PINK-Y

Had a thought while barely conscious in bed this morning and I feel the need to exorcise it.

(tw for discussions of eating disorders like ARFID and things of that ilk)

I think about Sherlock a lot (too much) and one of the things that’s kinda captured my attention recently is his eating habits. I’m going through a rough patch with eating myself, and usually when this happens I think of ACD Sherlock saying smthn along the lines of ‘I don’t eat while working on a case, digestion slows me down.’ (that might be a BBC Sherlock thing but I can’t quite remember lmao)

I imagine YNM Sherlock is similar or the same in this case, as we rarely see him eat (off the top of my head I think he ate a cherry at the bar during A Study in S in the anime and then both a sandwich with John on the roof and the floor sandwich Milverton tried to use to humiliate them with, although that was more to prove a point than to get any sustenance from it) and at least once John has reprimanded him for not eating enough. Sherlock is also quite messy and doesn’t often see the point in cleaning as, in his mind, it’s a waste of time and he might have this view when it comes to preparing a meal to eat.

I’m pulling a lot from my own experience here, but with eating disorders like ARFID it’s hard to find motivation to eat/prepare food, and I can imagine Sherlock often feels this way when he gets into a slump between cases or something like that. And although there’s nothing to really prove that he has an aversion to certain foods due to a sensitivity in taste/texture (I imagine his senses are quite heightened in order to make some of his deductions) he probably does stick to a select few foods both because he probably can’t afford many varieties of food and also because his idea of a meal is something quick that he doesn’t have to take time out of his day to prepare.

Miss Hudson has cooked for Sherlock and John on occasion, although I don’t think this is a very regular occurrence given their dynamic. However, she probably does make something for one or both of them if she thinks he hasn’t been eating enough recently.

Sherlock probably also gets quite hyper focused on cases when they come up (even more so when the Lord of Crime pops up) and so he doesn’t always notice when he’s hungry since it’s not something he’s really thinking about. Also, smoking cigarettes can reduce your appetite and with the way Sherlock smokes he’s definitely not realising how hungry he is until he’s on the brink of starvation. Also drugs…enough said there.

Idk, I just think it’s interesting and especially with how the fandom tends to put Liam as the one who doesn’t eat enough while Sherlock is the exasperated one trying get him to eat something goddamnit. Such a dynamic isn’t exactly wrong per-say, and I believe it says in the character profiles that Sherlock gained some weight post fall, most likely thanks to Billy poking and prodding him into eating and also working regularly and therefore have more of a desire to eat, especially after taking on missions with a lot of field work. He also probably wanted to set an example for Liam so that he eats more too. And he stopped smoking and doing drugs, so that probably improved things quite a lot too.

But like anything to do with mental health and disorders, things come and go in waves and it’s likely Sherlock would have moments where he ‘relapses’ and will go a long time without eating much or just feeling generally unmotivated to make food on top of nothing really appealing to him taste-wise y’know?

I think it’s also this dumb sort-of-headcannon of mine that makes me generally less keen on art/fics that portray Sherlock as being significantly larger/broader than Liam and I don’t mean the slight difference between their figures in the official art/manga/anime I mean like a noticeable difference you know?

Cus I mean…Sherly has muscle cus of his martial arts(?) training and maintaining that through his work, but he’s also a skinny coke addict who smokes too much and eats too little, there’s not going to be an insane difference between him and Liam like some ppl like to portray, y’know?

But anyway, people will always view characters differently and do what they want with them in their fanworks, it matters very little in the end lmao

If you made it this far thank you for listening to me ramble, I hope it wasn’t too nonsensical TuT

2/6/24

interesting day today; got home at 10:40, it's 12:20 now. work was ok, I mean - closing was bad. really bad. its not on me though, so whatever. maybe its easier to cope when i can blame someone other than myself. the rest was good, i breaded today, which ive grown an affinity towards. ive been getting scheduled with P more than anyone else; he always puts me on breading. its cool to bread when hes managing because we can talk, which makes the time go faster.

before that i ate pizza, and a chicken breast as a kind of late lunch - i didnt eat much at school (H wanted it) - though i did eat breakfast which is semi-rare. It was a sausage biscuit. getting out of the school today was horrible, i think im gonna start leaving through the side exit down to new school road to avoid the traffic - also my theory has been basically confirmed, it is indeed easier, faster, and more fuel efficient to circumnavigate the traffic by going through deloach rather than to push through it in the morning.

i missed a beta meeting this morning, i dont know how many points i have - i dont care. C sat with me at breakfast today, which is a rare occurrence, i think me and him are becoming somewhat closer but i cant really tell. i missed the beta meeting because i didn't know about it in the first place but i would've made it ironically had i not woken up with greasy hair and decided to wash it this morning, and had i not taken the 'faster' way.

art class was good - well, we didn't get to talk much at all... actually, i take it back, art class was subpar. very little banter ensued, which is the real reason im in there. we had to do actual work. sucked. biology was fine, took a quiz, 96, test friday. im pretty sure she heard me refer to pollen as 'plant nut'.

lunch food sucked, but i didn't eat much of it so does that matter? english was fine, she attempted a pop quiz but i had already heard about it- plus it got interrupted by a tornado drill - which i'm pretty sure we failed. our plan is shoddy at best, we had kids double stacked on the walls. public speaking was interesting as always, meditated in there. which i might start doing regularly, i was anxious in there for some reason, meditating helped. mrs. waters reminds me of mrs. kelly.

i got mcdonald's after work, but ordered from the wrong one (the ghetto one by the college) so i had to go across town to get it, which added like 30 minutes to my route. the sandwich wasn't even that good. oh well. c'est la vie.

