion washes over you.

What is going on here?

           “I’m not sensing any forms of life at all in this building, babe…” says Mark as he’s reading some sort of date from his phone.

You make a noise as your lips thin. You refuse to believe that there’s no one in this building.

Slowly, you inhale and exhale deeply. That tiny action always calms down your nerves before they go into a frenzy.

           “Okay. I think we should split up,” You begin, summoning a katana in your right hand, “I’m going to check the rest of the floors while you go check out the basement. If you find any suspicious activity, I want you to plant those explosives in those said areas. Got it?” You finish relaying your plan.

Mark stares at you, secretly hating the idea of the two of you splitting up; however, he knows that you’ll be safe, and your plan seems flawless.

In a reluctant tone, he says okay before running off towards the basement area.

You remain in your place, silently summoning this gravitational barrier around Mark.

You pray to the Gods that your shield will protect him from harm’s way before taking off towards the second and third floor. You kick open the door leading to the stairwell. A loud bang echoes throughout the building. You practically fly up the stairs and in a blink of an eye, you are already on the second floor.

You remain in place as you take a moment to listen for any suspicious sounds. Your eyes scan every detail of the hallway. Taking note of, again, how clean it looks. A little too clean for your liking.

Once you are greeted with silence, you make the executive decision to not check the rooms. Maybe you’ll have some sort of luck on the third floor.

You dash down the hallway; only the sound of your boots meeting the tile floor is heard. You feel the air slowly leave your lungs as you exert every ounce of stamina you have left.

With the adrenaline fueling your desire—your need—to put an end to this, you sprint up the next flight of stairs leading to the third floor…

You push open the door and instead of being greeted with the usual bright, clean scenery, you take note of the flickering lights. The cracks on the wall as if someone or something landed a nice clean hit on it. Your eyes trail up and you see that a few bulbs on the “EXIT” sign is blown out.

Okay…

Why the sudden change in appearance?

Then, it hits you. Maybe this is just a distraction, and both you and Mark have fallen right for it.

Shit…

You frantically survey the area, focusing all your energy in your hearing. You wait a few moments as you hear nothing but dripping sounds echo throughout the corridor.

A cold gush of air brushes past you causing you to lose focus for a split moment.

Then, sounds of lively chatters surface. You direct your attention towards the area where it originates before running towards it.

Now standing in front of a door, you lean close enough to confirm your suspicion.

Yup…

There it is…

Something or someone is on the other side, and they are definitely not alone.

You slowly exhale before gathering enough energy to activate both an offense and defensive ability. You feel this surge of power flow through your veins as it spreads to your hands. This white, holy aura surrounds your body as you become prepared to handle anything and everything that comes your way.

Just as you are about to use your gravity manipulation ability to force the door open, the floor suddenly shakes. You feel this gigantic tremor beneath your feet as if an earthquake just happened.

Then, this loud explosion sounds throughout the building.

Your eyes immediately widen as you conclude that without a doubt, Mark has activated Haechan’s “0 MILE” explosive.

As you are about to rush to Mark’s aid, you hear the door open, causing you to get into a fighting stance.

You ball up one of your hands into a fist while the other is gathering any debris in the building.

           “What are you doing breaking and entering in a federal government building?” asks an older gentleman with in a posh accent.

Wait…did he just say government building?

You and Mark are currently in a government building?!

Not wanting to humiliate your country, especially the president, you come out of your fighting stance.

A nervous chuckle escapes your lips before you sprint off to find Mark and leave this burning building.

           “I already phoned the police!” You hear the man shout as you exit to the stairwell and continue your journey.

Oh…

You are going to kill Doyoung when you get home…

Meanwhile, with Mark, he’s currently planting yet another explosive. Totally unaware that he’s destroying the building structure of a government owned facility.

Whistling a little tune, he winds the clock until it says, “1:27”, and places it on another pillar. He then creates enough distance between him and the bomb and just as he’s about to set it off, he hears you shouting, screaming at him to stop.

Before Mark can ask you why, he feels your hand around his wrist, and he’s now forced away from the area.

With Mark now in tow, the two of you flee the scene of the crime, running with no specific distance in mind, as the sounds of sirens grow near.

You two continue to run away from the soon-to-be crumbling building. Your eyes light up when you see an abandoned alleyway. You roughly pull Mark into it before basically exploding on him for ruining the mission.

The mission where little to no destruction will occur while in a foreign country.

           “This is all your  fault! If you haven’t gotten a little trigger happy, then we wouldn’t be in this position!” You take a deep breath, “I told you to stick to the plan! Remember?! Little to no destruction to this country!” You practically scream at him, ignoring the fact that the loudness of your voice will alert the police to your location.

You honestly don’t care. You are just incredibly pissed off. Not only at him, but Doyoung as well for feeding you false intel.

Mark gasps, feeling a tad offended by your statement.

           “Hey now. If we’re assigning blame, then this is your fault for leaving me alone with explosives in the first place! Especially, after you told me to plant explosives in areas that I thought were strange!” He then starts talking with his hands, “News flash! That entire building screams enemy activity, so it is not my fault!” He argues back, matching the anger in your tone.

