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mymoodwriting · 2 months

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Request for Anon (Exs To Lovers With Idol!Taemin) 1.9k, exs to lovers au, idol au, idol reader, awkwardness, singing, tears, confessions, apologies, dancing (@starillusion13)

“Too young, too dumb to realize…”

Taemin perked up when he heard a familiar voice, looking around for the source. His manager noticed his confusion and gestured over to the TV. A music video was playing, and then he knew why he recognized the voice. It was yours, your beautiful voice and face on the screen. You were having a comeback. He didn’t keep up with your activities, but it seemed that this song had gone viral and was being played everywhere. His manager was about to change it, but he was okay with letting it play. It’s been a long while since he’s heard you sing.

“Shoulda gave you all my hours, when I had the chance…”

The video showed you going around with who seemed to be playing as your boyfriend. You were going on dates, but after a moment it would show you doing all these things alone. It was a bit amusing, given that this was all familiar to him. This was a heartbreak song after all. He understood the words, the meaning they held, and who it was meant for. He couldn’t help but wonder if your fans knew who this was about too. The older ones probably did, but the newer ones may not.

“Now I’ll never, never get to clean up the mess I made, and that haunts me every time I close my eyes…”

This song was one of your originals. Something you had probably been working on for years, and were only able to release it now. Your contract had been up for renewal recently, so you probably negotiated for this, and more. Although it made him wonder, if this song was going viral, was that a good thing or a bad thing.

“Although it hurts, I’ll be the first to say, I was wrong, I know I’m probably much too late to try and apologize for my mistakes but I just want you to know…”

Taemin was interrupted out of his thoughts when his stylist told him that they were done and he was ready to go. He finished dressing, glancing over at TV to see the end of it all. You had some flowers in your hand, walking in a garden when you spotted your ex-boyfriend with another. The flowers fell to the floor, the petals scattering in the wind.

“I hope she buys you flowers, I hope she holds your hand, gives you all her hours when she has the chance, takes you to every party ‘cause I remember how much you love to dance… do all the things I should’ve done, when I was with you… do all the things I should’ve done… when I was with you…”

🖤

“Taemin, are you alright?”

“Hm?”

“You seem a little bit out of it.”

“I’m fine…”

“It’s the video isn’t it?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Anyone who knows anything about anything knows that song was about you.” His manager said. “Don’t know why she’s dragging this all up to the surface now but-

“I’m fine.”

“Taemin, I’m not asking cause I want to bring this up, but… one of your upcoming schedules is with her.”

“What?”

“It’s a variety show, and she was a last minute addition due to her song going viral. Your schedules never lined up back then, so this would be a first, but I understand if you don’t want to do it. There’s no problem canceling. More attention would be on her anyway.”

“I’m not canceling.”

“Taemin-”

“It’s all in the past anyway. I have no problem facing her.”

“Are you sure about this?”

“Yes. I can’t avoid her forever anyway, not in this industry.”

Taemin was trying to be strong, but he was nervous. He hadn’t seen you in so long he wasn’t sure what you’d be like. Upon arriving at the location he saw that his dressing room was right next to yours. He could hear his manager already making a fuss about it but he said nothing. That is until he walked in and found some flowers on the table. Taemin didn’t pay them any mind and began preparing for the show. He was a bit nervous whenever he heard a knock, expecting you, but it never was. He thought he’d see you before the show, but instead he saw you when he went to the stage. You were sitting next to each other.

“Hi, Taemin, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Yeah.”

The show went on as he expected. He had done many of these before. It was a bit strange to be here with you though, given that he never shared a stage with you. His gaze couldn’t help but linger on you, seeing you smile and laugh. You had gotten good at the whole idol business. After all the games and pranks everyone was winding down. That’s when the host asked you about your latest hit.

“I honestly never expected such a song from you.” The host admitted. “Even today, you’re so full of energy and joyful. How is it that you wrote such a heartbreaking song?”

“Ah, well, as you said, I’m usually so cheerful, and I wanted to do something different this time. I wanted to be honest and deep, especially with my fans. There’s more to me than just my smile.”

“Truly. Tell me, was there something, or someone, in mind while you wrote this? It really seems like this song comes from the heart.”

“It does. Honestly this song was written for someone, and I’m sure they know who they are.”

“Oh, are you really just gonna tease us like this?”

“I won’t say anything more about who I wrote this for.”

“Wow, it makes it all the more interesting. Speaking of, Taemin.”

“Hm?”

“The song is a bit similar to yours isn’t it? 2 Kids.”

“Ah, a bit. They’re both songs about heartbreak.” Taemin explained. “Although they’re in different stages. When I Was With You takes place at the end of the heartache, when one has moved on, leaving the other to reminisce about the past. We see our main character let go, expressing their regrets, and wishing their former lover the best. Whereas 2 Kids focuses on the beginning of heartbreak, still feeling the pain and full of regret for their actions, swimming in the what ifs of the relationship.”

“Wow, very insightful. So then how do you feel about y/n’s song? Do you think the intended party would like it?”

“I mean… I can feel the heart in it, the sincerity, so I would hope the recipient understands the other’s feelings, but I’m not so sure if it would end in forgiveness.”

Things shifted gears from there, trying to create a lighter atmosphere before the end of the show. You honestly don’t know how you kept your cool. To be fair there was plenty going on around you to distract yourself. Once done filming you chatted with some of the other stars there, getting many congratulations on your win. Taemin was nowhere to be seen, which you expected. You didn’t think he’d want to see you, especially after being forced to sit next to you, and answering questions about your song. After you spoke with everyone you went back to your dressing room, ready to get your things and get going.

“We were just two kids… too young and dumb…”

You were startled by finding Taemin in your dressing room. As soon as the initial shock passed you got a bit shy, lowering your gaze.

“Hi… how… how you been? Good I suppose, since you got great music and a successful career.”

“Congratulations on your comeback win.”

“Ta… thanks…”

“Hm…”

It was silent for a moment, a long while actually. All you knew was Taemin was sitting on the couch, but you could feel his gaze on you. This was probably your only chance to be honest, so you had to be.

“I’m sorry, Taemin.” You said nervously. “I don’t expect your forgiveness or anything, but I had to say it. I’m really sorry. I hope we’re not awkward in the future, and I’ll do my best not to bother you either.”

“Y/n.” There was a knock at the door. “We need to get going.”

“I’ll be out in a bit.” You bowed to Taemin. “It really was nice seeing you again.”

You went to grab your things when you suddenly heard a lock, looking back to see Taemin locking the door.

“Taemin-”

“What are you sorry for?”

“I…”

“Tell me honestly.”

You took a breath. “I’m sorry for all the miscommunication… for not realizing how much you needed me, and not treating you right. I was dumb, unsure of what we were, and instead of speaking to you about it I kept it a secret. As if I’d get the answer somehow. I was filled with doubts and that ate me up from the inside. You’re such a star, an incredible person on and off the stage, I couldn’t see myself standing by your side. I thought I was more of a burden to you than anything else. I’m so sorry… I shouldn’t have been so scared to be honest with you, but instead I took the easy way out. I regret hurting you, and I’m sorry for everything I did.”

“If you could go back… would you change anything?”

“Yes… I’d do better by you… treat you better and be someone you could be proud of…”

You didn’t know when the tears had started falling. You didn’t want to cry in front of Taemin, not like this. You wanted to leave, but you could feel the pain in your chest, finally able to speak the truth. The tears blurred your vision and you tried to be quiet. You were so focused on yourself you didn’t notice Taemin stepping towards you, not until he reached for your hands, taking them in his and pulling you close. As you dried your tears your eyes met Taemin’s, seeing the bits of tears he was holding back too. Without realizing you two started slow dancing, moving gently, side to side.

“Sing for me.” Taemin requested. “Your song.”

“… too young… too dumb… to realize… that I should’ve bought you flowers…”

“You don’t need to get me flowers.”

“… and held your hand…”

“Hold them tight.” Taemin pressed a kiss against your hand. “Like this.”

“… shoulda gave you all my hours… when I had the chance…”

“We’re both busy with our careers, but we can set time aside for each other. I don’t want you to stress yourself out.”

“… take you to every party… cause I remember how much you love to dance…”

“We don’t need parties, I just want to dance with you like this.”

You wound up resting your head against Taemin’s chest as you both moved together. Hearing his heartbeat, the soothing rhythm, it made a few more silent tears fall.

“I didn’t like your music video.”

“Huh?”

“It hurt to see you so happy and sad back to back. It was wrong.”

“Was it?”

“I never want to see you sad, and I want to be the reason you’re happy.”

‘Taemin…”

“Hm?”

“Can we… can we really try again?”

“What do you think?”

“I know better now, I won’t hide… and I have so many things I never did for you…”

“I’d like to try again too.” Taemin pressed a kiss against your head. “Do you still have my number?”

“Of course.”

“Call me.”

#shinee #taemin #lee taemin #shinee au #shinee imagines #shinee scenarios #taemin au #taemin imagine #onew #minho #jonghyun #key #lee jinki #choi minho #kim jonghyun #kim kibum #request

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stormcrow513 · 1 year

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Hagging Out: March 2023 - Spring Equinox

@graveyarddirt

So my workings in March tend to start at the beginning of the month, at the eighth my birthday, I'm not a huge fan of my birthday, but I already wrote a whole ass rant about it around my actual birthday so I'm not gonna unpack all of that here,

Was neat having the full moon fall on the day before,

Just sence it's a source of anxiety I've been trying to turn it into a source of power instead,

This year that entailed me doing a thorough cleansing of my self, I was at the tail end of being sick so I did some cleaning of my room as well but only as much as I could manage,

I scraped any icky shit off, I cut my hair from shoulder to above my chin, took a cleansing shower, I called up the elements in a circle, called in what I want in my space, filling up the empty spaces left behind in the cleansing,

I tucked away the cut hair in a napkin, I knew I'd want to do something with it, though at the time I wasn't sure exactly what that was yet,

March is kinda a weird time, at the end of it is the Spring Equinox there's a soft toward bright a shiny and green in stores ect. yet it is very much still the tale end of winter, here where I'm born and raised we've always called it The Snowiest Month Of The Year, and yes it deserves to be capitalized, I myself born at the beginning of the month before we start calling it spring, was born in a from repots pretty fucking bad blizzard, like people probably died blizzard, so it's hard to fully get my mind toward Spring, hell recently woke to this

All righty on to the Equinox itself,

So the new moon hit the day after, but it was going to reach new during the day, so when it does that I do my work for Hekate's the day before, so I had the lovely pleasure of doing both the Spring Equinox AND Hekate's night the same day, and I woke up feeling horrible so the day was off to a super start,

I started doing offerings to the Horae (the Season) and the amenoi (the winds) em fall of 2021 I think? On the Equinoxes and the Solstices thanking them, and asking for blessings for the season ahead, it's made a real difference

I give offerings of water and smoke, tobacco, oats, and coco powder, this time I realized we were out of oats I dug around and found the bag of quinoa that ma had bought back when we moved here five years ago when everyone was recommending it, we tried it hated it, forgot we had it opps, I figured well hell at least I'm putting it back into the earth so I used it,

I also before doing this, I've been doing Jason Millers spirit feast (from the new book, guys a shit head but I've picked up some helpful things, this being one) outside everyday the last couple weeks (before I was doing it once a week, there's been a noticeable difference since I've done it everyday) I set that up and left the myrrh burning while I went and did the above, mighta shoulda put this part first oppsie

I dumped out my Kathos jar into the garden,

I took that hair along with the ashes of some old petitions and laid them at the corner/crossroads of my property,

We all are sacrificing here and now for a better tomorrow, so this was a tangible sacrifice of my past, the effort I've been putting in to become a better Witch a better person, I gifted these to Hekate asking Her help to continue to grow to help me keep my feet on the path that will take me to the future I'm so desperately trying to build,

I washed my bedding, cleaned my room, my altars, then waited for night,

I left my dogs out at 9:30pm feed them and the cats, then I let the dogs out at 11:00pm one last time til morning,

So since I use the corner of my property as crossroads a corner on the visible to where I let my dogs out at, and since you're not supposed to look back after you leave Her offerings I wait till after eleven to leave my offerings,

After the dogs are tucked safe and snug, I close the blinds, I set her offerings in my basket, I made up the Kershnips, prayed, showered/cleansed, slipped into my clean ritual dress and Hekate pendant and began ricting her hymn as I walked to the corner, said my standards prayers left out Her offerings (including a handful of dog food for Her hounds) and made my way back inside no looking back,

After I got inside, I called a circle in my room, said a prayer over Her altar passed her statue through frankincense as well as my pendant I applied

@prairiefirewitch s mugwort ointment I received earlier this month

Then I called Hekate into myself, meditated with Her presence, after releasing I did some other work before releasing the circle

And that's that

#hagging out #hagging out 2023 #hagging out March 2023 #hagging out spring equinox #hagging out spring equinox 2023

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vvolkulja · 3 years

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Wish i had materials for customising some plastic horses or an embroidery kit, I need a little project to look forward to

#would draw or paint but im so impatient with both #admittedly drawing is kinda boring to me #so ironic when parents pushed me to go forward with art school application #bc as they said i will stop drawing if i go study something unrelated to art #went to art school and not only stopped but started to hate the field xD #thanks shitty professors #shoulda go be a gardener instead like i wanted #mine

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thiswasinevitableid · 3 years

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77. a prophecy said that we’ll save the world together but I’ll be damned if I enjoy your company while we do because you insulted my best friend the first time we met

Ot4, sfw, please!

Here you go! I'm very pleased with this one

The drive hasn’t changed. The road into Kepler goes under the same covered bridges and winds up the same hills it always has. Even the views from driveway to the October House are the same one’s he watched through back windows with rising delight. He’d hoped to get here when the fall colors were still crisp and bright, but they droop from the branches like mourners from the weight of the grey rain.

No one batted an eye when he said he was moving North on Joe’s invitation; Joseph Stern inherited the ancestral home in Vermont, with its sprawling grounds and stately decay. It would make sense that he’d ask the friend who spent so many summers with him there to take up the role of groundskeeper.

Duck pulls his truck into the carport next to a languishing Chrysler Imperial. He runs his finger over the black curves, raindrops plinking on the tin roof as he wonders whether he could coax Joe into taking him for a ride.

He leaves his bags in the car for now. Letting his friend know he’s here is the top priority.

The house is just as tall and mismatched as he remembers, turrets and wide windows mixed with sloping eaves and a sun room. It’s patchwork quilt character extends to it’s color; some walls are red, others goldenrod, and the door is bright as a ripe pumpkin.

Joe christened it the October House the first summer he and Duck visited there. Joseph’s aunt, a proud spinster, suggested his transplant parents send him to the family farm for a few months of growth. When Joe showed his characteristic skepticism about spending his summer alone in Vermont, she offered to let him bring a friend. He chose Duck every year.

The October House was the last thing they spoke about the night before Duck left for basic training (and, soon after, Normandy). Joe was already slipping off the map, recruited for secret purposes by men who valued his intelligence over his humanity. He told Duck to remember the summer they were thirteen, to remember he was brave.

It wasn’t Duck Newton’s first war, but it was for damn sure his last.

He opens the door with the tarnished key Joe sent him. Anywhere else, he’d call out to find his host. But he knows where he’ll be.

One flight of creaking stairs, a left turn down the hallway of faded photos, a right into the room with the mural of Noah’s Ark on the wall, and there he is. Black hair slicked back, blue silk robe covering old scars and new, and eyes that are bluer still turning to take him in.

That’s Joe alright; immaculate even in his madness.

“You’re here.” He stands, dazzling smile reflecting the firelight.

“Told you I’d come. Can’t leave you here to get buried alive in books.” He opens his arms, unsure even as he commits to the movement. Joe hesitates, then steps across crumpled maps of stars and seas to hug him.

“I missed you.” He whispers. Duck doesn’t mention that Joe was the one to disappear once the war was over. They had one night in Huntington celebrating the boys who made it home; Joe’s smile stayed painted on the whole time, but Duck couldn’t get him alone to ask why. Then he fled north and didn’t respond to letters.

“Missed you too, Joe.” He peers over the taller man’s shoulder, takes in the mural and all the materials on the floor. Duck steps from the hug, paper crunching under his boots as he goes to trace the door of the ark, “you’re tryin to go back.”

“I want proof Sylvain was real. I, I want to see it again, to know we didn’t dream it.”

“Got a scar on belly that says we didn’t.” Duck turns, slips his hands into his pockets, “why are you really tryin to go back? They told us we couldn’t, said that if we came home the gate would shut for good.”

Joe doesn’t answer right away, runs his fingers over the badgers and bears fleeing the flood, “Do you ever wish we’d stayed?”

Duck thinks about bloody sand. Then about Jane getting married. His folks celebrating their twentieth anniversary.

“No. Christ, Joe, we were thirteen. It was fucked up to ask us to. Who the fuck asks two kids to rule a kingdom?”

A weak laugh, “and people say I’m the smart one.”

“You are.” Duck touches his shoulder, “now c’mon, smart guy, you don’t show me where my room is, I’m takin yours.”

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

“You sure this is the spot?” Barclay keeps a close eye on the gathering darkness for any bursts of sickly white.

“Yes. The maps align with the stories that they emerged near “a stone like that of a broken heart.” Indrid draws hurriedly in the dirt with his claws, his lower hands uncorking bottles as he does, “come closer, if this catalyzes before I expect, I do not want you to be left behind.”

Barclay sets a hand on his shoulder. Feels his feathers shudder as he inhales.

“It’s time. I, if this does not work, I am sorry.”

He bends, kisses Indrid between his antenna, “I trust you, little moth.”

Indrid hums as amber light fills the clearing, and then everything he knows and loves dissolves into heat and empty air.

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

It's the same static, the rush of heat like wind in a wildfire. The hairs on Duck’s arm snap to attention as Joe leaps from his chair. The door on the ark shimmers and glows with alien majesty. Then two figures fall face-first on the floor and the light is gone.

“Are you alright?” Joe bends to help the first, feathered shape but it stands in a flurry of down, the hairy figure following suit.

“Yesyes, we are fine.” The feathery one looks like a massive moth with some human features.

“Oh.” Joe grins, “I’ve never seen a Sylph like you before. This, this is incredible.”

“You know what we are?” The other asks hopefully.

“We do. We, I’m, I’m Joseph Stern, and this is Duck Newton-”

“Thank the stars.” The mothman bends one knee, his friend doing the same, “yes, we are humble emissaries of the kingdom of Sylvain. We have searched for months to find our way to you. You, who prophecy says will aid us, return and take your rightful place as kings, and save our home once more.”

“No. Nuh-uh, not a fuckin chance.” Duck steps back, spots conflict in Joe’s eyes.

“What do you mean?” The mothman stands, “you, the prophecy, my visions showed you-”

“Then they showed fuckin wrong. I just got my life into some kind of order, I’m not letting you and some giant fuckin ape-thing drag me into another mess.”

Red eyes narrow, “Do not speak of Barclay that way.”

“I’ll speak about him however I damn well please because this is my house!”

“Technically, it’s my house.” Joe sighs, “But Duck is right. We almost died saving Sylvain once before. As, as much as I miss it, I’m not sure I can go back if it means risking our lives again. I was sort of hoping for a middle ground between being stuck here and a near-death adventure.”

“Please-” Barclay steps towards Joe.

“Hey, he said no, so fuck off.” Duck growls. The Sylph growls back.

“Buddy, do you have any idea how much we risked to get here? How much energy Indrid just used to open the gate. Oh, and, by the way, without the stuff we came here for we can’t go home. We’ll be stuck here.”

“Then you shoulda had a back-up plan instead of assumin you could just say a few fancy words and get us to go back. Oughta get some brains to go with the brawn there, big fella.”

“Enough” Indrid hisses, glaring at Duck. “I do not care if you are a chosen one, nothing gives you the right to speak to him, or to me, so callously. We came to you, you who are--if I did not make it clear--our last hope, and you respond with cruelty. I ought to teach you manners, but I will restrain myself.”

“Like to see you try.” He turns to where Joe is carding a hand through his hair, expression lost, “it’s your place, so you decide how we get rid of ‘em. But I’m done here.” With that, he stomps down the stairs, already suspecting Joe will let the Sylphs stay. When it becomes clear that’s the plan, Duck heads into the garden to work and stays there until all the lights are off.

It’s just after midnight when he wakes from a dream, slicing at the air while weak cries die on his tongue. He sits up, then goes gravestone still as the door opens. Indrid’s eyes are warning lights in the dark hall.

“Are you hurt? It did not seem fair to leave your calls unanswered.”

“No. Just had a, uh, a bad dream.”

The Sylph steps through the door, turning on the small, standing lamp, “It is strange to be the only one not waking in terror for once. Well, I suppose Barclay doesn’t.”

Duck tosses off the blanket, “Fuck, is Joe-”

“He is fine now. Barclay was up looking at cookbooks when he started screaming and went to him. Your friend did not wish to wake you, but was so shaken Barclay offered to stay with him.” A little smile, “he is very comforting. Soft, too.”

“You’re sure he was just dreamin? Not sick or anythin?”

“Positive. He was yelling in some other language.” Indrid fiddles with the knick-knacks on a shelf.

Duck runs a hand across his face, “Probably German.”

Indrid cocks his head.

“He had to learn it when he was a, uh, a spy in the last war. The one here. He...he got caught, I only know that because everyone talked about how miraculous it was that he escaped. Joe never talks about it.”

“One can imagine why.” Indrid murmurs.

“Then ‘one’ can probably imagine why I don’t want either of us near a goddamn battlefield.” Duck snaps.

“Is...oh dear, you think that is what we’re asking of you? Nono, we came here for help in preventing a war, one that may destroy both our worlds.”

“You coulda led with that, y’know?”

“I suppose. I, I am, or was, the court seer. But as the evil spread across our kingdom, it disrupted my powers. Now they’re gone entirely. It’s as if I am navigating the woods with no compass and no stars.” His antenna droop. Duck turns the chair near his bed in invitation. The Sylph moves quietly across the worn boards, “The last vision I received before they disappeared was of you two helping us; I saw a new timeline of futures, bright and hopeful, unfurl before it was gone. When you said you would not help us, it was like ripping my wings from my body mid-flight. That is why I was angry. Well, that and how you spoke to Barclay.”

“Sorry about that.” Duck scratches the back of his neck, “I just...when y’all showed up, all I could think about was bein back in the middle of a fight. Of, of seein Joe die.”

“I am sorry too. I did not know you had suffered such things.” Indrid picks at the blanket with chipped claws, “I cannot promise there would not be danger if you aid us. But I give you my word that you shall hear no more of it from me. I only wish for you to accept this quest if you wish to.”

“Thanks. That already puts you ahead of the last time.”

Indrid hums, then peers at Duck’s arm where a tattoo peeks from his shirt, “What is that?”

Duck rolls up his sleeve to reveal the pine tree, “got it because it helped me think of home.”

“Yes but how? To wear art on one’s skin, that is amazing. Do you think they could do it on mine?” He holds out his upper right arm. Duck runs a finger up it, thinking of the polished cherrywood on the table downstairs.

“Might be tricky. You need skin for it to work.”

“Blast.” Wings flutter once, “do you have more I may see?”

Duck unbuttons his shirt as Indrid scoots closer; if he’s not going to sleep tonight, at the very least he can make someone happy.

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

“Gotta say, y’all bein’ here is doin’ wonders for him.” Duck hands Barclay a glass of water as he joins him on the porch. Joseph and Indrid are sitting on a sunny path of lawn, Indrid showing the human his wings and explaining them in detail so he can make notes.

“Seems to go both ways. Indrid hasn’t been this animated since we left to find you two. He’s even more talkative.”

“Joe’s always been good at that. He can get anyone talkin, and can make almost anythin sound interestin.”

Barclay sneaks a glance at the human; he’s much friendlier these last two weeks, but his protectiveness of Joseph hasn’t waned.

“I wouldn’t say him cheering up is all on us. From what he told me, the week you got here made him feel like his cares were washing away.”

“Really?”

Barclay nods.

Duck sips his water, rubs the condensation with his thumb, “In, uh, in Sylvain, am I rememberin right that men could marry men? Ain’t always easy to tell when there’s so many kinds of beings runnin’ around.”

“Why wouldn’t that be okay? Some kinds of Sylphs, like Indrid’s, don’t even have things like men and women. I mean, when they offered you and Joseph a chance to rule as kings, the records make it sound like the two of you would have gotten married.”

Duck chokes on his water, splutters as Barclay pats his back, “I, fuck, I’d never, we’d never, I, fuck, definitely never ever didn’t think about it.”

Barclay lets the horrible excuse for a lie slide, “It’s a way bigger deal that Indrid chose me for this; being a seer makes him noble and I’m just a cook. Going off into the wild with me? Trusting me? Thought some of the ministers were gonna faint.”

“Was it just you helpin him or are you two, uh, y’know?”

“Yeah, I do. Can you blame me? Look at him” he gestures to where Indrid is spreading his wings so Joseph can study them. Stars would he like to go down there and hold the human tight while he taught him how to make Indrid purr.

“He really is somethin.” By the look on his face, Duck wants to do the same thing, just in reverse. After a moment, he murmurs, “the night before we were supposed to face the Red Devourer Joe and I were in the tent by the battlefield. Curled back to front, my arms around him and I could feel his heart beating hard as mine. Shoulda been thinkin about strategy, or prayin, or somethin’ like that, but all I could think was that I oughta kiss him, just in case we didn’t survive. But I didn’t. There were chances after that. I never took ‘em.”