i should be going to sleep but i feel like im owed some me-time, and this is pretty much all im going to get. im gonna restrict instagram to 25 minutes a day, i think. ive reverted back to being a diet coke fiend. one of life's greatest pleasures is an ice cold diet coke from a can.

i need to put gas in my car but im trying to get it to where my mom has to fill it up when she drives my car on friday, i have 85 miles, its tuesday. i dont think im going to make it. i have a haircut one of these days, but im not sure when. ive been thinking about growing it out again, mostly because i saw chip gaines on that fixer upper show, and i think it looked kind of good in a weird way. but haircut for now.

i think writing about my day at the end of it is a good way to end my day. i need to get night face cream, i probably need to shave. if its not cold id like to get outside tomorrow. my legs hurt from standing all day. i cleaned my room today. ive been thinking about going to church. idk with whom. its been so long since ive been. maybe im missing out on something? idk, i'd go with C and M.E., shes invited me before, weird to think im actually considering it.

i suppose this is long enough already.

its only tuesday. i cant believe its only tuesday.

The Demon Brothers: Creative Outlets Headcanons

they are all immortals and when you've lived longer than you can remember, you're bound to find a creative outlet to destress, alleviate boredom, or you know, to just have fun!

Lucifer

He’s a busy demon. If he’s not working, he's sleeping, or cleaning up one of his brother’s messes, so he doesn't have that much time to just relax and explore his creative sides. 

That said though, it doesn’t mean he has no hobbies at all.

He plays the piano. He used to play it every morning, back when he’s still in the Celestial Realm, when he’d taught Lilith how to play the piano every morning and she’d sat besides him as his fingers moved across the keys slower so she could copy him. 

Nowadays, playing the piano feels very nostalgic and bittersweet, but you’ll hear soft, bittersweet melodies drift from the music room once in a while.

He also composes his own music, but that's an even rarer occurrence. The last time he created a new music piece was centuries ago. 

(Ever since MC came to Devildom though, he's been itching to write music for them.)

Practices calligraphy for fun. He has a whole set of brushes and ink and lettering pens. His handwriting is already beautiful but his calligraphy is even more amazing.

Another thing he does is gardening. He's got a great eye for landscape architecture, he's the reason why the house's backyard is pretty. 

He plants decorative plants and likes to cross breed flowers so the House of Lamentation's backyard is full of pretty shrubs and unfamiliar flowers. 

He is usually joined by Beel as he is the other brother that finds gardening very relaxing.

Mammon

He definitely shows his creativity by coming up with the most absurdly brilliant, out-of-the-box, original schemes to make money.

Mammon can draw, like really good. His drawings are very realistic. He prefers to use traditional media: charcoal pencils, graphite sticks, blenders, erasers, drawing pens, brushes, and maybe some watercolors.

He usually does architecture sketches.

But if you check his drawers, you’ll find several sketchbooks of his brothers in different candid poses. MC alone has taken up three whole sketchbooks. Mammon makes sure MC doesn’t see those sketches though.

Crashes Asmo’s Art Day regularly, claiming that if Levi’s invited then the Great Mammon should be too. Asmo and Levi always complains but they let him stay anyway.

Mammon also has a natural talent on jewelry making and metalwork. He makes jewelry from buttons, beads, pearls, diamonds, and crystals. From small pendants to elaborate neckpieces, simple anklets to ornate hairpins. 

Mammon has made metal bookmarks for Satan because the book lover always misplaces his bookmarks or destroys them in fits of rage when he doesn't like a book's ending.

He sculpts wood. It takes him months to finish one small piece because he only does it when he's really, really bored, he prefers to make his much more profitable jewelry. 

He keeps all of his sculptures in his room, small and detailed pieces of wood engraving of Devildom native animals lining up on one of the shelves.

Leviathan

This is canon but he draws! He doesn't think he's very good at it, but he really enjoys it. 

Unlike Mammon who likes to draw with his charcoal pencils and drawing pens, Levi prefers to draw digitally. He still switch to traditional media now and then though.

Has a monthly scheduled “Art Day” where he and Asmo hang out together, Levi draws with his sketchbook or his drawing tablet and Asmo paints. They basically just gossip and hype each other’s art.

Dabbles in making short animations but feels like it’s just not something for him. He makes short comics though.

He wants to be able to make his own video game someday though. Maybe after he learns programming.

He makes the most detailed cosplay outfits for his own cosplays. He sews really good and patches his brothers clothes when they ask. Where do you think Asmo learns how to sew his own clothes from?

Really good at dancing and he really likes it too. He's a natural at it. From the most intricate traditional Devildom dances to freestyle dancing. He can make new moves on the spot and can copy any moves from one look.

He’s a shy baby though, you’ll rarely see him dance when he’s sober.

Except when he’s playing DDR (Demons Dance Revolution). Then, it’s like he’s the most confident demon in Devildom.

Satan

Satan writes poetry when inspiration strikes him. He has also written short stories but he always comes back to creating beautiful poems. He’s got a way with words.

Photography is something he has only recently taken interest in but he has a great eye for taking breathtaking shots. 

Has become the family’s go-to photographer.

“Satan, take a picture of me and Mammon!” “Satan, take our picture, quick!” “Satan, help me get a picture for my Devilgram!”

He’s the reason Asmo’s Devilgram pictures always look like they’re taken professionally in a photo studio or something.

Satan loves art, likes to stroll through museums and stare at paintings for hours, but has little talent in creating them. Even so, he still likes to paint even if he's not good at it. 

Sometimes he just wants to slap paint on a canvas and make a colorful mess. It's fun. 

He joins Art Day every other month.

Another thing he does is knitting! It relaxes him. It gives him something to focus at when he's angry (um, angrier than usual), just to give his hands something to do that doesn't involve breaking anything. The simple patterns he makes are easy enough that they don't frustrate him. 

