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thisisawonderfulusername · 4 years

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let's save the world

season two, episode four

five hargreeves x reader

summary: you may not be able to get five’s family on your side, but at least diego is willing to help at the gala

trigger warnings: cursing, violence

word count: 3k

a/n: i don’t really know what to say here, so i’ll just tell you to enjoy this chapter (that’s not a request, it’s a command :)) and if you don’t already know, i take requests! the rules are linked in my bio and i have prompts pinned on my page, so check that out if you want 😳

you stood outside of the plano street rooming house for solitary men, leaning against the car as you wait for vanya, who had decided it would be a good idea to make sure luther was okay after the fight last night. he had taken quite a beating when he just stopped fighting back, so it was at least a little understandable.

leaning against the car, you stare at your shoes while absentmindedly pick at your nails. you were starting to get a bit worried. only two of five’s siblings were working with you, one was refusing to do anything to help, and you still didn’t know where klaus and allison were. you were running out of time just trying to get them all together, and all you had was one invitation for an event that reginald may be attending.

sighing heavily, you look up at the brick building, crossing your arms over your chest. “this is taking too long.” you mutter, grabbing five’s attention as he turns his head to you. “it’s been what, four days? all we have is the invitation to that gala. your family won’t even help us.”

“the invitation should be enough for now. if we go to that gala and find dad, we might be able to get something out of him.” he sticks his hands in his pockets, and you glance at him. this gala reminded you of what had happened the first time around with the eye from meritech.

days were wasted on that glass eye and it while it would have lead to something, you weren’t able to figure out where it was from until the day of the apocalypse, due to the destruction of the building.

before you can respond, you see some of the bricks of the building fall and others around it crumble. you press your lips together as luther peers through the hole he had created, rolling your eyes.

“are you aware that your brother has anger issues?” you look to five with narrowed eyes, tilting your head to the side as you drop your arms to your sides.

he looks at luther, chuckling at what he had done as he turns to look at you. “i wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt.” you grin, shaking your head as you push away from the car.

a few moments later, vanya comes out of the rooming house, both you and five moving to meet her. “well, that clearly went well.” the woman walks straight past you as five speaks, her hard gaze set straight on the vehicle. “you ready to go?”

“i’m going back to the farm.” she states clearly, and you quickly catch up to her quick pace.

“what? you can’t!” you can’t believe his siblings and how many problems they carry with them that make them so unwilling to cooperate. it would be easier to just do this by yourself, maybe with the help of diego since he was the only one you had found who agreed to help. “we all need to stick together.”

she stops in front of the car, turning on her heel to look at you. “oh, why, so i don’t end the world again?” you cringe slightly at her words. it probably wasn’t the best idea to keep that from her. “were you even going to tell me?”

five scoffs, looking away for a moment, back up to the hole in the side of the building with his eyes squinted in irritation. “you know what? in my defense, no, alright?” he leans forward slightly, his hands folded together behind his back, “can you blame me? when you get angry- shit blows up!”

she pulls the car door open, “great. are there any other family secrets you failed to mention?” she gets into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut.

“a boatload, vanya,” he looks through the window which was closed, his voice raising slightly as she started the engine, “which i don’t have the luxury of sharing with the-” he cuts himself off, his jaw clenching as he glances at you before knocking on the glass.

she doesn’t even look at him as she rolls the window down, and he lets out a soft sigh. “the clock is ticking on doomsday. just tell me that, when we need you, you’ll be ready.”

vanya finally looks away from the road ahead of her at him, as well as you who stood behind him. “i can’t help you guys.” you nearly scream right then and there, done with all of this. “i don’t even know who i am.”

“you’re a part of the umbrella academy,” he tells her, also annoyed (apparently not as much as you, though), “you’re a part of the family. like it or not, that’s who you are.”

“look, that’s who i was, okay?” she shifts the gear into drive, but holds her foot on the break. “new timeline, new me.”

she hits the gas, “that’s not how it works!” you shout after her before letting out a loud groan, walking to the sidewalk and collapsing to the ground. “i’m done with this shit.” you grumble, your knees pulled to your chest as you look up at five, who stands in front of you. “why is your family full of selfish assholes?”

he sighs as he sits down next to you. “trust me, i wish i could be un-adopted. i wonder if it’s too late for that.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, trying to control your anger. when you were younger and your emotions got the best of you, your powers would spiral out of control, and you were glad you had gotten past that. you would definitely be surrounded by flames if you didn’t.

looking at the hole in the building one last time, luther is once again looking through, and as he sticks his middle finger up at the two of you, you get up as fast as you can, “that motherfu-” you return the favor in anger, finally letting your anger show as your hands burst into flames.

“let’s just go.” five grabs your arms, where your irritation can’t singe his uniform, quickly pulling you away so as to keep your anger from turning into rage that causes you to do something that wouldn’t end well. “they’ll come around.”

you sat in elliott’s rolling chair, your jaw tightened as you stare at your feet propped up on the desk in front of you. you were still furious, but you had to try your hardest to keep your feelings at bay, or you would never sort any of this out and the world would end for the second time, only a few months after the first.

“so what, you just let her go?” diego questions, leaning back into the cushions of the couch as lila changed the bandage over his wound.

five paced back and forth behind them, “well, vanya had a lot to process.” he reasons, and you scrunch your nose up, “she’ll come around. i know she will.”

“if she doesn’t, i’ll be paying her a little visit and making her.” you seethe, picking at your nail and pursing your lips as the boy pauses to send a pointed look at you. “sorry.” you mutter, holding your hands up in the air as a surrender, “i’m just mad.”

the three of them look at you for a moment before diego speaks up again. “what about the guys that went after her?”

“the swedes?”

“yeah, i mean how do you know they won’t go after her again?” diego questions, and you mutter a quiet thanks to elliott as he passes you a mug filled with coffee.

you take a sip before placing the steaming drink on the desk. “we don’t.”

lila hums, “any idea who sent them?”

“we have our suspicions.” five grabs the mug that elliott had set on the coffee table in front of the couch, “but right now, our priority is finding dad and getting answers, ‘cause everything else depends on it.” he sits down in one of the armchairs.

“which, for the record, i found him already.” diego tries to say, and you shake your head.

“then you let him go.” you state, raising an eyebrow, “before we could have a meaningful conversation. you thought with your knives, not your tiny brain.” you grin as he glares at you.

“he stabbed me.”

“i’m surprised he waited this long, diego,” five places his coffee back on the table, “we’ve all had the urge.”

lila and elliott laugh, and she holds her hand up for a high five, which he completely ignores. “good thing we know where reggie’s going to be tonight.” you stand from your seat at the desk, holding your drink and leaning against five’s chair, who pulls the invitation out of his pocket to show to the two.

“where’d you get this?”

“found it at his office while he was busy stabbing you.” five grins mockingly, and you chuckle as you take a sip.

he sighs softly, starting to read out the writing. “hoyt hillenkoetter and the consulate general of mexico in dallas cordially invite you to a gala.”

“woah, wait.” you turn your attention to elliott as he speaks, “hoyt hillenkoetter? are you serious?”

five raises an eyebrow, “you know him?”

"no, hillenkoetter is- he’s one of the majestic twelve.”

you squint slightly, “what the hell is that?”

“what?” the man breathes out, seemingly not being able to believe that you didn’t know what the heck a majestic twelve was. “it’s a... a secret committee.” he explains, “scientists, military, deep state.” he moves to the desk that you had been sitting at and you watch as he searches through the many papers littering it, “no one knows what they really do.”

diego sits up, wincing slightly from his wound. “wait, so they’re government?”

“shadow government.” he quickly corrects, moving to another pile on another table, “kennedy was the first president to try to push them into the light, but these guys... they’re not to be trifled with.” he pulls some papers out, “here.”

he puts a picture down on the coffee table and you quickly move closer to examine it as he points out hoyt. after a second, lila takes a quick breath. “i only count eleven.”

“that’s because they’ve only identified eleven, so far.” elliott informs, and you hum slightly as you down the rest of the coffee.

“who’s the twelfth?” diego questions, and you look between him and five as they share a look. you think they know who it is.

reginald hargreeves.

you peek over the stone wall that surrounds the perimeter of the property, seeing all of the people getting out of their cars and walking inside of the large building. it was definitely a fancy setting, as it was a gala, and the men wore suits, the women wearing dresses.

lila had managed to force you into a dress, claiming that you needed to to blend in. you hated it. it was a fit-and-flare style, which fell just above your knees, and the waist was tight with a bow tied around it, contrasting the color of the rest of the dress.

you were uncomfortable, knowing that if you had to fight someone, it would be harder to move with the tight fit above your waist and the heels that you were compelled (once again, by lila) to wear.

diego was the first to hop over the wall, and after the other two went over, you quickly jumped over the stone, quickly crouching behind one of the parked cars with them.

“so, what’s the plan?” lila questions in a hushed voice as diego looks past the rear of the vehicle, examining all of the people who went inside of the consulate, all couples who had their arms locked.

he looks back at all of you, “we infiltrate, we identify, we extract. double time.” he tells her, and you sigh at his need to make everything sound more complicated then it is.

as he looks back to the entrance, lila looks to you and five in confusion. “what the hell is he talking about?”

“find the old man and get out fast.” five simplifies it, also trying to get a good look at everyone filtering in.

diego looks at him, “that’s what i said.” you roll your eyes, “on me.”

he quickly moves from behind the car to another just a few feet away, and lila looks back at five. “after you.”

the boy is silent as he motions for you to go, and you furrow your eyebrows slightly in confusion but move past them quickly. it takes a minute, but they follow after, and all of you manage to get past everyone and go in through one of the other doors.

slow mariachi music plays and chatter fills the room as you enter, grabbing a drink as a waiter walks by with a tray. you all look around for a moment before diego speaks up. “i don’t see dad anywhere.”

“well, just keep an eye out for the majestic twelve.” you tell him, taking a sip from the drink before setting it down on the table behind you, “we’ve got upstairs?” you look to five and he nods.

“try not to do anything stupid, diego.” you grin as the man looks far from amused by five’s comment, before quickly following the boy through an archway and past a bunch of chattering men, up the staircase that slowly spiraled.

when you get to the second floor, there’s a group of men who file into one of the rooms, and you watch from behind five as the door is shut. slowly moving from behind the wall you had been hiding behind, you glance at five. “the majestic twelve?” you suggest, to which he shrugs.

“could be. you keep an eye out, i’ll be right back.” before you can argue, he’s already disappeared, and you sigh heavily.

after looking down the staircase and deciding nobody would be coming up any time soon, you slip your heels off and take slow steps towards to door, before pressing your ear to it to see if you would be able to pick up on any of the conversation.

when all you hear is the muffled speaking, you curse under your breath, stepping away from the door. suddenly, you bump into someone, and you whirl around to see one of the waiters- or, you supposed, someone dressed as one of the waiters.

“i assume you didn’t come up here to serve drinks?” you raise an eyebrow at him.

he doesn’t say anything and before you know it, he’s grabbed onto you, pulling you forward as you try not to make any noise that would raise suspicion in the room.

before he can swing you into the wall, you manage to grab onto his arms, lighting his sleeves on fire as your hands burst into flames, and he’s caught off guard as he tries to step away and extinguish the fire. you use the distraction to your advantage, the fire burning against your skin quickly dying as you undo the bow around your waist, jumping onto his back and wrapping the ribbon around his neck to pull as hard as you can and choke him.

five blinks back into the hallway a moment late as the man manages to grabs onto your arms, flipping you over onto the floor and effectively knocking the air out of you for a moment.

the boy blinks behind the man, kicking the backs of his knees and causing him to fall to the ground before putting him in a choke hold as you regain your breath and hop up from the ground.

as he pulls five off of himself and gets up, you land a kick on his chest and knock him backward a few steps, before he begins to throw punches, a few of them landing with a harsh impact that makes you groan in pain, both you and five trying to take him down.

you see diego appear from the stairway, but before he can try to help you, he’s dragged back by another man who had wrapped something around his neck. you had been distracted, and the man in front of you managed to land a hard hit on your jaw, causing you to step back with curses flying out of your mouth.

when five starts fighting him off, you see another man show up, starting to punch diego as he’s held back by the other. you take in a sharp breath, “can you handle him?” you yell in question to the boy, who nods while taking punches that make you cringe.

quickly running past the man before he can beat you up more, you sweep the third man’s legs from beneath him, and as he lands on his back you get on top of him, choking him while he tries to swing at you. “it’s not fair to double up on a man, asshole.” you seethe, tightening your grip as diego manages to get out of the other’s hold.

just before you can knock him out, the man beneath you lands a hit to your side, and you lose your hold on his neck as you’re knocked into the wall from the punch. you hold your side as he stands up, and you quickly follow suit.

your attention is caught by the sound of glass shattering, and you see that five had pushed the guy out of the window. a sudden blow to your stomach has you keeling, wrapping your arms around yourself as you curse loudly.

diego had knocked the other swede out and was able to grab onto the man in front of you before he could hit you again. “i got this!” he yells, swinging the guy into the window before starting to land hits on him. “you go with five!”

you’re hesitant, but after a second, you grab your heels from where you left them and run down the stairs, quickly slipping them on as you get to the bottom and you’re surrounded by people again. clearing your throat, you make your way through the crowd and out the door you came in through, managing to find five just as he’s shouting- something you definitely don’t understand- to his dad.

standing next to him as reginald looks to him for a moment, you catch your breath, leaning over and resting your hands on your knees. those guys packed a lot in their punch, and you would definitely be feeling the pain later in the form of bruises.

“okay,” you breathe out once you regain yourself, “you’ve got to teach me whatever the hell that was.”

he looks to you as the car his father had gotten into drove away. “it’s ancient greek.” you raise an eyebrow, nodding slightly.

diego and lila come running out of the building, stopping next to you. “was that him?”

sighing softly, five nods. “yeah.”

taglists

main: @horrorklaus

tua: @rasberrymay @noodlextrash

five taglist: @anapocalypseinmymind @five-hargreeves-official @insatiable-ivy @coffee-e-addict @xplrreylo @fandomfreakff @colie-babi @flowertoty

let’s save the world: @aspiringwriter1 @thetrashypanda423 @lilacs-lavender @wow-lookit-all-the-fandoms @ohmyitsfaith @xplrreylo @fandomfreakff @onedollarduck @sleepygal124 @faith-quake @stripedchickens @youcandalekmyballs @pettyjayy @libidinexx @bts-chub @theoriginalkat @flowertoty @whenyouwantdeath @ot7purple @purblerain

#the umbrella academy #umbrella academy #tua #five hargreeves #hargreeves #number five #five #the umbrella academy x reader #umbrella academy x reader #tua x reader #five hargreeves x reader #hargreeves x reader #number five x reader #five x reader #lstw #let's save the world

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jurijurijurious · 3 years

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Writerly ephemera meme

I was tagged by @thisbluespirit in this rather intriguing meme!

Find five bits of yourself that you gave to your fiction (memories and places and phrases and things into our stories), post and tag five or more writers to share as well.

Now I know I do write bits of myself and my experiences into my stories, one way or another, I think everyone does, but it doesn’t half put you on the spot when you have to try to remember where you’ve done it!

1) I know that recently I wrote Walsingham passing out at the end of a scene in “Mea Culpa”. The entire description is based on personal experience. I went through a scary few years as a young teen where I would pass out for little to no reason, usually at school where there were lots of people watching to cause me huge embarrassment, which then almost gave me a form of PTSD. I was constantly anxious about fainting, it was not good, and we never found out why it happened. But that’s another story... I still occasionally pass out but it’s usually for a reason, after having a vaccine or blood taken or something, but the whole process of fainting, though horrible, is like an old nemesis to me, uncomfortably familiar. I generally feel intense sickness in my stomach, my vision is puckered increasingly with white dots, my entire body comes out in a sweat, and I hear a high pitched whistle-type noise as I lose consciousness. And so since that is my experience, it became Wals’s too:

His palms sweated, his pulse raced... He shuddered and emitted another strangled breath, fingers white where he clutched the window sill, body trembling. He needed rest. Ursula's voice was becoming distant, the room was swaying like the deck of a ship caught in a storm. He felt a sudden nausea in his stomach, could hear a high pitched sound in his ears, a siren's wail beckoning him into the abyss.

“I am sorry. So very sorry,” he whispered, though he knew not exactly who he was addressing. His own voice now sounded as if it was coming from underwater, far away; he was drowning and could resist no more, slipped where he stood and descended into the open arms of oblivion.

2) This is another Walsibeth example I’m afraid because I haven’t written anything else for about a decade! So... Though the pandemic and my lack of funds has put a temporary hold to my hobby of horse riding, I am a half-capable rider and love tearing across country if opportunity allows on horseback. I can thus write people riding horses (English style, anyway) with a degree of accuracy. So in my smutty one-shot fic “In perpetuum et unum diem” (the one which is mostly a pastiche of the raunchy finale of “The Tudors” season 1, and also an excuse for me to write shameless sex), I began the ficlet with a bit of a horse-race between Bess and Wals to get the blood up (a scene that in itself mirrors Elizabeth’s racing with Raleigh in TGA, I later realised). Though I personally haven’t raced a person on horseback per se, I have done beach rides and also ridden on a horseback safari in Africa where you gallop as a group, and “giving your horse its head” is the order of the day! So a lot of this passage is me:

She turned her head back over her shoulder and caught Francis’ eyes. His lip quirked slightly at the corner but otherwise there was no change to his countenance. But that was enough. Her smile deepend as if to invite him to race her and she turned her head back around, gave her dappled grey mare its head and pressed her calves to its flanks. And the beast responded, driving its legs harder, faster, into a gallop and flew like a falcon through the trees.

...

As the wind flew in Elizabeth’s face, making her eyes water, a great whoop of exhilaration escaped her. There was nothing but her and the horse, and the knowledge that her blackguard of a lover galloped behind her. This was what it should feel like to live, even in tragically brief snippets; to feel the blood in your veins, the air in your chest, and the sun on your face, wild and free.

They then jump a tree trunk which I’d love to say I’d do, and I might, but most of my falls have been from jumping so I’d probably wimp out and go the long way around... ;)

3) Annnd another one from my Walsibeth fic “Mea Culpa”, just because it’s fresh in my mind. When I was driving to work last winter, there was one Sunday morning which had a jaw-droppingly beautiful sunrise. I tried to take a photo of it but could not do it justice. I did find a photo of Lincoln Cathedral on instagram from the same morning though which captured the sky perfectly. It literally looked like the sky was on fire, or something, and I immediately worked this memory into my story! I felt that a sky like that would make the perfect backdrop for a single, forlorn, broken bastard riding his horse in a clear, freezing morning:

There was a strange light in the sky as the sun began to make its ascent. It turned a deep crimson then lifted to shades of rich amber and gold; this combined with the few grey clouds passing overhead gave it the illusion of a huge fire, as if a great furnace now filled the heavens. Some might have called it beautiful, others would see a grim omen.

4) I had a look in my dreaded old fic archive, so full of cringe, and I found this from the end of my Doctor Who fic “Choices”, which I reckon I wrote between 2005-2006, possibly finishing it later than that. This scene right at the end (told from the perspective of Rose and the ninth Doctor’s daughter, Hope) is literally my old senior school - the class length, the finish time, the uniform was what I wore, and my history teacher was Mrs. Gaskin, and my mum would be waiting in her car to pick me and my sisters up:

By a quarter-to-three in the afternoon, she was in another History lesson with Mrs. Gaskin, and was spending another forty-five minutes hearing about the Black Death, the plague doctors, and the red crosses that were painted on people’s doors. It was fascinating, but Hope’s concentration wasn’t there. She kept looking out of the window at the school yard, noticing the little details that other days she would take for granted - like the way the trees swayed in the wind, the way a crisp-packet rolled across the concrete, and the pure azure-blue colour of the cloudless sky. Something was afoot but she had no idea what it was, or why she was feeling this way.

The bell rang finally at the end of the lesson, as the clock read three-thirty, and the class disappeared swiftly out of the door. It was home time! The voices of myriads of children echoed and shrilled down the corridors, and desperate feet, eager to get home, pounded down the stairs, making for the exits. White shirts were un-tucked from trouser and skirt hems, blue-and-red ties were loosened from about shirt collars, and black blazers were thrown off and carried over shoulders as the mass of pupils took flight.

Hope, however, took things slowly, almost as if she might never see them again, picking up on every smile, every individual laugh, and every joke pulled on every unsuspecting victim. She waved goodbye to friends, hitched her backpack over her shoulder, and made her way out of the school gates toward the spot where her mum or Uncle Jack would usually be waiting to pick her up. As she turned the corner onto Petunia Grove, though, she stopped and sighed. The car - either her mum’s or Jack’s - was not there.

Hope pursed her lips and shrugged, taking another good look around just to make sure that she hadn’t missed it, but there wasn’t a familiar car in sight. She thus let her bag slip off her shoulder, and she perched her backside on the street sign, swinging one of her feet back and forth as she waited for the arrival of her escort.

In the meantime, she couldn’t help but let her mind wander again, as it had been doing often throughout the day, and looked around the street. There was a blue tit on the hedge over the road, stood near a couple of sparrows and a robin. The front door of house number five was a brilliant shade of red, something which she had never really noticed before, and there was some graffiti on the road sign on the opposite side of the street. It read ‘Bad’ something or other, but she couldn’t read the other word since it was blocked off by the blue box.

Hope blinked and slowly rose to her feet. It couldn’t be…

5) And for number five, this is a short extract from the an unpublished Star Wars fic I wrote around 2010, where I tried for what must have been the third time to re-write the Star Wars nonsense I wrote as a teenager, all starring my very Mary Sue OC, Nadia, who became Vader’s apprentice and was mentored by Veers. I have here again worked my experiences of passing out into the story - a psychologist would have a field day with me. Nadia’s thoughts about showing weakness were also real fears of mine - I never liked to be weak, to be ill, to be a burden, and my character was the mouthpiece for my own self-disgust. It’s written in the first person with Nadia narrating in this scene where she accompanies General (Maximilian) Veers to the Kaminoan’s cloning facility to review further batches of troops and is taken ill by the experience of seeing the thousands of farmed foetuses:

Max nodded whilst I remained breathless and shaky in his shadow. I could not get those tiny, wriggling foetuses out of many head - they floated upon my consciousness, their inhuman eyes glaring into my face and their tiny hands reaching out toward me. I tried to rid myself of these infantile phantoms, but I could not, and I suddenly felt quite ill.

“We shall need many more in our next delivery,” Max told the creature, who began to babble on about the problems of this request, but was halted mid-sentence when Maximilian wheeled about and grabbed me, saying my name over and over. He disappeared amidst the snowstorm of white dots that littered my vision, however, and I collapsed upon the floor.

The next thing I knew, I was waking up in a bright, white room. The walls dazzled me for a moment and it took my eyes and my mind time to adjust and to recognise reality. I looked slowly at the plain walls, finding myself alone upon a bed with my hands by my sides and a drip feeding liquid into my arm. This seemed quite surreal - I knew I was not ill enough to warrant this - but I resolved to stay put until someone came to me. I felt extremely tired and I thought that I may as well take advantage of the rest.

I fell back to sleep again and, when I next woke, I saw Max sat in a chair beside me. I glanced about the room - we were alone. I looked at him uncertainly, my visage undoubtedly betraying the signs of my mortification, for he first said: “Do not worry, Nadia, I am not angry with you. It cannot always be helped.”

...

I wanted to defy him, to be strong, but no, I just showed him weakness and insecurity. What indignity was this?

Thanks for the tag, that was fun! I can’t think of 5 writers to tag but off the top of my head: @feuillesmortes, @robins-treasure and @captainofthegreenpeas? Have a go if you fancy.

#memes #writerly ephemera meme

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lonelyreputation · 4 years

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Peachy Keen

A/N: Hi!! Enjoy a little thing I wrote about drinking wine in Italy with Shawn!! This is something I want very desperately! Also! Is Shawn a red wine or white wine kinda drinker? Let’s discus.

REQUEST: Plucking a peach off the tree & calloused palms

MASTERLIST

WC: 5.5K // Fluff

The warm Italian sun was high up in the sky as you peddled your bike down a dirt path. The crunching sound of your tires rolling over loose dirt and small pebbles was one you would never get tired of. You momentarily shut your eyes as the light breeze pulled your hair back.

You had just gone into town to pick up a few small groceries for your grandparents. And biking was your chosen mode of transportation. You biked into town, spoke the minimal Italian you knew with the shop keeper, and then quickly headed back to the villa. The reusable bag sitting in your whicker basket was filled with the Italian essentials: fresh vegetables, pasta, and wine.

God, how you loved visiting your grandparents in the summer months.

Your grandparents lived around the tiny town of Cesena; about an hour north of San Marino and a thirty minute drive to the eastern shore of Italy. It was a quaint town, one that was rarely ever littered with tourists.

Your grandparents house came into view as you peddled a little faster up the hill with a smile on your face. Your time in Italy was almost over, but your boyfriend was coming to visit, and that made you smile.