“It’s not too late.”

“If you found out Indrid wanted to kiss you for years and was too chicken to, even when he thought he was gonna die, would you really let him?”

Barclay thinks of claws in his fur, of Indrid huddled against him and chirping softly when Barclay asked to kiss him.

“Of course I would.”

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

“How long until the summer?” Indrid tosses the wool scarf Duck lent him over one wing.

“Months. Y’all got here in October, which means we ain’t even into the worst of the winter yet.”

An annoyed chirr, “We need more blankets.”

“Get you more when we’re in town tomorrow, fluffball. Hah, here’s some.” Duck kneels to cut some surviving leaves from a wild yarrow. They’re out in the woods because Indrid is running low on his feather oil, which keeps him from being miserable and itchy. He described what it did and let Duck smell some (it’s a bit like aloe and vanilla) so the human could reverse engineer what earth plants might do the trick.

Duck brushes off his pants, looks around, “Huh, we made it to the Maples. Joe’s aunt said she never got much from ‘em, but I don’t think she ever really tried.”

“What is special about them?”

“It’s how you get maple syrup. It’s in these trees.” Duck smirks, remembering Indrid licking the dregs from the bottle at the house with his long, long tongue.

Crunch

He whirls to his left, finds Indrid with both rows of teeth sunk into a maple branch. He giggles, then guffaws as the Sylph pulls off with an indignant chirp.

“You, you gotta, hee, you gotta tap the trunk, n-hee” he doubles over as Indrid bites the same branch while drumming his claws on the trunk, “not quite, need some other tools.”

“Perhaps lead with that?” Indrid grumbles, wiping bark from his face.

“S-sorry just, just didn’t expect you to go to town on it like that, heee”

Indrid grins, “It was worth it to hear you laugh like this.”

God, when was the last time he laughed this hard? The thought sobers him, his joy faltering like a bird in a storm. Then he cackles as four spindly arms hoist him into the air.

“ACKhey, put me down fluffball! Ahhno thatheee, that tickles.” He laughs louder as Indrid holds him to his chest and rubs his fuzzy face against his neck.

“I thought that might do the trick” Indrid purrs, nuzzles his cheek, “no more despair, Duck Newton. Not today.”

Duck turns his face so they’re eye to eye, pine green to ruby red, “Deal.”

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

“I found everything on the list.” Joseph crumples the note paper and tosses it away as Barclay gleefully unpacks the shopping bags.

“This is so fucking great, I can’t wait for you guys to try this, and Indrid is going to lose his mind when he sees what I made. This dessert is his favorite.” He tucks the heavy cream and pears into the fridge.

“I’m excited to try it. We definitely didn’t eat any tarts when we were in Sylvain. The badgers who hid us from the red mist were, I think, pretty poor.”

“Yeah, the borderlands were bad off in those days. I was just a kid too but I remember digging out roots to try and make some kind of soup.” The Sylph turns those endearing brown eyes on him, “up for being my kitchen assistant again?”

“Always.” Joseph tucks a dishcloth into his belt. He’s very proud of himself for finding earth equivalents to all the ingredients Barclay needed to make a fall dinner from home. Having the Sylphs living with them means he goes into Kepler more often for groceries or goods to fix up the house. Everyone in town thinks his childhood friend is a good influence, getting him out of the stuffy confines of the October House.

They’re not wrong. When Joseph saw Duck in the doorway, a little world-worn but just as kind, just as practical as he always was, he decided that if the other man didn’t want to return to Sylvain, Joseph would set the project aside. He’d focus on the world he was in, because with Duck there he might yet find things to marvel at, things to discover that weren’t mired in the mundanity of human evil. They’d make the October House into a home, live out their days as bachelors.

Then Barclay had come through, auburn-furred and so gentle Joseph wanted to make like butter in the sun and melt. And Indrid, magnificent and vulnerable (and very infatuated with Duck). When Duck announced he’d help them look for clues to stopping the war, Joseph felt buried bits of his mind rising to the light of the new challenge.

After dinner, they take a pot of coffee into the living room. Indrid is delighted by records, is already putting one on as Barclay puts wood on the fire. The seer lays on the rug, head in his lovers lap and purring low.

Love me like there's no tomorrow

kiss me like it's goin' out of style

“You know, I wonder how one dances to this. It is not fast, but the rhythm is not like the formal dances at court.”

“Here, I’ll show you.” Duck stands, offering Joseph his hand. Lord, he’s pictured this so many times but still has to coax his own hand to move, “Joe, you’re leadin.”

He settles his hand on Duck’s hip and holds the other, concentrates on swaying them to the beat.

Hold me like you're afraid I might get away

Love like I've been gone for quite a while

“You can come closer, Joe. I ain’t gonna bite. Not in front of company.”

“I’m holding you to that.” He presses closer, prays for Duck to rest his head on his shoulder.

Take and wrap me in the package

my future my presence and my past

And love me like there's no tomorrow

and each day might be our last

“Dearest, I am rather tired from that lovely meal you made. Shall we retire?”

“Good thinking, little moth.”

Love me like there's no tomorrow

Make each night one more remembered

we will let the heaven be our guide

“Seems they didn’t need much of a demonstration.”

“Not sure that was Indrid’s endgame.”

Just love me like there's no tomorrow

and keep me right by your side

Joseph tips his head down, whispering, “What was?”

Keep me right by your side

“Duck?”

In the crackle of silence between songs, Duck brings their lips together. Joseph forgoes their stance and pulls him against him, their hearts magnets that were finally turned the right way. Then his feet stumble on the rug, Duck pushing him back with a ferocity he didn’t know he possessed.

Joseph drops into the chair, Duck pouncing before as he breathes. Joseph growls, the hunger that’s been chained threatening to crack his chest from the inside, and nips Duck’s lower lip.

“I said no bitin.”

“You said you wouldn’t bite.”

“You're right, darlin’” Duck cups his cheek as Joseph grips his thighs, “I’m gonna do so much more than bite.”

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

It never gets easier, waking from these dreams steeped in shame, fear, and sweat. Except this time someone’s arms are around him.

“I’m right here Joe, we’re here, we’re safe.”

“Very safe.” Indrid stands behind Barclay in the doorway, “another dream?’

“Yes. I, um, I-” he reaches for Barclay without meaning to, is ready to apologize when the Sylph slides into bed beside him.

“Is this okay?” It’s directed at both the humans.

“Yes.”

“Uh huh.”

Barclay adjusts so Joseph can hide his face in his chest. He should ask Indrid if he wants to be on the bed as well, the poor Sylph might think he’s not wanted-

“C’mon fluffball, my back is gettin cold.”

A delighted chirp and then a wing, black with a grey and red eyespot, drapes across him and Duck.

“Mmmmmm, I knew you would be lovely to hold.”

“Aim to please, sugar.”

“What happens now?” Barclay murmurs.

“My vote is we all get some sleep and work out the particulars in the mornin’.”

“Seconded” Joseph mumbles.

“We will need a good night’s rest; tomorrow I make the disguises for myself and Barclay so that we may begin our wider search.”

“Hope you guys like them.”

Joseph squeezes Barclay, smiling as Duck wiggles closer and Indrid’s wing grows heavier, “We’ll love them no matter what, big guy.”

#OT4: Government men and their cryptid boyfriends #sternclay #indruck #inclay #agent stern/duck newton #meet ugly #taz amnesty #agent stern/ barclay

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thelordstears · 3 years

Text

I wrote some more, because I, am an addict

“ In this world I've met some sorrowed souls, one of 'em stands in my mind like a candle, flickerin' lights of his mercy dyin' in my heart, and as he stares me down with madness filled eyes and a heart sick 'a trouble and decay, will he gun an old friend down all for vengeance on the man who broke all 'a us? “ - Quint Sanfield

“ I'm just an outcast lookin' for his heart, and as I travel this strange and mysterious land, I must wonder if my heart lays underneath foreign soils, cause as I dig my hands inta the soil of my hurt, I don't find anything but trouble and the decaying corpse of me. “ - Quint Sanfield

“ I'll keep on keepin' on like a sorrowed ghost train, findin' passengers along the railroad of my heart, and, maybe findin' a couple more people like me. People who understand the depths of secrets and trouble, perhaps I can be a lil less transparent with people who understand me, with people who also know what death tastes like on their heart." - Quint Sanfield

"If God loves all, does he look at the sinner who bleeds the river red with a gentle and forgiving smile? I can't help but wonder if he looks at me with something sorrowful swimming in his ethereal eyes, because as I tremble under a cruel man's trigger, I stain the river of my heart with unholy colors and sinful strokes of a brush.” - Jonah Worthshein

“ I met a man with death and cruelty lurking like ticking time bombs in his heart, and as he struck me down with his cane of trouble and told me to weep the mercy from my eyes, I succumbed. “ - Jonah Worthshein

“ There's pain beating inside my heart, and I know there always will be, because my hero, he's gone, and somedays I don't know how to go on without him. He was my brother, and as he became nothing but a missing poster in my mind, I wondered what I would do with his tattered cape. Somedays I hold it close to my chest and weep into it, for it holds questions I'll never find the answers too. But whenever that pain comes crashing down on me, my daughter picks me right up and tells me that I'm her hero, and I always will be. “ - Faymeline Borealis

“ My friend, I am insanity in an unwell mind, bursting with colors that shouldn't exist.” - Burns Mataugh

“ We are pioneers of madness following our Queen through the echoes of the night, for she saved us from the slow and insidious killer that is sanity. She stands tall and lean like a madness filled revolver, and as she kills peace, you must know its grave has been long overdue. “ - Burns Mataugh

“ The tranquility of succumbing to your beastly nature is like no other feeling I have ever felt, and as I stand here like an ill begotten question, sipping on a stream of crimson stained melodies and secrets, I know I would never yearn to be the sheep again. “ - Burns Mataugh

“ I once asked the world who it wanted me to be, and as I sat at the stream, madness seeping through my veins, I saw the reflection of God in the lake, and to me, he looked like a lonesome beast of sorrow." - Burns Mataugh

“ I'm just a washed up and broken dream wondering why all his childhood wonder turned into nightmares, stars imploding in his mind, cause damn, it's just a galaxy colored the shade of the nebula. “ - Brooke Bermgeir

“ They're always like, oh, you gotta be a boy, you gotta be a girl, but fuck that, I wanna be myself. “ - Skyler Syndicate

“ My families memory is like a cigarette against my lip, because all it does nowadays is kill me slowly with things I'll never have again. “ - Connie Averfollow

“ My mind is a panic room, the walls are etched in names I never wanna forget and faces I'll always miss, and as I cower in the corner my darkest fears come for me with eyes I used to see everyday, her eyes haunt me, her smiles have become a graveyard in my haunted little heart. And as I sink into my blankets and smoke another cigarette I pray that life will give me my lover's fate as my head hits the pillow." - Connie Averfollow

“ I don't know how humanity managed to become an enemy to itself, but damn, ain't it a shame we're losing the fucking war?" - Larry Devendra

“ People are always tellin' me I'm digging my own damn grave, but don't they realize it ain't my name etched on the stone?” - Zane Harrenburrow

“ It's kill or be killed these days, and regretfully I still breathe. “ - Rolft Van Gaver

“ I just wanna live despite the death in me." - Rolft Van Gaver

“ I, am where dreams go to die my friend.” - Moores Thomas

“ I'm a sinful bastard with a heart rotted bared on his extravagant sleeve, do you think a heart could possibly survive madness? It rotted, withered and decayed as I sputtered up blinding red lights and salvation.” - Moores Thomas

“ You'll live, but you won't survive. “ - Moores Thomas

“ Sometimes, we just gotta raise our fists instead of our white flag.” - Hunter Shallows

“ There's a garden 'a decay in my mind, two roses standin' tall, but all the others 'ave become black petaled ghosts, but I visit that garden if only ta see my roses still painted red. “ - Saria Romiro

“ We've both seen Hell in the eyes of people who were supposed to love us, but we found Heaven in each other's love. “ - Riell Romiro

“ I try my best, to stand tall, but somedays I'm struck down by the sorrow I feel and I can hardly reach the other side of paradise. Because in truth, my son's ghost still haunts me. He's in the corners of my memory, asking me why I didn't find him, and I give a regretful smile and say I tried my best. “ - Riell Romiro

“ I have met darkness in the eyes of a banshee, standing tall over me like a shadow that shrieks into my broken mind that I won't make it out of this darkness alive. But I take a fragile step forward and fix my little bowtie, knowing that the cruelty I've met is not me, but rather what I have seen. “ - Harlem Peixoto

“ These secrets in me hide deep within my cracked ribcage, nesting, waiting to blossom like a rose grenade, the shrapnel of lies and shadow splitting my heart in two. “ - Harlem Peixoto

“ My hands are stained in mystery, and as my mind brews up questions like it were some witches cauldron full of answers, I get to wondering how many of the people I searched for are still out there. “ - Harlem Peixoto

“ At some point, life presents you with a fork in the road, and which path you take determines who you'll be, one path leads to who you're supposed to be, kind, gentle, whole in some beautiful way, but the other path gives you things, but it also corrupts your heart and turns you into a wicked beast with cruelty living deep inside his troubled heart. Be careful when hate and cruelty whispers in your ear that you do not become these things. “ - Solomon Bones

“ My brother has always had my back, man. He's been there for me, he's kind of, my hero, ya know? He doesn't wear a cape fluttering in the breeze and he doesn't have laser eyes, he has burdens, he has scars, but most importantly, he has a kind heart. And that's what makes a hero in this broken world. “ - Solmon Bones

“ They've both seen the Hell of war, it drips down the notches 'a their spines and whispers lies inta their hearts, cause mate, war never leaves the innocent soul be. It's a beast draped in crimson, fur drippin' with innocence and forgotten men lyin' in freshly dug graves. When it smiles, ya see it's rifle fangs and bullet tongue, and as it charges, it leaves all soldier's ghosts 'a who they were. “ - Fallows Diamond

“ Mate, I've seen death in the shadows 'a graves that neva' shoulda been, I seen cruelty lyin' in the eye of a man with venom drippin' from the corner 'a his eyes. 'E was a slitherin' serpent in the garden 'a my mercy, firin' bullets inta me peace and askin' it ta bleed for all he'd done. And so, with regret, I say there ain't no peace in me heart. “ - Fallows Diamond

“ She stands in my mind like a howling regret, scratching at the confines of my skull to escape my memory, because she was my fuckin' hero, man. “ - Tristy Alden

“ I can still remember Sasha's gentle eyes, her heart worn on a cotton sleeved sweater, her heart beat was a melody I could listen too forever. I know sometimes I made it a struggle to love me, but no matter what, she was always.. there for me, and sometimes I wonder if I fucked it up. I hope she knows that I love her, even if we've been separated because of life's trickery and deceit. “ - Debrah Sabbatino

“ If you look at the pages of a history book you'll find me, stained in the bloodied ink, etched into the stones of war and cruelty. “ - Veltrexen

“ I have watched the kind fall through the scorching skies as people clapped and cheered for the death of the good hearted rabbits. And as I pull a top hat from the back room, I look for rabbits inside but I'm always pulling my sins from a hat and wondering if the innocence has left me behind in the dust of my cruelty. “ - Ellsworth Davis

“ I was just a girl looking for trouble in the ashen cigarette and love with a boy who wouldn't remember my name next Summer. “ - Carrie Hackenwood

“ I am not crazy, I would not quite put it that way. I am mad, I am twisted, I am broken, some extant form of Wyatt Demouchett. From the corners of my cracked ribcage, a beast started to roam, and ever so slowly he tore pieces from my heart to eat from, for a starving heart will always find itself in the maw of the ribcage.” - Wyatt Demouchett

“ My mind is a prison of thoughts and memories, and as I try and rip myself away from the confines of my skull I realize I can never rip this mind from me, for if I were to do such a thing, I would die in an empty prison cell. “ - Wyatt Demouchett

“ I am scalded flesh upon the battlefield, rusted bones in the grave of a boy I no longer am. “ - Wyatt Demouchett

“ If ya look deep inside my eyes you'll find little reflection 'a who I ain't creepin' about, little sorrows in the corners of my pupils, sitting there like dogs starvin' on a chain. “ - Sandro Colorfeid

“ Ya know, people are always saying I'm a hero, I saved so many god damn lives, but the way I see it, there's too many I didn't save to be considered any sort of hero. I sit here in the silence of my mind, sparking up cigarettes and memories, wondering how many bastards and cheats went right under my damn sniffer. Maybe a hundred, maybe only two, but even two bad men out in the wild can make a difference, huh? “ - Sandro Colorfeid

“ I'm starving bones looking for a grave that ain't never been dug wondering if this lonesome ghost is all I can ever be. “ - Sandro Colorfeid

"Humanity lost its fight against evil the day they gave it a name. “ - Zalrifear Dellrick

“ I am no longer tethered to humanity.” - Zalrifear Dellrick

“ I'm a crimson fucking bullet soaring towards all who wronged me and all who didn't, I'm insanity flying on wings of wax and loss. “ - Harvin Scoviney

“ The sane man just don't survive the insane one's wrath.” - Harvin Scoviney

“ I'm living like a landmine, whosoever steps on me is gonna feel that shrapnel dig into their fragile skin, and trust me, the sight won't be so pretty. “ - Harvin Scoviney

“ I'm a ticking time bomb and you best hope you ain't near me when I burst, cuz when I do, it's gonna be an explosion of broken bones and bloodied faces strewn about the concrete of my fucking rage. “ - Harvin Scoviney

“ Ya can yell for the boy I was, but he's buried in a pinewood box and brother, he's just charred bones in a casket. “ - Harvin Scoviney

“ Don't say I don' got what it takes to make it in this life without knowin' my damn past. “ - Carolann Tresparo

“ I'm old, I've seen just 'bout every sorrow there is ta see in this broken man's land, and as I spark up another old cigarette, smokin' away my lifespan with sparks in my dusty ribcage I getsa wonderin' when this ol' man will finally find himself a bit of peace. “ - Rayburn Manski

“ Ya know how it is, ya break a couple times, ya fall from yourself and wonder who the hell ya's sposed ta be, but eventually ya find the peace ya seek. But I'm different. I'm just a gambling man with his wicked little heart worn on a broken sleeve, wondering if these casino chips and blinding lights is all he could ever be. In truth, I don't know me, just who I used ta be. “ - Rayburn Manski

“ Don't pray for me, I don' missed out on every opportunity ta confess, I'm just sittin' on this old bench with a cigarette on my lip, smoke driftin' around me as I ponder on where I'll go when I die. “ - Rayburn Manski

“ I'm a ghost of who God wanted me to be.” - Hayton Mathers

“ Do you ever feel like, maybe you're a promise that's been broken by the Gods? They vowed to love you, vowed to be by your side, but life washed on by and scattered your pieces into the sand, so much so that they could no longer find who you were supposed to be? “ - Else Serafin

"Peace doesn't die, man, it just hides from the chaos sometimes. We just gotta wait for it to feel comfortable in the open, because honestly, chaos leaves a whisper in the wind, some sort of after noise of what happened to you.” - Aaron Crinklewick

“ That man stands lean like a vulture, and instead of the flapping of wings he's got the whinnying of a decaying and black horse, rusted hatchet strapped to his dusty black coat like an omen of what he'll do. “ - Allison Diamond

“ I met a man in the streetlights, he stood tall and lean like a flickering omen of death, and as he offered me his hand, to walk away with me to a place where all the freaks and wolves can be themselves, I put on a smile and found myself a family in the lights of the damning circus. I have since died. But I like the way this grave feels. “ - Zayleen Bevessa

“ He is a silent wolf, jaws gnashing at those who think they can escape the destiny of a circus soul. Together, we are the wolves of tomorrow, gnashing our jaws at the innocent with smiles of crimson and doll like features of cruelty. “ - Zayleen Bevessa

"Beauty knew my name, once. But since then it has withered. “ - Nishi Masago

“ I am a butterfly and a wasp wrapped into one vessel of anger and love that can bleed and fight, so when all my enemies come towards me with grins of sin and blades of death, I shall let my blade fall to my side and do the work for me. “ - Nishi Masago

“ I sit here like a forgotten candle 'a wax, my flame long since passed wonderin' why I didn't find myself in the essence 'a heroism. “ - Danya Cruz

“ In truth, I'm just a kid, my body grew up, but my heart is still just as young as it was thirty years ago. “ - Sametha Springton

“ I don't wanna never ending life, because in truth, I don't think I'd like what humanity would do with eternity.” - Sametha Springton

“ I've seen pain in snapshot crime scene photos and blood spilt on the streets I'd hear about in the news and weep over, but as Charlotte smiles and tells me the past is the past, I know I've got a wonderful future with her. “ - Oscar Forbes

“ I'm just a bullet casing washed to shore, waiting for somebody to pick me up and awe at the used up violence they've found nestled inside the cracks of a rock.” - Asher Broquel

“ I once swore an oath, that I'd protect the people. And I did, but did I ever think about protecting myself? Or was I so wrapped up in the thought that everyone else was a person but me, that I let myself bleed into someone that isn't really me? “ - Asher Broquel

“ Humanity is always growing and changing as flowers do each season, sometimes we're daffodils swaying in the wind, other days we're wilted roses with nothing but thorns, and somedays we're just a regretful weed, shivering in the cracks of the concrete. But all it took to make a flower beautiful was some water and light, and so as the sun rises and it begins to rain, can't you see we're meant to grow during this storm? We're not decaying, we're just growing from out this storm's soil." - Audrey Killva

“ Ya know, I met death in the eyes of a man with cruelty lurking in his veins, ribcage beating empty, his chest an empty night sky of the void. And as he told me I'd never be the same once I met him, he sure was right, huh? Cause as my son was ripped from this world, I knew a scar would be left on my heart like a threadwork patch of memories and sorrows I'd always know. “ - Barry Bosnia

“ She's a beacon of hope in a world so dark, and as her light shimmers like a star in the sky, I know there's a chance humanity will win its war against the dark. “ - Thituna

“ My heart is a lonely little ghost town, filled with cobwebs and dust, old decaying drawings of people I knew hung up on the hallways walls. And as I trace my fingers over the threadwork scar of memories in my mind, I come to realize I'm just another scar in my own heart. “ - Scarlet Westfield

“ I am a cold water sin, dripping from the corners of your eyes and bleeding from the edges of your spine. “ - Devella Minstreiva

“ I, am a woman of the night, dancing so elegantly in the cruel light of the pale moon, sinning as Devil's do. The scared little girl I was is begging me to stop, begging me to turn back, but with a smile stained red, I keep forward on this path of broken bones that are never my own. “ - Devella Minstreiva

“ I've got blood on my hands from men who'd be better off breathing, but sometimes, you have to justify the sin to survive.. because when you step foot on a battlefield, you aren't really yourself. You're this distorted version of who you are, baring a rifle as if it would bring you glory, I was still Adam Eavington when I was at war, but I wasn't me. “ - Adam Eavington

“ I know it feels like this darkness is all we can be, but don't you understand, shadows are deceiving? They follow us and mimic our every action, but those doppelgangers aren't us, they're a twisted vessel of what we never were. Because in truth, we'll never truly achieve the title of darkness, for that implies we're able to be without light, but with the sun shining on us, and the moon washing us in its pale yellow glow, we've found our lighthouse. “ - Adam Eavintgon

“ This is a war, and I'm the only enemy.” - Adanya Oni

“ Eternity is such a damning and distraught curse, and as I seek to find me, I find mirrors standing in front of me, regret flickering in their eyes, and I realize the only person who could ever be there for me, is me. I trace my fingers over the glass of my own cheeks, running a gentle finger over my own glass lip, asking myself why the only connection I have is with the woman in the mirror. Heavy is the burden of being myself. “ - Albersteen

“ I have grown so tired of me.” - Albersteen

“ I've seen a helluva lot in dis world, I seen angels fallin' bloodied from da sky and cruelty smilin' in the eyes 'a death, but I ain't da things I've been through, eh? I'm Abraham feckin' Carlson, and there's sumfin' beautiful about dat. “ - Abraham Carlson

“ I've been through quite a bit, but despite all this, I live and breathe like I was supposed to do, sadly, some people don't get this opportunity, some people are ripped into this world only to be killed the day they were born because of people who don't know how to love. So to all the broken, I'll be a lighthouse at sea, and though those waves crash down so violently and it feels like you've got a ship but no steering wheel, know that I'll lead you home with a light that never flickers. “ - Sandra Dickens

“ I'm Lorelei Metals, not my scars.” - Lorelei Metals

“ I know that this world feels like a big ol' cage, trapping us in the echoes of our mortality, but the key is acceptance that your memory will live on forever in the hearts of those you've loved. “ - Lorelei Metals

“ There's a devil and an angel within us all, and it's up to us to decide which one wins the battle waged inside our crooked lil hearts." - River Metals

“In my eldritch stride I steal all things holy.” - Algonul

“ I am all the shadows accumulated into all seven deadly sins, wiping star light from my lip as I take a taste of all that is holy and let it rattle in my throat. “ - Algonul

“ I am nothing more then a vessel in which darkness lives.” - Algonul

“ I'm a cruel man, and as you look for any sort of mercy in my eyes, you'll find it staring down the barrel of my fucking revolver. “ - Gilderoy Vinefroker

“ I'm a sinner with his heart bared on his sleeve, look at all those scars, all those bullet holes, they're proof I've survived, and if I've lived through all these old assassination scars and treason laced holes, do you really think I can't survive you? “ - Gilderoy Vinefroker