Rarely ever finishes his knitting though, you'll just find this 5 meters long knitted fabric in one corner of his room with the ends coming undone because he calms himself down enough to stop knitting.

Asmodeus

Regularly designs, cut, and sew his own clothes. 

Has a lot of sketchbooks full of drawings of flowy dresses and stylish coats and many aesthetically pleasing shirts. 

He has started his own clothing line and sometimes collaborate with Majolish. 

But for the most part, he designs clothes for himself and himself only, he doesn't want anyone else to wear clothes as fabolous as his.

Nail art? Nail art. 

Asmo paints all of the brothers nails and sometimes he'll persuade one of them to let him do a complete manicure, with glitter polish and shiny studs and all. 

Yes, even Lucifer. You just never see the results because Lucifer wears his gloves almost all the time.

Asmo creates beautiful makeup art. He doesn't really like a lot of makeup on his own face though, so his brothers' faces are his canvases.

He also has a great eye for interior decorating and flower arranging. He restyles his room every month.

Not many people know it but he paints. And he's very good at it. He has done a painting of each brother, the paintings can be seen on the walls of the House of Lamentation's hallways. 

Art Day with Levi (and sometimes Satan or Belphie) is spent with him in front of canvases, chatting with his brothers, paint splatters on his hands. It's the only day that he doesn't mind looking a little messy.

Beelzebub

He cooks, of course!  And bakes too!

It's one of the times he’s willing to wait to eat because cooking the ingredients first rather than just straight up eating them will make the foods taste better. 

Half of the food in the kitchen are his creations. Anything he can make on his own from scratch, he will; jams, ice cream, sauces, juices, bread, chips, etc. 

Likes to experiment and always do something different than the original recipes. 

He garnishes his cooking like it’s something you order from a five star restaurant.

Beel is another demon who has a green thumb. He likes taking care of plants and doesn't mind getting a bit dirty doing it so gardening is another hobby of his. 

If Lucifer plants ornamental plants, Beel grows useful plants like herbs and vegetables and small fruits. He's also good at topiary.

Always has an idea for a DIY project. 

His creations is scattered all over the House of Lamentation. Belphie's drawer divider is made out of yogurt cups. Broken drawer knobs recycled into Asmo's jewelry organizer. The coat rack. The bathroom towel holder. 

Even Lucifer's hanging Demonus rack is handmade by Beel when he's bored one weekend, with Mammon's help for the engraving decorations along the sides of the rack. Beel's got a bit of Bob the Builder in him.

He is very good at singing. His voice is clear and he has a broad vocal range. Has been caught unconsciously humming in class many times.

Has definitely sang Belphie to sleep.

Belphegor

Does his pranks counts as a creative outlet though?😂 Between him and Satan, Belphie's ideas are the most creative and out of the box, resulting on some of the best pranks they did.

Belphie does origami. It's relaxing, easy enough to learn, and doesn't take much effort and energy to do it. 

Has stacks of origami papers in his room: standard origami paper, foil paper, traditional Washi ones, the leather-like Momigami paper, all kinds of paper. 

He especially loves to make little origami stars and keeps them in glass jars in his room.

Belphie also has adult coloring books. 

And kids coloring books.

Coloring is relaxing to him. It's very calming to just lay down and fills a page with pretty colors for a while. It's not a tiring way to destress, he can color without moving from his bed, and it feels satisfying when he finishes a whole page. 

He sometimes joins Art Day if he's not too lazy to move. Still prefers to color alone where it's quiet though.

He also journals. It's another thing he can do that is inexpensive and not energy consuming. He writes about anything that comes to his mind, his thoughts, his ideas, memories. 

Definitely keeps a dream journal.

Also I headcanon that as the Avatar of Sloth, sleep and dreams are some of the things he can manipulate. He enjoys creating dreams; the worldbuilding, the story, the details. He can be really creative when it comes to making them, spinning the most vivid and imaginative dreams. 

They’re not necessarily good dreams though. After all, he is still a demon, his dreams will most likely mess up your mind than make you smile in your sleep.

Moceit Appreciation Week :: Baking

Read on Ao3

Art by @nonchimerical​

tag list: @sanderssidesangsttrash @catalinaacosta @whatishappeningrightnow @the-snekwhisperer-world @varthandi @the-dead-and-the-decaying @serpentinesomebody ​

CW: Food mention, moral ambiguity Word Count: 2327 Genre: Hurt/Comfort Rating: Gen Ships: Moceit, implied if you squint Dukeceit

To support my writing & get access to exclusive content not posted anywhere else, consider subscribing to my Patreon.

          The flower shaped cookies sat mockingly on the stove, having long gone cold. Two tubs of white frosting had been placed on the counter with some food dye as well. Many times he had second guessed the unassuming vials of concentrated hue--was it too much? Just as many times he had stood, picked up a frosting container, rolled it in his hands, picked at the aluminum before convincing himself not to peel it back, not to sink his finger in, not to cope with Janus’ absence by consuming a gluttonous amount of sugar. 

          He’ll show, of course he would. Janus hadn’t forgotten or … ditched him like that before. Just because he was preoccupied with something beforehand doesn’t mean he was forcing himself to come, forcing himself to spend time with him, indulging him, patronizing him … Janus would never, he enjoyed stuff like this! Even if … even if it was just for the sweets. 

          “Oh dear,” Patton inhaled between his sugar-coated teeth, shaking his head down at the demolished tub of vanilla frosting.

          “Am I interrupting?” Patton jumped, hiding the nearly empty container behind his back, looking exactly like Pooh Bear after a honey binge, Janus thought. 