Shawn had a small break during the North American leg of his tour, and after convincing Andrew that Shawn wouldn’t miss much on the days where nothing was scheduled, the days were approved. He was due to arrive tonight and then take a taxi down to your grandparents place. Even though his flight was still a few hours away from landing, you couldn’t help but check your phone every half hour.

You smoothed your white t-shirt and jean shorts down once you got off your bike, plucked the grocery bag from your basket, and walked through the screen door, “Nona!” You called out to your grandmother, “I’m back with the groceries!”

“Kitchen!”

The walls of the hallway were covered with family pictures. Ones from when your mother was a child, your parents wedding day, your first days of school, and your summers spent in Italy. The wall was always a walk down memory lane and it made you smile every time.

You carefully placed the bag on the wooden counter and began emptying the contents, “Cristian says hi,” you peeked over your shoulder to see your grandmother stirring a pot of sauce on the stove, “He says that while he loves to see my shining face, he misses seeing you at the store.”

Your grandmother lifted the spoon up to taste the sauce, “Grumpy old man,” she shook her head in laughter, “Still the biggest flirt––even when I take your Nonno.”

Rolling your eyes, you brought the bags of pasta over to the boiling water, “He’s a sweet man.”

“Who?” Your grandfather strolled into the kitchen.

“Cristian,” your grandmother let out a laugh, “From the store.”

Your grandfather shrugged as he opened the cabinet and took out three plates, he paused before closing the cabinet door, “Will the boyfriend be joining us for dinner?”

“He gets in late tonight,” You moved around your grandmother to get three wine glasses down, “He’ll be here for breakfast though.”

“I’m excited to meet him,” your grandmother continued to stir the sauce around in the pan and put a little more salt in the water the pasta was cooking in, “I’ve been doing my research.”

“Nonna,” you whined.

While you weren’t surprised by her answer, she’s been teasing you for the past week about reading up on your pop-star boyfriend. Oh, nipotina, I need to know absolutely everything about the boy who’s coming over––Nipotina, he’s so cute––Oh, Nipotina, what songs are about you?

“Just want to be prepared,” your grandmother tied back her scraggly gray hair and tried to lift the post of pasta up. When you saw her struggling, you set the wine glasses on the table and took the pot from her hold and walked it over to the sink.

Hot steam rose up from the sink and you leaned your head back, “He’s already nervous about meeting you guys, don’t intimidate him.”

“Us?” Your grandfather looked over at your grandmother with a soft laugh, “Intimidating?”

The last of dinner preparations didn’t take very long and soon you were sipping on a local red wine, giggling with your grandparents as they recounted the day they first met. You always admired their love for one another and it was always a goal in life to find some kind of love like theirs.

Dinner was over and you were an hour closer to Shawn’s arrival. Your grandmother poured you another glass of wine before putting hers in the sink. You looked up at her quizzically, silently asking her why she wasn’t staying in the kitchen with you.

“It’s late, dear,” she patted your head, “I’ll meet the superstar in the morning.”

You nodded as you took sip of your red wine. He was so close. So close that you could feel the excitement rise up from the tips of your toes. You stood up, walked into the living room area, plucked a book off the book shelf, and brought it back to the table with you.

With one leg crossed over the other, you picked up your wine glass and took a sip as you flicked open the book. You understood some parts of Italian, but thankfully, the book you chose was a cook book, so you immersed yourself in the pictures and bookmarked recipes you wanted to try with your grandmother.

You were halfway done your glass of wine when your phone bounced on the table from its vibration. You jumped in your chair and banged your knee under the table. You swore silently under your breath and picked up your phone.

Your heart rate increased when you saw his name pop up on your screen.

Just landed. Have to go through customs but I’m here!! And I can’t wait to see you x

Shawn was here. Shawn was in Italy. Shawn was about forty minutes away from your grandparent’s house. You couldn’t help the giddiness that erupted throughout your whole body. You lightly tapped your feet on the ground in order to let out some excitement.

Your fingers never slid so fast on your screen; YAY! Let me know when you’re out and on your way!! Miss you so much!!

You phone vibrated instantly in your hand; Not much longer.

Butterflies. You felt butterflies in your stomach fluttering. You wondered if your grandmother still felt butterflies in her stomach with your grandfather. You tried to refocus your gaze on the cook book in front of you, but your mind was occupied with Shawn. You hadn’t physically seen him in person in two months, so the anticipation was killing you inside.

For obvious reasons, it took a bit of time for Shawn to make it past security and to the car Andrew made sure he set up to take Shawn. You can never be too careful, Andrew spoke on a three-way call between you and Shawn when you were planning the logistics, and it’ll be easier for him to get to your place with a ride already set up.

It was just past midnight so the drive from the airport to your grandparent’s house shouldn’t take much time at all. He was so close. So close.

Sitting in a chair was letting your anxiety fester so you decided you needed to get up and do something. You walked into the sitting area and grabbed the water can to fill it up with water. The back sitting area overlooked the Italian rolling greens countryside that you wanted to immortalize your mind for the rest of your life. You slid open the wooden farm door and began to water the plants.

The back sitting area was closed off by a wrap around screen so the humid air of the summer night comforted you. Your grandfather had an immense collection of different kinds of plants. Some were so tall that they reached all the way to the ceiling and others were small window plants. It was cute to see how much he adored his plants. He said that he had a plant for every sibling of his, child, and grandchild.

He always joked how he got an extra plant for a child if they left their home country of Italy. So far he had an extra plant for your mother and one for your uncle.

You were in the middle of watering a plant when you felt your phone vibrate. Not so gracefully, you set the watering can on the wood floor and slid your phone open.

I think I’m here?

Buzz.

It’s really dark but I see a house with lights on.

Buzz.

Is there a dirt road leading up to your house?

Buzz.

It looks like the pictures you’ve shown me…I think?

You threw your phone on the couch and sprinted through the kitchen and rounded the corner to get to the front door. You saw headlights of a car and a silhouette of a very familiar body looking toward the house.

Unlocking the screen door, you pushed it open and you were met with a frazzled Shawn. His eyebrows were pinched together, no doubt from exhaustion and confusion at the loud noise, but when he saw it was you, a wide smile broke out on his face.

He turned toward the car, said something to the driver, and the car reversed down the dirt path. The smile hadn’t left Shawn’s face when he turned back around to you.

“C’mere,” he whispered as he dropped his duffle bag to the ground and opened his arms.

Without any hesitation, you sprinted into his arms. Shawn’s strong arms wrapped around your waist as he squeezed you tight. With your arms wrapped around his neck, you nuzzled your head into the crook of his shoulder, inhaling his signature smell.

“I can’t believe you’re here,” you breathed out happily.

Shawn was here. At your grandparents villa in Italy.

You were still wrapped in his arms, but he leaned back and tilted his head to see your face, “God, I missed you so much.”

You took this time to really examine the face you loved that was absent for two months. His eyes looked tired, you could see small bags under his eyes, he was no doubt tired from all the travel. But he also looked relieved and refreshed. While touring took a physical tole on Shawn’s body, you knew he thrived off of the crowds screams every night and that it gave him a newfound passion for music.

A soft smile graced your lips as you appreciated the boy in front of you, “Let’s get you inside.” You took hold of his hand and guided him toward the house.

“Wait––“ he pulled on your hand which caused you to spin and rest a hand on his chest. Without a second more to waste, he leaned down and lightly pressed a kiss to your lips. You smiled into the kiss and lightly scrunched up the pink sweatshirt he wore.

His hand came to cradle the side of your face and you fell more in love with him with every kiss. As much as you wanted to continue to kiss your boyfriend, you could only imagine how exhausted he must feel. Reluctantly, you pulled away, which caused Shawn to let out a whine.

“Y/n––“

“We’ll have plenty of time to do more of that,” you kissed his cheek, “later. But right now you need a glass of water and a bed.”

There was a thoughtful look on Shawn’s face before he nodded, “Agreed.”

•••

You awoke with a hand on Shawn’s bare chest, rising and falling softly with each breath of his. You lifted your head up to look at the clock on your nightstand, 9:30. You were usually up my eight and downstairs lending a hand wherever your grandparents needed help, but waiting up for Shawn all night led you to sleep in a later later than normal.

A content sigh slipped past your lips as you let your head fall back onto the pillow. You brought one hand up to rub your eye as you turned your head to see Shawn squirm a little in his sleep. Not long after his sudden movement, he groaned and lifted both hands to cover his face.

“Mornin’,” he said groggily.

You let out a small laugh as you rolled over on your side, your elbow propping up your chin as you stared down at a sleepy Shawn. You ran your fingers through his hair and he peaked a look at you through the sliver of his fingers, “Sleep for a few more minutes, you’re probably still jet lagged.”

Shawn shook his head, “Don’t wanna waste any time.”

You continued to lazily run your fingers through his hair as you smiled down at him, “We can go for a picnic this afternoon? I can show you around the place?”

Shawn removed both hands from his face as his eyes shinned with adoration, “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

With a smile, you leaned your head down to press a chaste good morning peck to his kiss. But as you broke the kiss, Shawn leaned up and followed your lips. He brought a hand up to cup the back of your neck, extending his thumb to caress your cheek as he deepened the kiss.

You were a bit caught off guard by the intensity of the kiss, but it had been so long since you had any sort of physical contact with Shawn, so you didn’t fight against it. You were still hovering over him as you trailed a hand onto his stomach, pushing the thin layer of white sheets away to grant you more access to his bare chest.

With each kiss, Shawn sat up a little more until it was your back pressed that was against the mattress and him hovering over you. His hand that held the back fo your neck trailed down to your waist as he gave it a squeeze. You let out a soft moan as you circled your arms around his neck and brought him down closer to you.

Shawn had just slipped his tongue past your lips as he slid a hand up under your shirt, his fingers ghosting over the underside of your breast, when the door to your room abruptly flew open.

“Nipotina, you’ve slept far past normal hours and breakfast is almost––Oh.”

Shawn removed his hand from your shirt and was on the other side of the bed in lighting speed. It didn’t matter that you had already been caught by your grandmother in a compromising position with your boyfriend, but Shawn was acting as if he had been on that side of the bed all night. His flushed face and heavy breathing didn’t help his case.

It was silent between the three of you for a few seconds longer before you cleared your throat, “We’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Silence.

You were still in the same position before Shawn flew off you––back pressed against the matters with your shirt slightly wrinkled, “We’ll be down in a minute.”

Your grandmother nodded hesitantly, “Be down in a second and I won’t tell your Nonno what I walked in on.”

You nodded your head as you threw the sheets off and went to you closet. Your grandmother closed the door, but she popped her head back in and sweetly smiled at Shawn, “Lovely to finally meet you Shawn.” And without waiting for a response, she closed the door once more as you heard the creaky floorboards on the stairs signaling that she was really away this time.

Flicking through your clothes, you decided on an orange spaghetti strap sundress with a pair of tan sandals. You took the dress off the hanger and picked up the sandals from the straps in the back. You set the dress down on the cushion of the bay window in your room and when you had your arms crossed over your stomach, about to take off your shirt, you noticed Shawn was still sitting right on the edge of your bed with a petrified look in his eyes.

“Gonna get dressed?”

That seemed to break him out of whatever trance he was under and flick his eyes toward you as you took off your shirt. Usually the sight of you without a shirt on would cause him to smirk, but he still look terrified.

You rolled your eyes as you changed your underwear, put on a bandeau, and slipped the dress over your head, “C’mon, Shawn, it’s not like she caught us having sex.”

Shawn’s eyes popped out of his head as he gave you an incredulous look, “She caught us in bed, Y/n!” You let out a laugh as you sat down on the window ledge to put your sandals on, “She probably had a guest room set up for me to sleep in and she finds me in your room––On top of you––And I hadn’t even met her properly yet––“

“Relax,” you walked over and sat down next to Shawn on your bed. You picked up his hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze, “Both of my grandparents were okay with you sleeping in my room,” he let out an exasperated breath, “But you should really get ready for the day or else she really will tell my Nonno.”

You kissed his cheek before jumping off the bed and walking to your door. Shawn was fast on your trail as he dug around his suitcase for clothes.

“I’ll hold her down,” you winked as you closed the door behind you.

After freshening up in the bathroom, you skipped down the stairs to see your grandfather at the stove and your grandmother sipping on orange juice while reading a book. She was in the middle of turning the page when she noticed your presence.

“Where’s the boy?” Her tone was suggestive and you shot her a look that said you promised. Your grandmother continued to play her dangerous game as she took a sip of her orange juice, “He got in so late last night that I didn’t get to meet him properly.”

“He’s just in the bathroom!” Your grandfather peered over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow as the pan he was cooking on sizzled, “He’ll be down in a second.”

And as if on cue, you heard the old stairs creak under Shawn with every step he took. Your heart rate increased with each step you heard, and then finally, it felt as if your heart exploded when you saw him standing under the archway of the kitchen.

He wore a loose white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, a pair of loose fitting blue jeans with small rips, and white sneakers. He stood there anxiously as he looked at you for help.

“Nonno and Nonna,” you gave your grandmother a pointed look as you took a few long strides across the kitchen to meet Shawn. You interlaced your fingers together and smiled up at him briefly before looking at your grandparents, “This is Shawn, my boyfriend––“

“Oh, the popstar,” your grandmother teased, “It’s nice to finally put a name to the face.”

Even though you briefed Shawn that he would endure some teasing, specifically form your grandmother, his eyes still widened, “It’s nice to finally meet you both as well, I’ve heard so much about you guys from Y/n and the summer’s she’s spent here.”

Your grandfather stepped away from the breakfast he was cooking and walked over to Shawn with a hand extended. Shawn immediately dropped your hand and went to shake your grandfather’s hand, “Nice to meet you, Shawn.”

The handshake only lasted a few seconds and Shawn smiled at your grandfather, “Pleasure to meet you too, sir,” He then broke eye contact to actually take time to look at the kitchen, since when he came in last night it was pitch black, “You have a wonderful house here, the view––it’s incredible.”

You followed his gaze. He was looking at the back windows through the screened in porch with an infinite amount of plants. The view was one that was plastered around all Italian tourist brochures: rolling countryside, a few trees dotting the landscape, and soft clouds rolling in from the distance.

“Sit,” you pulled on his hand until you got to the table, “Do you want water? Orange juice?”

Shawn shook his hand and stayed standing as he directed his voice toward your grandfather, “Do you need any help getting breakfast together?”

Your grandmother peered up from her book with both eyebrows raised, impressed that he was offering his help. She shot you warm smile, and you knew that Shawn had her approval, despite this morning’s incident, and then went back to reading her book.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Shawn,” with his back still facing the three of you, your grandfather pointed up towards a cabinet, “Could you get some plates down?”

Breakfast was filled with laughs, embarrassing stories of your childhood, and lots of conversation with your grandparents getting to know Shawn more. The sight of Shawn joking with your grandfather, or listening intently to whatever your grandmother said, warmed your heart.

Shawn helped clean up the kitchen when breakfast was concluded and then excused himself to go to the bathroom. After a substantial amount of time had passed where it worried you how long he had been on the toilet, you excused yourself from the back porch area to check up on him. You knocked on the bathroom door, but it was empty when you peeked in. Next, you checked your room, and found Shawn fast asleep on top of the covers.

A small size graced your lips as you gently closed the door and tip toed down the stairs.

You informed your grandparents on Shawn’s whereabouts and they chuckled before resuming their activities. You picked up a book from the table, and thankfully, this one was in English.

A few hours had passed and it was nearing lunch time. Shawn still hadn’t made an appearance. You knew he was exhausted from the constant movement of tour, and then traveling to Italy to be with you, and that it was his first real down time in a few months. Whenever Shawn came back to Toronto after tour, he reserved the following day for just sleeping.

You wanted to let him sleep, he always works himself too hard you thought, and you knew that you had a few more days to spend with him. But part of you was really looking forward to that picnic you proposed earlier in the day.

Your grandparents had plans with some friends in town and left you alone a little bit ago. The house was silent and it made a good atmosphere for reading. But you couldn’t concentrate on the book in your hands, always having to re-read the last sentence because your thoughts always seemed to wander off to the boy resting upstairs.

Realizing you needed a mental break, you dog-eared the page, tucked the book under your arm, and walked in the kitchen to pour yourself a glass of lemonade. You leaned up against the counter, letting the cold liquid coat your throat, as you heard the sound of creaking stairs. A smile automatically made its way onto your lips.

Shawn came into view, still looking a bit dazed from his nap, but smiled instantly when his eyes landed on you, “Still up for that picnic?”

Your smile brightened even more.

After retrieving a basket from the hall closet, a blanket from the living room, and picking out a few cheese and crackers, you wandered over to the wine rack.

With your hands placed on your hips you called out over your shoulder, “Red or white?”

Shawn poked his head around the wall and walked toward you with the basket. He stood next to you and you could feel him debating on which bottle of wine to chose.

“Let’s do a rosé.”

Your eyebrows raised as you turned your head up to look at him as you snorted, “Rosé?”

Shawn rolled his eyes and lightly pushed your shoulder with his hand, “Grab whatever you want.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” you picked out the first rosé you saw on the rack and held it up, “You picked rosé so we’re drinking rosé.”

You heard Shawn sigh from behind as you grabbed two plastic cups from the kitchen, “Out this way,” you waved over to him and led him from the kitchen, through the back screened porch, and out the door.

You walked down a stone path lined with plants that your mother helped your grandfather make when she was eleven years old. Walking hand-in-hand with Shawn made you fall more in love with him. It could just be the Italian air getting to your head, but sharing memories from your summer’s in Italy as a child and actually being able to show Shawn where everything happened…You could see yourself ten years down the line doing this with Shawn and your own kids.

After a while of walking and showing Shawn the landscape, you picked a peach tree to sit under to save your skin from the sweltering sun. You poked fun at Shawn for wearing jeans, to which he responded that he didn’t pack any shorts when he as on tour, so he was left with minimal outfit choices.

“You still look like an Italian dream,” you over dramatically fluttered your eyelashes at him as you sat down on the blanket Shawn spread out.

He let out a single laugh as he sat down cross-legged and pulled out the cheese and crackers from the basket. He set them out while you took the corkscrew and tried to open up the wine. After a few attempts of miserably failing at trying to pull the cork out with the opener, Shawn silently held his hand out.

With a begrudged sigh, you handed over the bottle and watched his arms flex as the cork came out easily from his strength with a soft pop.

You snatched the bottle from him and began to pour the wine in the plastic cups, pouring a little more rosé in your cup than his to mask the embarrassment. Whether Shawn saw you pour extra into your cup, he didn’t say anything, as you clinked cups and took a big gulp.

“So how’s tour been?” You leaned forward to cut a piece of cheese and place it on a cracker.

Shawn took a sip of his wine, “Fine,” you winced at his tone.

You took another bite of your cracker and finished chewing before speaking, “Still haven’t patched things up with Brian?”

Before Shawn left for the American leg of his tour, he and Brian got in a little argument. It wasn’t anything major, just that Shawn didn’t want Brian throwing any parties at his place like the last time he went on tour. Brian took more offense to it than intended, Shawn proceeded to get more passive aggressive with his comments, and neither of the boys wanted to break first and say sorry.

Shawn sighed and swirled the wine in his cup that he seemed to be mesmerized with, “No.”

The sun hit Shawn just right sitting under the tree. Glimmers of light broke through the leaves that left scattered patterns on his skin. He looked absolutely glowing with the illumination of sun on his jawline, but you knew he felt anything but glowing on the inside.

“Have you talked to Matt?” You questioned, “Maybe he could clue you in on how Brian’s feeling and then you can go from there.”

“I guess,” Shawn shrugged his shoulders as he took a cracker out of the sleeve.

You could tell he didn’t want to talk about the topic anymore, so you didn’t press further. Instead you changed the subject, “No cheese? You’re in Italy––That’s blasphemous.”

Shawn’s mood shifted instantly as he let out a laugh. He went to grab another cracker, and this time he sliced off a piece of cheese, “Happy?”

“Peachy keen,” you smiled at him with your eyes closed. That earned you another laugh from Shawn.

You continued to mindlessly sip on your rosé, starting to feel the affect of the wine as you became more giggly and giddy. Every sentence Shawn spoke seemed to be the funniest thing ever said, and every look he threw your way had you wishing you could lock it up in a memory box forever.

You were pouring another glass when Shawn pushed himself off the blanket and looked up at the tree, “Can you eat these peaches?”

Pausing the pour, you scrunched your eyebrows together and thought for a moment, “I––I think so?”

Shawn shrugged his shoulders, “When in Italy,” he said dreamily.

You calculated every movement he made. He didn’t have to stand on his tip toes at all as his he reached his define arm up to pluck a peach off the tree, his lightbulb tattoo peaking through under his sleeve. With a swift snap of the twig, Shawn held the peach in his hand before throwing it up in the air once. He caught it flawlessly and turned it around to examine it for bruises.

Once he was pleased with the peach he picked, he took a seat next to you on the blanket. He sat so your shoulders were brushing against yours, “Wanna taste?”

You shook your head as you happily continued to sip on your wine, “I don’t think it’ll mix well with the rosé.”

“Don’t be such a priss,” Shawn rolled his eyes as he bit into the peach. He concentrated on his jaw as he chewed. Once he swallowed the part he bit off, he opened his mouth to show you that nothing was left. You swatted his face away from yours as he laughed, “See! I had wine and it didn’t taste weird!”

You took the peach from his hand and took a small bite knowing that he would not let you hear the end of it if you didn’t try it. Admittedly, it wasn’t terrible, but with how much wine you had drank, it wasn’t exactly pleasant.

You scrunched up your nose and placed the peach down on the blanket, “Nope,” you reached for your wine and took a sip, scrunching up your nose even more when you tasted more of how the wine mixed with the peach “Definitely no.”

Shawn’s eyes glowed with amusement as he stared at you through the top of his cup. He took another sip, “You’re adorable.”

“That was anything but adorable.”

He reached over your lap and grabbed the bottle of rosé, gesturing if you wanted anymore. You told him only a little, as you held your cup out for him to top off. He finished pouring the rest of the bottle in his cup.

The two of you sat in silence sipping on your wine as you listened to the branches of the peach tree rustling against each other by the slight wind. You rested your head on Shawn’s shoulder and he rested his head upon yours.

With your eyes closed, you had never felt pure bliss before this moment. You didn’t have anything challenging on your mind, nothing in the forefront of your mind screamed danger. Your mind was at ease for the first time in a long time.

Your eyes momentarily opened when you felt Shawn shift his arm from leaning on the blanket, to wrapping his arm around your shoulder, pulling you closer. You felt his calloused palm rub up and down your arm sending a wave of tingles down through your whole body. Even though you were positive you had no more room left between the two of you, you still scooched closer to him.

Shawn tightened his arm around your shoulder as he placed a gentle kiss on your head, “I love you.”

A soft smile spread across your face as you looked up to see him taking a sip of his wine and admiring the Italian countryside with you tucked into his side. You wrapped your arms around his torso and kissed the part of his collarbone that was peaking out, “I love you, too.”

You were content with everything in your life at the moment and you were sure Shawn reciprocated those feelings. Because right now, sitting on the Italian countryside with no one bothering either of you, it felt like a taste of what your future together held.

Just two young adults in love sipping on rosé.

#Shawn Mendes fluff #Shawn imagine #Shawn mendes #Shawn Peter raul mendes #Shawn Mendes imagine #Shawn Mendes ou #Shawnblr #Shawn Mendes blurb #Shawn Mendes writing #Shawn blurb #Shawn writing #Shawn Mendes x y/n #Shawn x y/n #Shawn Mendes x you #Shawn x you #fluff #Shawn Mendes fanfic

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maluminspace · 4 years

Text

Genre: WW2/drama/angst/fluff/

Pairings: Calum Hood/Michael Clifford

Prompt: “Kissing you is all I’ve thought about since the moment we met.”

Word Count: 9k

Trigger warnings: Strong language, physical abuse, physical violence, reference to war, reference to death, references to domestic abuse, period typical racism, period typical homophobia, internalised homophobia

A/N: I have wanted to write a ww2 fic for a very long time so when the generator threw out 40s for malum I jumped on it for this event. This is just a portion of the espically long final fic I have planned. The overall piece will be posted on my AO3 account when it’s complete. I hope you all enjoy this segment enough to check it out when it’s entirely complete.

September 1940

As the train pulled into the little station, Calum let out a sigh of relief. It’d been a long journey and the train had felt too hot and stuffy. He picked up his suitcase and joined the other passengers gathering at the doors.

Once he was able to step onto the platform, Calum took a moment to compose himself. He’d spent the entire train journey trying not to think of London and his family. He already missed them all. Now that he’d arrived in Yorkshire, it was hard not to immediately identify all the differences between this sleepy rural life and the hustle and bustle of the capital city.

Before he could fully process his new surroundings, Calum noticed his Uncle Donald standing near the doorway of the waiting room. He looked so much like Calum’s dad that it almost brought tears to the 15-year-old’s eyes.

“Hello, Calum lad!” His uncle smiled as he weaved through the people filling the platform. “Give me that suitcase, let’s get you home and settled in.”