“ I'm screaming into a void of my broken sorrows, wondering why this abyss stares at me with unblinking eyes.” - Annalise Valley

“ When she holds me close to her chest I feel like I can finally be me, as she tucks strands of my hair behind my ear I know I'm gonna be okay, and as she kisses me soft with gentle lips, I know love is a magical thing, healing scars that hands can't touch. In her heart I found a beautiful song, and as I listened to its rhythm and leaned in close, she took my heart in her rough yet gentle hands and told me she'd heal all the broken parts inside. I don't know how I can possibly thank her, but as she tells me she loves me, I know that safe can't even begin to describe how I feel when I lay my head in her lap. “ - Amila Hemizvowe

“ I'm a girl of revolution and smoke, standing sturdy and tall amidst the war I've waged against the weakness that used to make me, but nowadays as I pull back the hammer of this revolver I don't flinch. Because killing has become second nature, and so as I stare down he who made me, I'll let him drop with my human nature." - Kaytlie Dextor

“ My heart is built of buried bones and dying secrets, and as all this violence seethes like rage in me, I know I'm just not the girl I used to be. “ - Kaytlie Dextor

“ In this world, there's cruel men who need to be put down like the dogs they are, and so with my jacket of hidden knives, dare you call me Karma? “ - Cosmina Winchester

“ I put up emotional walls in my mind to keep people out of my heart, because in all honesty there's a certain sense of freedom, in being able to control the way your heart beats. “ - Cosmina Winchester

“ I'm falling from grace on wings of fragile bone sanity, always asking if who I am is good, but I shudder with horror as I see the words flash like crimson on a screen in my mind, "Outlook not so good." I met a devil in the confines of an orphanage I should've been safe at, but he sipped on his delusions so much so that he'd become them, and as his shifty eyes glanced towards me, his boney fingers wrapping around my collar, dragging me to a room of darkness, I knew my life was over before it ever began. “ - Olive Junkshire

“ That man called him a Devil, but I always believed he was a fallen angel, clutching at the clouds with human fingers trying to find anything to stop him from falling regretful through the atmosphere of his sorrow. “ - Olive Junkshire

“ Maybe there aren't any heroes, maybe there aren't any villains, just people who took different god damn paths. “ - Ashelice Curt

“ I'm not a saint, but maybe I'm halfway there." - Ashelice Curt

“ Monsters are always human, they always have the kindest smiles, but they wear grins with bullet fangs, silver revolver glistening like death in the smile of a rich beast. “ - Ballen Morfellos

“ He wears my pain like a jacket, his sins hiding just underneath his sleeve, darkness nestled inside the fabric of my hurt, but I'll wear his pain like a fucking bullet grin. And as he stares down the barrel of my revolver, will he plead guilty and ask for mercy, or will he stand like a statue and greet his death with insanity bleeding from his forehead? “ - Bellerose Kivinstein

“ I was human, once. It was beautiful, the way the flowers recoiled and withered as I stepped into the garden, how the trees howled in pain as I scratched human claws against their bark. I am not life, my friend, but the opposite of it. “ - Bezeltorren

“ Truth is we're all a mosaic 'a all the people we've met and all the things we been, so as this light shines through me I know I'll always be somethin' beautiful, won' I? “ - Rosaline North

“ Some men like ta call 'emselves coyotes howlin' in the dark, and once I met a man in the forests who called himself just another animal, biting and barking at anythin' that gave him a reason. But ya know what? If he's jus' another animal, then I'll be jus' another got damn hunter. “ - Rosaline North

“ I've been goin' knuckle ta knuckle with evil men ever since I stared me rage ridden father in the eye, and so as I stumbled through life in a haze, wonderin' when I'd find myself in the eye of some bloody peace, Hymond caught me in 'is arms and danced with me in a storm 'a peace and love ever aching. That man is brave as all hell, and with his heart scarred and fragile in me hand, I kiss his wounds and stitch the scars in 'is mind together so we can always dance so beautifully.” - Cleopatra Peterson

“ I'd never met a soul so brave and beautiful until my eyes met her steely gaze. “ - Samantha Robertson

“ The world ain't wicked, but people sure as shit can be." - Samantha Robertson

“ I'm not the best man in the world, I've killed, I've cheated at cards and gotten people hurt, but at least I'm halfway fucking decent. For Naomi holds my fragile and scarred heart with a smile that saves the goodness inside of me. When she holds my hand, and tells me with my scarred and rough hands she trusts me completely, I know that I'll be okay despite the murder and rage that nestles in between the cracks of my ribcage. She is my peace, and I will do whatever it takes to keep her in my heart. So with my sin etched bones I pray that God is forgiving to he who has a kind, yet murder scarred heart. “ - Perov Teras

“ With a heart so stained, and a mind so scarred, I walk this path knowing it is Hell I deserve, but alas, Naomi says God forgives he who fights for the side of the right, and so I pray to every God listening to this poor broken soul that for once in my God forsaken life, I do not stray left of this path I tread on tattered tap dancing shoes." - Perov Teras

“ I am a fragile beast, please, spare me of the point end of your blade, I was never savage, only weak and frail, hiding in a corner of my mind so dark it'd turn any star into a shadow. “ - Beverly Himisear

“ I can look deep into the eyes of who I am and find someone I'm not swimming in my dark pupils, and as I recoil and wither in the sight of who I've become, I must ask why fate vowed against the troubled girl. “ - Beverly Himisear

“ I suppose this is all I can ever be, and so with sorrow lurking in my chest, sitting there fragile and gentle like a forgotten toy in a chest of more loved dolls, I rust away into something forgotten by time and me. “ - Beverly Himsear

“ As my brothers went disappearing in the night, I didn't know if I'd ever be okay again, cuz in truth, they were my heroes, and without them I felt so lost. But as Rebelle takes me by the hand and tells me we'll make it through all the treachery, I know I'll be okay. With them I feel so safe, and as they squish my widdle cheeks and calls me their cute little gremlin, I know that I couldn't possibly be more in love then I am. “ - Marine Scoviney

“ Its been such a better place since they came along, and as they kiss me gently under the light of the sun, I feel my heart burst with colors that only exist in the mind and soul. “ - Marine Scoviney

“ Oh I was just another starving question, but my answer was always dark and twisted, a decaying little rose in the dying cracks of emptiness and pain. So as I stalk these fields, cigar on my lip bursting sparks and chaos from my lip, dare you trifle with a dead man walkin'? “ - Borat Coolraymo

“ My friend, a skinny and starving boy is easy prey for a lion, and so I had ta become somethin' other then the rabbit, standing daintily in the field of wolves who intimidated the lion. So, I grew into my red fur, ripping into my skin, becomin' something less then human as I arose from my coffin a beast of a different kind. I ain't just some skinny and starvin' boy of Africa no more brother, I'm a red lion of the O'Connel outlaws, and as I grin, blood on my teeth, you best know it ain't mercy I'm firing from my revolver. “ - Borat Coolraymo

“ I wasn't born for peace, but maybe I can fight for it. I can feel the colors bleeding from my soul like paint dripping down a canvas, and as I rock myself back and forth, asking myself why this world didn't protect me, I come to realize that the world never made anyone safe. Because the world is dangerous, and I learned that too young. “ - Bowie Hunton-Blather

“ I feel as if, as I roll in these sheets I'm sleepin' in a strangers bed, wonderin' where who I am went, but as these blankets wrap 'round my throat like a noose, I know this, is who I am, and from now on out, always will be. As the darkness encroaches upon my vision, and I fall inta the dark, I know that no matter what I do, I will not escape being this beast called Shawn Moot. So with tragedy in my veins, regretfully I continue ta be me. “ - Shawn Moot

“ I can hardly travel these lands of trouble without finding the edge of a blade, running my fingers over the metal as to bleed this man I'm not from my finger tips. But I'm skin, I'm bone, I'm thoughts and withering roses, but the one thing I'm not, and never fucking will be, is Shawn Moot, and that, is perhaps the greatest tragedy of all." - Shawn Moot

“ I was just a wild gal, dancing at clubs and bars, wondering where my life went, but perhaps that too, was life. Living wild and free, trying to find someone to make my colors burst like fireworks booming in the night sky. I met him in a bowling alley, striking down pins with his buddies, and as I caught his eye, I wondered if perhaps that was life I was staring at. Sure, we had our troubles, we had our hardships, we had breaks, and we had fights. But in the end, I don't think I'd want anyone's heart but Rolando's in my gentle hands. “ - Bridget Shontell

“ My life has been troubled, I've met a man who barked at car lights and shadows, looking for any reason to bite, but I've also met peace in the eyes of a goofy and highly stupid guy who makes me laugh uncontrollably. “ - Bridget Shontell

“ Once upon a time I told myself I'd never dance again, but as she beckons me to the spotlight and tells me this dance would be her pleasure, I follow her, swaying gently back and forth into the light with a pained smile creeping up the corners of my lip. “ - Alexandria Hartman

“ As she dances fingers against my scars and tells me she loves me, I know that somewhere in this heart is a flame, sparking for a revolution against the darkness in me. But alas, I have always been a moth drawn to her own fucking flame, sparking up cigarettes in hope to find the light that draws me ever nearer to my demise on a golden sunrise. “ - Alexandria Hartman

“ I've been faced with trouble all my life, smoking cigars wonderin' if these sparks would be enough ta keep me warm, but they never was brother, they never was. “ - Wesley Kamstool

“ A good friend of mine once said that we're all just tryin' to be somebody, and maybe the fact that we're striving for that, means we've already grasped it. But I've always been a ghost, a grave etched with no name, and so am I really someone, or have I always been a lonely no one, sitting on the edge of a cigar, rising from it like the smoke of a dying man's breath? “ - Wesley Kamstool

“ Perhaps as life looks at me with sorrowed eyes, she mourns for the man who never lived, but if she could dance her fingers against my cold cheek, would she find Spring and Summer blossoming in my broken smile? Or would she find Winter and decaying bones ripping through my chest? Maybe she wouldn't find a man, but rather a ghost pretending ta be one. “ - Wesley Kamstool

“ Perhaps this grave of war and old gunshots is all I can really ever be. “ - Bri Calzato

“ All these scars have killed me ever so gently, and as I'm laid in the soil next to the worms and moles, I must wonder if this is what it means, to be alive. But this is no life I've lived, it's been death, disguised as the greater good. “ - Bri Calzato

“ I yearn for the gentle touch of someone who'll love me, battle scars and all, for maybe love would heal the wounds sitting idle on my breath, but these scars are roots dug deep into my heart, wrapping around my ribcage until I can hardly breathe without pieces of dirt and pain ripping themselves from out my throat. “ - Bri Calzato

“ I honestly fear I am nothing but a bullet cased grave, etched with a name that is not quite my own, and as I trace my fingers over the words and numbers that tell me when and how I died, I get this haunting feeling that I've never really lived. As if I am a ghost, haunting her own lonely little grave where all the flowers and roses came to wither and fade like me." - Bri Calzato

“ I'm caught in this war I wage in my mind, traveling this labyrinth of scars that sit in the hallway of my brain like sorrowed questions never to be answered by this heartbeat, and as I wade gently in these waters, they start flowing red with blood that has not ever been my own. “ - Brooke Woodward

“ With our blades we charge, but alas, as we swing them our hearts become blackened ash of a dying willow tree, and we have always been standing underneath the shade. “ - Brooke Woodward

“ My heart is such a long maze, and as I traverse through its shadows I wonder whom would so care to travel alongside me, for this dark place is a part of me, and to love me means you too, must be dark. “ - Brooke Woodward

“ I have come to the horrifying conclusion that we simply aren't human, anymore. We're little more than beasts, ripping at the seers threadwork fabric set before us, we follow blindly into destiny with hearts of steel and gnashing teeth, and gently, ever so gently the seers cut us from thread and watch us fall down ever so down into a hole of our own inhumanity. Perhaps this is their way of punishing us. For we poisoned the garden with our wicked hearts, asking why all the roses turned black, and why the daffodils withered and died. “ - Brooke Woodward

“ Ya know, as those two people fell in spurts of red and my misery, I knew I wasn't ever gonna be the same, so at the cost of another boy's peace, I protected my own. But I guess murder never gave peace to anyone, huh? It hides in the cracks of your heart, and as it sits there like a forgotten secret, you know it'll always be the blood ya bleed. “ - Bruce Willingfell

“ My sons tell me they love me, they say I'm their hero, Ragnar says as I accepted him as the king he is instead 'a the princess the world tried ta make him, he knew I would always be a hero ta me. And Jaspel would always smile, and say I'm a good father. But they don't know the murder in my heart, the secret bloodstains in my ribcage. “ - Bruce Willingfell

"The world never betrayed me brother, but you did." - Ralph Artvaina

"Once upon a time I wished upon shooting stars, asking for the mercy of my decaying, bruised and ugly heart. But alas, I found wishes never come true, and so here I sit, heartless." - Hartman Brokedallo

"You know, I've had too many mother's ta count, too many black toothed bloodied knuckled father's ta speak each individual name of the fists that broke me down ta tears and bone. I ain't never had family, every brother I ever had pushed me down flights 'a stairs and called me an outcast of his family. Every sister stabbed me in the fuckin' back, but when I get ta lookin' ta people who ain't known me for all that long, and I see some sense of, redemption swimmin' in the river of their pupils, I get ta wonderin' if family is found in ghosts and people mercy failed." - Ralph Artvaina

"I stared her eye ta eye, and I can't say I found a human swimmin' in them blackened, decaying pupils." - Ralph Artvaina

"I think I died the day I stared mercy dead in the eye and said, "This just ain't no truthful sort of matter." - Ralph Artvaina

"Justice isn't something we can change the definition of. If you twist the words and tangle the truths, you can't call it justice, all you can really do is call it what it is. A stone cold lie based in cruelty, and an agenda." - Hartvorth Devilsky

"Circumstance pushes people a helluva lot more than trust." - Darmina Lightsworth

"It is only in death I feel the presence of life." - Vokens Samtino

"If life is not an adventure, I'd much rather do something other than live." - Lewis Kifle

"Every once and awhile, God must let Lucifer roam earth as a reminder that not all in this world is beautiful." - Royal Hondros

"The heart that loves, perhaps, is the one that breaks." - Lukell Calderi

"I have found that she is not a garden, as those wither. She is not the sun, for it sinks, nor is she the moon, nor the stars, for her beauty and grace is unfaltering, and as I see her warrior's smile, I know that perhaps to be alone with her in this maze of my heart is not such a damning fate." - Brooke Woodward

"In that old revolver of secrets and the sins of a ghost, I met the darkness in me and walked willingly into the decay of my own broken heart." - Callina Troubrewskey

"He's a stain on my heart I don' wanna see go." - Dori Thievesmire

"To become something a little less than yourself is the loneliest achievement of all. And as I sit here, in a corner of my heart, I come to realize how lonely I really am." - Harpwrit Thievesmire

"If my heart was a chord, a melody of seven strings, I don't think anyone would care to listen." - Alckoline Thievesmire

"I looked at the world through a dead man's point of view, and came to realize death is not so peaceful after all. To sit lonely in your casket with the worms and bastards would be such a sorrowful sort of damnation." - Elfine Thievesmire

"Inside of me something real started to grow like a cancer, blossoming from my chest." - Myka Thievesmire

"I'd never claimed to meet death until I looked into the eyes of a Devil, who with a crooked and wicked grin tore his children, along with all whom knew them kicking and screaming from a garden of Eden." - Devanhue Connor

"Screw that destiny shit, take hold of your reigns, kid, don't lose control like I did. Cuz the only fate I can imagine that's worse than being me, is becoming me." - Denzel Thievesmire

"I'm one strike away from death, kid. Don't go damnin' yourself ta this fate of dead end home runs and hollow bones." - Denzel Thievesmire

"I can sense the death of identity in your smile, Rupen. Dare you place it in the tips of my fingers, only to watch it flitter away like cinders from my cigarette?" - Rucarlo Devinski

"Evil where's the face of the every day man." - Clarice Sanchez

"Aching and gentle I lost my heart. It was a cruel melancholy tune, drifting through the skies like a soft cinder, and as I reached for it with greedy paws, it slipped like water between my fingers." - Maxadellas Zonestrame

"It is not so easy, finding who you are in hiding echoes." - Camilla Davidson

"If you are loving, my father, give me all I had back and beg for forgiveness from the man peace never seemed to know. But I suppose you can not give me graves without grief." - Alastair Sambridge

"Here I sit, like sacrilege on my tongue." - Alastair Sambridge

"A grave is creeping up the corners of your sorrowed eyes." - Royal Hondros

"It is always Winter, in my ribcage." - Benjamin Samahil

"If she were to dig her fingers into the essence of my heart, I fear all she'd find is a dark shadow of who I am. And as tar and crimson spills between the fingers of the pure, does the kind become cruel? Does the loved become the hated?" - Benjamin Samahill

"I died long before I met you, you simply shoveled dirt in an already decaying casket." - Benjamin Samahill

"I met a man in the dying lights of my faith, and with an almost, life saving smile he changed the bulbs." - Rhys Breeze

"I am an extant form of man, no more am I Benjamin Samahill, just the vessel in which he once lived." - Benjamin Samahill

"I lay my hand on a Bible and it withers like the mercy in my heart." - Antonio Sharp

"Some people will take their bows and their arrows and catch fire to the flint headstones of death sitting idle on the wood of their instrument of murder. Some people will always crave chaos, but a true warrior craves peace, above all else." - Enzvilina Harbrita

"That woman dances with a ghost and expects to find something living beating inside her heart." - Hoshino Akinori

"Pieces 'a his reflection become marred with mine." - Sandro Colorfeid

"Is it really madness if it brings you peace?" - Moores Thomas

"My brother once said he was a rabid Stoneshire dog, and it's with fear dripping down the notches of my spine I say, I'm a blood hungry Stoneshire wolf." - Mackton Stoneshire

"Every man who's lain dead at my feet haunts me, but, with a badge on my chest and a heart that rarely feels, I pull another trigger and call it justice." - Vayton Camilo

"In a kill or be killed world, I must regretfully call myself more then a grave." - Vayton Camilo

"My brother looks at me with human eyes, but it's hate tangled in his love for his own life that makes him something less then the man I knew." - Marvin Grudges

"You ever look at yourself through the lens of someone you know and realize, you ain't never been the good guy?" - Marvin Grudges

"In the gunfire smoke of another day, I traverse through the heart of war, wondering if it beats inside my ribcage." - Ulysses Tenbarge

"It's not life that kills people, it's not cruelty or the sea. Trust in strangers and people with kind smiles has killed more men then I've ever watched go down in sprays of red mortality." - Narthal Vormalew

"I met cruelty in the eyes of a widow, heart bared black on her empty sleeve." - Dante Dunbar

"I don't understand the fundamental roots of evil, all that I know is, I'm swingin' from 'em." - Dante Dunbar

"They stood still at his grave, like vultures, who knew their job was done." - Sarvel Humington

“ You want protection, right? You wanna make a name for yourself in the notches of history? Then come with me, cause this town is full of crooks and broke back cheats, we're all reapers here, so let me give ya your damn scythe." - Sarvel Humington

"Tell me somethin' kid, if a man can look death eye ta eye every day of his God forsaken life, what do you think he'll do when faced with life?" - Sarvel Humington

"I was like a wet cat, scratchin' and tearin' at anything that got damn near two inches 'a me. And god damn brother, something about that chaos just killed me." - Sarvel Humington

"I would watch for monsters under your bed, child. You have no idea what hides in the wake of nightmares and dreams." - Mizella Shrew

“ You can't jump into the casket of secrets and expect it not to close." - Moores Thomas

“ Sometimes there's a little monster prowling in the depths of our mind, he stamps his little feet, always wearing a cute little frown, but don't let that grumpiness inside of him get to your heart, because that's when it gets real difficult to exorcise this nasty little monster who holds you down. “ - Krystie Shontell

“ am caught in a bad dream, except every time I close my eyes, I escape it. If only for a mere night, I escape my mind. I've never been able to dream, really. My mind doesn't conjure images for me to see, well, in a sense it does, just not in the sense that I dream. I can picture a meadow of grass, I can picture the nights of terror, I can picture the darkness inside of my mind, but I don't particularly dream. I hit the pillow and wake up. And on the rare occasion that I do dream, it is my mother I see in the dark. “ - Zachariah Rinderez

“ I am a king without his crown, wondering why his kingdom ever followed him into battle. “ - Bardzimi Collingwood

“ They call this strange land, New York city, they say it's filled to the brim with corruption, evil spilling from the side of the glass. “ - Russel Cormelius

“ You can deny the innate desire within to hunt down those who kicked you down, but is it really worth it, to let your enemies escape and watch as they continue their ways? As they say, be merciful to the cruel and you're cruel to the merciful. “ - Pascal Von Reddix

#writing #characters #dialogue #author #coollines #characterdevelopment #characterwriting

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slashedthroughtheheart · 3 years

Text

The boy behind the wall Pt. 2

She managed to quietly close the door to the basement she’d found, and slowly snuck her way back to the kitchen, putting her long forgotten empty glass in the sink and made her way to the front door just as it opened with a very vexed looking Mrs. Thompson at it. “Oh, there you are. Your fath-uncle is here.” She didn’t dwell on the slip up, and Layla didn’t point it out in any way either.

“I was just coming to check if it was him. Guess I lost track of time daydreaming and dozed off. Sorry about that!” She did her best to hide behind a sheepish smile, hoping that her lie was good enough and any face she might be pulling would be easily chalked up to embarrassment at ‘falling asleep’ at the kitchen table.

Mrs. Thompson seemed to readily accept this answer, shaking her head briskly. “No matter, but you better get a move on, your uncle seems to have places he wants to be, since he’s still got the truck running.”

And with that, she moved to the side and Layla scampered past her, stomach doing flip flops as she brushed by the older woman.

She felt cold inside, trying to figure out how anyone could treat someone else like that.

They didn’t stay long after she left the house, having bound down the steps as well as she could, making her way over to the passenger side of the truck her uncle was in, leaning towards his window, talking with Mr. Thompson.

They said their goodbyes, and her uncle reversed before heading off their property.

He asked how it was helping out around the farm, and she gave a non-committal shrug. His eyebrow quirked at this.

She knew her uncle to be a kind man, he loved his wife, loved his younger brother who was her father. It was a shame that they had gotten a nice big ranch with a big house only to find out he and his wife just couldn’t have children. They loved kids though, and loved her unequivocally.

So upon seeing his usually very talkative niece being aloof set off a warning bell in him, like the tornado warnings. It wasn’t right.

Before he could probe about the shift, she asked her own question.

“Do the Thompson’s have any children?”

At this he pauses, his first response was going to be no before an almost forgotten image of seeing Mrs. Thompson round with child popped into his head from a time long ago when he’d ran into her in town. She’d been so happy back then.

The Thompson’s were never the same after she lost the child during birth.

It was a very hush hush topic, never brought up in polite company, and not talked about except behind closed doors.

He made a low noise in his throat. “Well, not exactly. They were supposed to, but years and years ago they lost the baby she was going to have. It was tragic, and they’ve not been the same since, especially not Evelyn. She went from being happy and full of life to having a very… uh… tight lipped way of dealing with anyone.” He glanced over at her from the side before returning his attention back to the road.

“Did they… did she do something to you that made you ask that?” He had a feeling of dread in his stomach, hands gripping the steering wheel hard enough for his knuckles to turn white.

With the change in her demeanor paired with the odd question, he couldn’t shake the bad feeling taking root at the base of his skull screaming danger.

She looked at her hands clasped together in her lap for a long moment, almost long enough for him to prompt her once again, but she beat him to it once more.

“How long ago did they loose their baby?”

At this he really had to think. He tracked back in his memory as they were pulling up to the ranch. “Well, I think you were born just a year after it happened. I remember having that small fear of ‘what if?’ in the back of my mind when your father told me about your mother expecting so soon after it happened. So 19 years ago?” He ventured a guess, before turning to look at his niece now that the truck had come to a stop and the engine had been cut.

“Did something happen over there, little one?” He had a deep frown on his face, but the touch he used on her shoulder was light. He was concerned.

She worried at her bottom lip for a moment, before turning back to him, deciding to trust her uncle. He liked children, and he couldn’t have his own and that must hurt him so very deeply. So maybe, maybe if she told him the truth, he’d be willing to help her free the boy.

“I think they’re keeping their son locked up in the basement. I don’t think they lost him at all.”

He removed his hand for just a moment in shock at her words, not having expected the conversation to take this turn.

“You think… wait, why do you think any of this of the Thompson’s?” He sounded skeptical, but he also knew his niece was not one prone to lying or over exaggeration. In fact, his niece tended to downplay the seriousness of most things, especially her discomfort. She wasn’t one to inconvenience others.

So this kind of declaration from her was shocking, but he couldn’t immediately rule it out.

A small flash of worry crossed her face, before she seemed to take a moment to collect herself. He watched her hands tighten in her lap before she turned to face him fully, a very grave expression on her face.

“Because… I saw him. He’s kept in the basement behind a crude brick wall with just a single brick not in place where he can see out of. He looked… different. Like his face was smooshed up from something. Kind of like how a blood hound looks different from a german shepherd dog, but for people. His eyes have this… like.. extra skin around them. It looks rather painful, honestly. He can’t talk, but he understood me talking to him. I asked him questions uncle Andrew, and he said… well more like grunted in a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ way. He said he lives there with the Thompson’s, but he didn’t seem happy about that. And that he can’t leave the room! It’s awful!”