An almost animalistic growl leaves your lips. You narrow your eyes; a harsh glare ever so visible. You honestly can’t believe what you are hearing right now.

Is he seriously putting the blame on you?

Seriously, the urge to choke your “incredible” boyfriend is strong within you.

You throw up your hands as an exasperated sigh exits your mouth.

           “Ugh! Why did you volunteer to come with me, knowing that you don’t know how and what Haechan’s fun little gadgets do?” You question, pinching the bridge of your nose as you hope to understand your boyfriend’s random surge of stupidity.

Mark scoffs before puffing out his cheeks, unsure if he wants to confess the truth. The truth of him missing you…

He wants to tell you his reasoning but at the same time, he doesn’t. The last thing he wants is to hear his members teasing him for being open about his feelings towards you.

Though, what he doesn’t realize is that the rest of NCT 127 already know. They aren’t stupid. They observe everything when it comes to their chameleon man.

As time passes, a blanket of awkward tensions covers the two of you as you hear the sirens become closer.

Great. Now, you’re more than likely going to get arrested, and you haven’t resolved your little couple’s spat.

           “Mark, please just talk to me. Why did you lie?” You try again, hoping the animosity in your voice is gone. Raising your voice at him isn’t going to make him talk to you. You have learned that after your first argument, which lasted more than a week.

Mark sighs, hearing the softness in your tone, as he remembers that an open communication is key to any relationship.

           “Okay…I lied about knowing how to work Haechan’s explosives. I just wanted to spend some quality time with you,” He meets your gaze, “It’s been three months since we had an actual date night. Just the two of us. No threats coming at us. No stakeouts. Nothing,” He takes a step towards you, closing the gap between your chests, “Just you and me in our normal civilian clothes and enjoying the night life that Seoul has to offer,” He takes your hands into his, “Remember, that was on your list of things to experience as a normal teenager?” He says, finishing his explanation.

You simply nod, smiling sweetly and softly at him. There’s no need for words.

Mark kisses your knuckles, “I honestly had planned for us to get through this mission with no bumps whatsoever…” He adds, letting out an airy chuckle.

His statement causes you let out an airy chuckle as well.

           “Well, the plan was going great until we got arrested,” You say in a light playful tone as you notice a few officers enter the alleyway, “Ha. Think of our pending jail time as our date night.” You add as you break the loving hold and hold up your hands in surrender.

Mark chuckles at your comment, mimicking your action, “True, though, it would be rather strange that they have arrested a member of the Avengers. Just throwing that out there.”

           “Don’t remind me. Cap’ and Uncle Stark will never let me live this down,” You direct your gaze on Mark, “You do know that they like to treat me as if I’m their own daughter, right?” You tell him as the officers slowly decrease the distance between you guys.

Mark grimaces, “Don’t I know it. I believe Ironman threatened me a few times…” He states, shuddering at the not-so-fond memory of his first meeting with the legend.

You laugh at his remark as you hold out your wrists for the police officers to handcuff you.

           “Wait…aren’t you Y/S/N?” inquires one of the officers, finding it odd that she’s indeed arresting a member of the Avengers.

You only nod, making sure to weaken the gravitational field around Mark. You don’t feel like adding, “assault on an officer” to your pending list of arrests.

           “I’m sorry miss, but not even superheroes are exempted from the law.” The other officer says apologetically as he and the female officer escorts the two of you to their police car.

You tell them that you understand. The law is the law.

           “I’m going to call Doyoung and see if he can get in touch with the president. Maybe he can get us out of this predicament.” Mark whispers to you as you slide into the backseat.

You mumble, “Okay”, before asking,

           “I have a question for you guys,” You begin, waiting to get the okay from the officers.

           “What is it?” the female officer inquires, perking her brow up.

           “Why do you guys call your bars, “pubs”, here?” You question, smiling.

Mark, on the other hand, shakes his head. He would’ve face palmed, but his hands are currently restrained.

           “Why am I with you again?” He asks, though, it’s a rhetorical question.

           “Because you approached me first and kept asking me out until I said yes.” You answer him, failing to realize that it’s a rhetorical question.

           “And I do not regret that decision whatsoever!”

           “But I do…”            “That hurts baby girl. That really hurts.”

A/N: Hi everyone! You are probably surprised to see another one shot! Me too! I think looking at my work (school work + studying) schedule, I have only have time to write on the weekends, unless I have prior engagements to attend. Also, I added a rough estimate to the stories that I have planned out, so that helps me keep accountable/on track. Anyway, this is a response to KPOPWONDERLAND’s 13 days of Horror! I based this story off prompt no.32 (“If we’re assigning blame then this is your fault for leaving me alone with explosives in the first place.”) & no.33  (“The plan was going great until we got arrested.”). As I am the queen of comedy and have a been wanting a Superhero!AU (especially for the Marvel universe), what a better way to write it than during the month of Halloween! :)

Don’t forget to leave a like/reblog/comment/a message in my inbox! I love hearing your thoughts! :)

- Kim

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