          “Janus!” Patton greeted, a little too much excitement and anxiety in his voice. “N-no, of course not, I was just,” He faltered, glancing at the cookies like they held an easier way of saying, I was waiting for you, thanks for not breaking my heart.

          “...Testing the frosting?” Janus teased, easing into the kitchen, amusement sly on his lips.

          “Yeah! Something, hah, something like that.” Patton chuckled down at the floor, a shoulder shrugging as he apprehensively brought the evidence forward. He weighed it nervously in one hand before grinning at Janus. “I guess it’s a good thing we had two containers!”

          “Mm,” He hummed down at his hands as he peeled his gloves off. A rare occurrence of course, but having spent plenty of time baking together, one Patton had at least slightly adjusted to. A patch of shiny scales that spread from Janus’ left knuckle up to his wrist gleamed with the movement of folding his gloves neatly on the counter. Occupied with the curiosity Patton felt observing something so … pretty, he didn’t notice Janus reaching with a bare thumb to wipe away a sizable glob of sugar from the side of Patton’s mouth until the sensation jogged him out of thought. Janus looked down at it before placing it between his own teeth. Despite the way Patton’s mouth gaped, Janus continued to delicately scrape the sugar onto his tongue. “A good thing, indeed.” He smirked at Patton, satisfied with watching the glow of his grin quickly turn into a scarlet blush. 

          “Y-yeah,” Patton breathed, absolutely dumbstruck as Janus turned towards the stove. Relieved at no longer being scrutinized so closely, his head fell; cool palms pressed to his burning cheeks and a ragged breath was pulled in as quietly as he could manage. Dully he registered the sound of bowls being placed on the counter, but they didn’t make sense through the ringing in his ears. 

          His thoughts raced in circles as he tried to decode the meaning behind that flirtatious gesture. Patton wasn’t stupid of course, but he was an expert at assuming far too much of others’ words and actions; a pro at falling in love with basic kindness. The habit made him think at least four times over about everything ever since Thomas’ last heart crushing break up. Janus had to know that, right? And if he did, that made him really mean, didn’t it? Why then, did Patton enjoy it so much?

          “...cold now, the frosting will be easier, right?” Janus paused for Patton to answer, setting the dye vials next to some arbitrarily chosen bowls. When the other didn’t respond, Janus turned just as Patton’s hands fell in a cartoonish motion. Janus caught the action in a blur, shaking his head back with a quirked brow. Patton blinked, eyes wide before catching up to the moment. 

          “Y-yeah, yes!” He nodded, again too eagerly, and assumed his position at the stove next to Janus.

          “Wonderful,” Janus clapped his hands softly together at his chest. “This should be easy then,” He observed as he turned his head to smile at Patton in a way that had red climbing up his neck again.

          Patton forced himself to inhale through his teeth and focus on the moment instead of how close they were standing.

          “Thanks for getting the bowls,” Patton reached to place the vial of yellow dye in one before handing it to Janus. Reaching for a bowl of his own, Patton realized he didn’t know which color he wanted to start with. There were so many to choose from! Patton tapped his chin as Janus took the remaining tub of frosting. The signature sound of the aluminum being pulled back accompanied the rest of Patton’s sentence, which was mumbled almost shyly. “I wasn’t sure if you would think mixing the dyes was too much effort.”

          “Says the person who insists on making the dough from scratch every time,” Janus snorted easily as he dolloped a spoonful of frosting in his own bowl, and then Patton’s. Patton bowed his head with a small bit of shame, but smiled at the way Janus teased him. “I know what I’m getting into every time I join you,” Janus continued, squeezing a couple drops of yellow into his bowl. Somehow Janus made the sound of a fork scraping against porcelain repeatedly not annoying. Patton didn’t know how he managed that; it always seemed like the second he held a utensil near anything, annoying noise was unavoidable. 

          “I guess that’s true,” Patton mumbled, finally settling on starting with purple. He planned to do a few of everyone’s favorite colors and let them know they were on the counter for the taking. Well, except yellow and green of course. Janus always did his and Remus’ himself. Carefully he squeezed a couple drops of blue and red into his bowl, tongue poking out the side of his mouth; Paton’s telltale sign of concentration. Knowing this, Janus let a few moments pass in silence as he began artfully scraping his pastel yellow mixture into a ziplock bag, which would eventually have its tip cut off to make piping the frosting onto the perfectly shaped cookies that much easier. 

          As Janus finished with that, Patton beamed at his perfectly purple colored frosting. The color had come out flawlessly, his concentration paying off well. “Making some for Virgil?” Janus asked conversationally as he held a ziplock bag open for Patton to begin spooning his mixture into. 

          “And Roman and Logan, of course,” Patton assured with a smile of appreciation as his tongue poked out once more.

          “Of course,” Janus sassed but fell silent again as he watched Patton make sure he got every inch of the frosting inside the bag. He wondered how Patton ever did this without him. Had Roman helped? He couldn’t imagine the superfluous Prince capable of staying still long enough to hold a bag like this. The idea of Logan helping was almost comedic. Perhaps Virgil then … The two did get on very well and the brood had a history of helping Janus in the kitchen, years ago.

          “Alright! Next color,” Patton cheered. Janus’ smile twitched and he busied himself with folding the bag of purple, squeezing out the air to be placed on the counter for later.

          The bowls were placed in the sink and the process was repeated with a couple of clean ones, now with Janus mixing the forest green with a hint of yellow to achieve the Duke’s signature lime color. He watched as Patton used about half the tube of blue for Logan’s indigo shade, complaining all the while that it wasn’t dark enough and looked too much like his own favorite baby blue. 

          Janus hummed as he observed it; it was true, the color was far too light. “Try a couple drops of this,” He offered, reaching and handing Patton the unopened bottle of black food coloring. 