She had run away with the conversation, passion filling her voice now. She was almost breathless after explaining everything to him.

He took a moment, and looked real hard at her, trying to tell if she was pulling some sick joke or if she was being actually honest. And when she didn’t waver under his intense gaze, but instead switched to an almost pleading tone, he realized she was telling the truth.

“He couldn’t have been much older than me, so it fits. He’s gotta be the baby from back then. And they… they locked him up because he was different. I don’t know if he’s ever even been out of that room before. He didn’t even know what a hug was, I had to explain it to him. And he looked so sad after I explained it. He’s never been hugged before, I just know it. They’re being awful to him just because of the way he looks, even though they’re his parents and supposed to love him, all of him, unconditionally. He’s just… he’s just a kid, their kid. He shoulda gotten hugs…”

As she went on, trying to impart upon him the sincerity and the urgency, she wasn’t able to hold back the emotions she’d been tamping down for the better part of the day. Her voice cracked at the end, and the tears she’d held back in the basement resurfaced with a vengeance.

A very small and broken “I couldn’t imagine papa never hugging me… or teaching me how to read… or loving me.” And at that last bit she burst into sobs, the big tears rolling down her face as she hugged herself tightly, rocking softly.

Her heart was aching, but not for herself. For the boy locked in a basement, unwanted by those who were supposed to take care for him.

“It’s not right… he’s alone…” she barely managed to get those words out through her choking sobs, her mind too young to emotionally handle something of this gravity without breaking down a little.

He didn’t doubt his niece, not after seeing how broken she looked and sounded. He did scoot over, drawing her up in a hug and rubbing her back and shushing her softly, trying to get her to calm down. Doing his best to soothe her.

“Shhh shhh, little one. It’s alright, it’ll be alright. We’ll look into it, okay? We’ll figure it out, it’ll all be okay.” He didn’t want to make any promises about this supposed boy, but the story was plausible. He just didn’t want to promise anything in case the situation wasn’t as it seemed.

But she shook her head. “We need to get him out of there. I promised him, and even if I hadn’t… you can’t… he can’t just stay locked up in a basement. It’s not right, uncle Andrew. He was crying when I had to leave, I can’t… I can’t leave him there. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let him stay down there to-to… to just wallow alone.”

Her tears hadn’t stopped, but her sobs had lessened. She still sounded like she was crying, even while talking.

He pulled a grimace, but nodded. No one deserved to be locked in a basement with no contact from anyone. That was just cruel. And if it did turn out to be the long thought dead Thompson boy, then it was an even worse situation.

He finally nodded, his mouth still in a grim line. “If he’s down there with no way out, we’ll get him out, okay? That’s all I can promise. But we gotta be smart about this. Do the Thompson’s know you found him?” He turned to face her, still holding her in a reassuring way, but wanting to make sure she knew it was important to go about this the right way.

Shaking her head, she sat up straighter, hands going to wipe at her tear stained face before responding verbally. “N-no. Mrs. Thompson thinks I fell asleep at the kitchen table while she gardened.”

He took a breath, trying to think if that was believable enough or not, but then remembered that everyone knew his niece he took in for the summer was of frail constitution and tired easily. So it was entirely plausible.

“Alright, well you can’t go back right away, we have to think this through. So for now, no wandering around, you’ll stay at the house, alright?”

At this she seemed to resist the idea for a moment, before nodding. “I’m just worried about him. I trust you, but how are we going to check on him and get him out?”

Quiet fills the truck as they both sit in anxiety while turning over different ideas in their own minds. He breaks the silence first.

"Well, I think the easiest way is to get the law involved. I've known Dale since I moved here, him and Irene went to school together. He's good people. We can have him come out and check in on them." He seemed sure this was the best course of action, but Layla worried at her bottom lip.

"What if... what if that makes things worse? Like, if they hide him or hurt him?" She had only ever read about things like this. And even then, they weren't quite like this situation. The stories she'd read were detective novels. Ones where once the police closed in and the bad guy had nowhere to go, they lost it and hurt the person they were stalking or had kidnapped. It never ended well.

He gave a low hum at what she brought up, it was a fair thing to be worried about. "I could have him over soon, invite him early in the day and we could tell him what happened. Make sure he's gonna be on our side, and then when we go over to check, it'll be me and him together. They won't be able to hurt him if both of us are there little one. We'll make sure he stays safe, alright?"

She contemplated this for a moment, anxiety eating at her. She wanted to say no, that she didn't want him to be in danger, but she also knew he was an adult who knew what he was doing. Had been an adult far longer than she had been, having only just turned 18 at the end of winter.

A shaky sigh passed her lips before she nodded. "Alright. When can we have Mr. Dale over? I don't... I'm not gonna sleep well until we get that poor boy out of there." Her voice had started out strong, but trailed off, barely above a whisper by the end of it.

Shifting to rub soothing circles on her back, he looked out the windshield. "Well, we oughta tell Irene all this, run our plan by her. She's the brains, after all." A soft, affectionate chuckle left him at the joke.

With a bit lighter hearts, the two of them got out of the truck and made their way inside to run their plan by aunt Irene. Layla had hope that aunt Irene might have a better idea than involving the police or putting uncle Andrew in harms way.

#Max Thompson Jr x Original Character #Max Thompson Jr #Dead by Daylight fluff #Dead by Daylight #fluff #hurt/comfort #canon-typical child abuse #angst with a happy ending #eventual smut #nsft

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neerasrealm · 4 years

Text

Trick and Treating

In which Laughing Jack finds a boy crying while taking his daughters trick or treating. He decides to try and cheer the kid up and make his Halloween a little better. wdym its november 3rd halloween lasts two months because i said so

Word Count: 2869

"C'mon pops!"

"Awrigh', awrigh'! Slow down!"

"C'mon Slendra! This next neighborhood is always really good!"

The two girls, Slendra and Sally, a pair of sisters, ran as quick as they could around the block. Though it was dark out, the night was full of life and laughter. Kids, younger and older than them, made their way from house to house, picking up candy from strangers. Everyone around them was dressed in a costume of some kind. Super heroes, spiders, skeletons, you name it. Of course, the girls were dressed in costumes too. Slendra, the taller but younger of the two, was dressed as a witch. She wore a long black dress with a purple band tied around her waist, fastened with a silver buckle. Her hat was much the same, and it sat atop her head of blonde hair. Sally, on the other hand, was dressed as her favorite cartoon character. The skintaker. Her face was covered in makeup to make her look like a skeleton, and she wore a long robe that was quilted together with different coloured patches. She had a hat that was the same pattern as her robe. Both of them had been handmade by her other dad, and she adored it.

‘’C’mere ye li’le rascal!’’

‘’EEK-!’’ Slendra was grabbed by the back of her dress and yanked back into big, soft arms that hugged her tight. She shrieked and giggled, thrashing in the hug. ‘’Pops! Lemme go!’’

Of course, the girls weren’t alone on Halloween. No, they had their pops with them. Laughing Jack. Looking at him, you’d assume he’d managed to find the coolest scary clown costume one could hope for, with sharp bony hands, wispy black hair, jagged teeth and bandages wrapped around his torso, but no. He looked like that year round. In fact, Jack hadn’t even bothered with a costume. The only thing he had added to himself tonight was a white bird mask strapped to his face. It obscured the top part of his face, which really just made him scarier.

He laughed a bit and squeezed his daughter in his arms. ‘’Stop runnin’ off on me! If ye ge’ lost yer da will kill me.’’ he replied with a grin. Slendra giggled again and looked up to see her sister Sally. However, instead of standing in front of them waiting for Jack to release her sister, Sally was sitting on the sidewalk a little further up, talking to someone. ‘’Eh?’’ Jack withdrew his arms and stood up. He and Slendra walked over to Sally and stopped next to her.

She was sitting next to a young boy, dressed in a blue ripped jacket, a black and white striped shirt and black pants. The green face paint on his face was smudged, especially around his eyes. Sally pat his back and frowned. ‘’Hey, it’s okay.’’ she said gently. ‘’What’s wrong?’’

The boy sniffled and let out a breathy sob. ‘’I-I was chasing these b-boys that stole my ca-candy a-and now I’m l-lost-’’ he inhaled sharply before breaking into tears again. Sally frowned and hugged the boy. Jack crouched down beside him and pat his head.

‘’Calm down kiddo…’’ he murmured. The boy looked up and stared at him in surprise. ‘’Some’ne stole yer candy?’’

The boy nodded. ‘’I was with my friends b-but they went to another neighborhood and I wasn’t allowed go with them s-so I started walking home but then these boys on bikes came by and took my bag,’’ the boy whimpered and wiped at his eyes. He seemed to be calming down significantly, thanks to Sally. ‘’I chased them but...now I’m lost.’’ he curled up, hugging his knees. Jack looked horrified that someone would do something like that, and to a small kid no less. He reached into his sleeve and pulled out a packet of tissues.

‘’Ere, kiddo,’’ he took out a tissue and gave it to the boy. He sniffled and wiped at his face. ‘’Ye’re lost?’’

‘’Mhm.’’ the boy looked around. ‘’I don’t know how to get home…’’

Jack looked from the boy to his two girls. He looked back at the boy and gave him a reassuring smile. ‘’We’ll take ye ‘ome, kiddo.’’ he said, reaching into his sleeve. He pulled out some candy and held it out to the surprised looking boy. ‘’Ere, i’s no’ a lo’, bu’ i’ should make up a bi’ fer th’ stuff ye lost.’’

The boy looked at Jack’s outstretched hand and broke into a grin. He took the candies, shyly unwrapping one of them and tossing it into his mouth. ‘’Thank you.’’ he murmured. Jack smiled and grabbed the boy, lifting him up and putting him on his shoulders. The boy blinked in surprise.

‘’Can ye see okay up there, lad?’’ Jack asked. The boy grinned.

‘’Uh-huh!’’ he glanced around. ‘’You’re real tall, mister.’’

‘’Jus’ call me Jackie, kiddo.’’

As the four of them walked the boy talked with them more. Jack learned that his name was Jeremy, and he lived with just his mother. He hadn’t gone trick or treating last year, or the year before. He’d been sick the past couple of years, and still wasn’t fully recovered, so trick or treating was a big thing for him. Which just made it worse when you considered what had happened to him. Jack knew he had to do something about it- he wasn’t going to let this poor boy have his halloween ruined for him.

‘’There’s the place!’’

‘’Ah!’’ Jack looked up to where the boy on his shoulders was pointing. The neighborhood they were in didn’t have many decorated houses. The one Jeremy was pointing to, however, was covered in decorations and bright lights. Jack smiled a bit as he walked up the garden path after Slendra and Sally. The girls knocked on the door as Jack put Jeremy down. The door was pulled open, and they were greeted by an older lady with brown hair that was starting to grey at the roots. She wore a long black dress, a big collar around her neck, and a pair of fake fangs. In her hands she held a large, flowery bowl that was filled with candy. She smiled sweetly at the girls for a moment before surprise crossed her face. Then she broke into a wider smile.

‘’Jeremy! Oh there you are, I was starting to get worried!’’ she put the bowl down on a table inside the hall as her son stepped forward and hugged her legs. She pat his head lovingly. ‘’Did you have fun?’’

‘’Mmm…’’

She frowned and looked up, finally noticing Jack. He waved a tiny bit. ‘’Heya, I’m Jack,’’ he murmured. ‘’We found ‘im a couple a blocks away...some older kids stole ‘is bag.’’

Jeremy’s mother looked horrified. ‘’They did...?’’ she asked. Jack nodded. ‘’Oh that’s terrible-!’’ she looked down at her son. ‘’Oh pet- are you okay?’’

‘’I’m okay…’’ Jeremy murmured. He pointed up at Jack. ‘’Jackie brought me home, and he gave me some candy.’’ he smiled a bit. Jack tilted his head.

‘’I was wond’rin’, miss, if maybe I could take yer lad wiv us fer th’ nigh’. ‘E can ge’ sum more candy an’ stick aroun’ wiv sum kids ‘is own age.’’

‘’Oh?’’ Jeremy’s mother looked surprised for a moment. She looked down at her son, a little worried. ‘’I don’t know…’’

‘’Please?’’ Jeremy asked. He stared up at his mother hopefully. ‘’Jackie is real nice! And he already has kids with him so we should be okay!’’

She looked up at Jack for a moment, then sighed. ‘’...okay. But don’t take him too far away from home! And I want him back before nine.’’

Jack gave a nod. ‘’Absolu’ely.’’

After cleaning and fixing up Jeremy’s makeup, Jack, Sally and Slendra wasted no time raiding every house in the surrounding neighborhood. Jeremy quickly learned that these three took Halloween very seriously. Constantly on the move, trying to get the best candy possible, they talked about what house they’d target next like it was some kind of big important mission. It was actually exhausting, especially for him, but the girls excited energy was contagious. It didn’t take long at all for Jeremy to fill up the bag LJ had given him. Then a second one. Then a third. He walked slowly, dragging the heavy bags with him as the girls ran ahead of him and LJ.

‘’Ey kiddo?’’ LJ asked above him. Jeremy looked up. ‘’Ye want me ta take yer bags fer ya? They look ‘eavy.’’ Jeremy stopped and nodded, giving LJ two of his bags. He took them, holding them like they weighed nothing. It was weird- Sally and Slendra both had five bags each yet they didn’t seem to struggle at all! Maybe Jeremy was just weaker than he thought-

‘’Pops!’’ Sally called ahead of them. Jack looked up at the girl, who was pointing ahead. In the distance, they could see a large fire. She grinned. ‘’There’s a bonfire! Can we go see it?’’

Jack smiled a bit. ‘’Sure kiddo.’’ he replied. The girls ran forward, with Jack and Jeremy sauntering calmly after them. The bonfire was surrounded by tons of teenagers who were yelling, hollering, dancing and drinking. Jeremy stuck close to Jack’s leg. Bigger kids had always scared him, and these ones looked like they were what his mother would call ‘hooligans’.

‘’Hey! Jack!’’ someone called from a bit further away from the bonfire. Jeremy looked up and over at where the voice came from. He saw Slendra and Sally run off away from the fire.

‘’Shoulda known…’’ Jack murmured above him. He turned and started walking off after the girls. Jeremy followed quickly, not wanting to be left alone around so many older kids. Jack stopped in front of a small group of kids. Four boys and one girl. They all looked to be in their mid to late teens, and were sitting in a circle with a bag of candy in between each of their legs. In the centre of the circle was a box filled with cans of beer. ‘’Evenin’, kids.’’ Jack greeted.

‘’Hey guys!’’ one of the boys, who had blonde hair and was dressed in a Luigi costume chirped. His eyes were a bright, shiny blue that looked almost like lights.

‘’Hi Ben!’’ Slendra greeted, bouncing on her heels. Sally abruptly dropped her bags and looked at the group, her hands on her hips.

‘’You guys can have anything you want from these bags in exchange for your butterfingers. Except the m&ms, sour patch kids and twixes. Those are mine.’’ she said, sounding more like a bossy older sister than a ten year old girl dressed as a cartoon character. The group all rolled their eyes and began digging through their bags.

‘’Evury year…’’ another of the boys muttered. He had ginger hair that hung over one of his eyes, and was pretty skinny. He was dressed in a Mario costume that matched the other boy’s. He also sounded like he was drunk. Or maybe it was an accent.

The boy sitting across from Ben, the boy in the Luigi costume, took a swig from his can of beer and looked at Jeremy for a long moment. He was intimidating. His skin was pure white, probably makeup, with big scars on either side of his face. His eyes were deep and sunken, but stared straight into little Jeremy. He was wearing a vampire costume, with a big collar and everything. His scary eyes flicked up to LJ. ‘’You’re stealing kids again?’’

‘’I’m no’ stealin’ ‘im, ‘is ma wuz givin’ ‘im away wiv th’ candy!’’ Jack retorted. The boy cracked a smile and barked a laugh. He looked at Jeremy and smiled.

‘’Nice costume kid.’’ he said. Jeremy blinked in surprise.

‘’Y-you too,’’ he murmured. ‘’Your makeup is great...you’re really scary.’’

The teen smile. ‘’Aw, thanks!’’ he grinned. ‘’I’m Jeff, by the way. Uhhh-’’ he turned to his friends. ‘’That’s Ben, that’s Bryce,’’ he gestured to the boys in the Mario and Luigi costumes. ‘’That’s Emily,’’ he pointed to the girl, who was dressed as Princess Peach, complete with blonde wig and everything. ‘’And that’s Ethan.’’ he pointed to the last boy. He wore a white hoodie, black shorts, and a backwards baseball cap. His skin was green, and looked rotten. His purple hair hung over one of his crimson eyes. He must’ve had contacts in or something.

Jack frowned. ‘’Wha’s yer costume supposeta be, Ethan?’’

‘’A dead teenager.’’

‘’...oh.’’

"It's nice to meet you all." Jeremy murmured. Jeff looked back at him and smiled. He held out his hand.

"You too kid." The two shook hands. When Jeremy pulled his hand away, he realised Jeff had managed to slip a small piece of candy into it. Oh! Wow- these older kids were...nice.

"So wha're you's all doin'?" Jack asked as he watched Sally raid the other kid's bags for butterfingers and reese's cups.

"Oh, the usual," Ben replied as Slendra traded him a small box of smarties for a bag of jellybeans. "A bit of trick or treating, hanging out by a bonfire, doing a little drinking…"

"A lot of drinking in Bryce's case." Ethan added as he dug through his own bag of candy. He pulled out a bag of peanuts and sighed defeatedly before reluctantly opening it.

"And after," Jeff continued with a wide smile. He reached over and grabbed a black duffel bag from beside him. "We're gonna cause a little chaos. Some tricking with our treating, if you will." He added with a wink.

Jeremy's eyes widened. Oh- he should've expected that from them honestly, but still. Trouble-making teens were something his mother always told him to avoid. Jack pursed his lips. "You's be'er be careful. You's don't 'ave fireworks, do ya?"

"Nah, nah." Ben shook his head. "just harmless stuff. Eggs, toilet paper, spray paint-"

"We go' fiirecrrackerrrsss." Bryce slurred out. Ben shot him a glare. Jack sighed.

"Be careful, awrigh'?" He murmured. The teens all nodded. Sally turned and walked back over to her bags. She deposited the results of her trading into a couple of them and gave a satisfied 'hmph!'. Jack looked down at her. "Ye finished, girlies?"

"Yep!" Slendra and Sally both chirped. Jack chuckled a bit. The teens got to their feet, slinging their candy bags over their shoulders. Jeff picked up his duffel bag and caught Jeremy's anxious stare. He smiled and winked at the boy reassuringly.

"We'd better head out," he said. "It's getting late." Jeff gestured to Jeremy. "I think you should be heading home kid. All the teens will be hitting the streets soon too. Don't want you getting hurt or picked on."

Jeremy gave a slight nod. He still wasn't sure if this older boy was nice or a troublemaker. Slendra turned and looked at the bonfire. She smirked, then pulled her hands up. She clapped them together loudly, and with a louder 'fwoosh!' the massive bonfire suddenly extinguished itself. There was a chorus of shocked gasps and general confusion from the teens that had been enjoying the fire's warmth moments prior. Jack whirled around and stared.

"Slendra!" He hissed, looking down at the girl. "Don't do tha'! No' 'ere!"

Jeremy stared at the blonde girl. "How did you do that?!" He gasped. She turned to him and gave him a wide smile.

"I'm a witch." She replied with a sly wink. Jeremy's eyes widened. He thought it was just a costume! Jack sighed above him and looked around at the group.

"Nobody tell Slender abou' this." He said, pointing a boney black finger at nobody in particular.

"We won't as long as you don't tell him we were drinking and playing with firecrackers."

"Deal." Jack replied. He reached down and picked Jeremy up, putting the boy on his shoulders again. "Now make yerselves scarce, ya 'ear me?"

The teens smiled and nodded. As they began to walk away Jeff turned back one last time and gave the four of them a wave before turning around and jogging over to catch up with the others. Jack looked down at his two girls.

"C'mon you's two. I fink we've done good t'nigh', eh?"

"Awwwe- but it's only eight thirty!" Sally protested. Jack shook his head.

"Sorry lass, bu' ye know we go'a ge' our friend back b'fore nine. And if ye come 'ome wiv more'n five bags yer da will flip 'is lid." He replied. Sally sighed defeatedly. "C'mon." Jack turned and began walking off. Jeremy looked down at him.

"Hey Jackie?" He asked softly.

"Yeh, kiddo?"

"...are you guys monsters?" He asked. "Real ones? That come out on Halloween, like in the movies?"

Jack looked up at him for a long moment. He smiled a bit. "...ye're a smar' one, ain'tcha?" He said softly. "Yeh, we are. We usually 'ide away from you's 'umans. 'Alloween is th' nigh' we stop 'idin'." He smiled up at the boy. "You won't tell any'ne, righ'?"

Jeremy nodded. "I won't." He murmured. He rested his head in Jack's soft black hair and smiled tiredly. "Thanks for letting me spend Halloween with you."

"Anyfin' fer you, kiddo." Jack replied softly. "I'm glad ye 'ad fun."

#creepypasta #creepypasta hcs #creepypasta hc #creepypasta oc #creepypasta fanfic #creepypasta fanfiction #laughing jack #writing #slendra jackson #sally williams #jeff the killer #jeffery woods #ben drowned #lost silver #sonic.exe #tails doll #bryce bryson

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seafleece · 4 years

Note

Could you write a Beaujes monster/supernatural Au?

(this is. a Loose interpretation at best, i’m so sorry)

“how come i never knew this was here?” she cranes her neck to see where the canopy seems to almost knit itself together overhead. “i’m the one who met deuces first.”

jester’s still knelt down, rifling for something in her bag— beau thinks she shrugs, but the motion is mostly lost— “you weren’t here very long, though.”

(“no, hey, we don’t have time for—“ but caduceus clay is already bowing his head to go back inside, humming. “—tea.”

caleb takes a seat on a leaning gravestone, thinks better of it, and stands. “it will be okay, beauregard. we are not in a rush. it could have been much worse.”

she blinks.

it could have been much worse.

in her mind’s eye, she sees the big family van crumpled inward in big pockets, tossed down the hill alongside the road like a sack of flour with one of the seats crushed completely against the unyielding trunk of a tree. it’s the seat no ever really seems to sit in, but somehow she thinks it wasn’t empty.

dunno how i was able to keep us on the road after that, fjord says. impact shoulda sent us flying. just glad everyone’s okay.

“everyone’s okay,” she breathes.

“hm?”

“nothing.” she folds her arms and leans decisively on a gravestone.

caleb doesn’t press. after a silent minute, watching the patterns of shadow slide a little ways further along the ground, caduceus returns with four cups, ranging in size.

she drinks fast, lets it burn. everyone’s okay, but somehow it feels like if they stay, they won’t be.)

“yeah. when’d you have the time to come back here, though?”

“oh, caduceus just told me about it one night. i’ve never been behind the house, either.”

“then how do you know there’s anything here?”

“caduceus said so,” jester says, blithe, and stands. “come on, it’s gonna get dark fast.”

(“beau’s boring,” jester says, and knocks into beau’s side. “she doesn’t believe in ghosts.”

most days, you know, it doesn’t feel like that weird of a thing, but caduceus leans towards her over the table and suddenly she’s the odd one out.

well, with just jester and caduceus, it seems like she always is.

“that so?” caduceus says— he comes off shrewd, beau thinks, when he looks at people like this, but the thing about shrewd people is, they want you to know they think you’re wrong. want you to know they know something you don’t. want to make you feel like they’ve got something on you.

caduceus is just curious. she can’t hold it against him.

“i dunno, i just haven’t seen anything convincing yet, i guess.” her gaze slides back over to jester, the ends of her mouth turned downward, and she feels guilty, somehow. “sorry to disappoint.”

“not disappointing, beau,” caduceus smiles. “if anything, it’s to be respected. you believe in what you see, that’s not bad. it would be bad,” and here he turns to jester, “if she was not willing to go and see for herself if there is something to see. take it as a compliment, that she wants to see what you want to show her. it’s not something everyone gets.”

beau’s face feels hot— god, she’s forgotten how good deuces can be at figuring out the entirety of her. with jester, she imagines, it’s especially easy. they all know she’s sunk and gathering silt.

but jester just grins, leans forward towards caduceus and takes beau’s hand in both of hers, squeezing fierce and eyes even moreso.

“oh, i know. that’s why i’m gonna take her to the garden.”

caduceus laughs.

“ah. now there is a place to find new belief.”)

—

the clay property is.... weird.

any house would be if it were built on graveyard land, but, like, it didn’t have to be what it is.

(“well, it wasn’t built on the graveyard,” caduceus says. “the graveyard was built onto it.”)

it’s private land, for one thing— a century or two back, the clays started getting visitors to their strange little stone house on the outskirts of the forest, people who wanted to buy their tea.

it’s off-putting to everyone, beau thinks, the first time, to hear they grow the tea from graves. but the taste, well, it can’t really be argued with. and in that funny way that people do, especially if there’s someone who’s done it first, some of the visitors decided they wanted to be part of it. wanted to give to something even past when they knew they were doing it.

it’s a nice sentiment. maybe she’d do it, too, like she knows fjord wants to, but, well. every time she thinks about rest, she just thinks about nicodranas. and that’s not really the sort of thing she’s ready to ask— carries a whole mess of feelings she’s afraid to say, afraid to feel. and jester doesn’t like talking about death— doesn’t like talking about beau dying, at least. there’s a special frown she gets, this particular angry scrunch to her mouth.

beau slides a look along the path towards her— they’re at where the trees start to crop up, now, and before them she can see less orderly rows of gravestones, covered much more thoroughly and much less neatly in fauna. all kinds, not just tea-flowers.

it’s a graveyard, still, but beau understands now why this is the garden. all the work of a real garden is in the soil, the tending, the care. not deciding what can and can’t grow.

jester turns, eyes wide. she’d timed it pretty perfectly, beau thinks, it’s properly dusk now, purple spreading across the sky from the east.