Calum gave a half-hearted smile. He was a little surprised by the friendly welcome. He’d only ever met his dad’s side of the family once before when he was very little. It was highly possible that they would be disapproving of Calum’s ‘exotic’ appearance but it seemed that those worries were unnecessary at least.

Donald took the heavy case from Calum as though it weighed nothing. A moment of sympathy flashed in his eyes as he seemingly recognized his nephew’s uncertainty. “Don’t worry, lad.” He smiled gently. “You’re welcome here for as long as this war goes on.”

His words comforted Calum a bit but he still felt severely out of place. He could only hope that he’d feel more at ease as time passed. “Thank you, sir.” He managed, trying not to show just how scared he was by this sudden change.

Donald let out a booming laugh as he clapped Calum on the shoulder. “There’ll be none of that here, boy.” He chuckled. “You can just call me Don or Uncle Don. I know we haven’t spent any real time together until now but we’re still family.”

Donald’s infectiously merry mood made Calum relax ever so slightly; he felt somewhat less nervous as he was driven through the countryside to the farm where he’d be living for the foreseeable future.

The rolling hills, quiet roads, and quaint little houses and shops were about as different to the London landscape as he could ever imagine. Despite the stark contrasts to everything Calum was familiar with, this little corner of Yorkshire seemed to have an undeniable charm of its own.

The car ride was filled with pleasant conversation, further relaxing Calum’s nerves as he got to know his uncle a bit better. He listened to various stories about his aunt and three cousins as they drove. By the time they finally pulled up at the farm, Calum was quite excited to meet the rest of his family and acquaint himself with his new home.

The farm and it’s surrounding green hills and fields looked like something from a postcard. Having seen nothing but London’s grey skyline and smoggy streets, the openness of his new home felt just as exciting as it did daunting.

“Calum!” His Aunt May grinned as she appeared in the doorway, her greying hair tied back in a neat bun so that it didn’t fall into her lightly lined face. “I hope your uncle didn’t bore you too much on the drive over here! He doesn’t know when to shut up, y’know.” She gave a tiny laugh, shooting Don a fond glance as she tottered down the path.

“I wasn’t bored at all.” Calum smiled, “I liked hearing his stories. It took my mind off everything a bit.”

May gave Calum a sympathetic smile as she wrapped him in a warm hug. “It must be quite a big change, moving all the way out here. I know you’ll settle in just fine, though. Your cousins are excited to show you around once you’re all unpacked.”

Don pecked a kiss to his wife’s cheek before grabbing Calum’s suitcase and heading towards the house.

“Come on, love,” May muttered hastily ushering Calum towards the house as well. “Let's get you settled in.”

***

After meeting his cousins; Elaine, Wendy and Matthew, Calum had joined the family for a delicious lunch before his uncle had insisted that he come out and meet some of the other people that work for them.

Elaine had accompanied them for the tour of the grounds and her father had made a passing joke about someone named Ashton, who Calum could only assume Elaine had taken a fancy to.

It was late in the afternoon when Calum finally met the elusive Ashton. He’d been out plowing a field for most of the day, according to one of the older farmhands, whose name Calum had already forgotten.

Calum’s suspicions about his eldest cousin’s attractions to this boy were confirmed by her suddenly shy demeanor as Ashton trudged towards them. It wasn’t surprising that a sixteen-year-old girl would be attracted to someone like this. He was tall with broad shoulders and a very handsome face. He turned out to be very friendly as well. Offering to show Calum around the local village now that he’d finished his work for the day.

Don approved of the suggestion, seemingly happy for Calum to become friends with one of his favourite workers.

Whilst Ashton got cleaned up, Calum spent a little time with the farm dogs. He’d never been able to have a pet of his own back in London, so it was nice to know he’d get the experience here. Elaine stayed with him, opting to be some silent company as he tried to soak in his new surroundings.

Once Ashton was ready he led the way into the village using a shortcut across the field. “I’d like to introduce you to a couple of my best friends, if you’re up for it.” The older boy said cheerfully. “I think you’ll like them a lot. They’re a bit stupid sometimes, but you’ll get used to them!”

In the back of his mind, Calum thought that Ashton hadn’t known him for nearly long enough to know what or who he’d like, but the farmhand had a cheerful and sweet nature that it made it difficult not to trust his judgment. “Even stupid friends would be better than what I had back home.” He replied with a humourless laugh. “No one seemed to want to know me, let alone be my friend so…”

An annoyed expression crossed Ashton’s handsome face for a moment. “Well, people like that aren’t worth knowing, anyway!” He huffed. “I hope you’ll have better luck here.”

It didn’t take long to reach the village. Just like the farm, the village was picturesque. Calum was sort of bemused by how quiet and lazy it all seemed. Everywhere you turned in London, there were signs that a war was happening; posters on the walls, soldiers, wreckages left behind by bombs… Here, the only indications that World War 2 was in progress were the headlines of the newspapers on display in the shops and the ration coupons in people’s hands.

“I bet this is all strange to you, huh?” Ashton asked as he took in the bemused expression on Calum’s face. “I’m sure it’ll feel a bit more like home later, when the spitfires take off from the airbase.”

Such a comment could easily be perceived as insensitive, but yet again Ashton’s natural charm made it impossible to think he could ever actually mean to sound that way.

As they made their way along the quiet streets, Calum noticed the odd person staring at him. It wasn’t an unfamiliar experience but it wasn’t what he needed right now. He slumped his shoulders, trying to make himself small enough that Ashton could hide him from unfriendly eyes.

Unfortunately, the older boy didn’t seem to notice that anything was happening, he was too busy droning on about the nearby airbase and the fighter planes that it was currently home to.

“Hi, Ash!” A cheerful voice echoed through the fog filling Calum’s mind. “Are you free to spend some time with me and Mike tonight or are you busy with Jane again?”

The voice belonged to a lanky blonde boy with pretty blue eyes. He wiggled his eyebrows cheekily at Ashton before turning his attention to Calum. “Oh hello! You must be Farmer Hood’s nephew. I’m Luke Hemmings, Ashton's best and most handsome friend.”

Calum shook the newcomer’s hand, taking heart in his friendly tone and the lack of suspicion in his eyes. He introduced himself nervously, feeling the need to impress Ashton’s friends if he wants to have any chance of calling them his own friends one day.

“Come on, Michael will be finishing his shift in the shop in a minute, I suppose you should meet him really,” Luke smirked, wrapping a pale skinny arm around Calum’s shoulders. “We tried to get rid of him but he just keeps clinging on to us, doesn’t he, Ash?”

Ashton rolled his eyes. “Don’t be mean, Luke!” He reprimanded. “Michael’s a hell of a lot less annoying than you most of the time.”

Calum couldn’t help but laugh at their friendly banter. He’d never had this sort of friendship with anyone and he could only hope that these boys would finally give him that chance.

The little group of boys made their way past the village green on to the main street. Luke and Ashton continued to offer friendly and fun conversation which successfully distracted Calum from any lingering glances from passersby.

“Ah, he’s already finished for the day!” Luke grinned as they neared the little grocery store.

Calum followed Luke’s gaze to a boy standing next to the entrance to the shop. He was a little bit taller than Calum with dark blonde hair and pale skin. When he glanced up from the ground to greet his friends, Calum felt his breath catch in his throat. This had to be the most beautiful person he’d ever seen in his life.

Michael smiled, waving at his friends as he pushed away from the wall and made his way over to them. “Afternoon, idiots.” He giggled, nudging Luke in the shoulder and earning himself a hair ruffle from Ashton. When his gaze met Calum's, his cheeks turned a pale pink and his eyes seemed to sparkle with some emotion that Calum couldn’t quite place. He seemed suddenly shy which judging by the confused expressions on Luke and Ashton’s faces, was pretty out of character for their friend.

“I’m Michael.” The blonde smiled bashfully, awkwardly offering him a hand to shake.

Calum shook it, trying to hide his own nerves. This was absolutely the last thing he needed right now. He was already going to find it hard to fit in here, his skin colour made sure of that. What he absolutely didn’t want, was these forbidden feelings toward another boy. He’d had them once or twice before, a little spark of attraction for a boy or man he’d pass in the street, but never like this, never to the extent where he was suddenly so aware of how hard his heart was beating that he was sure it could burst right out of his chest.

He had to find a way to control this, he wanted to be normal and fit in. Calum just wanted to make friends, he absolutely didn’t want to end up like the milkman’s son back in London. He shivered at the memory of how his whole street had gossiped about how young Tommy had been caught kissing another boy. He’d been disowned by his family after that and Calum hadn’t heard anything of him since. There’s no way he wanted to end up like that; he had to get his act together.

***

The news that Jane had broken up with Ashton and started seeing a fighter pilot from the nearby airbase, had spread quickly through the village. It made an already difficult situation even more horrid for Ashton. He couldn’t leave his house without people whispering behind their hands to each other or offering him sympathetic glances that he didn’t want.

Calum had been the one to suggest getting out of the village, riding their bikes out into the countryside and taking a little picnic. He’d asked his aunt and uncle for some spare food from the farm and a little day trip was quickly arranged.

On the chosen day, Michael, Luke and Ashton headed up to the farm to collect Calum en-route to the spot they always used to go as kids.

When they arrived, Mrs Hood met them at the door, informing them that Calum had to help her husband mend a fence that morning, so he was running a little bit late.

She offered them some bread and cheese for their little trip and helped Ashton and Luke pack it into their bags.

They sat at the table for a little while before Mrs. Hood suggested that one of the boys go and see if Calum’s almost ready.

Michael volunteered, trying not to sound too eager. He’d gotten a lot of practice at that lately, although the slightly perplexed look on Calum’s aunt’s face told him that he probably needed a little more.

He was already halfway up the stairs before he realized that he had no idea which bedroom was Calum’s. In fact, he’d never been to this floor of the farmhouse before. Most of his visits here were to meet Ashton, therefore he’d had very few reasons to enter the house at all.

There were several doors leading off the landing, all but one of them were closed. The open door led to the bathroom; Michael could tell by the garish green wall tiles visible through the gap.

It was entirely possible that one of the Hood girls or Matthew were in their own rooms so Michael didn’t want to be a pest and knock on all of the doors. Instead, he called out Calum’s name, not too loudly but clear enough that someone in any of the rooms would hear him.

It only took a second for the closest door to open, revealing a smiling and half-naked Calum. “Michael!” He greeted, opening his bedroom door a little wider. “Sorry I’m running a bit late, I had to help Uncle Don fix a fence out in one of the fields. Come in for a minute, I just need to grab a clean shirt.”

It took Michael a moment or two to work up the courage to follow Calum into his bedroom. It felt sort of naughty and forbidden to be alone with someone he had these feelings for. He’d never dream of acting on them of course, but it still felt like he shouldn’t be there, especially when Calum was topless, unwittingly showing Michael his muscly chest and arms.

As strange as it felt to be alone with Calum in his room, Michael supposed that standing out on the landing would be fairly suspicious and so he finally forced his legs to move and follow Calum into the bedroom.

Even though the slightly younger boy had only inhabited this room for a few weeks, he’d already made it very much his own. Sure, the walls were still a neutral cream colour but Calum had filled them with postcards, pictures and photographs. Most of them were black and white, of course, but they still added a distinct character to the room.

To try and distract himself from looking at Calum’s body, Michael drifted over to examine a little cluster of postcards pinned up near the younger boy’s bed. They each depicted a different London landmark and Michael found himself staring at them dreamily.

“They remind me of home.” Calum said, breaking the silence as he joined Michael in looking at the postcards. “I know it’s probably quite childish to get homesick but I sort of miss London, even now when it’s so dangerous.”

“I don’t think it’s childish.” Michael reassured his friend. “I think it’s perfectly natural to miss home and your family. Especially when your home is somewhere as exciting as London!” He kept his gaze on the postcards, still not daring to look at Calum.

“When the war’s over and I move back there, you should come to visit!” Calum offered excitedly. “I’ll show you all the sights and take you to the best places to eat!”

Michael smiled as he finally forced himself to meet Calum’s gaze. “Would you take me see Buckingham Palace?” He asked, unsurprised at how shy he sounded all of a sudden. “I bet it’s so beautiful!”

Calum nodded. “Of course, what kind of tour guide would I be if I didn’t take you there?”

Shrugging, Michael moved his gaze to a little framed photograph on Calum’s dresser. “Is that your family?” He asked, berating himself for asking such a stupid question.

Calum followed his gaze. “Yeah, it was taken a few years back. I’m the podgy kid right there.” He giggled pointing at the little boy in the picture. “That’s my older sister, Mali. She joined the WAAF last year, even though women don’t have to sign up, she wanted to do her bit.” His voice sounded a bit sad and Michael wondered what it must be like to have a sibling that you’re so close to. He’d thought about it before when Luke talked about his brothers, but Ben and Jack had always teased their younger sibling, and Michael had never quite understood their bond with Luke. Calum’s and Mali’s relationship seemed very different from the Hemmings siblings. In the few stories Calum had mentioned his sister in, he’d said her name so fondly, like he was describing his best friend.

***

As the little group of friends rode out of the village, Michael was pleased to see some of the tension slip from his eldest friend’s face. He could only hope that he’d see a smile there by the end of the day.

The further they got from the village the more relaxed Ashton became, although the weight of his troubles was clear by the dark circles under his eyes and his slightly more prominent cheekbones from where he’d lost weight from his face.

They rode their bikes for over an hour until they reached a pretty little spot near to a brook. Michael, Luke, and Ashton had come to this spot many times growing up, racing sticks under the nearby rickety bridge, and paddling in the clear water.

It was clear by the look of wonder on Calum’s face, though, that the city boy had never really had anywhere like this to play.

Michael couldn’t quite bring himself to look away from his new friend as they parked up their bikes next to the bridge and started to unpack the food. He had grown to like Calum very quickly. Their friendship had seemed to blossom more and more with every day they spent together.

Calum was extremely interesting; his stories about London and general city life captivated Michael for hours on end, but he knew deep down that it wasn’t just his curiosity about places he’d never visited before that made Calum appealing to him. The way that the slightly younger boy’s face would creep into his mind when he was alone in bed was enough to let Michael know that he was attracted to Calum in ways that he shouldn’t be.

Even though he knew he’d have to find a way to get past his feelings, Michael found it incredibly difficult, especially on days like today when Calum looked so beautiful.

As Ashton and Luke laid out the picnic, Michael kicked off his shoes and gestured for Calum to do the same. “Come on, the water’s always so nice and cool!” He giggled as he stepped into the shallow brook.

Calum smiled wistfully as he took off his own shoes and followed his friend into the water. He gasped slightly at the change in temperature and Michael giggled to hide the spark of interest that ignited in the pit of his stomach.

“So you all come out here a lot then?” Calum asked, aiming his question primarily at Michael seeing as he was the closest. “I would have practically lived out here when I was a kid if I’d grown up here.”

Michael nodded. “We used to come out here at least once a week during the summer. Our parents used to bring us here when we were little so we’ve always known the way. It’s a popular picnic spot.”

Calum listened intently to various stories that Michael recounted of visiting this spot as a kid and he had to try not to melt every time Calum laughed or even grinned at something he said.

Once Ashton and Luke had the picnic all set up, they shouted for the two boys to join them.

As they all settled down together, Michael tried to concentrate on what Luke was saying about the letters his parents had received from his brothers. Having been friends with Luke for almost as long as he can remember, Michael was obviously invested in the older Hemmings’ brothers safety. Ben and Jack meant a whole lot to Luke and by extension, Michael, too. He couldn’t quite get Calum out of his brain, though. He pretended to be extremely interested in a shiny stone he’d scooped up from the brook, turning it over and over in his hands whilst he focused on the bare skin of Calum’s crossed legs, poking out from beneath his shorts. He was only a couple of months younger than Michael, which meant he wasn’t far off turning 16. Puberty was obviously being much kinder to Calum than it was to Michaael. The slightly older boy had gotten nothing but acne and a messy smattering of blonde hair over his legs, chest and under his arms, whereas Calum had experienced none of that. He was starting to get broader and stronger. Sure, the farm work he’d been doing would have helped with that but his face was getting less soft and his features were becoming more defined. It was easy for Michael to see flashes of the man Calum was destined to become and he couldn’t shake the image from his mind, no matter how hard he tried.

“... And Jack’s still seeing that girl so mum is convinced they’ll get engaged soon.” Luke mumbled around a mouthful of bread and cheese.

Ashton dropped his gaze miserably and Calum swatted the youngest friend across his arm for being so mindless.

It took a moment for Luke to realise what he’d done to earn such a punishment. When it hit, though, he looked truly shaken by his own stupidity. “Oh, I’m sorry, Ash… I-”

“It’s okay.” Ashton shrugged, although his deflated posture and miserable expression said otherwise. “I’m pleased for Jack, I really am.”

The other three boys exchanged a desperate look, hoping that someone could save the situation. Before any of them could come up with anything, Ashton let out a tiny laugh. “You boys are stupid as hell, all three of you.” Despite his harsh words, there was a fondness in his tone that was absolutely undeniable. He confirmed his love for friends by adding “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

November 1940

Michael’s 16th birthday had been pretty uneventful so far.

His dad had been his usual, miserable, hungover self at breakfast, barely acknowledging his son, let alone wishing him a happy birthday. His mum had knitted him a new jumper, green to bring out the colour in his eyes.

Mr Robertson had been particularly nice to him, offering him a longer lunch break, which he’d spent with Calum since he’d timed his delivery perfectly. That had been the highlight of his day so far, huddled in the back room of the shop eating a slice of cake that Calum’s aunt had baked. They’d made fun of Ashton still being oblivious to Elaine’s affections for him and confirmed their plan for a little celebration at Ashton’s house in the evening.

The afternoon had passed pretty quickly after that and before he knew it, Michael was heading home. He needed to pack an overnight bag since he was staying over at Ashton’s later. His mum worked as a barmaid at the village pub so the boys would have the house to themselves and they wanted to enjoy that rare freedom as fully as possible. Therefore they’d all planned to stay there for the night.

Michael packed some of his warmest clothes and headed out, only sparing a moment to kiss his mother goodbye and scratch Sammy behind the ear before disappearing out into the chilly evening.

Ashton and Calum had convinced Farmer Hood to let them leave work a little early for the occasion, promising to make up the hour by working over for the rest of the week. Michael was incredibly grateful to them and Luke, feeling an almost overwhelming fondness for them as he jogged towards their meeting place.

Sure enough, all three boys were huddled together at the far end of the village green, waiting for him. They smiled as he approached, each of them ruffling his hair or punching his shoulder playfully as soon as he reached them.

“Are you ready for your little birthday party?” Ashton asked cheerfully as he led the way to his house.

Michael nodded enthusiastically drawing a chuckle from each of his friends.

“We clubbed together to get you a little something.” Luke announced, earning himself a nudge from Calum.

“It was meant to be a surprise, Luke!” He huffed irritably. “He was meant to think we hadn’t brought him anything!” In the dying light, Michael managed to hide his fond gaze from Calum beneath the wooly hat Mr Robertson had gifted to him earlier. His feelings for the slightly younger boy seemed to grow more by the day and he wasn’t sure how much longer he could conceal them successfully.

When they reached Ashton’s house, Michael kicked off his shoes and followed his friends into the little kitchen. “Mum had been cooking before she left for work so it’s quite warm in here.” Ashton said, taking a seat at the table that had already been filled with some special treats.

“I hope you like apple pie.” Calum laughed. “My aunt insisted on making one of you.”

“Well whatever he doesn’t eat, I’ll make sure it doesn’t get wasted!” Luke giggled loudly as he slipped into the seat next to Ashton.

***

After they’d eaten, Luke, Calum and Ashton presented Michael with a little bundle of gifts which included a small bar of chocolate, socks and a shiny new bell for his bike. He couldn’t find the right words to thank them, knowing that none of them had much money and the fact that they’d spent any of it on him made his heart feel so full.

They spent a little while talking in Ashton’s kitchen until Luke suggested playing some parlour games. The youngest friend had always been terrible at charades and ‘who am I?’, so unsurprisingly the brief games descended into fits of giggles in a matter of a few minutes.

After a few failed attempts at completing a game, Calum finally declared it hopeless and curled up next to the fire instead. His lips were still curved in a pretty smile as he patted the spot next to him. Michael knew that his friend could be indicating to any of the other boys to sit next to him but the birthday boy chose to believe that the gesture was for him.

Luke and Ashton probably didn’t even notice the way Calum’s eyes sparkled in the firelight, or the way that a muscle twitches in his jaw when he’s nervous or tense. They were all things that Michael shouldn’t be noticing either but little ‘Calum’ things like that occupied his brain more than he cared to mention.

“Okay, so I’m just gonna say it…” Luke announced as he dropped to the ground next to Michael.

The blonde’s stomach lurched as he realised he was staring at Calum. Luke had obviously noticed and now his birthday was destined to be the worst day of his life because the three most important people in the world to him were going to hate him...

“I know I’m not the only one that’s noticed, but you two are hopeless so I’m going to be the one to get it out in the open.” Luke continued, pointing an accusing finger at Michael and then Calum.

Michael’s brain wouldn’t work fast enough. He needed to shut Luke down, if he put into words, what Michael knew in his heart, it’d all be over. His brain wouldn’t work though, his mouth felt dry and no words would force themselves from his throat.

“Elaine has been all over Ashton since forever, and it’s been long enough since Jane now.” The youngest friend shrugged, turning his attention to Ashton who seemed to have been silently bracing himself for this conversation.

Michael felt his body relax as he let out a steady breath. He’d never felt so relieved to have the subject of Ashton’s love life brought up before.

The eldest friend sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose and furrowing his eyebrows as though he was trying to block out Luke’s words. “She’s not interested in me, Luke.” He said. “Elaine could have pretty much whoever she wants, why would she even look twice at me?”

“Because she’s been in love with you since she was a little kid.” Calum chuckled. “I’ve only been here for a few months and even I’ve picked up on that.”

Michael was momentarily distracted by the beautiful sound of Calum’s laugh but he managed to bring his focus back to the conversation to add a simple comment. “Calum’s right, Elaine has always had eyes for you, Ash. You’re the only one that’s never noticed.”

The brunette boy slumped back, propping himself up in his panic elbows. “You’re just saying that because you think I need a girlfriend…” Ashton huffed, although his eyes had started to glaze over a little like he was daydreaming.

Smirking knowingly, Luke nudged his friend’s shoulder. “We wouldn’t lie to you, Ashy boy.” He insisted. “You’re just wasting time by convincing yourself that she doesn’t want you. You could be using that time to woo her.”

Michael could tell that Ashton was thinking about it carefully. He obviously thought Elaine was pretty and they’d always had a lot in common, it seemed crazy that they weren’t already an item.

“I don’t know…” Ashton sighed, scratching the back of his neck nervously. “After Jane, I just-”

“Forget her!” Calum scoffed, reaching over to nuge Ashton’s leg. “She was never right for you and you shouldn’t let her ruin your chances with Elaine. You have a chance to be happy with someone who really likes you, Ash.” He explained, his expression and tone serious enough to pull everyone’s full attention.

Ashton dropped his gaze, curling in on himself a bit. He seemed to get lost in his own thoughts for a long moment, during which everyone else stayed silent, giving him the time he needed to process his feelings.

Michael watched his eldest friend for a moment, but he could feel Calum’s gaze burning a hole into the side of his face. His heart seemed to beat out a hard rhythm in his chest as he summoned the courage to meet Calum’s eyes. The slightly younger boy’s expression had softened a little bit, but there was something burning deep in his eyes that Michael couldn’t ignore. It would have been impossible to explain to anyone else, but Michael just knew that the ‘something’ was a hidden meaning in the speech he’d just given to Ashton. In that moment, Michael realised that his friend’s words were not only meant to give their older friend the courage to finally ask out Elaine, but also to let Michael know that he also had the chance to be with someone who really liked him.

***

A couple of hours later, Ashton and Luke claimed the eldest friend’s bed for themselves, falling asleep almost immediately after snuggling into the warm blankets.

Even though their evening had been filled with a lot more fun after they’d convinced Ashton to go for it with Elaine, Michael’s mind had been constantly working over Calum’s ‘hidden message’ to him. He was convinced that’s what it'd been and his head was spinning from it.

His mind was racing too much to sleep and so he’d started a whispered rambling conversation with Calum about how he wanted to learn to make things for his loved ones for Christmas. “... I'm not really good at anything, though.” He sighed. “I guess I’ll just have to buy everyone something.”

Calum let out a quiet giggle as he snuggled further into his blankets. “I’ll settle for a promise that you’ll carry on being my friend.”

The room was pretty dark but Calum was lying close enough that Michael could make out the younger boy’s sad eyes, despite the faint smile that was still curving the corners of his lips. “Why would I ever stop being your friend?” He asked in a hushed voice, shuffling a bit closer to Calum.

Calum shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve just never really had friends like you, Luke and Ashton before.” He replied. “You're the first people who’ve ever really given me the time of day, besides my family.”

A frown creased Michael’s face as he automatically reached out to his friend under the blankets, curling his fingers gently around Calum’s lower arm. “Why on earth wouldn’t people give you their time?” He asked, genuinely confused as to how anyone couldn’t be instantly in love with Calum when they met him. “You’re one of the funniest, kindest, most caring people I’ve ever met. I feel like you’ve been my friend for as long as Ash and Luke have.”