          “Black?” Patton said almost indignantly. His bottom lip jutted out an inch as he looked down at the bottle, turning it in his hand.

          “Well, he likes dark blue, doesn’t he?” Janus questioned, wondering how on earth he could have offended Patton with the color black.

          “I guess…” He trailed off, glancing between the bottle and the pretty light blue in the bowl. “It’s just…” Patton paused, realizing his thought was a bit silly, but it felt like a good question. Janus never made him feel stupid for asking things at least, even if the answer seemed obvious. “Logan’s … on our side, isn’t he?” Janus quirked a brow, his expression devoid of amusement suddenly. “L-like, mine and …. and Roman’s… I mean.”

          Silence hung in the air for several seconds. Patton had begun regretting the question; usually, Janus had some sort of answer immediately. His mind was much faster than his, able to connect things instantly where Patton couldn’t even begin to see a relation. His explanations were always succinct, at least to him. This sort of pause was … rare, if not unheard of. He anxiously rolled the bottle in his hands, wishing he could just sink out and leave.

          Janus started with a quiet click of his tongue as his head turned to look at the wall behind the stove. “Since when is color indicative of that sort of thing,” Janus mused rhetorically. Another pause ensued and Patton wasn’t quite fast enough to draw his own conclusion from that line alone. He did start to wonder, however, if he had managed to hurt Janus’ feelings, and if that was why he was reluctant to answer.

          “Yellow doesn’t exactly scream evil, does it,” Janus said with too much venom on his tongue as he looked back at Patton and jabbed a hand almost violently at the bright gloves resting on the counter. Patton held the bottle to his chest, shrinking away as Janus’ anger showed. He didn’t like when Janus got angry, but he at least understood it. He knew he could be frustrating.

          “Neither does bright green, right?” Janus tilted the bowl towards Patton unnecessary before sighing. “Your side, my side,” He mumbled, walking away from the counter. Patton frowned at the ground as Janus reigned his frustration in. 

          He had a point. Yellow was bright and happy; the sun was yellow, dandelions, sunflowers … lots of good things were yellow; and green was everywhere. Not exactly the Duke’s shade of green, but green nonetheless, Patton guessed. Why had he never noticed it before? Between everyone, only he and Roman wore bright colors, but that didn’t make Virgil, in his black hoodie and equally black jeans, any less good than either of them! What did that mean for yellow and green then, if even a color as dark as indigo was to be considered light?

          “I’m sorry,” Patton sighed, shoulders deflating. He cautiously approached Janus’ back.

          “No, no,” Janus muttered, fingers pressed to his brow with a thumb on his cheek, a hand on his hip as he berated himself for showing so much of his aggravation. “I shouldn’t have gotten so upset.”

          “I get it,” Patton’s tone smiled bitterly as he hesitatingly placed a hand on Janus’ shoulder. “I’m really frustrating and ask stupid questions sometimes.”

          “Pat…” Janus turned his head to frown at Patton. “That’s not…”

          “Forget I asked anything,” he squeezed Janus’ shoulder and nodded towards the cookies on the stove. “C’mon, we should finish up.”

          Janus stared at the wear on Patton’s face for a long moment. The air was sweet and not just because of the frosting on Morality’s teeth. There he went, hurting Patton again. Would he ever be able to stop?

          “Sure,” Janus deflated and reached up to place a hand over Patton’s on his shoulder. For a moment, Patton’s facade fell and the surprise in his expression was genuine, but the slip was only quick enough for Janus to catch. 

          The familiar routine continued, now silently as Janus scooped Remus’ green into a bag. Patton stared down at the black dye in his hand but only paused briefly before tearing it open and poising the tip above the bright blue frosting. Janus held his breath and it seemed Patton was doing the same.

          “I’m sure Log--” Janus started, about to reassure Patton with the idea that Logan would enjoy a cookie no matter its color, but was interrupted by two black globs falling into the bowl finally. Janus closed his mouth and watched from the side of his vision as Patton began mixing the color thoroughly; slowly at first, and then as the blue darkened to a familiar indigo, faster. 

          “Oh,” Patton sighed, soon smiling down at the bowl of perfect Logan-colored frosting. “It’s perfect,” He grinned at Janus, seeming to instantaneously forget their altercation.

          Janus’ smile back was softer, much more relieved than anything. “It is,” he nodded and reached for a bag to hold open once more. When Patton had finished scooping the frosting inside and Janus had turned to place the bag with the other two, Morality paused.

          “Thanks,” He mumbled to Janus’ back, hoping he would attribute the sudden appreciation to helping with Logan’s color. Really, Patton wasn’t quite sure what it was he realized, but he did realize something about the black and white way he viewed everyone; and that was thanks to Janus, as usual.

          Janus ran his hands over the ziplock bags laying atop each other. Yellow, purple, green, indigo, soon to have light blue and red together with them. The colors didn’t mean anything, even if they were obviously representative of a specific person here. Sure, they could theorize all day about why each color, but what did it matter? A little darkness in someone didn’t make them all bad, obviously.

          “Of course, dear.”

Chapter One || Chapter Three

Could I Need You This Much

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: After Bucky is left at the alter he asks you, his childhood best friend, to go with him to Rome so the non-refundable honeymoon doesn’t go to waste. Wanting to support him through his breakup you decide to telework and tag along. There’s a little problem: You’ve always been oblivious about your own feelings until you’re head over heels.