“beau!” she whispers. “do you feel it?”

“nope.”

and she doesn’t, really. it’s getting dark, for sure, and they’re on the edge of a forest that, technically, is not classified as an empirical park because of “problems with surveying”— it’s a fancy way, caduceus told them, of saying that the people who went into the forest to see if it was safe for visitors never came back. and that the empire gave up on trying to buy it from the clays.

(“besides, they would never get it anyway,” caduceus says, tilting his cup to get a better look at the leaves. “the grove is sacred ground. we’re not interested in money.”

“but,” and fjord gestures at caduceus’s torso, the long sleeve starting to tear into two gauzy halves from repeated wear. “cash might not be the worst thing in the world to have?”

“well, yes,” caduceus blinks, like it’s obvious. “that’s why i came with you all. mister fjord, did you get anything out of yours?”

“what? oh—“ and fjord looks into his cup, face darkening. it’s funny, to see him earnest, he never used to be, “i dunno, can you show me again?”

caduceus sidles closer along the carved booth seat to peer into fjord’s mug, fits his hands over fjord’s, and beau tips her chair back with a loud sigh and thinks that cash is the last thing on caduceus’s mind.)

jester pouts again— she really puts her whole body into it, sort of deflates, and beau, she just. doesn’t know what to do? doesn’t know how to feel something when she doesn’t, doesn’t want jester to be sad, but all she feels is guilty and a little cold.

“maybe give it some time?” she says. jester looks at her for a long moment, eyes narrowed, and then she sits, doesn’t even look behind her and drops like a stone between two graves.

“okay. if you need time, we’ll take time.” jester starts digging through her bag again, and produces the tarot cards she’s been fiddling with for weeks now, wrapped in silk and rubber bands.

(“why silk, again?”

“the book said,” jester puffs out her chest a little proudly— she likes to tell beau things, beau thinks, likes to be the one who knows something first. and, so, beau likes asking jester things. “it strengthens the connection. helps them feel loved.”

anything jester has doesn’t need silk to feel loved, she thinks, and says “don’t the rubber bands sort of cancel it out?” instead.

“i don’t know how else to keep it on! silk is slippery, beau,” and jester comes and bats at beau’s hands so she can take the deck away. “besides, i don’t think they can tell.”

a little crease sits between her eyebrows, though, and beau wants to kick herself for it, wishes she could just ask things honest and not rough, the way she’s used to asking. wishes connecting felt easier.

maybe, something buried deeps says, you should wrap her in silk, and she shoves it deeper.)

“can i give you a reading? i think i’m finally—“ and she drops her voice at this, so low beau wouldn’t recognize her next words if she hadn’t flipped through the little booklet— “psychically connected, now.”

she looks at the faded cards, where one is loose, half showing through the silk. a hand, holding something— a staff? a sword?— away from her. she doesn’t remember the cards specifically, their meaning, but upside down, she remembers, that’s almost never good. and upside down it is.

something cold runs along her spine. maybe jester will get her to feel something, after all. “go for it.”

jester fiddles with the cards for a while— finding the major arcana, she thinks— and then presents them to beau.

“here,” she says. “shuffle these for a while, and start to think about what you want to ask.”

somewhere in the deck is the card she’d seen, the hand, holding its prize away from her. for a moment, she has the urge to flip through and find it, but that would definitely be disrupting the connection.

she separates them into two piles and shuffles, normally crisp and now muffled by soft edges, by years of use. where had jester gotten these again? she’d had to buy the booklet separately, at a crystal shop while caduceus had ducked in with fjord in tow.

where did these come from?

a headache is brewing in her temples, fuzzy and threatening to coalesce. she resorts to just shifting the cards apart and together, and tries to think of her question.

jester doesn’t need to know it— for a brief second, she entertains the idea of knowing just how fucked she is, having jester tell her, indirect as it is— but entertaining is all it is.

“you think of it yet?” jester’s tugged the fleece blanket out of her bag and lays it out to sit on.

“yeah, uh,” and she shifts onto a corner of the blanket, puts the deck down gingerly. “you might need to help me rephrase it, though.”

“of course!” jester cups her hands on either side of the deck, like it’s a candle, like parentheses.

“okay. i want to know if there are ghosts here.”

“beau,” jester says, pulls her name out, “there are, caduceus said. can’t you feel it?”

“no,” she ducks her head a little. “i’m sorry.”

“it’s not your fault,” jester says, and it’s stupid, how serious their voices are when it’s just about ghosts and graveyards. it feels like it’s something else, like she’s not getting something. “maybe if we pick a good question, you’ll feel it.”

beau looks at her for a moment. the moon’s thin tonight, and rising just over the trees. everything feels strangely still. she feels a funny certainty bloom in her chest.

“why can’t i feel the ghosts here?”

jester’s eyes go wide. “perfect.”

—

jester does a standard spread. she doesn’t tell beau, but she remembers the diagram. she presents the deck to beau each time, and then places the chosen card, all in silence.

it’s a fall night— should be cold out, is cold out— but something about this, maybe how jester’s stopped talking other than here and next and okay, maybe how the trees offer some cover from the wind, or, fuck, maybe it is ghosts— feels like there’s a bubble, drawn around the two of them.

“first card,” jester says, “the present.”

(“it’s funny,” jester says. she’s hanging a little ways off the couch, upside down and holding the cards fanned out above her. “some of them are blank. i didn’t think that was a thing in tarot.”

beau frowns. “it’s not, i don’t think.”

why didn’t she ask where jester got them?

“guess i’ll have to draw them in, huh?” she pulls the cards closer. “do you remember where i put my watercolors?”

“yeah, they’re in my room. is that— are you allowed to do that?”

jester turns to look at her, as best she can. her hair floats below her in a short blue cloud, strands falling across her face. “they’re already blank, beau. i think we’re in uncharted waters.”)

it’s one of the ones jester has drawn in, she can tell immediately. an enormous moon, full and heavy, hangs just above center, and just below center it’s reflected in water as a face, dark eyes and mouth.

it’s like nothing jester’s drawn before. it’s reserved, eerie.

it’s upside down.

jester sucks in a breath between her teeth.

“next card. the origin.”

a building, bisected. the top half hangs just right of where it should be, about to fall.

“you.”

another of jester’s. a man, lying on the ground, curled around the low light of a lantern. upside-down.

“your surroundings.”

a hearth, the fire low but not gone. the kind of fire good for proper cooking, the kind of fire that needs tending.

“your fears or hopes.”

jester’s, again.

two angels— real angels, she thinks, the kind that make you understand why divinity in holy texts is translated as terrible— long feathered necks twining like snakes until their faces meet in the middle, too many eyes open.

“the outcome.”

a circle pierced through with four arrows, like the spikes of a wheel. upside down.

beau speaks first.

“they’re all major arcana.”

jester bites her lip.

god, beau doesn’t— she doesn’t believe in this stuff. the air feels uncomfortably still, like it’s solidifying. “what does that mean?”

“i don’t know.”

that funny feeling opens in her chest again, certainty less like a flower and more like a mouth.

“can you run back to the house? caduceus said he’d have tea ready, and i’m getting cold. besides, you can grab the booklet.”

“can i— what? beau, i don’t—“

“it’s okay,” she says, and doesn’t look at jester, just watches the still figure of the man around the lantern, shadows creeping in from the corners to steal the light. “i just need a minute.”

jester stands and dusts off her skirt, alright, but stays looking down at beau for a long moment before she hears the soft sounds of her stepping back amongst the plants, avoiding blooms and fungal caps, back to the distant loom of the property.

no one speaks to her, she just. knows it’s being said, the same way she knew that the van seat wasn’t empty. the same way she knows it happened, somewhere far away. somewhere that feels a little closer, now.

would you like a reading, beauregard?

“you don’t need the book?”

they were my cards.

“even jester’s? you can’t tell me she followed the actual rules, there’s no way.”

she was my friend, too, you know.

“yeah, sure.”

what?

first card. the full moon, inverted. things are not as they should be.

“no shit.”

second. the tower. a chaotic beginning. something changed.

in her mind, the car bends around the tree. she and caleb are walking the same road, veth on caleb’s shoulders, but it’s snowing. she’s crying.

“i don’t understand.”

third. the hermit, inverted. you feel alone.

it’s cold, again. she’d say she didn’t notice when it had crept back in, but she knows down to the moment.

“yeah, whatever. next.”

fourth. the hearth. there is warmth to be had, if you are willing to stoke it. if you let yourself get close enough.

a square of light opens in the distance— a door, opened outward. a figure, returning.

“think so?”

fifth. the beloved. a fear, or a hope, beauregard?

“depends on who’s being beloved, i guess.”

sixth. the wheel, inverted. the cycle will break.

“hasn’t it already?”

—

jester hands her a mug— it’s the one with little bees, yellow-paint thumbprints drawn over with little black stripes and wings, different sizes because, well, everyone’s hands are different sizes.

a birthday present. she thinks of the hearth, imagines opening up a brick of charcoal to reveal the red glow within. hidden under wintry ash, but alive.

“what were you saying, earlier?”

“huh? oh, uh, just thinking about the cards.”

jester pauses to puff out a breath, sending steam rolling from the lip of her mug— handmade, with clarabelle clay scrawled messily on the underside. “i couldn’t find the book, i’m sorry. do you remember where i put it?”

somehow, she knows it’s gone. “nah. no big deal,” and she gestures for jester to crawl over to her side. “i think i figured it out.”

“beau,” jester draws out the syllable again, like a worn spring, “that was supposed to be my job.”

but she crawls over anyway, sets down her mug and shuffles around the spread until she’s pressed against beau’s side. “oh, well. how come you can’t feel it?”

jester runs cold, and she hasn’t had any of her tea yet, but she just keeps thinking of the hearth. of the man, opening the door of the lantern to let the light pour out and over him. the angels, their moonlike faces pressed together.

“it’s just hard for me not to feel alone.”

jester’s quiet, for a long moment. her arms are wound so her hands meet over beau’s other hip, and beau feels her hold an inhale.

“but?”

the keeper of a cycle is the only one who can break it.

she presses her mouth against the crown of jester’s head and tries not to shake. “but i think i’m figuring it out.”

#my writing #critical role #beaujester #beaujes #fjorclay #teahaw #beauregard lionett #jester lavorre #caduceus clay #it's. it's molly.#long post

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missjosie27 · 4 years

Text

Year 3 Part 10- Defending

Hello, everyone.

Welcome back to another chapter. As we last left off, Barnaby officially joined David's side and we get to see some of the ramifications of that today. Wonder what poor Merula thinks of that XD

Elora Dunn I made a Hufflepuff in this version as opposed to Gryffindor. Seemed redundant with a character like Ben already in that house.

Also in this chapter I will feature a small cameo from Chester Davies. My character is a Gryffindor so of course we don't see him that much but I head cannoned him to show up at some point so I hope I did him justice. It is a small bit of filler in here today but as with everything in my story, it's all about the small details and development. Two more to go for Year 3! Enjoy!

If it were any other Slytherin, the new addition to the cursebreaking squad might have been quite awkward. With Barnaby the fit was so seamless, it was though he’d already known everyone for years. Despite his reputation as being one of the toughest kids in school with a penchant for dueling, winning him over revealed a key aspect of his character: that in reality he was just a big softie.

Barnaby loved to duel and learn new spells, his physical strength was immense (as evidenced by being able to lift Rowan off the ground using one hand with ease) and he was already quite tall for his age. But he also carried many other previously unknown attributes, the first of which was that he had a way with animals. He took particular interests in bowtruckles and nifflers, being the only person who knew how to tame them. Professor Kettleburn was so impressed, he made him a full time protege in handling more dangerous creatures such as hippogriffs and even the invisible thestrals.

He also loved to eat and would consume so much food in one sitting that one of the prefects at the Hufflepuff table actually had to ask him to save some for the first years. But above all else, Barnaby Lee at his core was a kind person and despite not being academically inclined, had a simple way of expressing things that put a problem into perspective. Perhaps most telling was that he never truly desired to hurt anyone and would defend those he cared about with vigor.

He explained all of this to Penny in Herbology, who giggled at some of the stories.

“Honestly, I’m actually really glad you introduced him to us the other night, even if he consumed half the food on the table,” she laughed. “I know most people think he’s slow, but he’s so sweet. Chiara went redder than a strawberry when he complimented her necklace.”

The aforementioned girl proceeded to flush the same color.

“I did not!” she protested.

David rolled his eyes as he tended to his dried nettles.

“That’s just because you girls think he’s handsome.”

Penny gave him a playful swat on the head.

“It is not...okay maybe a little.”

David clutched his hands together in a girly, romantic gesture and began speaking in a mock feminine tone.

“Oh Barnaby Lee, he’s ever so dreamy with his green eyes and enormous jaw!”

That earned him a triple swat, this time from Penny, Tonks, and Chiara.

“Focus on your dried nettles, dears!” Professor Sprout called out spotting the mischief from her place at the center of the table.

“Sorry, Professor!” David called out and he added some water to his pot.

“He’s handsome don’t get me wrong, but he’s not my type,” Tonks commented.

“What is your type?”

The pink haired witch shrugged.

“Don’t know really. Haven’t thought about it much.”

“I know Penny and Chiara have been thinking about Madam Puddifoot’s tea shop,” David joked as he falsely gagged, while ducking another swipe from a giggling Penny. “Anyway, the point is, Barnaby is a good bloke. And he’s dead useful to have around.”

“I’m surprised you of all people have accepted someone from Slytherin so readily,” Rowan teased him, coming up behind him to borrow some soil.

“Hey I’m a pretty easy going bloke, I can admit when I’m wrong.”

“Except when it comes to Slytherin apparently,” Tonks teased, which earned her a splat of dung on her robes.

Despite the jokes, the more David was able to get to know Barnaby the more he could feel his animosity slip away. In fact, he almost didn’t mind when the Slytherins became the favorites to win the Quidditch Cup after trouncing Hufflepuff 400-70, the key word being ‘almost’. But there was a practical side to it as well. Upon learning her former minion switched sides, Merula was beside herself with rage and began embarking on a campaign to make both of their lives as difficult as possible. Her taunting became subdued but she constantly attempted to blow up his cauldron in potions, put a flobberworm down the back of his pants, and tried hexing him on more than one occasion in the corridors. It was a mark of frustration; she was no closer to finding the vault but the constant attempts at sabotage began to wear thin.

“You need to learn how to properly defend yourself,” Barnaby told him one day after potions class, a session in which Merula caused the fire underneath his cauldron to flare, which singed off his eyebrows.

“I already know how to defend myself, I’ve beaten Merula in every proper duel we’ve had,” he argued keeping his head down, trying not to let passerbys witness his eyebrow less state.

“Most duels aren’t ‘proper’, Dave. Especially not if Merula is the one starting them. It’s better to be prepared for all kinds of ways people will try to attack you.”

“How come she leaves you alone?” he bemoaned.

“Oh, she doesn’t,” Barnaby admitted. “First she yelled at me and told me I was a traitor so I don’t sit with her anymore. Then she somehow snuck into my dorm and put bulbadox powder into my sheets. I was itching for days after that...”

“-that’s good to know-”

“But you still have a lot to learn. Especially defense.”

“Bill Weasley taught me a few things,” David offered.

“Did he?” Barnaby asked with wonder. “I’ve always heard the Weasley family loved the color orange. Don’t know much about their dueling, though.”

“Er right...well Bill’s definitely talented there’s no doubt about that. Perhaps we could work together on improving.”

Barnaby puffed up his chest with pride.

“If there’s one thing I know how to do, it’s how to fight and teach others how to do it. Also I’ve always wanted to duel a fifth year!”

“We’ll get a spar going soon, mate,” David promised. “In the meantime, I need Madam Pomfrey to regrow my bloody eyebrows.”

It turned out to be solid advice. Though his offensive prowess was high, especially for his age, it turned out the third year Gryffindor did not know much about spells that would protect him from harm as well as cause it. This became apparent when both Bill and Barnaby bested him by simply using shield charms to block whatever he cast. In an effort to improve and become more versatile, he began learning defensive strategies and the application of the shield charm itself. The burly Slytherin also warned him that Merula and Ismelda were constantly studying in the library and by the fireside in an effort to gain an edge when the inevitable rematch occurred.

With Merula Snyde, it’s more like a never ending rematch

However, what he didn’t know was all of this was about to come in handy in a most unexpected way.

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

It all happened quite suddenly and quite by accident.

On an average Saturday morning in early April, David was walking back from his brother’s room after another planning session with Tulip when he noticed Argus Filch prowling along the usual route past the Transfiguration classroom. Though he technically wasn’t doing anything wrong, he still didn't want the caretaker to cast a suspicious eye towards him anywhere near the secret location. So he took a detour through the gardens instead.

Inside the viaduct architecture, he was idly wondering to himself how close Rowan was to breaking the final bit of code inside his brother’s notebook (as well as how pretty Penny looked in her new jumper dress and spring boots) when he noticed something peculiar and also a bit disturbing. Over by the large tree where some the older students liked to hang out, he noticed five of them were standing over a smaller, terrified looking girl who was practically trembling with fear.

Part of himself told him that it wasn’t his business and it was best not to get involved. But the sense of justice, always strong in his persona, prevailed and he made an abrupt perpendicular cut across the grass and towards the commotion. As he drew closer he could hear the dialogue, which only served to feed his temper.

“...didn’t mean to. Please, I don’t want to fight.”

“Shoulda thought of that before you nosed into an area that you don’t belong in,” one of the lead bullies said harshly.

“B-but it’s not your area,” the little girl argued. “It’s for everyone who goes to Hogwarts!”

By now, David had a better look. The girl in question was a first year Hufflepuff who definitely fit the part of someone traditionally ‘uncool’. Thick glasses, short, copper colored brown hair, an oversized sweater to couple with several books clutched in her small hands. There were five who were currently bullying the poor first year, three boys and two girls, at least half of which were from Slytherin and the other two appeared to be Ravenclaw. The leader was a sixth year he recognized as Hadrian Flint, a member of a prominent family of the same name, a brown haired, freckle faced boy with poor teeth and an upward nose that reeked of arrogance. Also present was Ismelda Murk for some reason, who looked as though she happened upon the scene and was along for whatever kicks she could find.

“Just beat it, kid,” one of the Ravenclaws said. “This is our spot. Don’t make us do this the hard way.”

“And besides, Hogwarts doesn’t belong to people like you,” Flint told her nastily while his Slytherin companion nodded in agreement.

“And who would that be exactly?”

His unannounced presence caused Hadrian to spin around and face his challenger. His face immediately became a pronounced sneer.

“Get lost, Gryffindor. This doesn’t concern you.”

“Don’t be shy, Flint. Let the whole world know what you were about to say. I’m sure it will be most enlightening.”

Flint took a step forward but was soon informed by his companion who exactly this Gryffindor was with a whisper to the ear.

“Ahh...the cursebreaker. Well how bout I cut you a deal since I’m feeling right generous today. You go back to your curses and I’ll go back to this curse. Sound fair?”

“She didn’t have any idea this spot is where the older students hang out. Let her go.”

Though Hadrian was taller, David was not about to back down. He knew the reason he was picking on this poor girl and despite being outnumbered was not about to let her become the victim of a borderline torture session like Diana Blishwick the previous year.

“Mudbloods like her don’t deserve anything except learning their place,” Ismelda spoke now, a vicious gleam forming in her cold, gray eyes.

“Shut your hole, Izzy. I’m not even sure what you’re doing here but I do know that Merula’s boots need polishing. Give them some extra shine, will ya?”

Ismelda pulled out her wand in retaliation for the remark but Flint told her off in equally harsh fashion.

“Stow it you greasy giraffe neck. Honestly you could be Snape’s daughter with that hair.”

David might have laughed had the older Slytherin not been as equally reprehensible. The Ravenclaw girl and boy (which were evidently a couple) didn’t seem as perturbed anymore, but the rest of the group was hellbent on doing something awful to the muggle born Hufflepuff.

“Last chance. Leave or you suffer just as she does,” Flint told him menacingly. Again, David did not back down, instead he crossed over and put the much smaller girl behind him.

“Don’t make any sudden movements,” he told her. “And stay behind me. What’s your name?”

“Elora...Elora Dunn,” came the frightened reply.

“Well, Elora...brace yourself.”

He turned his attention back to Flint, Ismelda, and the other three students that were there. The Ravenclaws did nothing but the other two Slytherins withdrew their wands and Ismelda’s evil smirk grew wider.

“Have it your way then,” the tall Slytherin shrugged. “Immobilus! ”

“Protego! ”

It was his first attempt at using the spell in an actual battle and the results were quite effective. An invisible, reflective shield formed in front of himself and Elora Dunn, causing the spell to ricochet and deflect right back at its owner, freezing his body in place. Within seconds, Hadrian Flint toppled over in a heap on the grass.

It was a victory but a short lived one as the other two Slytherins readied their wands while David still guarded the first year girl. Given his narrow position and the fact that he was protecting someone else he doubted he could fend off two more opponents at the same time. Thankfully, it was not required as suddenly a prefect arrived at the scene, recognizing him to be Chester Davies, who was also head boy.

“Enough! You will stop this now!”

The Ravenclaw couple hadn’t drawn their wands in the first place, but Ismelda did not comply, sending a common cold hex towards David which missed, though the other Slytherin did heed the order.

“I said that’s enough! Five points from Slytherin!” Chester shouted, pointing directly at the third year Slytherin, who reluctantly relented, her pale expression now extremely sour.

“What in Merlin’s name is happening here?” he continued to inquire. “Dueling is forbidden.”

His gaze settled on David and he knew the time to explain was now. He had never interacted with Chester before though there was a chance he knew of his cursebreaking exploits. Either way it was best to act quickly.

“I didn’t start whatever you witnessed,” he told him. “Flint and his goons were attempting to harm Elora here.”

The first year Hufflepuff peeked out from behind his back at long last.

“It’s true. He defended me when I thought I was about to be hexed. They called me a uh…”

The poor thing, David thought sadly. She clearly had not heard that word used against her yet. Anger flared within him knowing it wouldn’t be the last.

He mouthed the word ‘mudblood’ to the Head Boy, who’s face reeled in horror. Chester Davies, known for his mellow, taciturn demeanor then unleashed quiet fury, first on the Ravenclaw couple.

“But we didn’t do anything!” the fifth year boy protested.

“You still threatened her,” Chester said coldly. “And by standing by and allowing the other three to do harm you have disgraced yourself.”

“The little brat wouldn’t leave!” the girl shouted back.

But that only served to further their scolding

“You claim to be part of our house and yet have the wit and foresight of a damp rag. I will be reporting this to Professor Flitwick and I will recommend detention for a week. Five points from Ravenclaw.”

Chester then took the time to reluctantly unfreeze Hadrian Flint, who immediately leapt to his feet and tried to spin a tale.

“You all saw it! He attacked me!”

“Stuff it, Flint,” the Ravenclaw immediately shut down. “I saw you cast the first spell and I know the word this one used to describe Miss Dunn,” she said, indicating Ismelda, who looked as though she wanted nothing more than to kill everyone present. “Rest assured, McGonagall will be informed as will Professor Snape.”

Furious and belligerent, Flint spat on the ground, uttering, “Blood traitor.”

David thought Chester might blow a gasket (he knew he would have) but instead he coolly regarded him as though he were simply another stone inside the Hogwarts walls.

“Better a blood traitor than what you are, Flint. Now get out of here.”

The tall, lanky Slytherin heeded her this time and shuffled away with his companion. Ismelda had seemingly skulked off as well.

“I’ll handle these two,” Chester told him, as he too ordered his housemates away. “You see to it that the first year gets back to the Hufflepuff common room. You did a good thing today.”

Admiration increased for the Head Boy as David nodded and looked over to Elora, giving a kind look.

“Come on, let’s go.”

As they walked back towards kitchens, he noticed Elora fidgeting as though she wanted to say something. Eventually, she mustered up the courage.

“Um...what’s your name?”

“David,” he replied simply.

“Thank you, David for saving me back there. I wish I was brave like you.”

He stopped just before they reached the barrels leading to the Hufflepuff common room and knelt down to make proper eye level contact with her.

“Elora, you’re already brave. At no point in time did you move when those gits asked you too. There wasn’t a braver person today in all of Hogwarts.”

She beamed so much David thought she might shed tears over the books she was carrying. Then, her face became puzzled.

“What was that name that girl called me?” came the innocent but horrifying question.

David sighed, he’d hoped it wouldn’t come to him having to explain something like that. But he wasn’t going to pull punches either. Someone like Elora needed to know the intentions of people such as Flint, Ismelda, and others.

“You come from a family with no magical background. Therefore some that do think you aren’t as good as they are,” he said sadly.

“But why?”

Therein lay the crux of the issue: why . Truth was, he could give many reasons why but none of them could adequately explain prejudice. It was something you lived through, but nothing about it was logical.