A little of the worry that had been etched into Calum’s handsome features disappeared at Michael’s words and his smile looked a little more natural now. “Really?” He asked, his voice barely a while as he covered Michael’s hand with his own. “Most people just see the colour of my skin and automatically assume I’m nothing like them before running in the opposite direction.”

Two opposing but equally powerful feelings erupted inside Michael at once. Nervous but excited butterflies burst into life in his tummy at the feeling of Calum’s fingers curling around his hand, yet a searing anger burned in his chest at the thought of anyone disrespecting Calum because of the colour of his skin. “Well that’s their loss.” Michael whispered, shuffling closer to Calum so that he could pull him into a hug. “I wouldn’t change one bit of you.”

Calum let out a relieved chuckle as he nestled into the hug. Michael tried to enjoy the close physical connection without worrying too much about how he should not be feeling those butterflies in his tummy.

“You’re a good friend, Mike.” Calum whispered. His breath ghosted over Michael’s cheek as he spoke but the slightly older boy managed to control the shiver it caused. “It’s been a difficult few weeks with the bombings in London, it’s like I’m constantly worried I’ll get letter saying that my mum’s been injured or worse…”

Michael stroked Calum’s back in what he hoped was a soothing gesture. He couldn’t imagine how scared his friend must be at the moment. The blitz was rumbling on, wreaking havoc in most of Britain’s major cities but London was by far bearing the worst of it. “I really hope the air strikes stop soon.” Michael uttered, not really knowing what else he could say. “You know I’m always here if you need to talk or anything.”

Tightening his hold around Michael, Calum places a kiss on the pale boy’s cheek before pulling back a little. “I know, and I appreciate it a lot.” He replied. “I’m always here for you too, Mike.”

The younger boy closed his eyes and Michael could just make out a faint smile on his lips as he whispered goodnight. Michael couldn’t help but notice that Calum didn’t remove his arm that was draped over him, it made the blonde boy melt a little, he loved being this close to Calum. He knew that he shouldn’t live it, he shouldn’t feel this excitement bubbling inside of him and his skin shouldn’t tingle whenever his newest friend made physical contact with him. Michael was sure he was getting quite good at hiding all of that but right here and now, I’m the darkness of Ashton’s bedroom, he allowed those feelings to flow freely through him.

January 1941

The papers were saying it was the worst snowfall since 1888. Life in the village had all but ground to halt because of it.

Calum shouldn’t have been surprised, of course. He’d been looking forward to a little birthday get together with his friends since Christmas had been sort of a write-off. Michael had been forced to stay home to play happy families with his alcoholic father whilst Luke had been carted off to visit his grandparents for the festive season. Luckily, Ashton had still been around, in fact he’d spent a fair bit of his spare time at the farm since Luke had called him out about his feelings for Elaine. Calum wasn’t complaining, he liked spending time with Ashton, even when he wasn’t the main reason for the older boy’s presence.

Despite his increased interest in Elaine, Ashton still hadn’t actually asked her out yet and it was starting to get tedious. As much Calum enjoyed his friend staying behind after work and visiting on Sundays, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could stand the blatant flirting and almost confessions. If something didn’t give soon, Calum was going to have to take matters into his own hands.

Not today, though. January 25th was Calum’s day. His first birthday since moving to Yorkshire and he was determined to enjoy every second of it, even if the weather had decided to betray him.

He’d enjoyed a nice day so far, his aunt and uncle had treated him just as they did their own children on their birthdays. They’d given him a nice breakfast and some little gifts before assuring him that Don and Elaine could manage feeding all the animals on their own for one day.

Having been given the day off, Calum spent his time preparing for the little gathering he’d planned with his friends. Wendy helped him clean the parlour whilst Mrs Hood made what party food she could from the farm’s leftovers.

All in all, Calum couldn’t really be happier given the circumstances of his 16th birthday. He’d already received letters and gifts from both of his parents and his sister so he was in generally high spirits.

As the time that his friends should have arrived came and went, Calum’s good mood faltered. He knew the bad weather meant that it might take them longer to get to the farm but he never once thought that it would deter them altogether.

Around an hour after his friends were due to arrive, Wendy and Elaine came into the parlour with sympathetic looks on their faces as they invited him to join them in the main sitting room. “We can play board games!” The youngest girl chimed, gripping Calum’s hand and gesturing towards the door.

Calum tried to smile but his heart felt heavy. He’d been looking forward to tonight all week. As much as he loved the company of his family, there was nothing he enjoyed more than spending time with his friends. “That sounds nice.” He replied, forcing himself to stand up. “We should probably eat all of this food your mum made too…”

Wendy nodded excitedly grabbing a plate of the little cakes she’d helped to make earlier in the day. A tiny giggle escaped Calum as he picked up a couple more of the plates. Elaine gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze before she followed his lead and gathered up the rest of the food laying on the coffee table.

The little group hadn’t quite made it out of the room before the doorbell rang. Calum almost dropped the plates he was holding in his newly ignited excitement.

Elaine laughed as she placed the food she’d been holding back on the table before heading off to answer the door. Calum did the same, following his cousin like an excited puppy.

When he reached the hallway, his heart felt suddenly ten times happier as his eyes landed in a very windswept and cold looking Michael.

“You made it!” Calum exclaimed. “I was worried you’d all forgotten or something.”

Michael gave his friend an apologetic smile as he shuffled out of his coat and pulled off his gloves, scarf and hat before hanging them up on the hooks near the front door. “We’d never forget your birthday!” He assured Calum. “I’m sorry it’s only me that was able to make it here, though.” His green eyes looked suddenly very sad and Calum had an overwhelming urge to do whatever it might take to make them shine happily again. “Ashton’s grandparents arrived for impromptu visit and Luke’s come down with a really bad cold so…”

“That’s okay!” Calum cut in. Even though he was disappointed by Ashton’s and Luke’s absence, having Michael there on his birthday meant the most to him. He’d developed a deep bond with the blonde boy in the few short months since he’d moved to the farm. They shared a lot of the same interests and since their little heart-to-heart on Michael’s birthday, their friendship had only blossomed further. “We have food in the parlour and aunt May lit the fire in there for us too!”

Michael’s smile became softer and more genuine as he followed Calum to the parlour. “Ash and Luke are really sorry they couldn’t make it, they’ve sent presents and told me to wish you a happy birthday from them.”

“Ah they didn’t have to do any of that!” Calum insisted, closing the parlour door before gesturing for Michael to take a seat.

The blonde dropped into one of the cushioned chairs before holding out a little paper bag that Calum hadn’t even noticed his friend had been carrying.

“I’ll look at them later.” Calum said, setting the bag down near the coffee table, “let’s eat first! I’m starving!”

Michael giggled, his emerald eyes sparkling prettily as he nodded. “Me too! It took me so much longer to walk here through all of that snow!”

Calum patted his friend’s arm affectionately before handing him a sandwich. “Here eat this!”

Accepting the sandwich gratefully, Michael took a bite. “Your aunt makes the best sandwiches.” He mumbled as soon as he swallowed.

Calum couldn’t really disagree with that. Then again, he didn’t often disagree with anything Michael said or did.

***

After a couple of hours of fun conversation with Michael, Calum’s disappointment at only having one friend turn up to his birthday party had long since fizzled away.

Michael was like a ball of sunshine. He just radiated love and happiness, two things that Calum was quickly becoming addicted to. He found himself staring at the blonde boy dreamily as Michael rattled on about gossip he’d heard in the shop. “...And apparently Mr Greenwell won’t even talk to her now, so that must make things very difficult seeing as they live right next door to each other!”

The way that Michael’s eyes gleamed excitedly at the idle gossip, made Calum’s heart melt. If Michael was a girl, he’s sure he’d have kissed her by now. The fleeting notion brought butterflies to Calum’s tummy as his gaze drifted to Michael’s lips. If he was entirely honest with himself, he wanted to kiss Michael right now. He didn’t care if they were both boys. Why should such a silly detail like that stop Calum from following his heart.

“I’m sorry.” Michael giggled, blushing a little as he realised he’d been talking for over ten minutes, barely pausing for a breath. “You probably don’t care about stupid village gossip…”

“Of course I do!” Calum lied. He’d never been good at lying but if a tiny fib would save Michael any embarrassment, Calum would definitely do it. “Living out here in the farm, I don’t get to hear much about what’s going on in the village. I rely on you to keep me up to date!”

Michael smiled at the compliment before shuffling a little closer to Calum. The two of them were sitting cross legged by the fire, forgoing the comfort of the armchairs in order to be as warm as possible. At least that’s the reason Calum would admit to himself. Secretly, he thought that the tiny contact of Michael’s knee brushing against his own was well worth the pins and needles in his feet and lower legs.

“Well now that your village news bulletin is over, can I give you your birthday present from me?” Michael asked, his tone suddenly adopting a shyness that only Calum alone seemed to be privy to.

The slightly younger boy nodded trying not to let the forbidden thoughts about what he’d really like his present from Michael to be.

The blonde reached past Calum to grab the paper bag that was still sitting next to the armchair where he’d left it earlier. As Michael rummaged around to find the present that was for him, Calum automatically placed a hand on his friend’s back and immediately regretted it when he had to try and ignore the tiny tremor that ran through Michael before he looked back, meeting Calum’s gaze with slightly startled eyes.

Not being able to bring himself to apologise, Calum simply removed his hand and asked “did you find it?”

Michael hummed his confirmation but the blush in his cheeks told Calum that he was still thinking about that fleeting touch. If he was being entirely honest with himself, Calum couldn’t shake off the fuzzy feeling it had given him either.

“So…” Michael said, finally sitting back next to Calum, a little closer than he was before, but still not quite as close as the younger boy would have liked. “I wish I could have made something for you but I’m terrible at everything so I got you these instead.” He pulled out a tiny paper bag, that bashful, slightly scared look back on his pretty face.

Calum knew as soon as he took the bag from Michael what was inside it and the thought almost brought a tear to his eye. “Cola cubes?” He asked in a shocked whisper.

Nodding sort of proudly, Michael gestured for his friend to open the bag. “I know they’re your favourites.” He clarified, fiddling sort of nervously with a strand of his hair.

Calum opened the bag and licked his lips as the familiar but increasingly rare, sugary smell hit him. Despite his almost overwhelming urge to take one of the sweets, he immediately closed the bag and held it out to Michael. “I can’t accept these…” He said quietly, “you must have used your sweets rations for the week on them.”

Michael’s face took on a hurt expression as he shrugged. “Yeah but they were worth it…” he admitted in a reserved tone. “I’d rather have spent the rations on cola cubes for you than anything for myself.”

The sincerity in Michael’s voice turned Calum’s insides into jelly. He really wasn't sure how much longer he could resist doing something he knew he should never do. “You’re the kindest person I’ve ever met you know.” He said, a tiny giggle punctuating his sentence.

The light blush in Michael’s cheeks deepened and he rapidly buried his face in Calum’s shoulder like a shy child. “I just like doing nice things for my friends.” He mumbled, although Calum was too busy fighting the urge to kiss the top of the blonde’s head to take too much notice of what he was saying. “Especially you.” Michael added, chancing a glance at Calum through his lashes.

Calum was fighting his urges with every ounce of strength he had as he forced a smile and gently backed away so that he could stand up. “At least let me share them with you.” He insisted, offering Michael a hand to help him to his feet. “Let’s eat them in my room because I actually have a gift for you as well.”

Michael looked shocked but followed Calum out into the hallway and up the stairs. They remained silent but their smiles never faltered until Calum’s bedroom door was closed and his little room was filled with soft lamplight. Only then did a tension settle over the two of them, it felt suddenly romantic as Michael perched on the edge of Calum’s bed, glancing up at him expectantly but with a slight fear lurking the depths of his emerald eyes. Perhaps Calum was the only other person in the world who could understand that mixture of emotions in that moment because he couldn’t think of any other way to describe his own feelings.

There was definitely a nervous anticipation surrounding them as Calum tried to decide whether his gift to Michael was a little too on the romantic side. He couldn’t really back out of it now though, not when Michael was eagerly awaiting a gift.

Trying to shake off his nerves, Calum crosses the room to where he’d hidden the gift behind his lamp. “I wanted to give you this on your birthday, but I never really got a chance and then we didn’t see each other much over Christmas so…”

“It’s okay Calum.” Michael smiled softly. “I know I’ll love it, whatever it is!” He looked so soft in the dim light that Calum almost forgot what he was doing. “Besides, it’s always nice to get gifts when it’s not even a special occasion!”

Calum couldn’t really argue with that and so he picked up the little postcard that he had stashed behind his lamp a couple of months ago and took a deep breath. “I know that this caught your eye the first time you saw my postcards and so I wanted you to have it.”

All of the fear and nerves vanished from Michael’s face as he took the post card and stared down delightedly at the picture of Buckingham Palace. “Calum!” He gasped, as the younger boy sat down beside him.. “You don't have to give me this…”

“I want to.” Calum replied with a slight giggle. “You seemed to really like it and I wrote you a little message on the back.” He gently slid the postcard from Michael’s grip, trying not to pay attention to the way his fingers tingled when they brushed against Michael’s. He turned the card over to display his neat handwriting.

It’s a date. C x

Michael read the incredibly short message out loud before tilting his head to meet Calum’s gaze. “Cal… this is…”

Calum couldn’t quite read Michael’s tone. He could be choked up because he thought it was a thoughtful gift but he could just as easily be trying to Calum that this was perhaps a step beyond friendship that he didn’t want to take. “It’s too sappy isn’t it?” He asked, trying not to sound too hurt or disappointed. “I shouldn’t have wrote that message, especially not with a kiss on the end it’s too…”

“It’s perfect.” Michael interjected, his tone quiet but incredibly certain as he leaned a touch closer to Calum. “I'm really excited for our London date after the war is over.” He smiled, although it faded from his face as his gaze dropped to land on Calum’s lips. “And the kiss is a cute touch…”

Michael’s face seemed to drift impossibly closer to Calum’s and their lips were almost touching before either of them registered what was happening. When reality hit, Michael paused, seemingly frozen in fear, or perhaps giving Calum the time to back up if he wanted to.

After a short moment, the feeling of Michael’s breath ghosting over his lips spurred Calum into action. It was clear that Michael wanted the same thing he did but he was too scared to go through with it. Calum would have to make the move. He placed his trembling hand on Michael’s cheek and stroked over his pale skin with the pad of his thumb. “Michael.” He whispered. “Kissing you is I’ve thought about since the moment we met.”

The blonde nodded before melting into Calum’s touch as his eyes drifted closed and Calum finally closed the gap between his own lips and Michael’s.

The kiss was absolutely everything Calum had ever imagined it to be. Michael felt soft and pliant against him and their lips moved in perfect synchronisation. There was no way of telling how long it lasted but Calum was panting for air by the time they broke apart.

Michael’s cheeks were so flushed as he pulled away, his eyes sparkling with some emotion that Calum couldn’t quite identify. It was definitely a positive one though. “I’ve wanted that since you first moved here, too.” Michael admitted. “I know it’s wrong but…”

Calum shook his head. His heart was still racing from one of the best moments of his whole life and he didn’t want to ruin it by talking about the very reason he hadn’t made it happen sooner. “I don’t care about that.” He said quietly. “I don’t know how anything that can feel this amazing could be wrong.”

Michael giggled and shuffled closer to curl into Calum’s side. “You’re right.” He agreed, resting his head on Calum’s shoulder. “Do you fancy doing it again?”

Calum chuckled before placing a kiss into Michael’s hair. “Definitely, but i need to catch my breath first.” He replied, stroking Micheal's arm gently over the sleeve of his thick jumper. “Besides, I love holding you like this.”

In way of a silent agreement, Michael nestled further into Calum’s hold. “Good because I could happily stay like this forever.”

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#malum #malum fluff #malum angst #malum fic #malum blurb #5sos #5sos fic #5sos blurb #5sos fluff #5sos angst #otp: forever through it all #michael clifford #michael #michael 5sos #calum hood #calum 5sos #calum

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okaybutlikeimagine · 4 years

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PREVIEW: Will You Take Me as I Am?

i’m working on a fic for @biillys for something long overdue that i almost feel embarrassed talking about bc?? it was so long ago that the fundraiser has since been cancelled! have i apologized enough yet??? i don’t think i have!!

ANYWAY the title is “Will You Take Me as I Am?” and it was supposed to be super light and fun and happy and it will be but it’s also going to be angsty bc Quarantine is doing some Shit to me over here ~♥ BUT it will have things including, but not limited to:

- Billy, Steve, Max, and El bickering over music

- big long road trip to Cali

- stupid roadside attractions

- sunny summer days in San Diego

- Billy’s friends from back in the day (bc he had them and we need to talk about that!!!!)

- Max Max Max Max and Max bc Max is so good and we need to talk about her too

- Tony fucking Hawk

it’ll hopefully be done soon! this is just a super tiny snippet bc i feel awful for not having it finished yet and i need to post something or i’ll cry. so!! @biillys, i love you so much and hope you’re well and it’s COMING but until then, have this slightly sad but also heartfelt scene with our little Disaster Siblings! ♥

(title from California - Joni Mitchell bc DUH)

~ ♥ ~ ♥ ~ ♥ ~

Driving Max to school doesn’t set Billy on edge anymore.

“And it’s just so stupid because Cindy swears to everyone that she looks like Molly Ringwald. She doesn’t stop talking about it! Like anyone even cares.”

As irritating as it might be to hear about 9th grade gossip.

“And she still makes fun of my hair. Because it’s not the ‘right’ shade of red? What the hell?”

Billy smirks and listens vaguely and thinks about a few months ago. He remembers when the fall air bit him hard. When it felt invasive and aggressive and piercing rather than just present and embracing and knowing. The chill doesn’t hurt him anymore. The sound and smell of the farms doesn’t boil his blood anymore. The idea of Max having a life here doesn’t grind away at his memories anymore.

He’s laughing without hearing her. He vaguely hopes she doesn’t take too much offense by it, but the rest of him doesn’t really care. She’ll just hit him and grumble and he’ll give a vacant yet amused apology and they’ll continue on their car ride listening to Joan Jett.

Except she doesn’t hit him. His chuckles die down and the only sound through the car is Joan Jett wailing and Max tapping her fingers on her jeans.

It’s got Billy curious. He looks over quickly and sees her mouth moving- mumbling to herself.

“Telling yourself secrets or something?”

She glares, but it’s half-hearted. She chews on her lip and then she’s looking back down at her lap.

Billy’s just a little tempted to just let it all slide, but...

“Alright, what’s up?” He caves.

The quiet of the car makes Billy nervous. The air is whipping past them through the slightly rolled down windows, shoving itself into the absences of their conversation. Billy’s fingers start fidgeting with nerves and he’s on the verge of cutting in before she can get any words out, but then Max is speaking, hurriedly and with a furrowed brow as she says-

“How old are you again?”

Billy pauses.

“The hell kind of question is that?” He asks, looking over at her incredulously, confused at the question. She’s still trying to glare.

“Shut up! Just… you’re like… graduating soon… right?”

Billy raises an eyebrow at the road.

“No, Maxine.” Billy says with dripping sarcasm. “I love high school so much I was thinking of just staying there for the rest of my life.”

“Let me talk!”

“I am letting you talk! You’re just saying stupid shit!”

“Augh, you are so annoying!”

She’s crossing her arms now, and for some reason Billy can’t find it in himself to be amused by it. So instead he heaves a little sigh and bites his lip and waves for her to continue.

She sighs back.

“It’s just… my birthday is kinda close. And yours is like, right after that. And I was… just thinking. The other day...”

She trails off, hands fidgeting and head turned to the window. She doesn’t pick back up the conversation. Iggy Pop is howling through the radio, now.

“Thinking? Pretty dangerous thing to do when you’re-”

Max hits Billy with the hardest glare yet of the car ride. He concedes.

“Alright. What were you thinking about?”

The glare softens. Her eyes fill with worry… and nerves. Billy finds something vaguely reminiscent in them, even if it’s not exactly the same as in his memory. He knows he’s being a little shit but he hasn’t done anything to warrant fear... has he? He racks his brain while they sit in the silence she lets settle between them.

“I was just thinking about… well… remember that one birthday?” She’s had a few birthdays while they’ve shared a roof. A couple of them he’s purposefully decided to forget-most notably that first one. “When you took me to the boardwalk?”

That one he definitely remembers, with more color than most memories. She was turning 12- it was right before they found out they were moving. Things had been going so well. That birthday saw them walking down the boardwalk together to pick up some ice cream sundaes and talk about friends. Old ones and new ones. Gossip and interests. Max has mentioned that birthday a few times before- she says all the time it was the first time Billy treated her like a real person. Like a sister. He used to roll his eyes at her confession until he stopped. Because he realized maybe she was right. Maybe before that, “sister” wasn’t really in his vocabulary- not with a real definition and most definitely not with a face.

It was a nice day. They skated down the boardwalk and he taught her a couple of tricks on her board and he bought her something from the knick-knack store at the corner where the boardwalk met the street. She smiled at him genuinely for the first time ever. It seemed like they could be friends.

He chews the inside of his lip. He doesn’t like to think too far past that memory.

“Yeah, I remember.”

She’s fidgeting still. He wants to slap her hands to get her to stop because it’s making his leg twitch.

“Well I was just thinking about it. And… and… well…”

She’s picking at her cuticles. He winces whenever he sees her do that. He used to do that too. Used to bite at them when he was nervous, so much it’d make his fingers bleed. He’s stopped for a year or so now. She’s still doing it. He wonders sometimes if she picked it up from watching him and his shifty eyes. He can’t take watching her so nervous and he’s starting to feel on edge and-

“Spit it out, Max.” His voice is a little snappy, but he really doesn’t mean it. She sighs rather than glares.

“Are you still gonna move out to California?” She asks, all the words slurred together like they’re one but it doesn’t matter, because Billy understands them all.

He loses his breath for a second. When he looks over, he sees her eyes are screwed shut, but then she opens them and there’s tears there. He hates seeing tears there. Something squeezes his heart at the thought that he’s responsible again... only this time he doesn’t even know what he’s done.

“Uhm-”

“Like after you graduate.”

“Uh-”

A tear falls down her cheek.

“Shit.”

She looks down at her lap. Billy looks back at the road and has to hit the breaks hard when he realizes he’s about to run a stop sign. He takes a deep breath.

“Maybe. I dunno.”

“Take me with you.”

It’s sudden. He’s staring at her and she’s staring at her hands, picking at her cuticles viciously. It’s the faint sound of someone honking behind them that gets Billy to start driving again.

“Not like… forever...” Max says in such a small voice Billy is speechless. “Just for… a little bit.”

They ride in silence for a bit. They’re almost at school. Billy almost wants to stop the car because Max is going to cry and she’s gonna be pissed about walking into school while crying.

There are too many thoughts swirling through Billy’s head, some of them colored like a carnival, before Max is speaking again.

“I just… I miss home.”

It punches Billy in the gut. His memories fade to the sand and the waves and teaching Max how to break through the surf. He’s swirling down into thoughts of ice cream and babysitting her and walking along the boardwalk and telling her to make sand castles while he ran away with his friends. Tanned skin and sun-bleached hair and darker freckles blooming on their faces.

“It was stupid.” Her voice cuts quickly through the fog of memories. “Forget I said anything.”

“What? No.” Billy can’t forget. He doesn’t know how to answer but… but she’s crying and he’s not going to pretend like that’s not something he should be worried about.

“No, it’s stupid. You’re gonna be going with Steve. I don’t even know how I’d get back… it’s fine-”

“Are you trying to live with your dad?” Billy asks because it’s the only thing that makes sense to ask right now. She shakes her head vehemently.

“No no… I wanna live with my mom. I wanna stay here. I just wanna… visit, I guess…”

He so often forgets she’s still such a kid. She’s four years away from where he is. She’s four years away from being able to be independent. From having the ability to leave. They moved and Billy felt like he had been put in a cage. The word “landlocked” was the cruelest, harshest, most disgusting word imaginable to him because to him the only synonym was “trapped”. He knew it meant staying for another two years. He didn’t think about how for her it meant six. For her it was either plant your roots or let them dry out and crack in the Indiana sun. He couldn’t see that as he screamed at her back then.

“I dunno, I just miss it.” She says, but it’s quiet as she wipes at her cheek with the back of her hand.

Billy pulls into the school and picks a spot in the back of the lot, even though the bell is gonna ring soon and it’ll probably take too long to walk onto campus. She’s still sniffling a bit and his heart is squeezing tight. His chest is constricting. He’s watching Max right now and thinking about how the Billy he was a few weeks ago and even beyond was making a whole plan to just fuck off to California with Steve. How he didn’t even give a thought to leaving Max behind with the knowledge that he’d be back in the San Diego sun. He’d be back where the world made sense and she’d be here still shoving her roots in the ground to find some comfort.

Now suddenly he can’t imagine ever doing that.