Word Count: 5.8k

Warnings: Modern!au, wedding day break-up, language, past injury mention, fluffy... chronically fluffy

A/N: *THIS IS SUPPOSED TO BE A ONE SHOT* This is my submission to the [belated] birthday challenge for @burninmatches​​​​ and I chose to combine two prompts from the challenge for this fic. First, the soulmates trope. Second, the song “Head Over Heels” by Tears For Fears ; The beautiful dividers were made by @whimsicalrogers​​​

Bucky was always a quiet person, but you’d never seen him this quiet. You had just stepped out of the bathroom in your cute little tux and mini-bowtie, arms splayed out wide making jazz hands. The proclaimed ‘tada’ fell silent on your ruby-painted lips the moment you saw his downcast gaze at his phone. “Buck? Hey, talk to me, what’s going on?”

Steve was checking to make sure things were good to go; the irony of that, he thought. You would be the one to find him like this. “She broke it off. No wedding.” Those were the only words the Army veteran could muster as his lungs felt like ice and his mind filled with water.

You fell to your knees in front of him, kicking off your shiny black heels and pulling his phone from his hand to throw it to the side. “So let’s go. Let’s get out of here. Steve will take care of the crowd. We’ll get Nat to handle the vendors, she’s intimidating enough to stop them from asking questions. You don’t need to be here. You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to. You tell me what to do and consider it done.”

This was what you did with the boys. Steve and Bucky were practically brothers and the three of you were the Musketeers of Brooklyn. You had weaseled into their lives because you had been the talker, the sidekick, the advice giver. Advice...you tried your best with this relationship and though you wouldn’t dare say you told him so, there had been so many bumps along the way. Even sweet Steve had drunkenly said Bucky could do better, about as harsh a judgement as Steve could ever muster. She had drunkenly complained that she hated how close the three of you were, you’d brushed it off. Bucky had been played, taken her back more times than you and Steve could count, and he’d put up with so much to make her happy. ‘At what cost’ was all you could manage to think.

There was a guilt in the pit of your stomach, a little voice in the back of your head, this was your fault. Maybe if you’d spoken up, but there wasn’t time to stay stuck in your own head as Bucky started to pull at his slicked back hair. Grabbing his hands in yours, detangling the mess he made, you pulled him up. “We’re getting out of here, simple as that. If you can’t tell me what to do, I’ll take care of this.”

When his rough hands pulled from yours it felt like he was about to protest, but his hands just went back to his face, blocking you from the sight of fresh tears. It was the first time you’d seen him cry from anything other than infectious laughter. Steve was the emotional one, Bucky was the glue, and you were... trading your heels in for the Chelsea boots you’d worn on your bike ride to the chapel. Grabbing your bag, you shoved in his wallet, phone, anything else that was small and his and put the bag on him. Pulling him to the exit you Gave him your helmet and grabbed Steve’s with little hesitation, a fleeting glance at Bucky’s car covered in hideous ‘just married’ decor. “Just hold on to me. It’s been a while since I’ve had anyone bigger than me on the back.”

He didn’t acknowledge you with words, just little tilts of his head, eyes downcast. Even when you started the motorcycle and patted the seat to get on, Bucky marched like a tin soldier to orders. You were grateful for the noise of your bike and the city, and the built in Bluetooth speakers and mic in your helmet so you could call Steve. With a promise to somehow get his helmet back to him and to make up for the shitstorm that he and Nat would have to handle, you hung up and crossed the Brooklyn Bridge and escaped to the one place you knew no one would look for you except possibly Steve, Plumb Beach.

Hand in hand you two walked onto the small beach and you only let go to dig in the bag he still wore for the clothes you’d worn to the chapel to throw them on the sand for the pair of you to have a seat. His eyes searched far and wide, still staying off of you, so to give him some space, you emailed your boss that the three days off next week, your personal time to recover from the partying and subsequent clean up, should just be changed to a full week of telework. With no complaints outside of a joke that you really needed a real vacation, you tucked your phone into your pocket and really looked at Bucky. The sun on his tanned skin, face clean shaven - a rare occurrence, and the lines on his face from years of stress and pain or chronic infectious laughter. As your lips parted to try and weasel the latter out of him, his gentle voice came out in a raspy whisper, “I was looking forward to the trip to Italy. I thought it was going to be a fresh start for us, a new chapter.”

You draped your arm over his shoulder, pulling him close and his chin rested on your shoulder. “Bucky, I know that you know those two things aren’t the same.” Running your fingers through his hair to comfort him like he’d comforted you through your own fair share of breakups, you let out a sigh, “But today it’s okay to let her burn in your lungs and your heart and your head... It’s okay to scream it out or cry. Whatever it takes to not let this moment consume you because you’re going to come out on top. You’re not alone, not for a second.”

When he pulled away you thought he was pulling away for space or going to give some grandiose speech about how you didn’t understand and how he was alone. Instead he was reaching for your hand, pulling you up and, with three squeezes and the corner of his lips you knew what was coming. The quiet countdown, the setting sun, a throwback to junior prom and your ex making out with your nemesis under the bleachers. “One.” You started, eyes on him.

“Two.” His bright blue bloodshot eyes on you.

“Three.” Two pairs of lungs in unison soon empty of air as they let out billowing calls to nowhere.

Two tuxedoed buffoons getting odd looks, Bucky pulling you into his side, and no sound but the waves whispering as you let him process. “Let’s get out of here.”

While you were relieved he was finally stringing along more than a word or two you weren’t sure what he meant. It was the way his eyes seemed to light up like he was having a ‘eureka’ moment. “The last time you looked at me like that you decided we had to take a cross-country road trip before you and Steve left for bootcamp.”

Bucky tugged you back to the bike, “And wasn’t that exactly what we needed?”

Despite your laughter, the knowing that the trip was what you all needed to cope with the gang breaking up, you still recalled how the boys barely made it to the bus on time. Passing him Steve’s helmet with a nod, Bucky pulled it on without shaking hands or hesitation. “Where are we going?”