“It’s complicated,” came his reply. “Just know this: you are just as worthy to study magic as anyone else here. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise….also learning a few jinxes wouldn’t hurt either.”

“Can you teach me?”

Though he was a bit surprised, the innocent eyed look of this first year softened the dubiousness of his answer.

“Sure thing. We can find the time.”

Elora nodded and suddenly gave him a big hug, unexpectedly throwing off his balance.

“Ack! He...thanks kid.”

The first year tapped second barrel from the bottom in a distinct rhythm and skipped her way inside, but David didn’t immediately leave leave the area. He paused, willing himself not to drive himself into a fury over what just occurred.

Not all Slytherins are bad

David thought of Barnaby and how he was able to persuade him to change sides and the difference it made in his character. Or the eccentric Liz Tuttle helping him with potions ingredients. Then he thought of people like Ammon Lucian, Hadrian Flint, Ayla Yaxley, and Ismelda Murk and the pit of black vengeance returned, bubbling like tar ready to consume all who became entrapped in it.

As if to punctuate the conflict, Merula Snyde popped into his mind as did Liz Tuttle’s words regarding her

“Merula’s not all bad…well she’s mostly bad. But I know for a fact she’s had a hard life and she’s not always what she seems.”

He shook his head. What did she mean by that? He knew Merula’s parents were locked up in Azkaban but by all accounts she lived like a queen in Hertfordshire in the Snyde Manor. At no point in time had she ever apologized or bothered to show there was anything lurking beneath except vicious arrogance and deceit.

So why was there pain in her lavender eyes every time he beat her in a duel? Why was she so obsessed? What was it about him and his brother that Merula couldn’t let go?

David pushed those thoughts aside for now, having little time or patience to figure out the psychological ramifications of the house of snakes. There was homework to finish and another vault to find and break its curse.

If it took a few Slytherins, whether enemies or friends, to get there he would do so.

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

David never expected much to come of his deeds the previous Saturday. As far as he was concerned, the act of aiding Elora suited him just fine. They’d even scheduled a time to meet where he could show her a few spells. Come Monday, however, that changed.

While at breakfast with Ben, Charlie, and Jae (the latter of whom was chugging multiple goblets of milk on a bet) he was called to the head table by Professor McGonagall.

“David Grant!” she called out. “Please step forward.”

By this time, he temporarily forgot about what had happened and assumed whatever his head of house wanted was nothing good. Usually when they talked outside of class it was due to some trouble he’d been up to or the cursed vaults...oftentimes both.

“Yes, Professor?” he asked as he reached her place at the faculty chair.

“It has come to my attention that you were involved in an altercation last weekend involving a first year student and five others.”

David felt his heart quicken. Was she really about to punish him for doing the right thing?

“Yes...I was.”

But he need not have worried, for in the next moment she gave him a rare smile.

“Do not worry yourself, Mr. Grant. I know you were attempting to protect Miss Dunn from those who sought to make her feel unwelcome and unwanted.”

Her nostrils flared showing a subtle moment of anger before it vanished and she continued.

“Your actions are to be commended. Twenty points to Gryffindor for your courage and defense of those younger than yourself.”

Fear instantly turned to immense happiness as he reciprocated the smile.

“Thank you, Professor.”

“You are welcome. And do tell Mr. Kim that he will likely vomit if he continues in his high consumption of milk. I do not want a mess in the Great Hall nor in my classroom when it occurs today.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“I expect nothing less from one of my best Transfiguration students.”

He was sent on his way feeling considerably proud of himself for getting the normally strict and reserved Professor McGonagall to show not only a positive emotion but pride in him. And there was more yet to come. Before he could retake his seat, another familiar face confronted him, this time in the person of Angelica Cole.

“I heard what happened as well, David.”

“In case you were wondering, I earned twenty house points out of it so by your standards I should be showered with roses, am I right?”

Angelica rolled her eyes but her mouth twisted upwards in a smile all the same.

“Incorrigible as ever. But I want to echo McGonagall’s sentiments. Chester told me everything and what you did is precisely what our house is supposed to entail: courage, protecting those who cannot protect themselves.”

She paused before continuing.

“When we first met I thought you were going to be another troublemaker. But I was wrong. And I want to apologize.”

David was surprised, not necessarily by the apology (he and Angelica had gotten on fine this year) but the sentiment she was showing. There was a heavy amount of emotion in her eyes and an acute sense of something bigger at stake.

“Angelica, are you alright?”

“Do you know why I’m saying these things?” she asked him point blank.

“Because I’m just so naturally charming?”

“Because I’m leaving,” Angelica corrected, ignoring his joke. “I have less than two months left at Hogwarts before I graduate. And whether you realize it or not, you’re rising in seniority. David, I want you to take my place after I’m gone.”

He blinked a couple of times, hardly daring to believe his ears.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I know it isn’t coming for at least two more years. But before I leave Hogwarts I’m going to recommend to Professor McGonagall that you be made prefect when your time comes. Through everything there is a quality you have that stands out: leadership.”

David couldn’t help but remain shocked at the ringing endorsement but there it was. He had gone from pain in the arse to leadership material in the span of two years. Nevertheless, he thanked his prefect sincerely.

“Angelica...this means a great deal. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Thank yourself,” she said smiling. “I told you at the beginning of the year that you were worth more than wisecracks and being Jacob Grant’s younger brother. You’ve earned that distinction and much more.”

The conversation ended as the seventh year was forced to quell a potential food fight at the end of the Gryffindor table and David rejoined his group but with positive thoughts to enjoy for once.

“What happened with McGonagall and Angelica?” Charlie asked. “You certainly seem pleased.”

“I dunno mate, they’ve appeared to take a liking to me all of a sudden.”

“Everyone likes you, Dave,” Ben reminded him.

“Thank you for the vote of confidence, Ben. But even my popularity has limitations. In particular with a brown haired, deriding, boot wearing, Slytherin girl.”

“Wouldn’t worry about her so much,” Jae replied, by now having stopped chugging milk though he still sported a white mustache as a result. “She ain’t exactly popular among her own house anymore. Most people find her insulting and cruel.”

“She can sit on a pin for all I care,” David shrugged. “Maybe I’m just becoming a little more mature.”

“That’s hilarious,” Charlie laughed.

“So is your bloody snoring even though it keeps me up at night.”

They continued to banter like this for the rest of breakfast when Rowan happened on the scene and right away everyone could tell he had stumbled upon something quite important just by the look in his eye.

“Rowan, you’re just in time to see whether or not Jae can light a fire from his wand with a fart."

But the joke either didn’t register or it paled in comparison to the news

“I need to speak to you,” he said directly to David. “Alone.”

Shrugging but also silently recognizing that something big was going on he played it off as though it were nothing to avoid arousing suspicion.

“Alright then. Lead the way.”

As careful and inconspicuously as they could, Rowan and David exited the Great Hall and into a private column within the corridor. Upon making sure no one was watching, the former of the two boys pulled out a familiar, leatherback, brown notebook.

“I did it,” he whispered. “I finally managed to match the half page to another message in the book and decipher it.”

This was indeed wonderful news and David could hardly wait to hear it. Excitement pulsed through his veins, barely being able to contain it.

“Rowan that’s amazing! Go on! What does it day?”

Proudly and pompously flipping to the correct page, Rowan read the information aloud but also in a hushed tone so no one would hear them.

“‘The entrance is the Restricted Section of the library. That is the source of the fear and the vault itself.’ ”

David ran a hand through his hair, ecstatic but also mentally kicking himself. Of all the places they looked, the one place they forgot was the restricted section?

“I know that look,” Rowan told him seriously. “Don’t beat yourself up. None of us here had any idea where the entrance was, even with your brother’s notes. But it doesn’t matter now.”

Drive and passion drove David to new levels of happiness and determination. They had managed to navigate through all manner of blockages, dead ends, and run arounds only to finally come through in the end. They knew where the vault was and now it was time.

“Time to break into this latest cursed vault,” he spoke aloud.

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orangecrane · 4 years

Text

sometimes bad ideas are just bad ideas

a/n: If you read this i’m apologizing in advance, but have some Race & Albert being friends | This is cross-posted on ao3

cw: bugs

“Hey Albie,” Albert looked up from where he was scrolling mindlessly through his phone to where Race was lying upside-down halfway off the couch, “Five bucks says you won’t drink a glass of water from one of the buckets out back.”

Set his phone down and stood. “Which glass and which bucket?”

“Just a regular drinking glass and I think that any of ‘em do, they’ve all been sitting out there for years.” Race grinned, the same grin he always gave when he was up to nothing good and he knew that he was taking someone else down with him. Albert already regretted his decision. “Can’t imagine any of them will be pleasant.”

“You’re on blondie,” Albert looked him dead in the eyes and smiled. Quickly making his way to the kitchen to grab a glass, Race just behind. Race watched with anticipation as Albert grabbed a cup and made his way out the back door, this would be entertaining. Generally anything with Albert was, but summer got boring fast and there were only so many times they could watch the same movies until they got boring. Besides, Albert never turned down a bet and those buckets had been out there for years, it’d be fun to find out what was in them.

---

“What’s wrong Albie?” Race questioned, a teasing lilt in his voice. “Y'kinda look like you’re gonna be sick.”

“I’m going to drink either some water filled with broken dishes and dirt, an actual pot of dirt n’ some weeds that’s been flooded, and you can’t even see through the layer of mosquito larvae in that last one” Albert gestured to each as he went. “I feel like my facial expression was justified.”

"S’ that mean you’re backin’ out?”

“No way in hell, I’ve done worse before and I’ll do worse in the future, gimmie the water from the planter,” Albert shoved his glass towards his friend- his best friend. Rolled his eyes, this wouldn’t be pleasant but he was sure he could handle it.

Race giggled, not even a proper laugh, light and airy. “Sure you don’t want the protein? ‘m sure it wouldn’t hurt.”

Albert took all of two seconds to realize he meant the bugs. Pulls a face. “There’s already plenty o’ protein in my diet, thank you very much.”

A bright smile with about as many teeth as he could show- almost unsettlingly straight, the kind that only comes from years of extensive dental work. Averts his gaze. He knew Al would never back down, not from something like this. And if when he dunked the glass into the bucket he made sure to stir up some of the dirt, well Al would never call him on it. It was all in the name of fun. Handed the dripping glass filled with dirty water and bits of plant matter over to the redhead, making sure to flick the droplets on his hand in his friend's direction.

“You’re the worst I hope you know.”

“Stop whining and drink up, bitch.”

Albert took a moment to inspect the particles swirling throughout the glass, steeling himself. Shut his eyes, took a deep breath and brought the glass to his lips. Head tilted back- he downs the whole thing in a matter of seconds. His whole body shakes once through and he gags, just a little. Race snickers, loud. Can see some of the dirt coating his mouth though, suddenly glad Al hadn’t taken the mosquito water. “Y'good there Albie? How’s it feel?”

“My mouth tastes like a garden in the worst way possible,” Albert speaks, trying to use his tongue as little as possible, the grit of the dirt along his teeth making him nauseous. “Give me my five bucks so I can go rinse my mouth out and rethink my life choices, namely ever agreeing to be your friend.”

“Aww c’mon Albie, don’t be like that!” Race pouted, exaggerated. Couldn’t help but be dramatic when enjoying himself, when spending time with Albert. He knew Al was just playin’. Handed over the five dollars anyways, the entertainment his best friend’s suffering had provided was well worth it. Albert pocketed the money and immediately made his way back into the kitchen, grabbing the faucet and bringing it up to his mouth, turning it on full force uncaring of the mess it made. If his mouth wasn’t clean in the next thirty second he was going to start retching, proper. Race outright laughed as water poured out of Albert’s mouth onto the counter, soaking his shirt and eventually the floor in the process. The half-hearted glare he received only spurred him on. Snickers, “Was it worth it?”

Deadpan. He placed the head of the faucet back and shut off the water, “No Racer, I regret this immensely.”

“Yeah well then you shouldn’t a done that Albie.”

“Yeah I shoulda just done this instead,” Albert grinned, grabbing Race and wrestling him to the floor. Squealed and trying to defend himself both from Albert and the water pooled on the ground, Race couldn’t stop laughing. Banged his elbow on a cabinet. They continued on until they were both breathless and lying on the floor, tired and content. The late afternoon sun glaring through the windows, they finally cleaned up the water covering the kitchen, uncaring of their own damp clothes. Spent the rest of their day lazing about the house and watching TV, half paying attention and half just enjoying each other’s company.

It was only hours later, the moon long since risen, that Albert decided that accepting that bet had been a mistake on his part. Could still feel the echo of dirt and bits of plants on his tongue, the grime coating his teeth, shuddered. It was also then that he decided that he had made countless mistakes in his life, and though Race facilitated many, he would never be one of them. Looking over to see the boy adamantly trying to keep his eyes open just long enough to finish the episode they were watching, he smiled. Racer was always the right choice.

#newsies #albert dasilva #racetrack higgins #race & albert #newsies writing #orange writes #this is just these two being dumbasses #for 1k words #the title sounds kinda angsty it isnt at all #anyways this is the first fic im really posting and i know i need a lot of work #so feel free to criticize to your hearts content #i think thats all the tags i need?#word count: 1k #cw: bugs

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ericsonclan · 4 years

Text

A Crown of Gold

Summary: Clementine is left alone in the greenhouse and decides to make a flower crown for Louis.

Read on A03:

Clementine sat on the floor of the greenhouse peeling vegetables for dinner. A pile of Jerusalem artichokes lay at her feet. Ruby had mentioned the other names for the plant as they were digging the roots up: earth apple, sunroot, sunchoke… it was interesting how the same plant could have so many different titles, especially when the part they were eating simply looked like a particularly lumpy potato. The flowers that bloomed on the surface revealed the true source of the sun-based names. Their bright yellow petals and orange cores reminded her a little of the sunflowers her mother grew in the backyard. She quite liked them. It was a shame they had to uproot them in order to eat.

“Everything going alright in here?” Ruby asked as she dragged a tub of vegetable peels that had been composting outside back into the room. “Nothing happened while I was gone?” “

No, Ruby, nothing happened in the three minutes you were gone,” Clementine hoped her tone hadn’t been too sharp. She knew Ruby was just looking out for her, but after weeks of mandated bedrest with constant visitors and everyone hovering about her when she stepped outside, Clementine had appreciated the few minutes of peace and quiet. She couldn’t be afforded privacy for long though: not when her freshly healed stump meant a wandering walker could overpower her if they ever crossed paths.

Ruby’s eyebrows dropped as she offered a sympathetic smile. The annoyance had bled through Clem’s words after all. “Oh, Sug, I know you’re antsy. It’s no fun being cooped up when all ya want to do is roam around freely. But I promise you this isn’t what every day will look like. Eventually we’ll have you back up on your feet and raring to go,”

Clementine sighed. “I know, Ruby. And it’s not like I don’t enjoy spending time with you, it’s just… this is a big change for me. For all of us,”

They both looked down at her bandaged stump. The pain was still there, hovering beyond the limb almost as if it was only injured, not missing. Ruby called it phantom limb pain. After a few days, Clementine had stopped bothering to mention it. She was already on a regimen of the strongest medicine they had. There wasn’t much else that could be done.

Ruby tutted. “To think that I’m letting you sit on this dirty floor when I shoulda marched you right out to the picnic benches and brought the tubers to you…”

“Ruby, it’s fine. I wanted it this way,” Inside here, she didn’t have to worry about running into any of the other kids and making small talk. She didn’t have to keep one eye out for A.J. to plaster on a smile as soon as he skipped over to her side. It wasn’t that company wasn’t pleasant; she just needed a few minutes to herself where she could sit with her stump and not wonder what those around her were thinking.

Ruby looked unconvinced at Clementine’s words, but let her be. She pulled on her gardening gloves and began separating the compost and spreading it throughout the planters. It hadn’t even been a month since they’d reclaimed the greenhouse and already Ruby had breathed enough life into it for them to be harvesting and replanting their crops. She and Clementine settled into a peaceful silence as they resumed their work. Once the bin was empty, Ruby looked toward the door, worry etched on her face.

“I’m not going to break if you leave me alone for ten minutes, Ruby,”

“I know that… Louis would have my hide though if he found you in here alone,”

“Louis? C’mon Ruby, he’s a teddy bear! Besides, dusk’s not coming for another half hour at least. You’ve got time,”

“Well… alright. I’m steppin’ out for just a few minutes to fetch some more false Solomon’s seal I saw growing by the dormitories. Don’t move, y’hear?”

“Mhm,” Clementine mumbled noncommittally. Not like she had the energy to escape this room anyway. She’d probably go to sleep as soon as dinner was done. The door clapped shut behind Ruby as she stepped out and Clementine was left on her own.

Now what? She’d already finished peeling all the Jerusalem artichokes. There were still things to be done about the greenhouse, but Clementine wasn’t well-versed enough to take the lead without fearing she would mess up Ruby’s hard work. Should she just sit in silence till Ruby came back? It wasn’t the worst idea in the world. Clementine rested her head against the planter behind her, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath. It smelled nice in here: earthy, like how the world was after a fresh rain. It was nice to just sit back and take it in.

She felt something poking her leg and opened her eyes to find one of the sunchoke stems had fallen nearby her. Clementine picked it up, twirling the stem around through her fingers. The flowers reminded her of a home long abandoned, but they also made her think of her new home here, the warmth and love she’d been given. They especially reminded her of one freckle-faced boy in particular and the mischievous smile he always threw her way. Clementine smiled to herself, tracing her finger along the outside of each individual petal.

This thing that she and Louis had was so new, yet so intense. Perhaps if they’d been living lives in the old normal ways things would have progressed more slowly. But every second of every day was a gift when death loomed around every corner. There wasn’t time to waste on pleasantries in the midst of utter chaos. To think that only a few weeks ago she hadn’t even met Louis… now here she was smiling like a fool because a flower reminded her of him.

She wanted to do something for Louis, something to thank him for all he’d done for her. How he’d carried her through the night, frantically trying to get her home as her blood seeped into the seams of his trench coat. How he’d kept watch at her bedside, unwilling to sleep until he saw her eyes open again. How he’d helped with the bloody bandages, the crutches, the nights when she couldn’t stop crying because of the pain that simply would not cease. Theirs was such a young relationship, but it had already been tested and tried with stakes far greater than most would willingly take on.

Clementine took another sunchoke in her hands, examining it carefully. The stems were thick, but if she was careful she bet she could slice through them successfully, just enough to interlock another stem without breaking the chain. She hadn’t made a flower crown since kindergarten. She wanted to try though, to give Louis some small gift to show her affection. Maybe it was a silly thought, but that certainly wouldn’t stop her. So she set forth on her task, pulling out her pocketknife and digging into the first stem.

The waning light coming through the greenhouse windows let Clementine trace the passage of time as she worked on her flower crown. Some stems broke, too frail to retain the needed shape. Others had flowers with mangled or missing petals. She wouldn’t have that. Clementine wanted perfection. As the crown began to take shape, Clementine tested it out on herself. It was a good fit, but would that hold true for Louis? How big did those dreadlocks make his head? She would simply have to give it her best shot. With a determined huff, Clementine got back to work.

By the time Clementine was about finished, the light outside was shifting from rich orange tones to the cool blue of night. She hadn’t really noticed, so absorbed in the task at hand. Some scuffling noises from outside captured her attention though.

“What the fuck, Ruby? You left her alone in there?”

“I didn’t mean to! I was only gonna be gone for a second. Then Molly broke out from her paddock and A.J. and I had to corral her back inside. I sent Willy to go sit with her, but then he got roped into some dinner prep by Omar-”

“I don’t want excuses! The greenhouse has been overrun before. What were you thinking leaving her in there instead of helping her sit out on the benches? Clem? Clem?” Louis busted through the greenhouse door, his brow furrowed. He immediately locked eyes with Clementine, crouching down and wrapping her in a tight hug. “Oh, thank god!”

Ruby popped up behind him, looking worried. “Thank goodness! Clem, I am so sorry! I swear I thought Willy was heading over to be with you over twenty minutes ago!”

“Don’t worry about it, Ruby. Nothing happened. The time alone was actually nice,” Clementine offered Ruby a reassuring smile. “I’m OK, really,”

Louis pulled away to examine her more closely, a hand cupping her face as he took in her every feature. “You’re sure? You don’t have any pain? When are you due for more medicine?”

“Not until bedtime. I’m alright, Louis, I swear,” She looked toward Ruby.

“Seriously, I don’t need anything. You can go if you’re needed elsewhere,”

“OK… I’m gonna help Omar with dinner. But if anything and I mean anything happens and you need me, you just holler, OK? I won’t be far,”

“Thank you, Ruby,”

“Ruby,” Louis started, turning round slightly. “About what I said..”

Ruby lifted her hand to silence him. “Don’t think about it. You were right to be worried. I’dve been the same way in your boots. I’ll see y’all at dinner,” The door clacked shut behind Ruby again and the greenhouse fell silent.

Louis returned to his examination of Clementine. “I swear, I never should have let Aasim talk me into hunting today,” he muttered as he fiddled with a stray piece of her hair. “To think that on the first day I go out something like this happens-”

“Louis, seriously, stop. Everything is fine. There’s no point freaking out about something that didn’t even happen,” Clementine ran a hand along the lapel of his coat, straightening it. “Where’s that smile I love so much?”

The words clearly threw Louis off guard. He blushed, lowering his eyes before cautiously lifting them, a small smile playing across his lips.

“That’s it,” Clementine leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “I made something for you,”

His eyes brightened. “Really? What?”

“It’s not much, but…” Clementine raised the flower crown between them. “I thought it would suit you,”

Louis gazed at the crown in wonder, his fingers following the braided pattern Clementine had weaved. “Holy shit, you made this?”

“Mhm. The flowers were left over from harvesting the Jerusalem artichokes and when I saw them, well, they made me think of you. May I?”

Louis nodded, inclining his head so she could place the crown on his head.

“How do I look?” His face was shining with newfound excitement. “Damn, I wish there was a mirror in here,”

He looked beautiful. The way the softness of the yellow petals interplayed with the coarseness of his dreadlocks… there was something majestic there. Clementine smiled. “You look gorgeous,”

This time it was Louis’ turn to lean forward for a kiss. As their lips met, Clementine felt her heart pounding in the exhilaration of the moment. She wanted to stay here like this with Louis in this pure, distilled moment of happiness. A moment where nothing mattered but-

“Clem!” Willy burst through the door, eyes wide. “Do you have those Jerusalem artichokes? Omar needs them? Sorry I forgot about you earlier by the way,” His eyes fell on Louis’ flower crown. “What’s that?”

“This is a flower crown that Clementine made lovingly for me,” Louis answered pointing at his head. “And this was also a beautiful moment that we were sharing between ourselves before you so rudely-”

“Can’t talk! Omar needs these potatoes!” Willy exclaimed, leaping forward and seizing the bowl beside Clementine’s feet. “Thanks, guys!” And with that he was gone.

Louis and Clementine shared a look before chuckling to themselves.

“Well, on that note,” Louis stood up, grabbing the crutches that were resting by the door. “Ready to head out?”

She’d rather stay here with him, but Clementine’s stomach betrayed her, letting out a pronounced growl.

“That answers my question then,” Louis laughed, kneeling to pick Clementine up and set her on her feet. “Shall we, my lady?”

“But of course,” Clementine quipped, making her way out of the greenhouse. The crutches made her underarms ache and her stump had begun to dully throb. “Let’s get this over with, then it’s off to bed for me,”

“Off to bed for us, you mean,” Louis smiled at her, the flower crown slipping further down on one side. “Don’t worry. I won’t keep you up. I just want a few minutes seeing as we’ve been separated the entire day,”

“Who am I to say no to my flower prince?” Clementine paused to adjust the crown. “It really does suit you,”

“I’ll treasure it forever,”

“Better put it in some water then,”

“Once you’re asleep,” Louis strode forward. “I want you to be able to appreciate it in its full grandeur for as long as possible before I take it off,”

Clementine giggled. “Alright then,”

“I’m totally making one for you tomorrow,” Louis circled back around to her. “That way we’ll match,”

“Sounds fun,”

“I’ll teach A.J. to make one too,”

“He’d love that,” They paused in their walk to the tables. Louis leaned forward, barely a fraction of an inch away from Clementine’s lips.

“Guys, dinner’s getting cold!” Aasim called. “Hurry up!”

Louis rolled his eyes as he pulled away from her. “Well, Aasim will not be getting a flower crown tomorrow after that move,”

Clementine chuckled. “He’ll be heartbroken,”

“That’s the price he pays for ruining a perfectly good kiss,”

“Guys, c’mon!”

“Coming!” Louis shouted back in annoyance. “Your flower crown privileges for the next month are about to be revoked, buddy!”

“What does that even mean?”

“Oh, you know what it means!”

As Louis strode forward, Clementine followed easily behind him. Her smile refused to go away, and that was thanks to everyone around her. That and a certain golden crown.

#clouis #louisentine #louistine #twdg clementine #twdg louis #fluff #flower crown #fanfic

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musicnoots · 5 years

Text

Hold Me Tighter

Babe Heffron/Reader

Requested by anon: “Hey! If your requests are still open, would it be ok to request some good ol babe fluff? I’m having the worst time at uni right now and could really use some babe cuteness to cheer up”

A/N: Major sleepy Babe fluff. Hope you feel better anon <3

Synopsis: A sleepless night in the Ardennes leaves Babe restless and curious when he asks you a tricky question.