“Well uh…” He starts, but his voice is bubbled. He clears his throat and tries again. “I still gotta convince Steve… I was planning on taking him just for a trip over there. Just so he can check it out and see if he likes it.”

He hasn’t even extended an offer yet, but she turns to look at him and the only way to describe her face is glowing. She’s so hopeful. Her eyes are wide and her mouth is slightly tilted up into a smile, open a little in shock. He just shrugs it off, even though it lights up his chest.

“I guess we can squeeze you into his fancy little car.”

“Oh Billy thank you.”

She reaches across the center console to wrap him into as good a hug as she can. He rolls his eyes, but he pats her back as he does it.

“Yeah yeah… chill out.” He sounds tired to his ears, pulling away from Max and getting ready to leave the car when-

“We should take El, too.”

“What?”

Max crosses her arms, suddenly looking pretty bossy for a girl with tears still shining in her eyes. Billy can’t say he’s exactly surprised at seeing her capable of that.

“We should take El too.”

“You just invited yourself and now you’re inviting other people?”

Her brows furrow.

“She’s my best friend! And she’s like... your sister now, right?”

“Yeah yeah, but-”

“I’m going to be there all alone with just you and Steve! I’m gonna need someone to keep me company while you two try to suck face.”

“Okay I get it-”

“Plus she’s never seen the ocean! She’s never left Indiana… she’s barely left Hawkins! She needs something like this-!”

“Al-right! Alright, I get it. I’ll ask Hop, alright?”

Max seems to let up, taking a deep breath and sitting back in her seat from where she was getting dangerously close to the edge in her excitable anger.

They sit in the quiet for a second before Billy elbows her and mutters: “Trying to guilt trip me, huh?”

Max shrugs, but she’s chewing her lip and picking at her cuticles and she’s giving Billy a side eye and-

“I just wanna show her around…” Max shrugs again, like she can’t think to do anything else. “It was my home too, Billy.”

She’s still picking at her cuticles and her leg is bouncing and she… she’s so young. He’s not sure how he could forget so quickly. She left a home behind, too. And family and friends. She left a lot behind. He always forgets.

“Billy…” Max starts, voice trailing.

“Yeah?”

There’s a small beat of silence where Billy waits breathlessly.

“We’re going to California.”

It’s a statement- like there’s no doubt in her mind that it’s happening. It’s going to happen. He hears her certainty and feels it too. She’s starting with concentrated eyes down at her lap but she’s so sure it looks like it hurts.

She sniffles and his heart nearly cracks. He rubs her shoulder kind of harshly and rather than a glare she gives a sort of grateful smile. That is, before she pushes at Billy’s hand and wipes at her eye and gripes about how “we’re gonna be late.”

Billy snickers.

#billy hargrove #max mayfield #stranger things #fic #preview #biillys #i'm the worst i admit it #i've also taken up needle felting recently for when i get stressed #i made a whale today #.... anyway #disaster siblings #it's gonna have a few OCs i've made just for this just bc it ??? really needed to #they're not going to cali and NOT meeting Billy's friends... that's just not happening #i really hope you like the finished product my dear!!!#angst #fluff #i'm working with a plot bc i don't usually have any kind of plot at all when i write #and quarantine has made me a Changed Woman #also #bratty billy #♥#summer doesn't end until the 22nd of sept where i am #and i wanted this done before the end of summer #but it'll DEFINITELY be done before the end of YOUR summer in aus!!!#good lord it definitely will #anyway i love you hun #and i love all of you!!!#buhbye~

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ibtk · 3 years

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Book Review: THE ANIMALS IN THAT COUNTRY by Laura Jean McKay (2020)

(Full disclosure: I received a free copy of this book in exchange for an honest review through Edelweiss and Library Thing's Early Reviewers program. Content warning for violence, including that against animals. Caution: this review contains a spoiler in the form of an excerpt.)

'Well, I’ve got a secret for you, Miss Kimberly Russo.' She digs her sharp little nails into my skin. ‘What is it?’ ‘This flu means people can talk to animals.’ Her head shoots up. ‘I want the flu, Granny. Don’t you?’ ‘Grown-ups don’t wish they had diseases, and neither should you.’ ‘But don’t you?’ Outside, Wallamina and Princess Pie are nose and beak to the sliding door, trying to press their way through. Eyes shining. ‘Course I bloody do.’

I can see the wild in her. She looks and acts like any dog. Plays, wags, stares into my eyes with her baby browns; does chasey, catch, begs for biscuits. Then the dusk comes and she lifts her neck and howls the saddest song in all the world, and there’s that wild. Dingo, owl, night thing — that sound is a warning. Loneliest you’ll hear. Wraps around your face, your sleep, your dreams. She’s saying: ‘Hey, hey. There’s something coming.’ The rangers here are always telling me, don’t talk like that. They say how dingoes are just establishing territory, checking on their pack. Dingo admin. But stand on the hot road that runs from the gift shop to the enclosures, and listen to the dingo in her cage call out to the packs on the other side of the fence. Tell me that’s not special. Tell me she doesn’t know something about the world that you and me haven’t ever thought of.

Jean Bennett isn't you're typical grandma - unless you're picturing Gemma Teller Morrow, that is. Jean drinks, smokes, swears, and sleeps around, usually all at the same time, and occasionally with her gay and committed coworker, Andy. She's got a tiger tattooed on her boob, and a dingo named Sue imprinted on her heart.

A lowly guide who dreams of becoming a ranger, Jean works at an Australian wildlife park, run by her son's ex-girlfriend Angela and owned by Angela's father. Jean and her husband Graham landed there years ago, after bouncing around the world for a while. Eventually Graham left Jean to shack up with another woman; their only child, Lee, jumped ship too, but not before hooking up with - and impregnating - Angela. Now Ange mostly keeps Jean around for the free child care (and maybe also because Ange feels sorry for her).

As for Jean, she stays stuck in this weird, awkward morass for her granddaughter Kimberley - one of the few people she can tolerate, let alone love. Jean prefers animals of the nonhuman variety, and the Park's residents/captives are her found family. She has a special place in her cockles for Sue, a dingo mix who she helped rescue as a wee little pup.

Jean's precarious life is already teetering on the edge of chaos when THE FLU arrives - first in southern Australia, then at the Park's gates, thanks to none other than an infected Lee, as charming as he is irresponsible.

Zoanthropathy (from Greek: zóo, “animal”, anthroponis, “human”, pathy, “disorder”), aka zooflu, otherwise known as "the talking animal disease," allow humans to understand and communicate with other animals:

'The strain known as zoanthropathy affects cognition in humans, and it is believed that enhanced communication between humans and nonhuman animals is possible. Zoanthropathy is hosted and spread by humans. [...] The disease is very high in morbidity and very low in mortality. Infected humans appear able to communicate (encode) and translate (decode) previously unrecognisable non-verbal communications via major senses such as sight, smell, taste, touch, and sound with nonhuman animals.'

When Lee runs off with Kimberley - to commune with the whales on the southern coast - Jean embarks on a cross-country road trip to find them. Riding shotgun is Sue, whose keen nose points the way to Tomorrow (Tomorrow being Sue's conceptualization of Kimberley. Jean is Yesterday, and Lee is Never There. Scathing, yet accurate.)

As with most potentially animal-friendly tales, I was equally nervous and excited to dive into THE ANIMALS IN THAT COUNTRY. As it is, the book both thrilled and disappointed me; I almost feel like it deserves two separate ratings, one for the idea and actualization of the dystopian zooflu future - which is breathtaking - and another for the human-centered plot that propels the audience's journey into this world - which is decidedly less so.

Let's start with the zooflu. It seems like it would be awesome to be able to talk to animals, right? Think again. I mean, really turn the idea over in your head, sit with the superpower, and try to envision what this might entail. Given that most of the nonhumans we encounter on the daily are exploited, oppressed, or otherwise negatively impacted by humans -

be it the 25 million farmed animals we create, torture, and kill for food every year in the US alone; the "wildlife" (read: free-living animals) we displace, starve, and kill through habitat loss; the dogs and cats we buy, neglect, and then abandon at shelters; or the animals we unintentionally hit with our cars (or the bugs we trod on just walking down the street); etc. x infinity

- we are weapons of mass destruction. To most of our nonhuman kin (and sometimes our fellow humans, too). Instead of words of wisdom and messages of hope, we'd be more likely to hear cries of terror. Confusion. Pain and agony. Hellfire, everywhere. Created and fueled by us and our own.

Heck, I'm not even sure it would be beneficial to always know exactly what our beloved, nonhuman family members are thinking. I have a fifteen-year-old dog named Finn who's going deaf and blind and battling dementia. More often than not, I suspect that being privy to his innermost thoughts would freak me the fuck out. Not to mention break my damn heart.

And then there's the mode of communication: not just just verbal, as we're used to, but all-encompassing: "sight, smell, taste, touch, and sound." Think pheromones, sound waves, scratches and ticks. The beating of countless tiny wings, all bombarding your brain and trying to tell you something. That kind of thing, coming at you uninvited and from all directions, is apt to drive a person mad. And it does, as evidenced by zooflu sufferers who stuff their orifices with whatever's handy to block incoming stimuli - or, at the more extreme end, the pseudo-religious trepanners who invite strangers to drill holes in their skulls in a misguided attempt to relieve the pressure.

Talking to animals sounds like the stuff of dreams - but in McKay's hands, it's a nightmare.

And a pretty trippy one, at that: fittingly, the incoming messages that Jean's left to decode aren't quite what you'd call straightforward. There's a lot of translation required, and Google hasn't yet caught up:

I’m reading her body like some language I barely remember from a high school textbook. Bonjour madame, connaissez-vous le chemin de la gare? Let’s go to the station. Or, where the hell is the supermarket? I can parrot the words, but the meaning is in scraps.

Copies of this book should be sold with a sheet of acid, or maybe some edibles. I kid, but also not.

If, like me, you assumed that increased understanding and compassion would surely spring forth from this newfound ability to communicate with nonhuman animals, you'd be wrong. While some people do indeed embrace the flu, many others lash out: animal-free zones are established, and hungry citizens start hunting former pets, since they make for easy prey (apparently they've never heard of fruits and veggies?).

There's one especially excruciating scene that I don't think I'll ever be able to forget. Jean takes refuge in a makeshift church, only to catch a glimpse of how the missionaries make their sausage (stew):

A small fluffy dog has pelted out a kitchen door, thin bit of twine tangled around its legs, body blonde fire, screaming, Hello. Please. Please bite its soft. Quick. Help me. I jump up, calling the poor little bugger, but the parishioners shriek louder, climbing on their chairs like that dog is the snake from the garden of Eden. The woman rushes for her daughter and hauls her by an arm out of the room. It’s funny, for a second, until the laugh dies in my throat. The little dog, too tangled in the twine to move, slumps panting in the aisle. It’s not just m e. Where’s other me. She’s still — The god-botherers are faster than me. They grab that dog with WWF wrestling passion, using real lumps of wood, real knives. The little dog has enough time to issue a thick whiff of terror from its undercarriage, Help her, before they’ve slit it ear to ear right there in the pulpit. There was no blood with Lee. He didn’t even look that drowned. He might have come alive any moment. He might be alive right now in his grave. This little dog, though, is bleeding out on the beige carpet. The door to the kitchen is open. Matthew the soup cook leans on the jamb, then turns back. A fluffy tail on a chopping board. The steaming pots. Pain like a stab to my guts — he stirs a soup very much like the one he was serving up in the park.

Of course, this scene is so repulsive to most of us - Jean included - only because the animal being killed and consumed is designated for "companionship" instead of "food," at least in this particular culture. Chances are you've known and loved a dog or two yourself - and so the doomed beast transforms from a something to a someone. Not an unfeeling object to be used and discarded at will, but a sentient creature with her own feelings, desires, and loved ones. Had it been a chicken or pig, the result wouldn't be quite so horrifying; Jean herself eats meat, and justifies doing so, on several occasions.

Yet an earlier scene - in which Jean comes upon an abandoned tractor trailer truck packed with pigs destined for slaughter - will hopefully challenge readers to expand their circle of compassion:

I’ve seen battery hogs before — of course I have. But not out and about. Not staggering around and trying to walk, calling to whatever they think is ‘more’. Glazed eyes that strain like they’ve never seen sunlight. Skin stretched over bodies fed to the point of bursting — something between swine and meat. Saw some animal liberationists on the street in the city one time, saying factory farms were the same as Nazi camps. I called them bloody racists too. The pigs clatter past me down the ramp, fucked-up eyes on the road ahead, calling, Hello is it more. Those animal nutters were wrong, but not in the way I thought. It’s not the same as the Nazis: that was us doing to us. What’s this? [...] A hurt sow sits on her haunches, then lies down on the verge, panting unevenly under the slathering sun. Another weaves blindly over the asphalt toward her, flies spinning around her head. They push their noses into each other. Send me a postcard, the sick one says. Postcard, indeed. What the fuck. I watch more closely. The meaning bright off that tight skin. All the little bits saying, Leave me, and, I’ll hear about it, and, Don’t you see it. Move on. There’s more. The ones that can walk stretch their legs, for, More, more, more. I stand at the top of the truck ramp watching them break into a group trot toward the next paddock. Skin rippling. Hooves carolling. Know that heart-in-your-mouth run. Know exactly what ‘more’ is. I’ve seen it in Lee and I’ve had it too, at times. These pigs are half dead, they’re stumbling around, blind, mad, and fucking hopeful.

Even if many of the characters in this book resist the humanity clearly evident in nonhuman animals, I hope that readers will hold these passages close - especially at the dinner table.

Sue, our main nonhuman protagonist, is a fascinating character; like many of the semi-domesticated animals in the park, McKay paints her as a series of conflicting impulses: safety or freedom. Hunger or satiation. Dingoes or humans. She is fiercely loyal, much to her own detriment. She has wants and needs of her own, and she's often satisfied to set them aside for the good of her (adopted) pack.

And I guess that brings me to the second half of this review: the humans, most of whom are awful. Jean, exponentially so.

Initially I thought that Jean would be my people: she's a hard-drinking, mold-breaking badass broad who gets on better with animals than people. She has a mini-rescue in her backyard where she keeps some of the park's doomed relinquishments. (The public treats the park like a rehab facility when in fact it's in the business of entertainment - old, sick, injured, and "common" animals are routinely killed.) She and Kimberley spend their afternoons together designing the animal rescue they hope to build one day.

But Jean is kind of a terrible person. To call her a misanthrope is half the story: she's also senselessly mean and cruel, especially when drunk, hungover, or frustrated (in other words, 90% of the time). I don't fault Jean for her substance abuse problem - alcoholism is a mental health issue and should be treated as such - but nor is it an excuse for being such an asshole. (There's even a scene where she trolls people discussing the zooflu online, like a fucking American redhat.) She's shit to everyone around her, except for Kimberley and Lee (Lee, who could use a good ass-kicking).

And then there's Sue: Sue, who followed Jean across the damn country when she should have been settling into a dingo pack of her own. Sue, who found Kimberley and saved Jean's life. Sue, who is nothing but good and true and trustworthy. Sue, who Jean assaults on multiple occasions: kicking her in the ribs, binding her with rope to prevent her escape, and even trying to shoot her (with a gun that's thankfully empty of bullets). At one point, she "forgives" Sue for saving her life - as if Sue's the one who needs forgiveness!

Despite the abuse, Sue continues to stick by Jean's side, which galled me endlessly. Towards the end of the story, following the attempted murder, Sue gets revenge of a sort, dominating a delirious Jean and forcing her subservience. However, the book ends shortly thereafter, cutting any sense of satisfaction far too short.

I really felt cheated with Jean: I thought she might be my avatar in this world - but she's just another terrible human who doesn't deserve the company of animals.

Likewise, the whole subplot involving Kimberley's parentage is way over the top dramatic and unnecessary; it seemed like we were being plucked from a dystopia and dropped into a soap opera for a minute there. Just, gross. So yeah, there are definitely some aspects of the book that I appreciated more than others. THE ANIMALS IN THAT COUNTRY may be imperfect - but I'd still wholeheartedly recommend it to anyone looking to explore our relationship to nonhuman animals in a dystopian setting.

#books #reviews #book reviews #fiction #science fiction #dystopia #nonhuman animals #Laura Jean McKay #the animals in that country

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unholyhelbig · 4 years

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Hizzie AU where Hope,Lizzie and Pedro are sent on a mission by Alaric and Lizzie’s car runs out of fuel in the middle of nowhere causing tension between the two?

Read on ao3 | Send me more Legacies requests!

Title: ‘E’ is for Empty

Ship: Hope Mikaelson/ Lizzie Saltzman

Dedicated to: @trentadepresso, @chaoticmessy, @alltid-og-for-evig, @arthoebyers, @sweet-little-birdy, @evilpeach, @too-confused-for-this,

@ofcamerasflashing

Lizzie had fuzzy red dice that hung from her front mirror. The fur was matted and an off-color of the crimson that they had once been. They swung obnoxiously back and forth each time she hit a pothole full force or swerved out of the way of a turtle slowly crossing the road. And God, Hope wasn’t a car person, but the thought of the blonde getting a car this nice (in theory) was a waste.

Hope pulled her heel onto the edge of the seat and rested her chin on her knee. They had been traveling down I-80 for the past three and a half hours. There was a lot more to look at during the start of the trip; fast-food restaurants, and apartment buildings that were strung in fairy lights to dull the drab setting.

Those soon drabbled into motels that buzzed with vacant signs and chipped painted totem poles that were innocent in the ’60s when they were first constructed but bordered on offensive today. Hope could smell the smoke and the stale air, even from the car as they rolled by. Artificial and sickening and everything that made her stomach churn- so she focused on what Lizzie was doing instead.

She wouldn’t call Lizzie a bad driver, but all means, she had seen worse. But she forgot about blinkers and the way that you eased into a stop instead of pushing your whole entire weight on the pedal. It had jolted Hope a few times against the flimsy seatbelt, but she kept her mouth shut to avoid an argument.

The scenery had rolled into large stretching fields of green that bloomed with white cotton. Little yellow signs that read Do Not Pick dulled the novelty of the south for those who traveled through it to get to big theme parks or white sandy beaches.

“I spy with my little eye,” Pedro hesitated from the back seat, his little legs stretched over the leather as he gazed out of the opposite window. “Something green.”

This was so far from the super squad that Hope had imagined when Alaric first mentioned a lead in South Carolina. It was a five-hour drive through heat rolling hills and farms that smelled better than the motels they passed at the edge of big cities. Pedro was good company, and Lizzie was effective as long as her hands could be somewhere on Hope. But still- a recon mission for what could possibly be a powerful artifact? She’d rather of video chatted the historian.

“Oh, I don’t know. Is it grass?” Lizzie asked, drumming her thumbs on the steering wheel.

Hope glanced her way “It was grass last time. What about a tree?”

“Tree was three guesses ago.”

The tribrid let out a slight sigh and turned back towards Pedro. He had a triumphant grin on his face because they only had one more chance to get this right, and he had a strong winning streak going on right now. She frowned, “Bud, everything is green out here. Can you give us a hint?”

“It’s inside the car.”

Inside of the car, okay, Hope could do this. How many things in the old Chevy glowed green? She turned back around in her seat and stared at the controls that the inside of the car had to offer. They had updated the old radio to satellite but that was blue. Her eyes wandered past the middle console and over to the rest of the controls.

There was a tiny light of emerald that Hope couldn’t see when Lizzie shifted her hands around the wheel, but they were situated perfectly for her to get a good glance at it. The green color that Pedro had spotted was from a small warning light; a little gas pump.

Suddenly Hope didn’t care much about winning a game of I-spy. “Lizzie, when was the last time we stopped for gas?”

“Mm, right outside of North Carolina”

“North Carolina! Lizzie that was two hours ago!”

“Relax, this baby can run forever on a gaslight.”

Hope put both of her feet back on the car's floor and blinked dumbly at the blonde. They were in the middle of nowhere with absolutely zero civilization around for miles, other than a creepy farmhouse that they passed a few moments ago that she wasn’t even sure had people in it.

“I don’t want to know how you know that.”

Despite facing things on a whim, Hope Mikaelson liked to be prepared when she could be. She would lay out her outfits the night before class when she actually attended public school, and when she helped her father paint, she would chart out little maps on lined paper on where to find the best supplies.

“Listen, it’s totally okay. The next time we see one I’ll stop.” Lizzie explained, sensing Hope’s rising anxiety. “oh no”

“Oh no? What Oh no?”

But she knew the answer already because no matter how good the Chevy was it couldn’t do its job without gas. The engine started to sputter and the speedometer slowly started to decrease. Pedro had unbuckled and moved in between the middle of the two girls, sandwiched in the center of the leather seats.

The old car gave out two more sputters as Lizzie pulled it to a stop on the side of the road and turned the key until they were overwhelmed by the silence of a hot country day. Lizzie frowned and said, “Okay, so maybe this was a misjudgment on my part.”

“Oh, you think?” Hope snapped, digging around her pockets until she found her phone and glared at the slowly dying mobile device. “And we have no service.”

Hope started to feel like the car was closing in on her and the sun that moved through the windshield was hotter than it should be. She hated being cooped up, with Lizzie Saltzman of all people and the way that she was staring at the long stretch of road ahead of her like nothing was wrong edged on infuriating. So she got out of the car and started walking the way that they came.

“Where are you going?” Lizzie exited after her, slamming the door and taking an even three steps along the side of the road.

“We need to find some help.”

“Oh, and trudging headfirst into a murder house is going to do that for us?”

Hope stopped at that and turned to face the blonde bombshell. She had her hair pulled back as the air around them continued to thicken- continued to remind Hope of the swamps in New Orleans. She had shed her jacket, standing there in nothing more than a ratty t-shirt and a stark look of concern on her face.

“Think about it, Hope.” She closed the distance between them and Hope glowered “You march off like a hero and get yourself killed, who am I going to siphon off of?”

“Thanks for the concern, Lizzie. Really- the love is overwhelming.”

Hope took one half-step back and Lizzie reached forward, wicking the fabric of Hope’s shirt between her fingers. She held her in place, stared down at her, a slightly-green gaze shining in the sun. “I’m serious Mikaelson. I get a bad vibe from that place. I’m not saying you have to get back in the car but you can’t go there.”

This was the first time that Hope had seen, or heard, any type of genuine worry coming from Lizzie. It was occasionally directed towards Josie, or sometimes Alaric. But never once had she used this dark and concerned tone with her. She relented and let her shoulders slump, the gesture enough for Lizzie to release her, satisfied.

“So what do you suggest we do, then?” Hope asked.

“There’s a gas station two miles that way!” Pedro called out, holding out a folded map triumphantly. He had done more than either of them, circling the good spots to stop for food and the bathroom- and more importantly, fuel.

Lizzie had an odd prideful smile on her face “That kids smarter than the two of us combined.”

Hope chuckled and glanced back towards the old farmhouse before starting in the other direction, this time towards civilization. Pedro and Lizzie walked a few paces behind her, balancing on the cracked asphalt, using it like a tightrope.

“I spy with my little eye, something… Green.” Pedro piped up.

“Is it grass?” Hope called back.

“No,” Lizzie fretted “You guessed that last time.”

#hope mikaelson #lizzie saltzman #lizzie x hope #hizzie #Hizzie fanfic #hizzieedit #Legacies #legacies fanfic #legacies fanfiction #request

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esabri · 4 years

Text

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charlierainfordsso · 3 years

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Okay, since it’s Christmas/New Year, your local ginger Jorvik-obsessed grinch is feeling vaguely festive. So, as a present, I gift to you a long Charlie x Josh piece, which explores how they met and is full of nauseating fluff and so much sweetness you’ll probably have to go to the dentist for cavities. It’s under the cut, happy holidays- now let me grinch in peace.

___

When the roads of Jorvik became blanketed in at least two foot of snow overnight, traffic ground to a halt. There was no way lorries and cars were getting through this. The owners of the delicate warmblood horses tucked them away in their stalls, wrapping them up more carefully than any Christmas present. Suddenly, the landscape was dotted with hairy, sturdy ponies and cobs, the only horses capable of ploughing their way through the deep drifts to get where they needed to be.

But Charlie could.

Isolated from the rest of Jorvik, the rangers of Redwood Point worried about how they’d feed their horses. Rovar’s Gap had drifts up to their armpits. No feed lorry could get through there.

Right now, she was in Silverglade village, loading supplies into a well-crafted sleigh. Standing patiently at the front, their breath curling into white clouds of steam, were Dreamweaver and Foxfire, known more commonly by their stable names, Fancy and Sven, respectively. The two grey Irish cobs could have passed for twins were it not for Sven’s paler coat. It had been a long time since Chas had worked the two in harness together, but she’d dug the old leather out from her tack room, shined it up, and borrowed a sleigh from the Jarlassons, who bred and drove Clydesdales.

The two harnessed horses drew a crowd of curious children, all wrapped up to the ears in scarves and hats and mittens by their doting parents. Sven, good natured as ever, bent his great shaggy head down to their affection. Fancy kept hers up and haughty, but still had a crowd of admirers. The mare almost seemed to be posing, aware of how striking she looked in the brass and leather gear.