“My suitcase is in my car. Can you get off work?” You didn’t need to see his expression to know there was a puppy dog look of optimism on his face.

“I actually already did.” As you mounted your bike and Bucky flipped up the visor and you were surprised to see him looking so surprised. “What?” Clearing your throat and flipping your own visor down he got on and you hollered over the engine. “Steve has your keys, too. I’ll tell him to drive it over to you, you can have your suitcase, he can have his helmet. Now where are we going while we wait on him?”

“Yours, knucklehead. You’ve got a bag to pack.”

It wasn’t all that surprising that Steve couldn’t leave on a whim. His job as an art therapist for veterans wasn’t exactly something he put before a social life. As Bucky pulled luggage from the trunk Steve pulled you to the side, “I’m only letting him go on this trip because you’re going. If anything happens I’ll find a way to get there. I’m sorry I...”

Pressing your fingers to his lips you hushed him. “I may not be a therapist, but you two are my best friends. I’m not going to let him lock himself in a bathroom, throw himself off a gondola, or...”

Steve interrupted you with side-holding laughter, “Oh dear, you might need this more than him you uncultured swine. There are no gondolas in Rome.”

“No gondolas in Rome? Well fuck, we better pick a new place to run off to.” Bucky half-smiled as he leaned his head into the door. “We are still putting my non-refundable honeymoon to good use, aren’t we?”

Punching Steve in the arm, you called back at the blonde, “See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya!”

Bucky stayed, talking to Steve for more than a couple of minutes while you flipped through work emails and kept your boss in the loop on the telework situation. All the while, only catching the tone of concern in Steve’s voice, not the words. Before you knew it you were on your way, body scans and bag checks, and with Bucky’s eyes averted you flipped through social media to see if it was safe to let him near his own phone. It wasn’t, at least not yet. It wasn’t just that she had changed her Facebook relationship status or that she deleted the countless pictures chronicling their relationship, it was that she had unfriended every person around Bucky that had put up with her for his own happiness. It made you wonder what happened, but more than that, it made you glad to put an ocean between her and your fists.

The non-stop flight was just shy of nine hours, the ride to the hotel in the heart of the city was another thirty, and as you walked up to the counter to check in Bucky, who managed to restlessly nod off on your shoulder, looked like he was about to collapse. “We’re here to check in, the reservation is under James Barnes.” 

It was obvious that they were processing the English, disrupted from their lunch, “Ah, che bravissimo, the American newlyweds! Evviva gli sposi!”

What felt like nine in the morning on no sleep for you was clearly better than Bucky’s experience. So you nodded, thanked them, and passed over the passport and other items clutched in his hand. Once it was all back in your hands with room keys you pulled him along to the elevator and, once again, he surprised you. “Are you okay?”

Your eyebrows furrowed and you took his hand. “Despite what some people think, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being a Mrs. Barnes.” Sticking out your tongue to lighten the mood, you left him in the elevator as you pulled your luggage along, “C’mon Athos!” The childhood nickname seemed to draw him from his thoughts and his long legs quickly caught up to you. “Want me to go in first and chuck any romantic decor?”

“Fuck, I didn’t even think about that.” He swallowed at the cotton in his mouth. “No, it’s fine. Hell, maybe there’s chocolate on the pillows.”

Wiggling your eyebrows you slipped the keycard in and pushed the door open, but just as you were about to say ‘dibs’ you saw the room. Rose petals trailed along the floor and the room had the soft scent of clean cotton and gardenias. Faux candles of an array of heights and sizes flickered on every surface. The bathroom door sat open and the motion sensor light kicked on to brighten up a jacuzzi tub and oversized shower with a bench. The small area to sit in had a door out to the balcony with a postcard worthy view and just as you were about to rush out there you saw the bed- the one massive bed and the welcome basket and flowers in the center of a massive heart of petals. “Cliché, but I think we have the chocolate covered.”

“I’ll take the couch.” He was so quick, so matter of fact about it that it almost threw you for a loop and you nearly agreed.

“We could sleep on this bed with all of this on it and still never brush elbows. Besides, we’ve shared a bed before.”

While all of that was true and you didn’t think much of it as you kicked off your shoes and left your bags by the door, something was twisting in the pit of Bucky’s stomach. The fact was that it had always been you, him, and Steve; even on the impromptu road trip Steve was always there. The boundaries had always been crystal clear and now you both were single, had careers, grown up, and now, after everything, there were secrets. “Are you sure?”

“Yup. Go and shower first, Army boy. If I do there won’t be any hot water left for you.” As soon as he was in the bathroom you pulled out your laptop, checking in with Natasha about the vendors and letting Steve know you had made it safe. With it being so early in the morning you weren’t surprised by the lack of a response and set out to clean up the room, all the while keeping an ear open for Bucky needing you. Just as you were about to check on him, your toiletry bag and a change of clothes tucked under your arm, you shrieked at the door opening in front of you. Your fist instinctively punched straight ahead into his stomach and set him coughing. “Shit! Sorry.” As soon as you put your hand on his damp shoulder you saw the familiar intense scarring that he usually kept hidden under a henley or leather jacket. Your thumb brushed over the remnants of the wound that had discharged him from the military before you took a step back, “Okay Barnes, I didn’t hit you that hard.”

“It’s my ego. You hit me in my ego.” He mocked as he straightened up. “Steve can never know this happened.”

Sticking your tongue out you walked into the bathroom and shut the door, a long slow exhale passing your lips. You hadn’t even realized you were holding your breath and that might have surprised you if it wasn’t for the flushed look on your face in the mirror. It wasn’t blush- or so you swore.