Tags: @gottapenny @croatianbagudna @dustyjjumpwings @higgles123 @wexhappyxfew @curraheev @medievalfangirl @bandofmarvels @those-dusty-jump-wings @majwinters @junojelli

“Are you comin’ with me to Philly?”

His voice is breathy, raspy and tired. His hands shake under the cold January night sky, eyes looking out at the snow right in front of his foxhole as he pulls you closer to his side, thin army-issued blanket spread from shoulder to shoulder.

Babe is tired, restless, and almost at the brink of tears when it comes to sleeping. Usually, he’s out like a light once the sun sets and the sky turns into the dampest shade of a black, but tonight, he can’t find himself to take the angels’ hands into slumberland where the sky is pink and the ground is as fluffy as the clouds.

He asks you the question like it isn’t the pink elephant in the room, fifteen different tangents going off in his head as he stares at the pile of snow in front of the foxhole. You shoot him a quizzical look, hand gripping the edge of the worn out blanket spread across your laps. “What?”

“Like, after the war? I mean—damn, I shoulda phrased it differently,” he stutters and his cheek start to grow red under the darkened sky. “Are you comin’ with me? Am I comin’ with you? Where we goin’ after the war?”

“You’re asking me this now?”

“My Ma always said it’s better to be prepared than sorry,” he yawns for the first time in hours since the sun said goodbye to the stars. Babe has this fear of losing you—not to bullets and grenades, no. He’s afraid he’ll lose you because of something stupid he did, like not telling you how much he loves you or if you wanted to come back to Philly with him. “And I’m kinda in love with you, y’know? I don’t ask you to come and cuddle with me in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere for nothin’.”

A small part of your heart, that isn’t frozen from the cold, warms up a little bit and your stiff lips curl up into a smile. “I feel your love so hard right now, Babe. So romantic. I love you, too.”

“Yeah, yeah, but tell me—where we goin’?”

You shrug. “I don’t know, I was thinking about going back home and just relaxing for a bit. War’s a tiring workplace, bub.”

“Aw man, so no Philly?” Babe whines, and you giggle, not sure if it’s the real Babe or the sleep deprivation clouding his head. “I was really hopin’ for Philly, Y/N, not gonna lie.”

“Alright, then it’s settled. It was nice knowing you, Babe.”

“Wait, nuuuuhhh—” He turn towards you and rests his head on your shoulder. He was going to caress your cheek like the gentleman he is, but he’s way to comfortable in the position he’s in under the blanket—slight warm and cozy next to your presence. “Y/N, I love you. A lot. And I am the man of your dreams. You don’t wanna be with the wrong guy, ‘cause I’m the right one for you.”

His words are slurred and his eyelids are droopy, obviously way too sleepy at this time of the night, but he fights against it to stay awake, sniffling as he tries to find the right words. You hum, squeezing his hand under the blanket as he drifts in and out of consciousness. “Well, Edward Heffron, what makes you the right one for me?”

“Well,” he tried to sit up but fails and ends up slumped against your side like a fat fish on land, “number one, I’m cute, and you like cute guys.”

“I do?”

“Yeah, a...nd I am very talented and romantic. You remember that heart I drew in the mud a while ago? That’s my Da Vinci side.” He draws a heart in the air with his pointer finger, giggling at the memory of him presenting you his masterpiece. You weren’t in the best mood back then, a little bit pissed at everyone when he dragged you out just to show you a lop-sided heart drawn with a twig he found laying around. “What else am I good at...um, I make a mean banana and peanut butter sandwich. The recipe is from my Ma, but I always pass it off as my own—shhhhhh, don’t tell her. What else...oh! I can also fart on command. Wanna see?”

“No,” you chuckle and wrap your arm around his shoulders, fingers rubbing hexagons on his cheek gently and softly and he melts into your touch.

Babe can just sit here and fade into dreamland while you play with a strand of hair peeking out from his helmet—this is his favorite way to fall asleep. With you right by his side and him snuggling into you like a cat on a rainy day, knowing that he’ll be safe in your arms. He always thinks about this moment, not in a war setting, but in a domestic setting where he is fast asleep on the couch of your shared Philly home with hot chocolate on his upper lip as you keep him by your side. He thinks about it way too much than he likes to admit, but if it’s that life he wants, then he might as well just marry you right here, right now and put a ring made of leaves on your finger.

He hums at the feeling of your fingertips on the nape of his neck so comfortably, he feel like he’s home. “I think ‘bout this all the time.”

“Baby, I know you like it when I play with your hair.”

“Yeah, I do. Can you move your hand just a little further ba—yeah, that’s the spot,” he moans as you he tug the little tuft of hair on the back of his head, eyelids screwing shut as he feels lighter than the clouds. “But I always think ‘bout us just living together. A small little home just for the two of us, a garden in the front—it’s mine, by the way—and a cat. I want a cat, Y/N. I don’t want a car, I want a cat.”

“Mm, and what would you name this cat?”

Babe is silent for a moment, and you think he’s asleep until his lips twitch. “I wanna name ‘im Sergeant Purrkins. Get it? ‘Cause...Perkins…” he yawns.

“Maybe it’s time for you to go to sleep,” you say, reaching to pull the blanket up but he slaps your hand away.

“Nooooo, I’m not finished yet!” he whines. “I need to tell you about our lives back home! You got me sidetracked, Y/N! Now I can’t remember what else I was thinkin’ about!”

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.” You kiss his cheek, and Babe instantly forgives you. He loves it when you kiss him, especially in front of the guys—it makes him feel special. “Go on.”

“Thank you, as I was sayin’—I’m gonna marry ya. Gonna marry ya in the world’s biggest wedding with ice cream instead of cake because I’m cool like that. I’m gonna be the best husband in the entire world because I make good food and I love everything about you. Boobs and ass mostly, but I enjoy your lovin’, too.” He yawns, way too tired at this point to even continue on because it’s way past his bedtime. “So whaddya say, Y/N? You comin’ with...me to…”

Babe doesn’t even finish the sentence before he’s silent again. Eyelids shut tight, and snores escaping his parted lips as he finally falls asleep in the early hours of the morning in your arms. He dreams of that life back home with you—the one where you live comfortably with a ring on your finger, drinking hot chocolate by the windowsill as it rains outside. Sergeant Purrkins walks on the dining table as Babe pulls you into his lap and smothers you in kisses, your hand running through his locks just the way he likes it, and he will never grow hungry, just satisfied knowing that you’re his in the moment and for the years to come.

“Yes, I’ll go back to Philly with you,” you say, and he’s already fast asleep when you say it. So when you call it a night and find yourself sleeping just minutes after, you dream of the same life with Babe in Philly.

#band of brothers fic #band of brothers imagines #band of brothers imagine #band of brothers fanfic #band of brothers fanfiction #band of brothers #easy company #hbo war #babe heffron #edward heffron #babe heffron x reader

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water-hates-learning · 4 years

Text

nobody knew (and nobody knows)

Crossover with The Magnus Archives podcast because this idea has been bothering me for a while now so I finally just wrote it. Whatever. Not my best work.

Mild spoilers for the end of S1 of The Magnus Archives. Takes place after episodes 39/40 of the podcast. Also contains headcanons, lots of swearing, and the implication that the main EW boys don’t follow the standard laws of time and space. Post The End EW time.

In other words, this is bullshit.

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

"Case number zero-one-one—"

“Six-six-six.”

“Mr. Ritehill, please.”

“Whatever.”

“Statement of Thomas Ritehill, regarding an…unusual trip taken by himself and his companions in January 2007. Statement—”

“And the shit in 2014.”

“[sigh] Regarding the trip in January 2007 as well as the disturbances on 31st December, 2014. Statement taken direct from subject, 14th November 2016. Interview conducted by Johnathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London. Before you begin—why are you just now giving a statement?”

“’Cause a bunch of shit went down and somebody needs to hear about it. M’friends don’t wanna talk about it. And if I have to sit on this bullshit by myself anymore I’ll explode.”

“Right. Erm. Statement begins.”

“…now?”

“Yes, now.”

“[mumbling]…can’ believe you’re using a damn tape recorder…what year is this…[sounds of container being unscrewed]”

“Mr. Ritehill—”

“Call me Tom, god. And let a man have his damn vodka. Holy shitake on a sled, lemme just. Fuck. Okay. So, back in 2007, the four of us were bored, right, and Tord—this is when that commie fuck still lived with us—Tord—”

“Full names, please.”

“Christ, okay. Tord Lesion said we should go to Hell. So we did. Just the tourist route, ya know, got to see our personal hells and shit. Won’t bore you with the details. So yeah, me, Tord Lesion, Edd Golding, and Matt Harvice took an elevator to Hell, had a good time, got some souvenirs, and came back. Whatever.

’Cept when we were leaving the…the devil holding the door for the exit said they’d see me in six months. And it was like, haha, mate, yeah, sure, whatever, funny joke. I didn’t mention it to the guys and I didn’t think about it again. Couple months later, Edd’s digging a hole in the back garden and comes up with this door all covered in symbols ‘n stuff. And we’re all a buncha dumbasses so we go down it. Deal with some Indiana Jones traps, beat off a killer mummy, find a mysterious treasure box—you know the drill. So Tord opens the box and then…I dunno. Everything went dark.

If you ask any of the other three, they’d probably just tell you that I was unconscious. They said there was nothin’ in the treasure chest but I’m pretty sure the jackasses kept it for themselves and didn’t tell me. Probably for the best; I just woulda spent it on alcohol.

Anyway, from my perspective, we fell down a hole. When Tord opened the box, the floor dropped out from underneath us and we fell into darkness. I couldn’t see or hear the others, I was just falling in darkness. Or maybe floating. I dunno. Kinda…felt like forever and no time at all. I know that doesn’t make sense but you lot probably hear shit like that all the time. So I’m floating there and it’s dark, pitch black, but I can still see my hands in front of my face, like there’s a light shining only on me but there isn’t a light. Kinda like how someone looks when they stand in front of a black backdrop; the background’s all dark but they’re, like, normally lit or whatever.

And I wasn’t really scared ‘cause it’s not the weirdest thing that’s happened to me. I was just kind of waiting for something to happen. Because something always happens.

Didn’t have to wait long.

I felt something slide its hands around my neck from behind, felt its fingers on my windpipe, its thumbs at the base of my skull. I kind of expected it to be cold, like icy or something. But they were hot, like someone with a fever, uncomfortable. Made my skin prickle. It said…something. Couldn’t tell you what it was now, only have the vaguest sensation of—of a voice, talking to me, right in my ear, hot breath on my skin. I kept thinking I could see it moving out of the corner of my eye but if I tried to turn my head to look, it would start squeezing my neck until it had cut off my air supply.

Sometimes I think I can remember that it had promised me things. Sometimes I think it might have said something about a fight or a war or something. A lot of the time I pretend the whole thing was because I was blackout drunk. But I know that last bit’s not true because I hadn’t been drinking that night. And I wasn’t too worried because, I mean, weird stuff happens to the four of us all the time, stuff that no one even remembers. We’ve been through…three? Zombie apocalypses now? Hell, Matt’s led one of them. All of us have died and come back to life. And—and the thing is, right, the thing is that no one else remembers it. I’m pretty sure there’s stuff that’s happened that we don’t even remember. Tord said somethin’ once about crossing time lines or some shit but I dunno about any of the string theory, philosophical bullshit.

All I know for sure is, that night, in the black that wasn’t dark, with this thing’s hands around my neck, a demon crawled inside me.

A demon crawled inside me and it lives there and it’s so. Fuckin’ angry. Or maybe I’m angry. I don’t know for sure anymore, it’s been too long.

But—[container unscrews, long pause]—mm, anyway. The thing with its hands on my throat somehow—it somehow pries my mouth open. Gets its fingers between my teeth and wrenches my jaw apart so hard it aches. And then there’s this…this purple thing. It looks darker than the black but it’s purple and maybe that’s just because it’s beyond human comprehension or some shit. Hell if I know. It got closer and closer and for the first time in there I was scared. I was fucking scared and I thought—I don’t know what I thought, all I remember for sure is this—this blinding panic. This kind of raw, mind-numbing terror that made my heart beat so hard it hurt and it was hard to breathe and all I could hear was this rushing sound in my ears as this—this cloudy purple thing got closer and closer. I tried to get away but I couldn’t move, I could only sit there and watch.

And it—it…it just…”

“Mr. Ri—sorry. Tom. Do you need a break? We can take a moment to—”

“No. If I don’t…if I don’t say it now—if I leave this room—I’m not comin’ back. And I gotta get this out. [a deep breath, let out slowly] Just…remembering it now…it still scares the shit outta me.

So this cloud thing…it…crawls inside my mouth. And I can feel it. It tastes like…like how ash smells? Or maybe like someone filled my mouth with ash. And embers. Because it was hot and it didn’t exactly burn, it was just—like that moment when you drink some coffee and it’s still hot but not so hot you burn your tongue but still hot enough you gotta sip it. You know what I mean?

And I can feel it s-sort of wr-wriggling…wriggling and squirming to get inside me and I’m t-trying to push it out with my tongue or—or close my mouth or something. Anything to keep this thing out. B-but it keeps flopping around and pushing itself inside my and I’m—I’m ch-choking on it, gagging, and I think I was crying and trying to scream and this thing—[gagging sound]”

“Tom—”

“N-no, no, stop, shut up, let me just—finish. Okay? Don’t! Don’t fuckin’ touch me! I’m fine! Just let me give my damn statement and get out of this place. It smells like death in here.”

“I…I apologize. Please continue.”

“It went down my throat. I could feel it sliding down my throat, feel it under the fingers of that thing that still held my mouth open. It was lighter than candyfloss but I felt it like I’d swallowed a chunk of bread without chewing it enough. It was gross and it was horrible and it was terrifying and I don’t think I’d wish it on anyone. Even that bastard Tord.

And then it was just…done. The hands were gone, the cloud thing was gone, and I was laying on the couch in our sitting room, gasping at the ceiling. Edd was the only one in there, watching the telly. Said he was too tired to carry to my room and then laughed at me for passing out. Maybe I shoulda said something then, should have told him what had just happened, what I’d seen. But I didn’t. Instead I ran to the bathroom and threw up. And it just never came up again, never had a reason to say anything. I kept getting distracted by things.

I didn’t know what had happened until the end of December, in 2014.

You remember that year? It was really wet. Kept raining but we hardly got any snow. Freezing cold but just…no snow, not really, nothing that really stuck.

Anyway, Edd had been on the roof fixing the satellite dish during a rainstorm. He ended up having another dick measuring contest with one of our neighbors, Eduardo. Um, I dunno his last name, actually. Var…something. Var…there was an “L” in there somewhere. Sorry. Can’t remember. Eduardo had this, like, “alien” satellite or something and I guess it was radioactive or whatever. Anyway, he and Edd both ended up with superpowers for 24 hours and I can see by the look on your face that you think I’m takin’ the piss and I swear to fuck I am not. You can look up the incident report yourself, probably. But I bet the coppers only wrote something about property damage due to gang violence or some bullshit. Might be pictures our there somewhere but I dunno how to find them. I’m afraid I’d see myself if I did.

So Eduardo punched me, like, three blocks. Should have killed me. Instead it just…it felt like something clicked into place. And I remembered that demon that had shoved its way down my throat. It was like it had been waiting for this.

It hurt, that first time.

When your body’s stretching and your muscles are tearing and your skin is warping and your bones are snapping and cracking and breaking into new shapes. It hurts like a son of a bitch. I wanted to die. But mostly I was just angry. I was so fucking angry.

Don’t remember much while I was…changed. Flashes of stuff; tearing through building, smashing cars, attacking Eduardo and Edd. I think I might have ate someone. I try not to think about it.

Eduardo hit me with something, some kind of energy beam, I dunno. Sent me flying and ripped that smoke right out of me. I remember it flying away, remember the feeling of it ripping out of my throat and tearing off into the night.

But whatever it had done was kind of…stuck to me, I guess. I can still turn into a monster. Almost did when Tord showed his damn commie face again and blew our house up. You can look that up too. 27 Durden Lane. Nothing but a crater now.

[a pause, sounds of container unscrewing, another pause, the thud of a fist hitting the table]

And the only fuckin’ reason I’m telling you people this is because—fuck it, you probably already think I’m insane—there’s some kind of big…bad thing on the way. Fuck if I know. Just. I just…feel it. Can smell it. Or something. Taste it like some dry fuckin’ rum in the back of my mouth. Maybe the world’s ending for real this time. Maybe everyone will actually remember it. I don’t know.

But this place fucking stinks like a bunch of rotten bodies, like that musty attic stench with dead bugs everywhere. And you don’t believe a damn word I’m saying because you think I’m just a drunk. Ha. I can’t even get drunk anymore.

Whatever. Believe what you want. We went to Hell and I’ve got demon powers. The end.”

“…right. Um. Is the whole…demon powers the reason why your eyes are like…that?”

“What? No. This is just ‘cause my mum’s a bowling ball. They’re hollow. See?”

“O-oh my god. State—statement ends.”

[click]

“I will admit I am…extremely skeptical of Mister—of Tom’s statement. It sound positively ludicrous, the delusions of a schizophrenic at their worst, I’d even hazard. I’d disregard his statement entirely if not for the visceral reactions he showed to some of his own words—though that only proves that he believes they’re true.

But his eyes…Christ, I’ve never seen anything like that. He could obviously see but they were just. Black pits in his head. Gone. He stuck his fingers in them. Not the worst thing I’ve seen, all things considered, but one of the most…disturbing? Uncomfortable, may be the better word.

Tim was able to find a police report on the incident at 27 Durden Lane on 13th March, 2016. It was written off as an accident but with some additional digging he managed to find…more. The rubble and blast patterns look more like they were caused by external explosions. Tim says it looks like a bomb went off. Or several bombs. The neighbor’s house—the residence of one Eduardo Varela, Markus Barnes, and Jonathan Rees—also sustained serious damage. Jonathan Rees reportedly died at the scene due to serious injury.

Martin managed to dig up a few photos from the incident in 2014. Most of them aren’t the best quality and it’s hard to tell what’s happening except for bright flashes of green. But one very clearly depicts a monstrous shape, as big as a building it looks like, with horns on its head. It’s hard to tell in the photograph but it appears to be purple. There was a reported explosion in a local park around the date Tom Ritehill claims he transformed into a monster, and there is a crater there from the police report. But that’s all the evidence we can find to support his…stories.

We tried to get into contact with Eddward Golding and Matthew Harvice but neither of them were very forthcoming. Edd Golding declined to comment altogether and Matt Harvice was…he was difficult to talk to. It was as if he kept losing his train of thought. I doubt he would make for a reliable source.

There was also an attempt to contact the individual Tord Lesion but none of the information we were able to find was up to date. The only thing Tim managed to scrounge up was an old wanted poster, several months out of date, with Tord Lesion’s image on it. He appears to be in a military style uniform with a shotgun. If Tom Ritehill’s claims that Tord is starting a personal army are to be believed, then I suppose this would be a reason to trust his word. Maybe.

[sigh] I suppose we could investigate these claims more in the future. Though I am very much inclined to ignore them.

End recording.”

[click]

“Supplemental.

It just occurred to me that it’s been very nearly four months since the incident with Jane Prentiss. This place has been scrubbed within an inch of its life, nearly burned with chemicals, steamed so badly that it made my eyes water with the lingering chemical smell when I finally came back from leave. It’s been so thoroughly cleaned that a blind dog trying to sniff his way out would have run into the walls.

And yet…and yet Thomas claimed he could…he could smell the death. He said…dead bugs. Specifically dead bugs. And decay. And I can’t…stop thinking about those tunnels…and what could still be down there.

…end supplemental.”

[end of tape]

#8ball fics #i don't feel very confident about this writing to the point where i almost didn't post this

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 5 years

Text

Complementary (Collins x OC) Chapter 38: New

Summary: It’s her baby’s first day in the world. Genevieve and Jack are too tired to celebrate it. For better or for worse, no one else is.

AN: This is for @itsmillartime who’s comments really pushed me to finishing this series. This is a looooong chapter. Those >1k word chapters seem like so long ago.

Thank you for bearing with me, uploads are real slow. But this story will be finished one way or another.

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Upon the midwives’ return, they found Genevieve in uneasiness. But that emotion was being tipped off the scales by the comfort she felt holding her baby. When she passed the child over to Jack, there was an emptiness in her chest that distracted her from listening to the midwife about passing a blood clot. Genevieve’s eyes stayed on him. He was still crying with a close-lipped smile as he cradled his daughter for the first time. What a feeling, that passed between the couple while they watched their baby interact with them. Years of waiting for such a moment.

There were more tears to come when it came to injecting inoculations into the newborn. Leaning back into the pillows, Genevieve did not strain to watch for she was too tired. But she could hear the wailing perfectly well; it made her cower into her bed. Such a heart-breaking noise, the baby did not yet understand how to cry.

“Oh darling, I know, I know! It’s awful,” Jack spoke to the baby the entire time and held her hand while the midwife prepared the final injection, “It’ll be over soon, just one more.”

The moment it was over, he scooped her up into his arms and consoled her. She felt so tiny against him, his hand covering her back completely. Her frame shook, her face red until, back in Genevieve’s arms, her gulping came to a stop.

“There we go,” She kissed the baby’s head twice and the calm that washed over the pair would only ever be known by them.

And whilst both Baby Collins and Genevieve were declared healthy by the midwives, Jack dashed downstairs to ring everyone he could - without a care for the fact that it was the early hours of the morning. The Collins’, the Hastings’, Farrier’s landline, Jack was busy ringing all he knew. He had to be quick because, every time someone answered the phone, he would start to cry a little more, until only one phrase was uttered down the receiver:

“I’ve got a baby girl. We’ve got our baby girl.”

Once he’d dragged the crib into their room, a lot of Jack’s night was spent laid beside Genevieve as she slept. She had not wanted to sleep, but her eyes were drooping and body slouching as she protested against the idea of getting rest. The baby was taken to bed, and every ten minutes or so, Jack would stand and sit down next to the crib to keep an eye on the child in there. Somehow, she was still ready to sleep despite arriving a few hours ago mid-nap.

At some point in the night, he rested his head beside Genevieve’s hand and woke up with the shock that three hours had passed. Instantly he made to check on Genevieve (still asleep and fine). He peeked over the cot next in hopes of not disturbing the occupant. The tiny baby was awake now and carefully turned her head to look around. Her arms were enfolded into the blankets, so she couldn’t free herself. It was not a fight to stretch, more a test to learn about her body in this new world. Jack met her curious stare with a small smile.

“Hello,” He whispered, “Do you remember me? I was talking to you while you were in your Ma’s tummy. I gotta hold you after you got your nasty injections.”

The baby licked her lips then tilted her head back slightly, her eyes taking in the ceiling instead of her daddy’s face. She made little noises as she moved, her breathing blending with some gurgling.

With shaking arms, Jack lifted her against his chest. He beamed as she wriggled into him. She smelt delightful. It was not something he could put into words, but she just did. Jack then realised perhaps he should have put on a shirt first as he spied it strewn over the bed’s edge. Contemplating on what he should do now, he looked to the baby who had closed her eyes again but left her tongue poking out between her lips.

Eventually he decided to take her for a walk, showing off her new room, the presents that people had bought her, and the poster that was in it. He stroked the bear’s paw across her cheek then quietly described the time he took Genevieve to see the real Sunflowers. When her eyes were open, the baby looked mostly at Jack as he spoke. Very polite of her.

“You shoulda seen your Ma in that moment. I hope the paintings come back one day so we can show you too,” Jack said as they headed downstairs, his voice raising a little more once out of earshot of the bedroom. “You have lovely eyelashes. Didn’t think you’d have grown them yet but there they are.”

Once the lower floor had been explored with all its limited interest, Jack stepped into the garden with the baby held in one arm so that he could shield her eyes from the rising sun. A new day. It was a little chilly for him, but the baby seemed content in her blankets even as they loosened, with her fingers bending and straightening around her new blanket. Crisp spring air renewed his energy, the dewy grass soaking his slippers. The flowers were all thriving that year. Bending down slightly, he picked one taller cosmos and showed it to the baby.

“I told you about these. I bet I’ll have to tell you again,” He said with a smile. The flower bounced about on its stem and the early morning breeze, its petals caressing the baby’s nose. She stared at it, mouth open, after which she sneezed. Her arms flung out in front of her, her legs kicking forward with effort in the blanket.

“Oh dear! Bless you,” Jack beamed for it was such an adorable sound. But then the baby began coughing out her cries, her face contorting to screw up her delicate features.

“Darling, it’s ok,” Jack shushed, lifting her closer so that he could kiss her head, “It’s just a little flower, it won’t hurt you anymore.” He took a seat on the bench and cuddled her closer in his chest. Not that he realised, but he swayed in his seat as he continued to talk to her, to calm her down as her cries muffling into quiet against his shoulder.

“I know, oh I know, everything’s all new to you. God, you’ve never sneezed before. What must be going on in your little head?” Jack sighed, glancing behind him as if to see through the wall where Genevieve was. Then he looked back down at the baby, her arms hardly reaching above her head, blinking up at him with a crumpled pout. As gently as possible, he lowered her back into his lap, one hand under her head, and kept his face close so she could see him sniffing as he felt a tear slip past his notice:

“Sorry, love, I’m a bit emotional right now too.” The baby seemed to listen to him now and began to interrupt with a hum or two, her way of telling him it was ok: “I’m not gonna fill your mind with that kind of thing. God, you’re so small, I feel like I gotta beat everything off with a bat. I was never really great at cricket.”