Charlie flicked her red hair out of her eyes with the back of her hand as she noticed a stir over by Steve’s barn. She glanced back at the loading process, but Courtney, Big Bonny, and Lance, who was back in the village visiting his parents for Christmas, rather than at Starshine, were all helping out. They seemed to have it well under control, so Charlie made her way curiously towards the barn.

She didn’t expect to see Josh holding court, but that’s exactly what she saw. Blankets and cushions were spread out over the floor of the barn, and a group of entranced teenagers were gathered while he told a story with lively gestures and his wonderfully free grin. He had a lock of his white-blonde hair falling into his eyes, and Charlie wanted to brush it out of the way. She’d offered to cut it, but he said he liked the longer length. And it suited him. Softened his features a little.

Charlie took her eyes off her boyfriend and let them wander over the group of teens. These few had chosen to stay for the winter Jorvik experience, rather than the oh-so-popular summer camp. She wondered how many of them would stay on at the end, like she had, two years ago now.

But then again, she thought as she glanced over to Josh with a small internal smile, I had love to make me stay, and that’s a powerful motivator.

None of the teens looked older than fifteen, and Charlie, though she was only nineteen, suddenly felt rather old, envying their fresh faces, their innocence, their differences all lost in the face of their shared love for horses. She hoped none of them would have to learn of the Soul Riders, and the fine and dangerous line they walked between good and evil to keep the two separate. Across the miles that separated Starshine Ranch and Silverglade, Charlie felt Stargazer sense her sudden weariness. She knew that the handsome chestnut Jorvik Warmblood raised his head from his grazing, gazing across the river as though he could see her.

‘Are you okay, dear heart?’ His resonant voice asked her gently in her mind.

‘I’m fine, fire horse. Not a thing to worry your head about.’ Her response seemed to settle him, but she could feel his concern linger, so she added; ‘Go back to your grazing. We’re not strong enough to do this for long without a headache yet.’

He sent her a wave of affection that she returned, then she felt his presence leave her mind as she returned to the here-and-now.

Josh was spinning the youngsters a tale that he’d once fooled her with; the Jackalope story. He hadn’t noticed her yet, so she leant quietly against a wooden column and folded her arms, listening to the same soothing drawl that lulled her to sleep on the bad nights. He didn’t understand all that she did to keep Jorvik and then the world from descending into chaos, but he knew all about nightmares. And he was the one thing that kept them at bay for her, just as she did for him.

“…I zagged and I zigged, but the beast caught me… with the razor-sharp teeth of a rabbit and the pent up anger of an antelope, it gored me through my favourite foot!”

Charlie covered her mouth with her sleeve, suppressing a snigger. She knew this game of his well. He’d see how ridiculous he could get before someone caught on. It was how they whiled away the long hours of herding cattle between Starshine and Mistfall, him with his story-telling and her backing him up, straight-faced, as they rode along.

“When the winter wind blows, I still feel the sting…” Josh dropped his voice ominously, and Charlie gained a petty amusement from the way the younger teens clung to each other’s arms, “…and my foot’s never been the same since. I won’t show you the scar, the sight of it would horrify you! To this day I can’t take my boots off in front of others.”

He straightened up from his looming posture and the young riders glanced at each other nervously, clearly spooked. Charlie remembered being at their stage well. Experienced enough to know that Jorvik was a magical place, and yet…not wise enough to know what to believe.

“What do ya think?” Josh asked cheerfully, seemingly unaware of his nervous audience, but Charlie caught the glint of mischief in his hazel-green eyes. He looked around, finally spotting her. She lifted one hand from her folded arms, gave him a tiny wave. He gave that heart-flipping grin of hers, and a sly wink. Play along. She could do that.

“Well obviously,” she said, keeping her voice neutral and deadpan as she pushed off the column and sauntered forwards, “you zagged when you should have zigged.”

Her words garnered the attention of the teens, and she heard their flurry of whispers. All things she’d heard before.

“…she’s the one who got trained by those weird druids…”

“…I heard her horse is the bravest in Jorvik …”

“…well I heard they’re both equally crazy…they ride stunts no sane person or horse would try…”

“…she knows Anne Von Blyssen, the dressage rider…”

But she kept her attention on Josh. The teens’ distraction gave him enough time to arrange his face in a very good mockery of surprise.

“You mean some kinda zig-zag manoeuvre? That’s so crazy it might actually work! Gotta pass that to my buddies in the US.”

“You do that.” Charlie remarked with a grin, before turning to the teens. “Alright kids, story time’s over. You guys have horses to take care of.”

They scattered faster than those unnervingly stealthy chickens at Sunfield Farm. Chas wandered up to Josh, stepping into his waiting embrace and wrapping her arms around his torso. She buried her face in his shirt, breathing in his scent. Pine and fresh air and saddle oil.

“Hi,” she said happily into his shoulder, tightening her hold as his hand stroked her hair, “what brings you to Steve’s?”

“Hi yourself darlin’,” he responded quietly, “picking up some feed for Mary’s sheep. What are you up to then?”

Charlie gestured vaguely behind her in the direction of the sleigh. “Taking supplies up to Redwood Point. Can’t get a lorry up that slope with the snow, never mind over the bridge.”

Charlie gave an internal shudder at the thought of any motor vehicle trying to cross that stone arch in snow. It was bad enough without. She felt Josh’s chin move on her hair as he looked towards the sleigh.

“Smart.” he said approvingly, and she felt a pleased warmth at the compliment, stepping back from his embrace to move around to his side. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, and she put hers around his waist, as they wandered outside, strides in sync. “Looks like we’ve got a little time before they finish loading.”

Charlie gave a hum of agreement. She glanced over to the young riders, now fetching their mounts from Steve’s paddock. Their orange tops, swapped from t-shirts to thick fleeces for the winter, marked them out as visitors. Their loaned horses, the Jorvik Warmbloods that Moorland specialised in, were shaggy with their thick winter fur. Charlie was pleased to note there were a couple of boys among the riders. Moorland’s riding camps had always had a bit of a gender imbalance, but that seemed to be changing.

“I remember being one of them.” Chas said a little nostalgically, shooting Josh a mischievous grin as they ambled up to the runestone on the tiny hill behind Steve’s taking in the view. “Simpler times, eh?”

“Worse times,” Josh said firmly, “because I wasn’t with you.”

“You sap.” Charlie nudged him affectionately with her elbow, before standing on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, fully aware of just how cold her lips were. He retaliated by tickling her ribs under her thick fisherman-knit jumper and she squirmed away, putting her hands on her hips in mock-offence. He pouted teasingly at her, before opening his arms. Unable to stay mad at him, even as a joke, she accepted his hug.

“First time I saw you, you were one of them,” Josh recalled, gazing down towards Moorland. Chas cocked her head and he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, “but I never told you about that, did I?”

Chas shook her head. “You have to tell me now.”

Josh cleared snow off the low stone wall and sat, pulling him down with her. “It was in the days before the ranch, when I still worked at Moorland…”

“A year before,” Chas recalled, “that was when I arrived.”

“Right,” Josh nodded, “your hair was all blonde and spiky and short then.”

Chas held a strand of her long red hair and examined it. Sometimes she still thought she could see blonde dye at the very ends, though it had been so long since she’d dyed it.

“Anyway, there you were, this spiky scrap of a girl with that stallion that everyone else gave up on for his temper, but you saw yourself in him…and I remember lookin’ at you two and thinking…”

They looked like they’d like to fight the world. And they looked like they might just win too.

That was what Josh thought when he saw them. Loretta had wandered over to introduce the newest batch of summer campers, giving him some half-hearted flirting since Justin wasn’t paying her any attention. As usual, the oblivious boy remained…well, oblivious.

They were the usual bunch of fresh-faced horsey hopefuls, wide-eyed and wondering. Most of them were British, and stared at his Western gear in abject fascination.

But she was different. It wasn’t that she wasn’t British. She was, and when she spoke it was a Highland Scots accent that sounded like the river rolling over smooth stones. It was her attitude. She stood apart from the others, tall and lean as a whip, golden eyes distrustful and sharp as a fox. At her back stood that stallion, Stargazer. Josh knew that stallion all too well. He was a rescue. Nobody knew his past, but he treated each human as though they were his mortal enemy. He’d launched the farrier through a stable partition just last week, and nobody in Moorland stables hadn’t experienced the fiery chestnut’s wrath. With the exception of Justin, the only human Stargazer seemed to tolerate. And even then, only barely.

Yet here that fiery devil-horse stood, muzzle nearly touching this strange girl’s shoulder. He was more fierce than a knight guarding a royal, or a dragon guarding a damsel, like in the stories Josh’s mother had read him as a child, tucked up in bed in their Wyoming mountain cabin. What kind of magic had she worked? Not, of course, that magic was real (or so he thought at the time) but if it was, she had to have used it.

Her hair was in spikes that seemed to represent her personality. When she answered a question her responses were often monosyllabic, always cutting. Her face was striking, a straight arrogant nose, a strong, sharp jaw, heavily freckled from the summer sun, but never showed a smile or even a twitch of her lips.

Josh was intrigued by her, he couldn’t deny it. His mother had never tired of reminding her that troubled people led others into trouble, but he found himself around the troubled ones, humans and horses alike, all too often.

“Charlie Rainford. Strange kid.” Thomas had remarked, his dark eyes, so like his son’s, watching the new riders take care of their horses. The girl, Charlie, seemed to be in her own world with Stargazer, the usually temperamental stallion dozing as she brushed him. “Won’t talk about her parents or home life at all. Just that they sent her here to get her out of the way. Horses make her happy, and she’s a natural. I’d swear she’s ridden before- and maybe she has. But she’s reckless- rides like the Devil’s chasing her. And if she doesn’t, then the horse runs like it anyway. They’re bad as each other.”

Josh let his gaze drift to her again. “He thrown her off yet?”

“He tried. Bucking, bolting, nearly flipped over. Went the whole nine yards. She stuck like a limpet and hasn’t had a problem since.”

Josh was fascinated. What had made Stargazer take to her? Why hadn’t she given up on the sour horse like everyone else?

From that day on, as much as Josh tried to break the habit, he couldn’t help but notice Charlie Rainford whenever she was nearby.

“Really? I caught your attention even then?” Charlie was amazed. She remembered that first meeting. She’d been hurt and a little disoriented over her parents abruptly launching her to Jorvik, finally having had enough of her constant chaos and troublemaking in a desperate bid to get them to look at her, their daughter, rather than an expense, someone to be paraded at parties for all their rich friends then hidden away again. Jorvik was strange, loud and confusing. The only thing that had made sense was Stargazer, that let-down, angry look in his eyes the same as hers, and she’d known instinctively that all he needed was someone who wouldn’t give up on him.

She’d noticed Josh as she trailed at the back of the group, distancing herself. He’d seemed friendly, polite, but distant. A couple of years older than most of the summer camp riders. She’d heard the other girls whispering about him in the stables, about how “cute” he was. All she’d seen was another person to potentially let her down if she got close. So she’d stuck to Stargazer, the horse becoming her rock and anchor, the only thing that supported her as her world was turned upside down by magic and mayhem.

Eventually though, that had changed. The quiet, calming manner Josh always had around spooked horses had gradually worked on her, settling her. He’d shared his dreams of having a ranch with her, and in response to him letting his guard down, she’d confided her past in him. Though he hadn’t quite understood the whole Soul Rider business, he’d supported her through it, eased her grief over Elizabeth when the time came. And she always knew when he needed a distraction from his homesickness, or just someone to listen to him.

At the end of Charlie’s summer camp, she’d flat-out told her parents she wasn’t coming home. She was a legal adult, Jorvik needed her and accepted her for who she was. The other reason, of course, was her steadily growing love for Josh, which she hadn’t admitted to anyone then, not even to herself.

The admission of their feelings had come at Christmas last year, in a beautiful yet all-too-cliche mistletoe moment carefully set up by Alex and Maya (with how clueless those two were about eachother, Charlie thought, it was a miracle they’d clued into Josh and Charlie) at a party hosted by the Moorlands. And now, here they were. Charlie looked at Josh’s side profile, suddenly aware of how very lucky she was. He turned his head and caught her looking, smiling at her. She traced his features with her gaze.

“What are you lookin’ at?” he asked her, pulling her closer against his side. Charlie shook her head, feeling a faint warmth in her cheeks.

“Nothing at all,” she murmured, “merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

He tilted her chin up with a finger, dropping a sweet kiss on her lips before grinning at her. “And happy anniversary too.”

#sso #star stable online #star stable fanfic #star stable christmas #star stable josh #christmas fanfiction

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corinthbayrpg · 3 years

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NAME. Aydin Lykos AGE & BIRTH DATE. 27 & November 7th, 1993 GENDER & PRONOUNS. Male & He/Him SPECIES. Shapeshifter ( Direwolf ) OCCUPATION. Car Mechanic FACE CLAIM. Berker Guven

BIOGRAPHY

Burn, burn, burn. Aydin Lykos has always felt like the darker part of a star, destined to fizzle out and leave sooty tracks on the palest of skies. Something within him is combustible, there are flames trapped between his ribs— he has never known a moment where his teeth have not been bared to inflict damage, where he hasn’t wanted to wedge the pointed syllables of his words into the heart of someone who has committed nothing but the crime of loving him.

It is hard to pinpoint a time between when he was cruel and when he was kind, but every child is born innocent- his beginnings were quiet, surrounded by the warmth of family and the attention that being the first born and only son allowed him. His mother was a witch, but his father carried the gene of the Lykos, a patron saint of whose origins had watered down over time. Aydin knew the story, his grandmother had whispered it to him when he had been wide eyed and sweet, curving the syllables in their language as she painted broad strokes of their shared history. They were born of Fenrir, the son of a trickster god- who had traded immortality for love, a chance at a mortal life. She spoke of duties, but the family had long run from theirs— leaving Sweden behind to cross the Aegean sea, settling in Istanbul where they kept their name, Lykos, as a reminder of what they had come from.

Being a shifter is its own sort of magic, there was a duty to assimilate, to protect, and Aydin shrugged it off; preferring to bloom in the dark with a flower that could never be trusted. Instead, he stumbled into adolescence with a bad attitude- a bad seed from warm origins. He made his mother cry and his father swear, leaping into rivers as they began to ice over, balancing on the top of rain slick roofs, speeding down the inky roads of the city in vehicles that didn’t belong to him, and then eventually, covering his bare skin in a mosaic of art and drawings. Nights were spent with curved claws gouging hard-packed earth, tearing through the city to reach fields and farms, running with wolves, finding peace with his animal that lived under his skin.

He felt calmer when he wore the skin of the wolf, but he found other ways to soothe what felt to be a constant roiling boil under the surface— instead of biting the hand that fed, he instead found interest in the cars that he liked to race. Tinkering over the tiny parts, fixing and modifying engines, hearing the throaty roar of the exhaust when he stomped on the gas: that was next to godliness. Anger suited him well, it was easy to be explosive, but as he grew he became less of a molotov, bottling his fury and letting it seep out through his pores. It was easier to be surly, to curve out quiet words, to be dangerous without having to act upon it.

It was when he realized that his mother was afraid of him, that his father was locking the doors when he came home that Aydin decided to leave Istanbul. His grandmother who had once cradled him in her arms now prayed to her god that he was not a demon, but the witches in their family didn’t know what to do with a boy who was mostly feral, more wolf than man, and not bound to their duties like the rest of Fenrir’s lineage. At eighteen, he found his own way, picking through Europe without them. Finding work has been easy, but finding a life has been hard— his formative years have been mostly nomadic; but there have been pockets of sanctuary.

A coven in Bulgaria took him in for a while, and it was there that he learned patience from a witch whose life he had saved from a vampire. In Bucharest he tempered his rage as he followed a pack of werewolves, whose lessons of a long life included the importance of picking battles instead of engaging in all of them. It was in Albania that he was reminded of the importance of family, of long lineage— of the pride that comes with carrying a name that had been given by the immortals. After so many years away from home, despite how his exterior had hardened and threatened to keep everyone out; it became clear what was missing: a long standing need for belonging.

Coming to Corinth has been the result of a curiosity, he’s heard whispers of the veil in his travels— but the true appeal is the part that the original shifters and the other Lykos, regardless of how estranged they were, play in it. He does not care for the responsibility of his name, but he hungers for the family that is his birthright. A fresh start and a clean slate, he now has the most docile form of himself to offer. Aydin is still barbed and occasionally choleric, but he is scarcely recognizable from the teenaged boy he had once been; save for the same wicked grin that he wears when he finds himself behind the wheel of a fast car, or leaping from a cliff into the churning waters below

PERSONALITY

+ observant, adventurous, passionate - coarse, reticent, hot-tempered

PLAYED BY SAM. EST. She/Her.

#shifter #male #taken #berker guven #aydin lykos

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 5 years

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Baby You Were My Picket Fence [Chapter 3: Light My Fire]

You are a first grade teacher in sunny Los Angeles, California. Ben Hardy is the father of your most challenging student. Things quickly get complicated in this unconventional love story.

Song inspiration: Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing) HERE

Taglist: @blushingwueen @queen-turtle-boiii @everybodyplaythegame @onceuponadetectivedemigod @luvborhap @sincereleygmg @stormtrprinstilettos @loveandbeloved29 @ohtheseboysilove @jennyggggrrr @vanitysfairr @bramblesforbreakfast @radiob-l-a-hblah @xox-talia-xox @killer-queen-xo

You open the front door and there he is: black button-up shirt, navy jeans, chic but not overdressed. His hair is neatly gelled back from his forehead. In his arms are a lug wrench, a car jack, and a brand new tire wrapped in an oversized, floppy red bow like a Christmas present.

“I think normal guys bring flowers,” you comment.

“I figured...since you’re automotively illiterate and all...you probably hadn’t gotten around to replacing the spare yet.” He shoots a glance at your Elantra, then announces victoriously: “I was right!”

“Mr. Hardy...Ben...I really can’t allow you to perform any more free labor.”

“Five minutes,” he calls over his shoulder as he trots to your car. He has trouble with one of the lug nuts, so it takes him six and a half.

“You can come inside,” you tell him once he’s finished. “I won’t be long, I just have to water my plants.”

Ben raises an eyebrow. It’s dark and rather undomesticated, yet endearing. “I feel like there must be better stalling tactics than that. If you’ve got cold feet, I can handle rejection.” But what he can’t do is disguise the way his shoulders slump, the way he bites the corner of his lower lip apprehensively.

“No, really, it’s totally stupid, but I’m really trying not to kill this batch and if I don’t water them now I’m going to be stressing about it until I get home, and I don’t want to be thinking about houseplants all night, I want to be thinking about...” You wave your hand towards Ben inarticulately. “You know. You.”

He smiles, showing his teeth, his eyes lit up like embers, flickering and radiant and warm. “Take your time, Martha Stewart.”

“My parents give me so much hell for this,” you call back to him as you flutter around the living room, standing on your tiptoes and reaching around furniture to water your peace lilies and spider plants and devil’s ivy and one wilting ponytail palm. “They’re farmers. They’re professional life-givers. I’m lucky if I can keep the cactuses alive.”

You hear Ben rambling around the kitchen. “I hope your nurturing skills are at least marginally better with first graders.”

You laugh, nodding even though he can’t see you. “I’m alright with those. I’m just more of a rock person than a plant person. Gems and minerals and volcanic glass...fossils and bones and teeth...that’s where the magic is for me.”

“I can see that. Dinosaurs are well-represented in your extensive fridge magnet collection.” There are clicks and scrapes as he rearranges them: prehistoric animals and tiny planets, peace signs and alphabet letters and cross-sections of agate. “These are so cool!” he exclaims.

You bustle back into the kitchen, place your watering can in the sink, and wipe your hands with a dishtowel patterned with cartoon brontosauruses. “Ready?” Your eyes flick to the refrigerator. He’s organized your magnets into a giant smiley face. It’s ridiculous, it’s juvenile; but you feel this liberatingly simple joy flooding through you like early autumn air. And the way Ben’s grinning at you—a little mischievous, a little proud—reminds you so much of Eli that your breath catches in your throat. You have no idea who Eli’s mother was, but her genetics were omnipotent; it’s almost impossible to find any of Ben in him at all. But every once in a while there’s an unconscious gesture, an off-kilter smile, and suddenly you can see the common threads that wove them into being like spiders’ webs.

“Ready,” Ben agrees.

You smooth your dress as you slip into the passenger’s seat of his Lexus, placing your purse between your feet, checking your hair and makeup in the sun visor mirror. Ben glances over at you as he shifts the car into reverse and roars out of your driveway. Your hands aren’t shaking, your heartbeat is hushed, there’s no hot rushing blood in your cheeks or ears; this shocks you. It’s eerie how inexplicably at ease you are.

“Find something good,” he says, pointing to the radio.

You seize the dial. “Uh oh. My first test?”

He smiles, his eyes on the road now. “Choose something lame and I abandon you at the nearest sketchy-looking gas station.”

You flip through stations until you find Somebody To Love. “I work hard, every day of my life, I work ‘til I ache in my bones...” “Okay, how I’d do?”

Ben steals a suspicious peek over at you. “Are you fucking with me?”

“What?” you ask, bewildered. “No, why?”

He shakes his head. “Never mind. You definitely pass. You’re a Queen person?”

“Oh yeah, absolutely, I adore Queen. Most classic rock, actually.”

“So have you, uh...” He touches his chin thoughtfully, what you’re quickly realizing is a little nervous tic. It’s cute as hell. Goddammit, daddy demon, stop being so fucking perfect. “Did you ever see Bohemian Rhapsody?” But something gives you the impression he already knows you haven’t.

“Not yet,” you confess.

“Not interested?”

“It’s not that, I just...” You hesitate, trying to put it into words. “I know it did well and all. But I guess I’m skeptical of anyone trying to play Freddie Mercury. He was a legend, he was one of a kind. So are the rest of them. Those are massive shoes to fill. It seems like setting the actors up to pale in comparison.”

“I’ve heard it was pretty good,” Ben presses, almost teases.

“Yeah, maybe...”

“And Rami won the Oscar. So his portrayal must have been satisfactory.”

“Okay, oh my god, I’ll see it, are you happy now? Were you on the marketing team or what?”

You’re only half-serious, but Ben chuckles evasively. “So you like old rocks and old music,” he pivots. “But not old not-boyfriends. Except Jeff Goldblum.”

“This is news to me. I sincerely thought you were sixty.”

He laughs, a full gutsy laugh this time, a laugh that says he’s caught-off guard and thrilled about it. “That’s okay. I’m into old stuff too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Old music, classic rock, just like you. But old books too.”

“Gatsby?”

His eyebrows leap up; you’re watching his face as streetlamps illuminate the car in reiterating flashes like a spinning pulsar. God, he’s beautiful. “How’d you guess that?”

“Eli’s middle name is Fitzgerald. That’s not a common one.”

“Ah,” Ben says, and his full lips turn up at the edges into a smile, proudly, fondly.

“I really like it.” That’s the truth; Eli’s a handful and that’s a titanic understatement—though he has been better the last few days, the only blip on the upward trend being his attempt to convince Brayden to eat a live cricket by paying him in Oreos—but his name is classic and elegant and a few literary references here and there never hurt anyone.

“Yeah, that was me,” Ben reveals. “His mother insisted on choosing his first name, I think she heard Eli somewhere and just liked the sound of it. But she let me pick the middle name. And The Great Gatsby was always my favorite book...and The Beautiful and the Damned, and This Side of Paradise?! Freaking incredible. In my humble opinion F. Scott Fitzgerald is a certifiable genius. So...Eli Fitzgerald.” There’s a color in his voice you can’t quite read: the golden yellow of reminiscence, the murky blue of loss, the grey nothingness of depression, the bloody maroon of deep pain or resentment. Who was she, Ben? How did she hurt you? And could I ever fill those hollow places you’re carrying around like pocket change?

He asks how Eli is doing in class, and you tell him; you ask about his favorite classic rock bands, and he answers: Boston and AC/DC and The Stones and Queen. His Lexus cruises by your go-to dinner spots—the affordable chains like Noodles and Co. and Panera and Chipotle—then past the mid-level raw vegan and farm-to-table joints, and finally into the neighborhood reserved for fine dining establishments with three-figure price tags and reservations booked up months in advance.

“Uh...” you begin. “I don’t think we’re going to get a spot at a place down here.”

“Think again.” He parallel parks with absurd ease in front of an Italian-Japanese fusion restaurant called Nejire. There’s a line of people in suits and evening gowns waiting at the door. You feel like a minnow in a shark tank.

“Ben...”

He comes around to your side of the car, opens the door, and holds out his hand. “You trust me?”

Do I? You take his hand in yours like a life raft. “Don’t let me down, Mr. Hardy.”

Unpredictably, fantastically, he brings your knuckles to his lips. “You got it.”

He spirits you inside, past the line of waiting customers, past the hostess and waitresses; they glimpse up and nod at Ben as he draws you through the main dining room and back to a VIP table in a dimly-lit, quiet corner of the restaurant. Oh, you realize with awe and trepidation. He’s an important guy.