Jack trimmed the stem of the accused flower to a significantly shorter length and tucked it over her left ear. “Maybe your Ma can teach us. She had the right idea, bowled me and Ethel into the ground last summer.” The infant didn’t complain at the flower or after her bare feet slipped out the end of the blanket. In fact, she seemed to find it enjoyable when Jack played with one of them, pinching lightly her toes.

“That was one hell of a tangent. But you’re really helping Da out here.”

The sun warmed them both. Jack carefully unfolded the blanket to rest on her tummy, her arms flapping weakly in front of her as she practised movement. Meanwhile, Jack ceased conversation to watch her, fascinated with her learning, and unconsciously he leaned even closer to her. Her hands reached up to his temples as he kissed her belly. Under his lips, she tensed and shifted. Jack sensed that she might want to cry again, and he felt for her; feeling her skin against his incited such an intimate feeling he was not prepared for. It made him tear up again.

“Shall we go see if Ginny is awake, your Ma?” He whispered, his nose lightly bumping hers as she tried to move her head. Rocking carefully as he ascended the stairs, Jack soothed the baby’s grizzling. Her face did not connote one of positivity.

“Hey. Hey, it’s me,” He whispered. Though her funny little expression remained, the baby quietened down (beside from an occasional noise), something Jack rewarded with a kiss on her head. “There we go, baby girl. Hey, guess what? I love you. You’re my little girl, and I love you. I’m always gonna be here for you. Your Ma too.”

At the door, Jack gently pushed into the room, looking for whether his wife was asleep. She was not. Genevieve was wide awake and sat up in bed, clutching her bed sheets in tight fists.

“I heard her crying,” She looked at the blanket with an expression of mild terror.

“It’s ok; she just got a little scared by her sneeze.” Jack passed her over and Genevieve carefully checked over her, eyes darting across every part of her baby to see if there was truly nothing wrong. Her hand moved aside the blankets and traced over the baby’s skin. She spotted the flower still behind the baby’s ear then moved on. She found a splodge on the baby’s wrist that the midwives had informed her about then moved on. She landed on the baby’s tummy and stopped.

“She’s got a belly button,” was her conclusion.

“A cute belly button,” said Jack in agreement.

Genevieve thumbed over the baby’s cheekbone as she slowly moved her head to look around. It dislodged the cosmo, landing it beside Genevieve’s thigh. But she didn’t try to replace it. She was already occupied, taking in the weight in her arms.

“I never wanna let her go,” She whispered, not looking at Jack though she was speaking to him. Pulling her close, Genevieve took a deep breath and rubbed her cheek to the baby’s head.

When she let out a noise that sounded like she was about to cry, immediately Jack and Genevieve tensed, ready for action to do whatever they could to calm her. But the baby took matters into her own hands. Literally. She grabbed onto the baggy front of Genevieve’s nightshirt and whined.

“I think you might be hungry.”

Jack stayed at their sides as Genevieve fed their daughter for the first time. It was weirdly mesmerising to watch how quickly she adapted to becoming a mother. Even Genevieve was surprised by herself, the words of the midwife and instinct guiding her actions. Her eyes fixated on the baby’s wispy hair, her hand stroking it. Despite the minor discomfort, Genevieve felt her face softened with a smile as she clicked her tongue and spoke, the baby’s blinking slowed down and with a hand curled at her mother’s chest.

Forgetting that he was meant to get breakfast for his wife, Jack was completely in awe. Once reminded, he sped downstairs to make it and returned with a few minutes, not wanting to miss a moment. The tray rattled louder than he wanted as he placed it on the floor.

“Oh, finished already?” Genevieve whispered as she lifted up her daughter, “All full?”

“Can I burp her?” Jack asked, already reaching for the muslin rag. He just had to hold her again.

“You’re volunteering for her to be sick on you?” She joked, before nodding at him to come over.

Eagerly, Jack took a seat beside her on the bed and carefully arranged himself to hold his daughter. Genevieve did a little intervening, making sure he held her properly, before falling back into her pillows and watching them with half-closed eyes. The baby whimpered a little at the movement before she settled into regular breathing. Jack gently rubbed circles into her back then lightly patted between her tiny shoulders. He felt obligated to kiss her little head again after he held his nose to smell that freshness about her. Then he heard a wet sounding belch.

“There we go.” He patted her back once more then lifted her into his lap to wipe her mouth properly. The baby coughed, wincing away from the rag, and Jack anxiously sat her up in his chest to pat her back again. When she stopped, Jack looked at Genevieve, clearly grinning over the mug of tea.

“You’re so good with her,” and she sipped from the mug. The novelty of the mint tea was wearing thin against her tongue, but she didn’t tell Jack just yet. Still feeling the fatigue, she replaced the mug beside her and adjusted her posture until she was almost flat on her back. Jack lowered the baby onto her chest, the head beneath Genevieve’s lips that grimaced at the sight of a splodge of sick on Jack’s shirt shoulder.

The doorbell was heard and thus began a steady flow of people coming in to visit Genevieve and make sure she was alright. First visitor was surprisingly Farrier. He arrived in the early morning with flowers, Westley, and a bottle of whiskey - to make up for being stood up the night before. Nervously he stood in the doorway of the bedroom as Genevieve waved weakly from her bed. A toast was made to the pair – although they opted to go for tea instead of alcohol at eight in the morning.

Farrier didn’t stay in the room for long, not even to get a closer look at the baby. But he did decide to stay to help out. While Jack assured him that it was fine for him to go if he had plans, Farrier was already prepping to do some chores downstairs.

“Besides, I haven’t been in your gaff before. Give me a chance to explore,” He winked before heading to the kitchen to do the washing up left from the previous day. Westley followed him, his tongue hanging out. It was with profusive thanks that Jack followed and shook Farrier’s hand. His help was going to be needed if he was to spend the day looking after his wife and his baby.

His wife and his baby.

It almost didn’t feel real. In a daze, he rung up his place of work and informed them of his newfound status as a father. Then he went to open the door which was already knocking again.

“LET ME SEE THE BAIRN!”

Breezing into the house, Cora had kissed both his cheeks briefly before bellowing this demand again, running past and up the stairs. Jack proceeded to greet the rest of his family a little more calmly and allowed them indoors.

Genevieve heard Cora from her room upstairs. She snorted pathetically as she climbed back under the covers, her eye on the cot still. The softness of the room was incongruous to when Cora appeared in the doorway, frenzied with wild hair until her eyes too landed on the cot. Then she eased up into grandmother mode and dropped at Genevieve’s side.

“I’m so glad you’re alright, Genevieve.” Back to the baby, she bent over to see the child sleeping peacefully despite the disruptions. Her entire face stretched in utter elation as she was overcome with her first grandchild.

“Oh, she’s the bonniest thing! Look at that nose, just like you when you were this size.” Cora patted Jack’s arm in recognition, but without tearing her eyes from the cot.

The rest of the Collins clan popped up in the doorway, trying not to overwhelm the family. Cora began to commandeer those with her, ordering everyone to the side of the room so that the new parents could awaken the baby in peace before providing the opportunity to hold her.

Karen and Ethel went up first, insisting no one would get a turn holding the baby if Cora went before anyone else. They took turns, with Toby and Jack leaning over their shoulders. The four siblings watched the baby breathe slowly, falling back to sleep in her auntie’s arms only to be woken when being passed to another person. She barely cried though, for she could hear Genevieve talking nearby to her in-laws. There was recognition there and in the smell of the blanket that the baby was wrapped in, the same blanket Genevieve had slept with it for the past few weeks. Familiarity filled the room and the baby was good as gold for the Collins.

When it came to Cora’s turn, she paced up and down the room whilst playing with one of the baby’s hands. Her husband followed her about with his body in a crooked position so that he could see his granddaughter. The siblings were downstairs with Jack and Farrier, though what they were up to Genevieve had no idea.

“When will she be able to wear those clothes, the ones she got for Christmas?” He asked as he took a break, Cora continuing to move about the room.

“Not for a long time,” Genevieve sighed into her mug of tea, “She’s got some growing to do first.”

It would take some time, but Cora would eventually stop her drill marches and settled on the end of the bed. She didn’t speak so much then, at least not until she and Genevieve were alone in the bedroom. Her husband had gone to check on his kids (”make sure they’re behavin’ themselves”).

That was when Cora said quietly, “We’re so glad you’re alright, you and the baby. After everything that happened. Might I suggest ‘Cora’?”

Appreciating the lack of focus on “what happened”, Genevieve wiped her nose on the corner of her blanket and answered, “You might, but I can’t guarantee it’ll be chosen for her name.” And the pair shared a smile, knowing full well that Cora was not to be the name of the bairn.

“Might as well throw my hat into the ring.”

With kisses on everyone’s cheeks, especially the baby’s, Jack waved his family goodbye at lunch time, which when Genevieve’s family arrived. A five-minute exchange, the Hastings’ appeared with more muted joy for the baby. Except for two people.

Beryl peeked at her granddaughter and had to take a moment outside the room, weeping into her handkerchief. James on the other hand leapt onto the bed to meet his cousin. Lilly followed, though with more control than her son. She climbed beside Genevieve on the bed, and the sisters sat together.

“You remember when James was just a baby?” Lilly touched her forefinger to the baby’s head.

With a slow nod, Genevieve said, “I was scared of him.”

James cocked his head in confusion, “Scared of me?” Then he began laughing uproariously at the idea. Contrary to popular belief, in James’ eyes, she wasn’t scared of anything. It wasn’t long before Genevieve joined in.

“Yeah, you were so tiny, I was scared to hurt you,” She explained through her laughter. Once settled, she finished: “And now look at you, big boy.”

When it came to his turn, Tony - Genevieve’s father - cradled the baby with such care, as if he were destined to hold her.

“A strong and healthy little girl, just like her mother,” He said quietly, kneeling down so that James could see her too. It reminded Genevieve of one of the few photos in her family home: Tony sat in his ancient arm chair, holding a baby Genevieve with Lilly sat at his side, looking over with a screwed-up expression at her baby sister. He even kissed the baby’s fist that was enclosed about his finger.

Evidently the baby didn’t like the feel of his moustache and began to snivel, the start of a crying fit. Genevieve held out her hands and instantly the baby was placed back with her. Tucking her blanket back around her, Genevieve consoled her down to a whimper.

“That’s a good girl,” She said with a kiss. She liked kissing the baby; her hair felt all fuzzy.

When the baby was calmed, Genevieve looked to her fidgeting nephew. He was staring still at the bundle in her arms. His hands were wriggling his fingers together, his body bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Would you like to hold her, James?”

The question was barely out in the air, but James was already atop the bed again, with his arms outstretched for his cousin. The adults of the room were nervous. James himself assured that he was a big boy now, his legs swinging. Genevieve carefully helped him to carry his cousin with Lilly sat beside him to steady him.

“She’s heavy,” He said, though it was more of a statement rather than a complaint. But he was smiling, the whole time, and he didn’t stop. Not even as he passed back the baby, not even as he left with his parents.

More and more visitors came and went: friends from Genevieve’s workplace, Jack’s RAF mates, random cousins and the like. More to meet the new member of the Collins family but they brought gifts and they were quiet, so that was acceptable.

But there came a time – specifically three in the afternoon – that Genevieve was tired of speaking and just wanted to sleep. She was too hot, too stiff, too exhausted to see anyone else. So, she kicked the blankets off pathetically and seized her opportunity while the baby had a nap. Didn’t take long to join her in slumber.

She woke up, hardly refreshed but her baby was hungry and making sure that everyone knew about it.

“I guess my schedule revolves around you now,” She mumbled to the crying baby as Jack entered and passed her to her Ma.

There was a knock at the door just as Baby Collins finished feeding. Preparing to burp her again, Genevieve granted both Jack and an anxious Farrier entry. Forearms damp from washing up, Farrier sat awkwardly at Genevieve’s side and watched the baby resting in her Ma’s arms.

“Do you want to hold her?” Jack asked, tucking the rest of his sleeve in the fold at the elbow.

The poor man started spluttering but Genevieve was already holding the baby out, “Farrier, I need the bathroom; please take her.”

Not wanting to argue with the lady, Farrier wiped his arms down his jumper. He clumsily organised his arms into a cradle and accepted the frowning baby. He swallowed hard, looking helplessly at Jack. In silence, Jack helped Farrier to coordinate his arms in a more comfortable way for his friend and his daughter. Then he moved over to Genevieve, carefully helping her out of bed and walking her to the bathroom. Her limp was rather prominent, a sharp spike up her leg, but she gritted her teeth and kept walking.

“He’ll be alright, won’t he?” Jack whispered to Genevieve.

She snorted as the door to the bathroom was opened to her, “He better be. Unless he fancies getting in here. I’ll be fine too.”

She held up a hand to signal that Jack should not follow her into the bathroom and closed the door on him. Despite wanting to check in on Farrier, Jack remained outside the bathroom door in case Genevieve needed anything.

Genevieve was indeed fine, half smiling at Jack’s indecisiveness when she heard his nails tapping against the door handle. She took a breather, sitting on the toilet and leaning against her folded arms on her knees. She still felt too warm. It was a stale feeling that hung about her head. But it was good to have a moment of peace. Sitting up, she stretched and felt many cracks in her back snapping the further she reached.

The stale feeling was still there after she finished her business by washed her hands then splashed cold water on her face. Genevieve prepared a flannel under the tap. It was welcomed with a sigh of relief on the back of her neck.

Jack took her arm again as soon as she stepped from the bathroom. He turned in time to catch Genevieve in a hug. The flannel dripped excess water onto his shoulder but Genevieve barely noticed. Her breathing soothed into deep intakes. He was a little sweaty, but a) she knew she smelt worse and b) he would always be her favourite smell because it was the only warmth that she loved, rocking her from side to side with a hand in her hair, a shoulder to lean on, and no space between them.

“Want me to carry you?” She felt his words buzz against her ear.

“I’m a bit sore for that but thank you. Some toast would be nice though.”

She felt that giddiness he gave her when he walked her back into bed. Once back in, she left the blankets off and placed the flannel folded behind her head.

When Jack was out of the way after a kiss on her forehead, Genevieve saw that Baby Collins was still glaring up at the stranger holding her, her lips smacking slowly and her arms hitting his jacket as they came loose from the swaddled blankets she was in. Farrier looked genuinely worried that he’d upset her but, paralysed by that worry, he did not move.

“You alright?” Genevieve prompted, almost smug from her leisurely place on the bed.

It took a moment for Farrier to register her question, for the baby was taking all his concentration. But he managed to get out: “She’s staring at me.”

“Yeah, she’s never seen you before,” Genevieve smirked, “And you’ve got a funny looking face.”

“Oh, I’m wounded,” But Genevieve heard the smile in Farrier’s words and saw his stiff back had begun to relax. Jack appeared over his shoulder, looking at the baby who was waving one of her arms at him. Such an image led Jack to decide: now was a good time to ask a question much-discussed between himself and Genevieve.

“Ginny and I were thinking; the baby would love a funny looking face such as yours to be her godfather.”

Farrier looked as though he was about to drop the baby in shock, finally looking up at his friends. “Really?”

Genevieve hummed from the bed and Jack concurred, speaking on her behalf as she began to doze off, “You’re a big part of our lives, Edward. We want you to be a big part in hers too.”

It was rare that Jack would use Farrier’s first name. Genevieve even acclimatised to that and used his surname in conversation with and in reference to the man. He seemed to find it difficult to process this, instead looking at the baby. She looked back and finally she seemed to stop frowning.

With a sniff and a swallow, Farrier said in a strangely soft voice, “I won’t let you down, either of you.”

He left shortly after that and was very emotional about saying goodbye to his soon-to-be goddaughter. After the day spent at the house, he had plucked up the nerve to kiss her, his lips grazing her forehead which wrinkled in response as she yawned. No one brought up that his eyes were very misty as he departed. Westley sprinted out the front door and leapt at his side, leaving the house quiet once again.

Jack stayed downstairs for a little bit, said he had some thinking to do and some toast to be making, and gave Genevieve some space with the baby. She was grateful for this alone time. Lying down properly, she rested with her baby in her chest. The baby was awake, pressing her cheek into Genevieve’s nightshirt as her mother stroked across her back and held her little hand. It rested over the scar on her shoulder.

“Are you worn out?” Genevieve mumbled, “Me too. All these new people coming to say hello, it’s tiring isn’t it?”

She pressed her lips against the baby and whispered, “It’s scary but I think I’ll love you no matter what. Like Jack, your dad, and I hope we can tell you all about it, so you know you’re loved, unconditionally.”

Her hand was so much larger than the baby’s. It encompassed her whole arm, a chubby little limb that was so soft. The thumb carefully turned the baby’s wrist around to show to Genevieve the birthmark that had grown darker over the day: a little blob in the same spot as her mother’s.

“Look at that, we match.” Her voice cracked at that and she admitted aloud to the pair of them, “I’ve fallen for you so fast.”

They were both quiet for a while, not sleeping but sitting in each other’s company. With vases of new flowers about them, a breeze through the window, Genevieve felt calmer than she had in the last few weeks. She knew it wouldn’t last for long, so she embraced it as she embraced her child.

When she did speak, it was hushed, “We still have to give you a name. I wish you could have a say in this, tell me what you like. What to call you…”

Genevieve mulled over the options she’d found in a baby name book browsed months before, ones she’d talked to the bump about, “I’m still not sure. You don’t look like a Peggy or a Connie or a Freya. Freya means ‘lady’ too and your Daddy already has that problem with his name.” Then she sniggered to herself, “‘Man Son of Collin’, imagine having that for a name. You’re gonna have a really cool name, like me, your Mummy.”

The baby exhaled loudly and unbent her arms, shaking inside Genevieve’s gentle grip.

“Yeah, that’s my hand. Nice to meet you… Stella. I like Stella. What do you think? For your name, I mean. I told you about it before. Because you’re a bright star in my Starry Night. I know your Da told you about it, it’s all he’d do at night when I was pretending to sleep. He’s a Sunflower, I love sunflowers but he likes cosmos more. I was gonna plant some sunflowers this month, they say to plant them in April, grow in three months. They’ll be taller than you in no time.”

All between her words, Genevieve heard the baby gurgle. She liked to think they were in conversation.

“Not that we need more flowers, it’s like a botanical garden in here!” She said as Jack brought in another bouquet from downstairs.

“You don’t seem to mind, spending all day looking after flowers,” he arranged the bunch into another vase.

“That’s a retirement plan, not a career.”

“Right,” He smirked as he delicately arranged the bouquet into one of their jugs. Once satisfied, he plucked two carnations from it and trimmed the stems. Tucking one behind Genevieve’s ear, he swept his hand over her head and around to touch her cheek. He fell over with controlled care to make eye contact with the babe, “Hello, Baby Collins.”

Then he tried to do the same with the baby. There was little success. The flower was too big. Another reason why cosmos were better. Still, he brushed the petal across her rosebud lips and tucked it behind his own ear. This earned a smile from Genevieve who was pleased as punch that they matched. Jack lay down beside them, his hand joining Genevieve’s in running their fingertips across the baby’s back before he played with one of her feet again. It flexed in his hand, soft as anything, with toes tinier than his smallest knuckle.

“I guess we can’t call her Cosmos or Star,” He mumbled.

Laughing weakly, Genevieve brushed her daughter’s wispy hair with the back of her forefinger, “Cosmos Collins? No chance, not even as a middle name.”

“Sunny, short for Sunflower?”

She shook her head.

“What about naming her after your Ma?”

“Mm-mmm, and not after your mother either, even though she asked. Baby and I were actually thinking about Stella. ’S Latin, for Star.”

“Stella for Star,” Jack tested out, rolling the letters about his mouth to see how they fell off the tongue. Said enough times for the word to nearly lose all meaning, Jack turned back to his daughter, “You seem to like it, don’t you? Well, hello there, Stella.”

Genevieve laughed again, weaker still, “You keep saying hello to the baby.”

“I keep saying hello to Stella, my daughter,” Jack said, his grin widening as he spoke. The pair shared a giggle as he continued to talk to Stella, “Better that your Ma makes the decisions, she’s a smart one.”

When Genevieve went to sit up, Jack swooped in instantly, cupping the back of Stella’s head and under her bum to rest her in his shoulder. He noticed that Genevieve did not stay sat up for long, already sliding back down after sipping some water. So as not to strain her neck, he took a seat on the bed beside her.

“For the middle name, d’you know what ‘blancmange’ is in Latin?”

“You know what, Jack?” Genevieve lifted an eyebrow and Jack knew that, despite giving birth not twenty-four hours ago, she would verbally beat him in their quips. “Did you have another idea?”

He fidgeted with Stella’s blanket, adjusting it around her middle, “Still think that blancmange is a viable option, but I had another in mind.”

“Yeah?”

“Hmm.”

After a substantial silence, Genevieve prompted the reluctant Jack, “Well? Go on then.”

“… I also like Josie.”

And all sound suddenly became muffled.

Ears plugged, mind dizzy, Genevieve vaguely heard Jack’s explanation that it was short for Josephine but that he liked Josie as a whole name over the ringing. With a blankly vulnerable expression, she felt her eyes welling up at the mention of her old girlfriend. Such an impact was expected from his words, but it still took her time to realise that Jack was waiting to hear her response.

“Are you serious?” and there was a crack in her voice.

A little thrown off by the question and its tone despite his best preparations, Jack cautiously continued, “Hmm. I mean it’s only fair since we nearly named her after Farrier. I just think it would’ve been nice to know. Get some closure.” Such closure Jack was lucky to get with Farrier. He had moved on.

Genevieve looked down at her hands, empty, and sniffed loudly before drawing a pillow from behind her to clasp it in her chest.

“I don’t think that’s the sort of closure I need,” She said quietly, pressing her mouth into the pillow.

Jack avoided looking at Genevieve. He could feel his neck and ears filling with a red shame. Part of him knew perhaps he should have waited. The two days had been so taxing on her mentally, this was probably the last thing he needed. Swallowing, he instead glanced at Stella who was slowly falling to sleep.

He spoke quickly, already stood up, “I think she needs to change into her pyjamas. I’ll do the honours, don’t worry.”

Whisking her away to the changing mat on the floor, Jack kept his eyes trained on Stella. Her legs refused to straighten, jerking sporadically. The carnation that had been behind Jack’s ear had fallen to her right cheek, the petal gentle in its contact.

“Sleepy?” He asked quietly as Stella yawned with tremendous effort, “You and me both. Bet your Ma’s more tired though.”

While it took some time to settle in, Genevieve now felt the force of her comment’s connotations. She was upset that she’d embarrassed him so, not to mention the implication that closure she wanted contradicted what she had previously said on the matter. It was a lovely suggestion too, after the whole name betting with Farrier. Over the pillow, she spied her tags on the bedside table. With care, she leant over, collected them, and wrapped the bootlace around her fingers, traced over the name engraved as part of the Big Six: COLLINS J. She thought about what Jack must have been like upon signing up, and the immense joy of finally getting his tags. Did he call his parents? Show off with his fellow trainees? Did they celebrate by going out to a pub, in their fresh blues? She’d never really asked about him just before the war. Baby to teenage years, yes, but never in his early twenties. Putting her pillow back behind her, Genevieve saved this question and its many tangents for another time.

Her finger stroked over her wedding ring on the bootlace, still awaiting their reunion. It made Genevieve let loose a tear at the thought of being able to wear it again. Jack did not see this, too busy adjusting Stella’s mittens so that she wouldn’t hurt herself while she slept.

“Bring her to me please,” Genevieve asked, her arms already outstretched while she sniffed.

That was when Jack spied his old tags tangled in her fingers. But he said nothing, lifting Stella over and into her mother’s care again. They watched as Stella rubbed her cheeks with the mittens with a yawn stretching her features.

Lowering herself back into the bed, Genevieve turned to her husband, “I knew you wanted another J. Collins in the house.” And she let out a wheeze at her little joke. Jack laughed along to pretend he knew what she meant, unsure about the variety in her behaviour. He only realised the weight of her words when she spoke again:

“Lucky for her, Stella Josie Collins has a nice ring to it. But I don’t think we should make a habit of naming our children after our first loves.”

A heavy sigh was the prologue of Jack’s second – and this time genuine – chuckle. His head dropped, his chin against his chest, shaking with relief that boiled over in his body. Seeing this as approval, Genevieve gestured for her husband to lie beside her again, which he did with mild exhaustion. There, she took his left hand to kiss his wedding ring, snugly tucked on the scar from when he gotten it trapped in a car door. Jack could only snuggle closer to her, turning on his side but still propped up.he kissed a spot on her neck, trying to hide that he was crying a fair bit. Jack sniffed, wiping a tear away in time for another to run down his cheek.

“I love you so.”

“I love you too.”

As Jack made a stronger attempt to stop crying, Genevieve watched him pull a face similar to the babe in her arms and let out a loud laugh. Her head fell back into the pillows as she muffled it to a snort before looking back down at Stella.

“She looks a bit concerned,” and the new parents leant together to catch their daughter’s eye, “Why’s your Da crying now? Hmm? Why’s he doing that, Stella?”

While she teased, Jack watched Stella’s frumpy face blinking up at him, slow as she began to doze off. He touched Stella’s cheek with curled fingers to be gentle on her skin.

“I’m being a silly boy, Stella. Worrying about nothing. Loving your everything.”

________________________________________________________

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