You take your seat and open a menu as waitresses array full glasses of water and wine across the table. There’s nothing under fifty dollars. You flip to the salad page, searching desperately.

“What are you doing?” Ben asks gently.

“Um, nothing, just browsing...”

“You’re not paying for any of this,” he says point-blankly.

“That’s not very feminist of you,” you quip, but on the inside you’re sinking. This is too much, this is way too much. I can’t let him do this for me.

“I’ll explain later. Trust me, we’re good. Order something expensive or I’ll do it for you.”

“I’m a teacher, Ben. My idea of luxury is Olive Garden.”

He grins at you boldly, almost roguishly. “Oh we are going to have so much fun together, Miss Y/L/N.”

Orders are placed, wine is sipped, appetizers are ferried to the table. As you nibble on ahi tuna tartare and caprese sushi, you find yourself lost in how Ben motions wildly with his hands as he tells stories, how his large emerald-or-jade-or-malachite eyes gleam when he’s animated, how his voice is so rich and deep and yet mild, how it suddenly feels like you’ve known him your entire life. Oh no. Oh no, I like this guy a LOT.

Ben abruptly stops eating and cracks his knuckles. “So there’s something I need to tell you. Since we’re...” Air quotes. “Not dating.”

Oh fuck. He’s married or something. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“It’s about my job.”

Whew. “Ah yes, your elusive profession. You can tell me the truth if you’re a dogwalker or a circus clown or something. It’s always nice to out-earn someone. Actually, dogwalkers in L.A. probably make more than me...”

“I’m an actor.”

“Oh,” you reply cautiously. “Like, for tv shows or independent films?”

“No,” he says, amused. “For major films.”

I knew he was too fucking gorgeous to be a normal person. What am I doing here? “Like what?”

“Well, recently, Bohemian Rhapsody.”

You choke on the white wine you’re drinking and cough and gasp into your cloth napkin.

“You okay?” Ben asks. “Don’t die. You can’t die yet. You haven’t tried their tempura crème brûlée.”

“You...” You cough once more. “You were in the movie that made $900 million dollars...?”

He grins toothily. “So you were keeping up with it!”

“It was hard to miss that tidbit. It was all over the news. BoRhap won the Golden Globe.” Your head is spinning. “You’re an actor,” you repeat.

“I played Roger Taylor.” The brilliant, obscenely good-looking drummer, the man who wrote Radio Ga Ga and These Are The Days Of Our Lives and A Kind Of Magic.

“Oh my god, Ben!”

“I mean, I’ve been in other things too—”

“Ben!”

“Look, relax, we’re cool. I’m not telling you this to freak you out, I’m just explaining that you don’t have to worry about dropping a few hundred bucks at dinner. You have a right to know who I am if we’re going to be...involved. And there’s something else.” He wrings his hands. “I have to be...discrete about my personal life. Try to stay under the radar.” But now that effortless comfort is strained somehow, weighted, ominous; Ben averts his eyes. There’s a presence in the room like a storm cloud, trapped pulsing lightening igniting the opacity from within.

“Sure,” you say, thinking that a life in the spotlight can’t always be easy. “Lowkey. I got it.”

“Awesome.” He’s relieved.

“I have to keep it on the down-low too. I’m a pretty important person myself. A bunch of six-year-olds would lose their minds if they knew about my extracurricular activities. They would color such scandalous pictures in art class. Premarital dinner dates, maybe even handholding. Yikes.”

That makes Ben chuckle; the shadow is nearly lifted. “Keep drinking, Miss Y/L/N. I’m loving this.”

And it should feel weird or frightening or wrong that he’s using the word love this soon, this casually; but it doesn’t at all. It feels anything but wrong.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your feet are on your kitchen floor, your palms empty. Ben’s fidgeting around, his hands in and out of his jean pockets; it seems like he’s trying to say goodbye, but maybe he’s not.

“So...” he ventures.

You wonder if he’ll touch you, if he’ll kiss you. You try to catch his eyes, but they’re everywhere except meeting yours. “Hold that thought.”

You dash down the hall to your bathroom to smooth your hair, touch up your makeup, swish some Listerine. On the way back to the kitchen, you stop in the living room to check on your plants. If it’s possible, they look a little perkier than they did when you left a few hours ago. You run your fingertips over the broad leaves of your peace lilies, smiling faintly to yourself. “Maybe we’re going to make it after all,” you whisper.

You hear the distinct clicking sound of iPhone texting. “Oh shit,” Ben mutters from the kitchen. “I’m sorry, I gotta go, Y/N, okay? I gotta run. But I’ll call you. I’ll see you soon.”

“Okay, just a sec...” But by the time you rush into the kitchen to say goodbye, Ben is gone, the screen door swinging forlornly. Puzzled, you lock the door behind him as headlights flare to life in the driveway and swiftly retreat into the night. Then you turn around.

Your fridge magnets are rearranged again, this time in the shape of a heart.

#ben hardy #ben hardy x reader #ben hardy fic #borhap fic #borhap #baby you were my picket fence #bywmpf

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stoplookingupforheaven · 4 years

Text

Glory

a piece inspired by bastille’s glory music video. the italicized dialogue is taken from that video and is not mine.

special thanks to everyone who helped me figure out how the hell to format this and how the “keep reading” function works on tumblr. i love you lot.

If tonight had a soundtrack, she decides, it would have to include a cello. Cello tones, hovering under the industrial sounds of the airport. Cello tones, long, low, and slow, to balance out the quick, bright flashes of silver and red and blue on the planes that take off overhead.

The whole scene feels like exhaling a breath she didn’t know she was holding. Sunday night. Airport grounds. A sky bruising purple-brown. The heat of the car’s hood. Passing the paper bag back and forth. The tiny, musical crash of the drops inside the bottle as it moves between them.

“What about when you were driving?”

“Yeah, you lost your phone.”

It had been in a fit of daring, an instant when Friday overtook his mostly-rational mind, and he’d dropped his phone out the passenger window. The sky was steel-gray and heavy with thunderclouds, the air oddly still despite the pre-storm breeze that rippled across the fields they were driving past. She hadn’t heard the smack of plastic on asphalt. She didn’t see how the screen cracked on impact, a spiderweb of lines criss-crossing it as they shot down the road. They’d laughed about it, said no one could find them now.

“And that weird dive bar we found…”

It was tiny, dark inside. He played pool with strangers. She danced alone. The atmosphere faded from pale blue to glowing red, as night fell outside and all thoughts of tomorrow were wiped from her brain.

“When you were dancing on the table, with that blonde wig-”

“It was pink!”

She snickers, knocking her leg lightly against his, relishing the slow buzz that runs through her body when he reciprocates the gesture. Cello tones, she thinks.

“You nicked that car.”

“I borrowed that car.”

They hadn’t bothered to stick around and find out whose it was, driving through the night instead to God knows where. They talked about nothing and everything - water, winter, warmth, how the world felt so wild, like it had gone mad and there wasn’t really a whole lot they could do about it. She let the breeze slip around her arm as she reached out, watching the lights play on the back of her hand, lonely orange and inky-blue.

“You ran into that lake with your clothes on.”

“It was someone’s pool, and you were supposed to come with me!”

It was a summery kind of cold, and he’d engulfed her in a bear hug afterwards, water streaming off of him and onto her, raising goosebumps on her arms. They were stuck in a bubble where time didn’t quite exist, where minutes stretched into hours and days collapsed into seconds. Where you were conscious of the world moving around you but you couldn’t - or maybe didn’t want to - move out to join it. Where gray skies meant warmth and not sadness, and green hills covered in flowers felt old and not new.

But there’s a glitch in the scene, and she can’t quite put her finger on it. There’s a disconnect in their narrative, something that should overlap but doesn’t. Some small detail, just a word or two-

She ignores it, because this is memory, and therefore the story is shaped by the person telling it. The cello melody is back, twisting around her head.

“What about those two guys that wanted a fight?”

“Oh they were fine, they just wanted to dance…”

How small she’d felt! But despite their unsmiling expressions, they really had just wanted to dance. And so she danced. It was an odd dance, but it was dancing. The tips of her shoes had moved over the concrete floor. Dancing with strangers was not something she normally did, but then again, nothing about anything felt normal anymore.

“You dared me to run through that couple’s house…”

The recklessness of youth is always easier to bear when someone else is made to suffer with you, she’d decided. It eased the thrill, spread the high out just enough so that the body did not completely succumb to the rush of adrenaline, so the mind was not overwhelmed by fear and bliss all at once. The house was aggressively mundane - beige walls, landscape paintings, area rugs over hardwood floors - and it felt hostile, like it didn’t want to accept the misfit of a young adult that she was. Like little kids, she’d dragged him through the living room, hand in hand, barely registering the shock on the couple’s face so much as-

“And the old guy had a gun!”

“What?”

He laughs, and she does too, and she misses the same feeling of a mismatch in the back of her mind. It fades away before she realizes anything’s out of place. Another red-and-chrome body soars over their heads. She thinks yet again of the sound of a cello.

“You didn’t want to dance in that class.”

“What are you on about? I totally outdanced you.”

They’d stopped in a town somewhere between the Midwest and the West, the kind of place where it was perpetually mid-afternoon and no one dared disturb the feeling. It looked like every place she’d ever been, and nothing like anything she’d ever seen. It was unique, and it was stereotypical, and it was too perfect, as though someone had set it up with the perfect small-town main street in mind and hit the mark a little too well. She’d laughed as he did toe taps and flailed his arms in time with the rest of the class. She’d danced away the memories of signs on the edge of town, signs that called for glory and heaven, two things that she felt were better left not chased.

“You slept through all the good bits.”

She’ll never know if that’s true, but she does know that she propped her feet up on the dash of the car, and dreamed. She dreamed of golden hours, Ferris wheels, old cars, kidnappings, and oceans. Rain pattered on the windshield. Inside the car it was dark, and the dim interior wrapped around her like a blanket, the evening stretching on into perpetuity. Was it evening? She didn’t know. But the old car held her and she sank into its embrace.

“Why steal such a shit car?”

“It’s a classic!”

She’d leapt in regardless. He’d adjusted his baseball cap (was that there before?) and they left, chasing the sun. Or maybe the night.

Whatever the car was, it had held up every mile, against all odds, past farms and fields and trees, the gray exterior blurring with the road beneath and the sky above until the car - and its occupants - were a part of the landscape, instead of simply passing through. And they’d stopped it as the sun set, sitting on the curb at a rest stop and watching-

“That weird sky was full of pinks.”

It was unreal. There was no adjective in any language she knew that could begin to capture what that sky was like. The clouds were a child’s Photoshop project, purple and yellow and even green, dancing across a sky that darkened from pale salmon to something resembling wisteria - if wisteria could feel haunting and cozy all at the same time.

“I remember it being all yellow.”

There it is again - that flashing instant where something is not quite right, where there’s some odd catch in the world’s fabric. She tries to catch hold of the feeling, to make sense of it, because she wants to fix it. She wants to correct the mistake - for surely it is only a simple mistake - and mend the perfect seam she’s been stitching out of pictures and sounds. But it’s too fleeting, too fragile, and the feeling slips away like water through her fingers, melting into the perfect scenes she’s remembering. In her head, the cello plays on, the music writing itself without her aid.

“I beat you to the top of that mountain.”

“Pretty sure you didn’t.”

It was the only time she could clearly remember something and definitively call it pain: the burning in her lungs as she scrambled towards the top, the aching in her limbs as they stumbled back down. It hadn’t even been that much of a mountain. She wasn’t sure why she’d called it that. It was a mound of woodchips in a lot somewhere. But the only word that her lips could form to describe it was “mountain,” as if the world was telling her that she had to make it fit this narrative, which was feeling increasingly as if it didn’t fully belong to her, because who really recalled details like these? Vivid colors, but not complete pictures. Trains of thought inspired by a journey, but not the trip itself.

But he’d wrapped an arm around her shoulders as they walked away, and she’d forgotten the pain.

The rest of it is just flashes. Stoplights glowing through the rain and the windshield wipers. His fingers running through his hair. The young man dancing in a parking lot. Roads that wound through mounds of rocks. A burned road sign of overlapping triangles. She’d mentioned that it felt ominous, but he’d told her it was probably her imagination. The smile on his face when he spun her on the dance floor.

And this corner of the night. The middle of this airport service road she’s not sure how they got onto. Planes overhead, and lights in the sky, and his arm thrown around her shoulders.

It feels right, and that’s what makes it feel wrong.

“You tell it differently every time.”

“Well, I like my version better.”

She wants to look him in the eye as he says this, but her head won’t turn. She wonders why she said “every time.” They’ve never spoken about these memories before - have they?

She considers thinking about it, but chooses instead to watch the planes leave them behind. After all, it feels right, so she doesn’t worry about it.

In the morning she wakes in her own bed. There is no dive bar, no burned road signs, no weird pink sky. No airplanes. No strange memories. No one but her.

There’s a cello melody in the back of her head, and she’s not sure where it came from.

#rain writes #glory #glory music video #bastille-inspired #help what do i tag this

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deadbiwrites · 5 years

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PROMPTS!! I want a pumpkin picking date with Kara pouting a lot bec Lena said they can’t just casually take the 800lbs pumpkin home. Bonus points if Lena caves and ends up paying some guy enough money to buy it and supergirl flies it back to their apartment to carve it. Maybe it can’t fit through the door?? I’m not sure.

(Oh my WORD, it took forever and a day to get this to post but I did it, dammit! @valkyrieskwad , this one's for you! Cross-posting it on Ao3!!)

"You want to what?"

Kara grins and bounces in place, totally unperturbed by Lena's decided lack of enthusiasm. "Pumpkin picking! There's a patch, like, an hour away. It's so cute, I follow them on Instagram, and everyone looks like they're having so much fun in the pictures! It's almost Halloween, too, so we need to go soon or all the good ones will be gone."

"The good ones…?"

"Pumpkins, Lena! Pumpkins! C'mon, please?"

"Isn't this exactly the sort of thing Alex makes fun of people for? Being basic?"

"Alex doesn't know what fun is if there aren't guns involved, so who cares? Please, babe? Be basic with me!"

Lena arches a brow at her, already caving under the weight of her girlfriend's boundless enthusiasm and the rare (and doubtlessly strategic) use of 'babe'. "Is it a muddy field?" she asks suspiciously.

"Uh… wear boots?" Kara tries, still smiling. "We can take the baby. He'd love it, and we need to work on socializing him, right?"

Lena turns her attention to the little white puppy snoozing on her lap, running a hand over his back absently. "I mean, yes, we do, but a farm?"

Kara's affronted, or at least playing at it. "Uh, I halfway grew up on a farm, thank you."

"And look what's happened because of it."

Kara laughs, shaking her head, somehow charmed even though Lena knows that she's being a brat about this whole thing. "Why do you hate pumpkin picking?"

"I don't like doing things unless I'm already good at them."

Kara scoffs at this. "You can't be bad at picking pumpkins, Lena. It's just like when you were a kid."

The long stretch of silence at this is telling.

"Lena," Kara says slowly, "have- have you ever been to a pumpkin patch?"

"I buy pumpkin at the store in a can, like a regular person. Half the work, half the price."

"But you can't carve a can of pumpkin puree!"

More silence. Krypto wakes up, shakes his whole roly-poly little body, and lays back down for another nap, snuffling as Lena rubs between his ears.

"Lena. Please tell me you've carved a pumpkin."

"I- I've seen people do it, so-"

"Oh my GOD."

"Kara-"

"What- what did you do at Halloween? No pumpkins! That's like half the fun, aside from all the candy and costumes, and…" Horror spreads across her face almost as fast as a creeping red flush spreads over Lena's. "Honey. Sweetie. Baby. Please, please tell me that your childhood included just one iteration of a normal American Halloween…?"

"Define normal..."

Kara jumps up from the couch, fuming. "I'm gonna punch your mom in the boob. Is it Tuesday? They do visits at the prison on Tuesdays, right? Because, like, I know she's in prison, repaying her debt to society, or whatever, but I'm still gonna go punch her in the boob."

Lena grabs Kara's hand, tugging her to a halt. "Alright, first of all, I appreciate and share the sentiment. Second, please never put your hands anywhere near my mother's boobs. Third, we're gonna stop talking about my mother's boobs, forever. Starting now."

"That's just… why does she suck so bad. Like, so, so badly, she sucks as a person. So bad. Badly sucks."

"Okay, yeah, you're doing that thing where you're so mad you make word puzzles, so I need you to sit down and hold this puppy." Lena lifts Krypto (who growls his fiercest growl and bites her fingers for disrupting his 18th nap of the day) and pushes him into Kara's arms, gratified when she instantly melts, just a little. "Better?"

"Yeah." She heaves a sigh and drops onto the couch beside Lena once more. "Look, if you really don't want to, we don't have to. But it is fun, and it is a disgustingly cute couple-y thing to do, which I know you love even if you pretend you don't."

Lena scoffs. "Prove it."

"You drag me into every photobooth you see and have a collection of all the photos in your desk at work."

Lena flushes a little more, knowing that she's been caught. "It's fun?" she asks quietly, spinning her chunky silver ring around and around on her finger.

"So fun. And it's a good excuse to get out of the city for the day." Kara scoots close, tipping her head so it knocks lightly against Lena's. "Instead of beating up your mom, what if we just make sure you get to do all the stuff you missed, like pumpkin patches and carving Jack-o-lanterns, and all that jazz?"

Lena considers this. "So, we're doing this at least partly to spite my mother?"

Kara beams at her. "Yep! You're gonna get all muddy doing something frivolous just because it's fun. She'd hate it."

"When are we going?"

It's a few days later that they're piled into a borrowed pick-up truck and coasting out of the city in the early morning. Lena has relented the wheel, for once, conceding that she hates driving outside the city and she has no idea where they're going. At least Kara was right about one thing- Krypto is already having a blast, trying his best to stick his entire upper body out the window, and yipping in annoyance when Lena continuously pulls him back into the cab.

One benefit, though, is Kara in what she calls her 'farm clothes', a heretofore undiscovered genre that involves a sturdy and well-loved pair of leather boots, what is clearly a men's flannel shirt tucked into a pair of faded jeans secured with a heavy leather belt, and a goddamn trucker hat.

Lena's really annoyed at how much this look is working for Kara.

Totally annoyed. No other emotion. Or like, squirmy feelings about it in general.

None at all.

"... and of course we'll get some breakfast- hot cider and doughnuts sound good to you?"

Lena blinks, realizes that Kara's been chattering this whole time. "What was that?"

"I asked how you feel about getting some breakfast. You okay? You're kinda spacey today."

"Says the girl from space," Lena snarks.

Kara rolls her eyes, amused. "That joke was only funny the first hundred times."

"Still makes me laugh."

"Fine, fine. But you're good? 'Cause I can hear you thinking, over there."

"I'm good, I just… is it stupid that I'm nervous?"

Kara takes her hand and gives it a squeeze. "Not at all. But you don't need to be nervous or anxious, because it's fun. Okay?"

Lena nods. "Okay." She shifts a bit on the old-school bench seat in the truck. "Why did we borrow this thing, again? My cars are a lot more comfortable."

"Well, Frank would yell at me if I got mud all over one of your cars."

Lena snorts. "He would not, he loves you."

"And, this way, we can get a big one." There's an almost manic gleam in Kara's eyes that's distinctly disturbing.

Lena chooses not to ask questions.

It is not a muddy field.

The dirt road they pull onto doesn't look all that promising at first, but the pumpkin patch itself is pretty, in a rustic, outdoorsy sort of way. Even early in the day there's a decent crowd here, and Kara grins at the sight of the picturesque red barn a ways away cheerfully advertising cider and doughnuts inside. "Nice! I hoped they'd still be doing the cider and stuff!" She hops out of the truck and rounds the front to help Lena down- whoever this behemoth belongs to had installed a lift-kit to it, and it's a fair few feet to the ground.

"I thought this was a pumpkin patch?"

"Well, yeah, but there's an orchard next door or something, so they have apples and pumpkins. And pears, apparently. Ha! A-PEAR-ently! I'm funny," Kara cackles, settling her hands on Lena's hips.

"You're lucky you're so cute," Lena snorts and scoops Krypto up, bracing a hand on Kara's shoulder as she's lifted easily out of the truck and onto the ground. "But you being able to just pick me up like that? Always a turn-on."

Kara laughs, loud and surprised as a flush creeps up her neck. "Good to know."

Lena smirks and sets Krypto onto the ground, and their day begins.

"So," Lena drawls, chewing an admittedly delicious cinnamon cider doughnut, "what constitutes a good pumpkin?"

"Well, obviously, you don't want a squishy one."

"Obviously."

"Tiny ones are cute, but it's really hard to carve them."

"Noted."

"Other than that, it's all personal preference. I say go big or go home, Alex likes the really round ones, Eliza likes hers to be smooth, and Jeremiah loved ugly pumpkins."

"Ugly pumpkins...?"

"Oh, yeah, like, the weirder and bumpier the better. He was really good at carving them, so he could do, like, super cool faces and stuff. He made a witch one time that was really creepy."

Lena pushes up onto her toes to plant a kiss on Kara's cheek. "He sounds like a fun dad."

Kara smiles a little sadly. "He was."

Sensing a rapid downshift in mood, Lena resolves to perk the fuck up. "So! We did doughnuts for breakfast- which I strongly suspect was your real motivation for this little venture…"

Kara's mouth drops open in shock, but her eyes are sparkling with humor. "I would never!"

"Sure. So, as long as the pumpkin isn't soft, it's fair game?"

"Yup! Go nuts! I couldn't get a pumpkin last year, because of that guy from Yavin IV, I'm gonna get a big one this year to make up for it."

Lena fixes her with a look. "Not too big, though, right?"

Kara smiles innocently, letting Krypto tug her a pace or two ahead. "Of course not."

Lena sighs.

Kara really is a terrible liar.

"Lena."

Upon seeing what's caught her attention, Lena nearly drops her own perfectly round pumpkin. "No. Under no circumstances are we getting that one."

Kara's starry-eyed as she stares up at the truly gargantuan squash before her. "It's beautiful."

Lena strongly disagrees- this pumpkin is decidedly ugly, misshapen and lumpy and a shade that's not quite orange or green, but a rather sickly combination of both.

But what it lacks in general aesthetic appeal, it more than makes up for in sheer size. It's wider than Lena is tall, likely taller than she is, too, and is, in general, what Winn would call 'a threateningly large vegetable'. It's on a little platform, a plaque proudly boasting that it'd won some award or other at the state fair a week or so ago. And also its weight:

One thousand two hundred eighteen pounds.

Lena tries for reason. "Kara. Darling. Love of my life. This… thing won a prize. They bred it especially to be giant. There is absolutely no way they're going to sell it to two city-slickers."

And then it happens. After almost a year of dating, and several years of friendship, Lena is well aware of Kara's pout, and especially aware of her own susceptibility to it. She can almost sense when it's about to happen, these days, and she senses it coming now, tries to steal herself against it.

But it's no use. Kara, she could maybe handle. Maybe. But when she bends and scoops up their three-month old puppy to help her pout, Lena is powerless against the assault.

"Alright, that was unnecessary," she complains. "No using our son like that. He doesn't even know why he's pouting."

"But is it working?" Kara asks, hiding her face behind Krypto's and talking in the goofy voice she reserves for narrating his thoughts.

Lena groans, because yes, of course it's fucking working. "No. Kara, they worked hard to make that... gourd. Can't you get another one?"

"I mean, I can," she agrees, peeking over Krypto's head so just her eyes show. "But think about how awesome that's gonna look when I carve it."

Lena sighs. "Kara, they're using it as a draw to get people to come here."

"They're making it like a display in a zoo. People just come and point at it! We can give it a loving home!"

Lena arches a brow. "You literally just said that you want to cut it open, scoop out its insides, and carve it.."

"Well, yeah, but like, lovingly."

Lena snorts, knowing she's lost. "Fine! Fine, we can go ask."

Kara cheers, hopping a bit in excitement and darting forward to press her lips to Lena's in a silly, smiley kiss.

As predicted, the farmer is initially reluctant to sell his prize pumpkin. "It's not the money," he clarifies hastily when Lena doubles her offer for the damn stupid pumpkin. "I need the seeds, to plant next year. I won big at the fair this year, and with those I'd have a hell of an advantage next season. You understand?"

"What if we save the seeds and bring them to you?" Kara offers earnestly. "I can drive them out whenever."

The farmer looks skeptical at this, but Kara's offer doesn't waver under his glare, and he sighs, reaching out to shake Lena's hand and seal the deal. "Fine. Only because your girl is cute."

Lena huffs out a laugh, and Kara positively beams at him. "Thanks so much!"

"But Jake has the tractor out in the maze right now, won't be back for an hour or so to move it for ya."

Kara's grin only widens. "Don't worry, I called a friend for help moving it."

The farmer shrugs, and Lena groans, knowing that one spectacle at the pumpkin patch is about to be replaced by another.

Lena hands the farmer his due for his prize pumpkin, and he turns away before she calls out, catching his attention.

"Sorry, I almost forgot, how much for this one?"

He eyes the normal-sized, perfect pumpkin in Lena's arms and his mouth quirks up in a grin. "For you? On the house."

Supergirl makes a very showy entrance, to the delight of most in attendance (the exceptions being a 74-year old man who thinks anyone who flies should have to get a license, and her girlfriend who is rolling her eyes fondly and wrestling to keep their puppy from revealing her secret identity), landing with a flourish. She smiles brightly at the crowd waving and laughing, high-fiving anyone who offers before shouldering the massive gourd. "Sorry, guys, I'm on a very important mission. Support local farms!"

Lena snorts, loudly, and Supergirl takes off into the air as her ears turn a little pink.

The farmer sidles up to Lena at the back of the crowd, looking a little star-struck. "Wow."

Lena grins, dropping a kiss to Krypto's nose and blowing in his face when he nips at her chin. "Yeah," she agrees. "Wow about sums it up."

The truck rides notably lower on the trip back, the massive pumpkin weighing down the truck bed probably more than is entirely safe.

"So, how was your first trip to the pumpkin patch?" Kara asks with a grin.

"I hated it," Lena deadpans, cradling Krypto in one arm and her pumpkin in the other. On the seat between them are three dozen doughnuts, four gallons of cider, and three bottles of hard cider the farmer's wife had slipped into their bags with a wink.

Overall, it's been a very pleasant experience.

"Oh yeah?"

"Absolutely awful. Hated everything."

"What was the worst part?"

Lena reaches over, grabbing Kara's hand and threading their fingers together. "Spending it with you."

Kara clicks her tongue, shakes her head. "Yeah, that sounds awful. I'm a pain in the butt."

"Yeah. You're kinda cute, though, so I guess it's fine."

Kara chuckles, brings their clasped hands to her mouth and kisses Lena's knuckles. "Good news for me."

Lena smiles, turning her attention back to the window and watching as fields fairly fly by, the low sound of Kara singing in the background making this almost unbearably perfect.

Almost.

"Um… so, funny story…"

Lena arches a brow expectantly, and Kara scuffs her red boots on the floor. "Oh?"

"Yeah. So, the thing is, I tried everything, with the pumpkin, and… it won't fit through the door. None of the doors. Or any of the windows…"

Lena bonds at the waist and laughs until she cries.

That year starts a long-running and much beloved tradition, wherein a truly massive and skillfully-carved pumpkin appears in L-Corp's opulent lobby the first weekend of every October. It later years, it's joined by other, smaller ones, dozens, carved by the children of employees, including those of the CEO herself.

It's a family tradition, after all.

#ask me #supercorp #i geeked so hard when I saw this was from one of my very favorite writers #full-on squeaked #prompts!

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dyscrasia-eucrasia · 4 years

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Part 23

Elaine glared daggers at Angel the entire time he sat on the couch, waiting for Demie to get ready. He wasn't really sure what was taking so long - Demie didn't really seem like the kind of guy to spend a long time fussing over his appearance. Regardless, he really wished Demie would hurry up. He was afraid that if it took much longer, Elaine was going to snap and get a knife from the kitchen and murder him.

"Okay, we can go," Demie said, opening the door to his room and stepping out. He didn't look at all different from normal - his hair needed to be brushed, his stubble hadn't been shaved, his hooves were caked in dirt. He wore a Led Zeppelin shirt and nothing else - which Angel guessed was normal, but it was a little weird that he walked around with his balls just hanging out, even if they were covered with fur. He had a beat up old backpack slung over one shoulder, but otherwise didn't carry anything else.

"Here," Elaine said, holding out her cellphone. "Take this with you. If anything happens - ANYthing - call the house. I'll come get you right away."

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Demie said, walking over to take the phone. As he did, Elaine gave Angel another nasty look.

"You sure you don't want me to come with you guys?" She asked.

"It's fine."

"Are you SURE?"

"Yeah. It's fine. I'll be okay."

"'Cause I can come with you."

"It's fine."

"If anyone asks about your horns or legs--"

"It's a costume, I know. I've got some tapes with me, if anyone asks I'll hand some out. It'll be like promoting the band."

"If you're SURE--"

"YES, I'm sure," Demie stressed. He glanced over to Angel, giving him a 'back me up over here' look. Angel held up his hands as a way of saying, 'you're on your own.' He really didn't want to run afoul of Elaine, and he knew that taking Demie out into the city was already pushing it.

"Be careful, okay?" Elaine said. Angel thought she sounded like a worried mom.

"I will be," Demie replied, sounding like a teenager trying to prove his responsibility.

Elaine turned her attention back to Angel, narrowing her eyes. Angel was worried he would combust on the spot, her look was so angry. "Do not let ANYTHING happen to him," she said through gritted teeth.

"I promise I'll take good care of your boy," he replied.

Demie glanced between Elaine and Angel, his face quizzical. He looked like he didn't quite understand the tension between them. Bless his heart, Angel thought. He was great, but also so dumb.

"Alright, you ready?" Angel said, looking back at Demie and flashing him a smile.

"Yeah. Let's go," Demie said, adjusting the straps of his backpack. He was trying to sound casual, but Angel could see how the muscles in his shoulder and neck were tense. Once again he had that look of a startled animal getting ready to flee.

They made their way outside, down from the deck and over to Angel's car. Elaine followed them to the steps, arms folded over her chest. She continued to glare at Angel until he got in the car and could no longer see her. Demie followed him, nearly folding himself in half to get all six and a half feet of himself into Angel's tiny sedan. Even with the chair lowered as far as it would go, his horns still brushed the roof of the car.

"Ready?" Angel asked, giving Demie another smile.

"Yeah, let's go," Demie said, looking straight ahead.

Angel drove slowly down the dirt road, not in any particular rush. Despite Demie's assertions that he was fine, he was definitely tense, and Angel didn't want to rush him. Demie had confided in him that this was his first time ever going to a music festival.

"What is this?" Demie said after a while, nodding to the car's stereo.

"Hm? You've never listened to Panic at the Disco?"

"No. It's weird."

"Whatever. Sticks and stones, man. I'm used to getting bullied for my music tastes."

"No, I mean…" Demie drummed his fingers on his knees for a moment. "I've just never heard anything like it."

"You've never listened to emo?"

"What's that?"

Angel laughed. "I guess I shouldn't be surprised, since you live under a rock… where do you even get music from, anyways?"

"Elaine," Demie said with a shrug. "Mar and I didn't even know what metal was until we met her."

"That's so interesting," Angel said. "She doesn't really strike me as a metalhead."

"She used to be. But now she listens to all this Japanese music and it sucks. It's so... happy-happy-happy, and everyone sounds like a chipmunk."

"Mm, yeah, I could never get into the J-pop stuff."

"But you're Asian."

"Yes, Demie, I'm Asian. But Japan and Vietnam are two totally different countries."

"Oh. Right." Demie lapsed into silence. Angel pulled off of the dirt road onto a gravel one, and they drove in silence for a while longer. Demie tapped his fingers on his knees in time to the music playing over the car's Bluetooth, and though it was subtle, Angel could see Demie's head bopping along to it, too. It was kind of funny, really. Demie could definitely headbang - Angel had seen it at the concert - but the gentle head-bobbing looked out of place. It was cute.

Demie took a deep breath as they left the gravel road and pulled onto the paved county road. He rubbed his palms against his thighs, then gripped his knees.

"So…" Angel said, "Elaine introduced you to metal music, was the band her idea?"

"No, it was--" Demie's voice cracked a little, and he loudly cleared his throat. "It was Mar's idea. He thought it would be our ticket out of West Virginia."

"I guess that kinda worked out for him, then, huh?" Angel said. "What about you? Why aren't you living it up in L.A.?"

Demie cleared his throat again. When he spoke, he sounded a little hoarse. "Just didn't want to. L.A. just seems like too much pressure. Too many fake people. I like country life better."

"Yeah, I don't think you'd be able to raise your goats in L.A., huh? And it's so fucking expensive out there. I've thought about moving to San Francisco a few times, it might be easier to grow my brand, but the cost of living just isn't worth it."

"You… you have a company?"

"Hm?"

"You said… you have a brand."

"Oh, no," Angel laughed. "No, I mean my social media brand. Y'know, the way I present my life. It's how I'll get sponsorships and stuff, once I'm big enough that people want to live the same life as Angel Vinh."

"That sounds… complicated."

"I mean, it's not that hard. I just show people how I live. Like, you definitely have a brand, or you would if you used social media. Wildman out in the forest who lives in a tiny house and makes his own cheese. Hell, that would be super marketable, because it's interesting. More interesting than me just going to the gym and the club and taking pictures of my abs and ass every day."

"Mm."

"I mean, your way of living, it's just… so organic, you know? And not just because you farm and stuff. I mean, that's really you, you're not putting on an act for the camera. It's really admirable."

"Mm."

The conversation petered out there as they drove through the short row of shops that was Billy Brook. They took a turn and left the town behind, heading south towards Charleston.

"How do you…" Demie said, then stopped.

"How do I what?" Angel gently prodded.

"How do you like… put yourself out there, for the world like that?"

"Mm, well, I've always been an attention whore, so that helps. I just can't stand being a nobody. I want to be famous, y'know? I don't want to be stuck in the same neighborhood, with the same people for all my life. It's like the American Dream, y'know, I want to be better off than how I was born."

"Oh."

"What about you? What do you want from life? I know you said you like country life, but I'm sure you have goals, right?"

"Mm, nope. No goals."

"Really? I kinda envy that. It would be nice not to constantly worry about shit."

"Yeah."

Angel glanced over. Demie was tightly gripping his thighs now, his knuckles going pale from the force with which he was holding himself. Angel wanted him to calm down some.

"So, you excited to maybe pass out some of your tapes?"

"No. They're not really my tapes. Mar is still on them."

"Well, I mean, they're still your music, though. You're still singing and playing guitar on them, right?"

"I guess. No one listens to them for me, though."

"I would. No offense to your brother, but your voice is way nicer."

Demie let go of his legs, rubbing his palms against his fur again. Angel had become aware of how loudly Demie was breathing.

"You know, we don't have to go into the mosh pit or anything if you don't want to. We can hang out at the back of the crowd. I don't even like moshing that much, my boss doesn't like if if I show up to work with bruises, it gives people the wrong idea, y'kn--"

"Can you pull over?" Demie asked. He'd lifted his hands to grip the seatbelt crossing his chest, twisting it like a rope.

"Huh?"

"Pull over. Now."

"Yeah, sure…" Angel murmured, slowing down and pulling off onto the dirt shoulder. "You okay, man--?"

Demie unbuckled his seatbelt, threw the door open, leaned out of the car, and retched into the dirt.

#writing #writers on tumblr #original fiction #gay fiction #lgbt fiction #original characters #wright's writing #w:demie and angel

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cutesuki--bakugou · 5 years

Text

Adopt a Pumpkin

@bnha-halloween2019 | Day 5: Pumpkin Patch | Bakugou x Koge (OC), ft. Matsuki, Natsuki and Atsuki (OCs)| Teen | Cursing, Cute Family Fluff

Art challenge: Use only THESE COLORS

Main art blog @hvalrossart

“I’m gonna find the bestest pumpkin!” Atsuki cried out excitedly, kicking his legs so aggressively in his happiness that he was nearly able to move his car seat about, even though it was strapped down tightly. “Huge!”

“You can’t get too big of one, Atsu, it has to fit in the trunk. Or, all five of ours have to fit, so we have to be equal-ish. Right, Daddy?” Natsuki leaned forward, gripping onto the shoulders of the driver’s side seat where her father was sitting. Only half paying attention to the conversation, Bakugou glanced into the backseat through the rear view mirror, noticing that his two youngest children where gazing at him expectantly.

“What’s that, squid?”

“Yes, baby.” Koge answered for him, turning a bit in the passengers side seat to address her children directly. “We all have to get normal sized pumpkins. Nothing giant, though if you really want a tiny one, then that’s fine. But only one each.”

“How big?” Atsuki’s crimson gaze moved to look at his hands as he tried to measure the length of the pumpkin, as accurately as a four year old could. “Twenty feet?”

Natsuki scoffed, flopping back to sit normally. “Twenty feet is too big! Daddy, how big is twenty feet?” Bakugou furrowed his brow at the question, unable to really think of an example to give his children. They were always so curious, so full of questions and odd conversations that he was completely unsure of what to even answer half of the time in a way that they would understand. As such, he had become quite adept at deflecting when it came to stuff he didn’t know.

“Natsu, we aren’t measuring in feet, we’re measuring in inches. We aren’t even going to measure them, we’re just looking at how big they are. And if they’re in good condition so they hold up when we carve them.” Bakugou kept his eyes on the road as he took a left turn, following the signs to the pumpkin patch they had decided on visiting. This was Atsuki’s first Halloween where he could really participate in an independent way, and so Koge and Bakugou had decided that this would be the perfect first event. Later would be his costume, though he had already settled on being an octopus for… some odd reason.

Natsuki nodded in understanding of her fathers argument, turning her attention to look out of her window. “My pumpkin has to be perfect so that I can make it scary! I want it to have fangs and evil eyes!”

“Me too, me too!” Atsuki cried out in his typical excited squeal, always hell bent on copying his siblings on anything that he could. Koge smiled, reaching back to tickle his feet, making him giggle.

“So two scary pumpkins, huh? I think mine will be cute. What about you Matsuki?” As Koge addressed her oldest son, she turned back to sit normally in her chair, hearing the pages of his book crinkle as he put it down to answer her. He was always the quiet type, stuck in his fantasy worlds during drives while his siblings caused enough ruckus to give anyone a migraine. How he could focus on reading with two obnoxious children beside him was something Koge could never understand, though she sure did wish he’d teach her his tricks.

Noticing they were getting close to their destination anyway, Matsuki placed his bookmark and closed his book, shoving it into the pouch on the back of the passenger’s side seat. “Well, I was thinking about painting mine instead of carving it. I’m… not so good at carving. The knives and stuff make me a little nervous.”

“Matsu, if you wanna be a doctor, you gotta get over being scared of knives.” Natsuki huffed as she fumbled with Atsuki’s shoes, trying to get them back on the constantly wiggling toddler. “How are you gonna do surgery on people if you’re scared?”

“Natsuki.” Bakugou grumbled in his typical ‘dad voice’, instantly getting Natsuki to pause and realize how bad she had sounded. She mumbled an apology to Matsuki, who took it with a smile and a small shake of his head.

“It’s alright, she isn’t wrong. But I just like to paint, so I thought I’d do it on the pumpkin.” The preteen gave a stretch, glad to know that soon he would be out of the car and not squished between the door and a car seat. “I was thinking about doing a monster. But a funny one.”

“I think that would be amazing, baby.” Koge turned her gaze up to her husband, who took a quick glance at her in return. “And what about you, hm?”

Bakugou sighed as he thought, giving a small shrug. “I have no idea. I’m sure I’ll think of something. But no matter what, mine’s gonna be the best.” A smirk crossed his lips as he directed the challenge towards his children, instantly gaining a gasp from his just as competitive daughter.

“No way Daddy! Mine will be the best!”

“No, no! Mine!”

Giving a chuckle as his two youngest went at it with a back and forth argument, Bakugou pulled the car into the pumpkin patch parking lot, which was really just a large rectangle of pebbles with a rickety wooden fence border. There were only a couple of other cars there, which made Bakugou feel better about not having to deal with a huge crowd. “Is there an entrance fee, Utsuro?”

“Mhmm.” Koge responded, able to see the sign near the entrance. “Looks like 500 yen per car. So just that much for all of us. Not bad.” As the car stopped, Koge got out, need to wrangle up the youngest before he took off without them.

With an annoyed grunt, Bakugou turned off the car and got out himself, placing his hand onto Natsukis head once she bounced out as well. Squatting down, he kept her attention, keeping his hand firmly in place. “Remember what we talked about. There’s a time and place for horsing around…?”

“And this is not it.” Natsuki finished the sentence, nodding in understanding. “Don’t worry Daddy, I’ll behave and I’ll help watch Atsu.” She burst out into giggles as Bakugou place a rough and playful kiss on her cheek, joined in with a ruffle of her already messy hair as he stood.

“That’s my girl. Now go on. I’m going to trust you to pick a pumpkin for me, too, okay?”

“Yes, sir!” With that, Natsuki bounded off after her older brother, who was waiting patiently by the entrance to the main farm area. Meeting up with Koge who held Atsuki on her hip, he took a moment to glance around the area, as he typically did for any new place he took his family to. It was a mostly unconscious need to scan the area for any dangers, but all he saw was a pleasant large field of hundreds of pumpkins. Thankfully, the entire area was secured with a fence, as was the small petting zoo they had off to the side. There were very few people about at this time of the day, as they had decided to go closer to dusk so they could have a literal time limit on how long they would be there. Bakugou and Koge both knew that their children could spend forever in a place like this, and dragging them home wasn’t going to be an easy task.

“Seems like a nice place.” Koge spoke softly, probably doing the exact same thing that he had been. She took his free hand into hers, tenderly lacing their fingers as they made their way to the entrance. “We’ll probably have children that smell like goats by the time we leave. You know they won’t be able to resist the-”

“Goats!” Atsuki cried out, pointing towards the petting zoo. “Mama, Daddy, look! Goats! And chickens!” He gave a couple excited bounces, though Koge was able to keep a good hold on him. “Can I pet? Can I pet them?”

“I’m sorry baby, you know that you’re allergic to them like Mommy is. We can pet the chickens and the pigs, but we can’t pet the goats, okay?”

“Yay! I like chickens more than goats. But they’re not for food, right?”

Bakugou chuckled, digging through his coat pocket to pull out the extra 500 yen to pay for entry. “No squid, these are pets. So you treat them nicely, like Socket and the other rats.”

“Yes, Daddy. I wish Socket could have come with us, she likes going on car rides.” Atsuki watched his father closely as Bakugou handed the money to the person at the entrance, thinking fondly of the family’s pet rats at home. “She could have been best friends with the chickens.”

“I’m sure she would have loved it, baby.” Koge shifted Atsuki off her hip and put him carefully on the floor next to his sister, who was nearly bursting out of her skin with excitement. After the fee was paid, the attendant opened up the entrance gate, allowing the family inside. At first, Natsuki and Atsuki both hung back anxiously, glancing up at their parents as they awaited those words.

With a smile, Koge released Bakugou’s hand and instead put her arm around his waist, cuddling into his side as his arm rested over her shoulders. “Go on then, little gremlins! Go find your pumpkins!” Excitedly, the two youngest took off running, with Matsuki following as he took on the role of babysitter as he usually did, even without directions to do so. With a happy sigh, Koge lied her head against Bakugou’s shoulder, walking with him through the rows of pumpkins and hay. “I always love this time of year… So much fun stuff for us to do together.”

Bakugou gave his typical soft grunt in agreement, shoving his free hand into his coat pocket. “The kiddos sure do love it. At least I think Matsu does? He’s so damn mellow I can’t ever tell if he’s enjoying himself or not.”

Koge giggled softly, carefully stepping over a tiny pumpkin that was in her way. “Of course he is. He’s just getting older, you know, to where more childish things like this don’t really entertain him as much as they used to.”

“You think this is childish, Utsuro?”

“I- well, no, not necessarily. I mean, unless you’re just having the time of your life, we can consider this a total adult centered event. Just needs some wine.” Bringing their walking to a stop, she moved to stand in front of him, wrapping both arms around him. “Thank you for taking the day off to come out here. I know it’s not easy to get away.”

Bakugou leaned in to kiss her sweetly, one hand on her side while the other caressed the back of her neck softly. “I wouldn’t miss it. Besides, tomorrow morning my parents are coming to pick them up for the weekend. So guess what?”

Koge smiled, feeling her face flush from the snarky smirk that crossed his lips. “You took the whole weekend off, too?”

“The whole weekend. So I get you all to myself.” Bakugou kissed her again, letting his fingers run through her hair. “Then we’ll really have an adult centered event. And a lot of wine.” Before he could move in to kiss her again, the pitter-patter of speedy little child feet caught his attention, looking down as Atsuki came running up to them, holding something against his chest.

“Mama, Daddy, I found my pumpkin!” He stopped next to them, huffing and puffing from running. Released her husband, Koge squatted down in front of Atsuki, resting her arms on her knees. “Oh yeah? What’cha got there?”

Holding out his arms, he presented Koge with quite the tiny and pathetic looking pumpkin, which was only slightly bigger than her own palm. Confused, Koge took the tiny pumpkin, looking it over a bit. “You mean this?”

Atsuki nodded, placing a tiny finger on the pumpkin. “Yeah. It’s so tiny, no one else would pick it. I wanted to take it home.”

“You feel bad for it?”

“Uh huh. It was covered with hay. It’s sad.” The child took the pumpkin back from her, turning it over in his hands a bit. “I want to give it a nice house to grow up in.”

After sharing a quick glance with Bakugou, Koge smiled at her son, gently pulling him closer so she could give him a tender kiss on the cheek. “You know what? How about we adopt this pumpkin as a family and take it home. You go pick another bigger pumpkin to carve, okay?”

“Really? It’s okay?” Atsuki turned his gaze up to his father, who gave a nod in agreement. Wide smile on his lips, the child handed Koge back the little pumpkin. “Will you protect it, Mommy? Natsuki laughed at it, I think it likes you more.” Taking the pumpkin and standing, Koge held it carefully.

“Of course, baby. I’ll make sure it’s nice and safe. Now go on and pick your carving pumpkin before it gets too chilly.” With her promise to protect his new friend, Atsuki ran back off towards his sister, who was gazing up at the biggest pumpkin in the patch, which was even bigger than her. Placing the pumpkin into her coat pocket, Koge turned her attention back to Bakugou, who was looking down at her with an amused smile.

“Adopt it, huh?”

“What else could I say? That was the cutest thing ever, Katsuki, don’t even try to deny it.” Hooking her arm with his, she started to head towards their children. Bakugou nodded as he followed her, though the smile didn’t fade from his lips.

“Nah, I would have agreed, too. It was cute. That little turd has some softness in him. He’s like a mix of Matsu and Natsu with a shit ton of energy and craziness, but enough empathy to feel bad for a fucking pumpkin of all things. Hey- Natsuki! Get of that pumpkin!” Bakugou interrupted his own sentence to bark at his daughter, who was standing on the large pumpkin. Being caught, Natsuki instead sat down on it, waving towards her parents.

“Wait, Daddy, come take a picture with me on it! This pumpkin is huge! Like, it’s as big as your head!”

Koge couldn’t help but laugh, covering her lips with her fingers as she released Bakugou’s arm to get her phone out of her pocket. “Oh my goodness. I wonder… your physical or metaphorical big head?”

With a scoff, Bakugou gave Koge��s backside a rough pinch, making her squeal and hop away from him to avoid any further punishment. “O-ow! I was just joking!”

“Your joking deserves a pinch.” He stopped next to the pumpkin when they reached it, looking at Natsuki as she was nearly eye level with him now. “You promised me you wouldn’t play around, Natsu.”

“But Daddy, the sign says it’s okay!” Natsuki pointed to the sign beside the pumpkin, which indeed indicated that it was okay for pictures and for small children to sit on. With a grumble, Bakugou ruffled her hair, making her giggle in victory.

“You’re too smart for your own good, squid.”

“Okay!” Koge held up her phone to take a picture, even though she had been secretly taking them the entire time Bakugou and Natsuki had been conversing. “Get together around the pumpkin!” As her children and husband all posed appropriately, Koge snapped who knows how many pictures, before setting the timer and propping it up against other pumpkins. “Now with me in it…” In a rush, she hopped over to stand with Matsuki.

The rest of the evening went like this, with laughter, pictures and treasured family moments abundant. Before the sun set under the horizon, they had their pumpkins loaded into the car and new friends made in various forms, from the friendly farm animals, to neglected baby pumpkins, to a scarecrow that Natsuki appropriately named Ugly Hay Face. By the time the family got settled back into the car, Atsuki was yawning like mad and Natsuki was picking hay out of her hair, tossing it out the window.

With a sigh, Koge bucked her own seat belt, leaning her head back against the seat to smile up at Bakugou. “I think that was a successful event.”

Bakugou nodded, giving her a small smile of his own. “I think so, too. No real casualties. Except for that chicken that thought my hair was hay for whatever reason.”

Koge giggled, rubbing his arm gently. “It does kind of look like hay, love.” Hearing her name from her youngest child, Koge turned her attention to him, first met with outstretched hands.

“Mommy, can I please have the baby pumpkin?”

“Oh,” Koge removed the little thing from her pocket, placing it into his carefully. “Of course, baby. Be careful with it.”

Atsuki cradled the pumpkin to his chest, holding it tenderly. “I will. I think it’s the best pumpkin in the whole world. Even better than the big one.”

“Me too. Definitely the best in the entire patch. Now, how about we get home. Gotta prepare you three for Grandma Bakugou’s house this weekend. Natsuki, baby, don’t throw the hay on the floorboards! How’d you even get that dirty?”

#bnha-halloween2019 #bnha imagines #bnha scenarios #bakugou x oc #bakugou #katsuki bakugou #bnha #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #oc #original character #koge #bakugou x koge #bnha fanfiction #fanfiction #bnha writing blog #cutesuki-oc

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