On the other side of the door, Bucky quickly changed and moved around the room setting a few dozen of the candles back on to turn off the harsher light of the bedroom lamps. His eyes stayed on the bathroom door the entire time while his mouth moved from chewing the inside of his cheek to chewing on his bottom lip. Once he’d finally stopped pacing around the room and decided to take a seat the bathroom door opened and you stepped out in leggings and a long t-shirt. Your eyes were on the floor, hair wrapped in a towel so that it didn’t drip onto your clothes. Bucky’s blue eyes stayed glued on the shirt clinging to the damp skin beneath. “I remember when you stole that shirt.”

“Huh?” Looking down you couldn’t help but snort, “Don’t call me out!”

“You always do that,” The corner of his mouth turned up, in a near smile and it was a relief for both of them to feel the tiniest lightening of the mood, a baby-step to normalcy.

“Do what?” Feigning innocence and flopping onto the bed, you reached for a pillow, causing the old shirt to slink up your curves.

“Buy a present that is actually meant for you and, under dubious circumstances at best, you somehow reclaim that gift.” Once the pillow was under your head, Bucky delicately pulled the shirt down and laid down next to you, rolling onto his side.

“I’m pretty sure I had this shirt first and it’s mine, but I knew you liked it so much that I got you the same one for your birthday.” You looked down at his hand, lingering on your stomach, certain it was just that he needed physical comfort, so you placed yours on top.

“Then at Steve’s twenty-first birthday co-Independence Day party you got so trashed you ruined yours. This is my shirt.”

“James Buchanan Barnes! Are you calling me a liar? Are you trying to steal the shirt off of my back?” You laughed so hard the bed shook and just as you settled down, sides aching, his rough fingertips tickled at the bottom of your soft tummy, right at the hem of your leggings and the shirt. “Even if it was yours, and I’m most certainly not saying it is, it’s molded to my thicc-ness now and  it’ll never fit you again, Army Boy!”

“My whole government name, is it?” He smiled, really smiled, that glowing dopey ear to ear smile that was contagious. It had nearly been twenty-four hours since you’d seen him smile and somehow you were all to aware of an ache in your bones of missing his naturally contagious light. But that wasn’t what caught you off guard, it was the fact that this smile hadn’t been seen in years and the realization was something akin to going through withdrawals.

The choked laugh and the smile that found your own lips was hesitant, reserved, and held between your teeth. Against your better judgement you reached over and brushed your thumb through the lines on his face. “Does it hurt smiling like that after you haven’t in years.”

The words were whispered, Bucky’s sad blue eyes looked up from the threads of the comforter he was picking at and locked dead on you. When your lips parted to apologize, he leaned in close and pressed his lips to your forehead. “New chapter, remember?” Though your breath hitched in your throat, he pulled away from you, “I guess we’ll have to get used to it.”

“I could get used to it.” You half-yawned. “If we take a nap we might be able to reset ourself and waste less time jet lagged.”

“Background noise of tv, music, or--”

“City!” You finished with an excited smile, already sliding off the bed to open the balcony’s door and let in the sounds of Rome. You could feel Bucky’s eyes on you and thought little more of it than his own curiosity about what the pair of you were going to miss during your quick snooze. By the time you turned around his eyes were closed and he’d jumbled up all of the blankets and pillows to get comfortable. “Too fluffy?”

“Spend years in the desert and try and sleep with all of that.”

Walking up the massive bed on your hands and knees, your tired body couldn’t be bothered to shove it all over the edge. He watched you attempt at climbing under the blankets, curious about why you weren’t looking up to see where you were going. It left you brushing against Bucky and he pulled you to his chest in one of his classic bear hugs. “Careful or you’ll wish you were back in the desert or did you forget that I’m a human space heater?”

“Nah, you missed my big hugs.” The steady cadence of his pulse was already lulling you to sleep. If that wasn’t enough, he pulled the towel off of your head and ran his fingers through your hair. It was an intoxicating sort of magic, a little trick he’d learned comforting his sisters and maybe when you woke up you’d feel played because you should have been comforting him, but the stars behind your lids drew you to a comfortable sleep.

As the two of you zipped around the city on your matching pistachio colored Vespas, Bucky knew he’d really started a new chapter. He could still perfectly picture the confusion on your face when you shocked him by agreeing to set work aside for a sunset zip to hunt down the best gelato. He couldn’t remember the last time you’d looked at him and not known what he was thinking. It was impossible for him to recall the last time anyone had set work aside to live a little, even with Steve. Though Bucky had chalked it up to ‘growing up’ a larger part of him wondered if you wold have always said yes or if there was a bigger reason you would’ve said no- like his ex. The fact was that the ex never even let you ask. That chapter felt a lot like the words ‘missing you’. This one felt a lot like three.

Somehow in the last two days in Italy, tossing coins in fountains, eating copious amounts of bread at every meal, sipping on proper espresso to counteract jet lag; he hadn’t cried or settled into some desperate need to get over his ex by getting under someone else. Bucky found himself delighting in the little things and he realized it was just because you were. 

Wine tasted better after watching you bring it to you lips with a hum. Its color was the perfect balance of red and purple as it stained your lips. Then, when you slid it across for him to try it was the melodic sound of your laughter and pleading that convinced him to try something new from his staunchly beer and bourbon alcohol repertoire. 

The mere mention of ice cream was no longer summoning the memory of that time Steve started a scrap that he had to end and resulted in you buying the three of them ice creams to cool off in the humid New York summer heat. You’d scolded the both of them so lovingly hard that yours melted entirely over fingers before your first lick. No, it was those fingers now covered in strawberry, sticky-sweet, and the almost inaudible gasp on you lips when Bucky leaned in and licked it off. He swore it was just for a stolen taste, but in the back of his mind he knew it wasn’t.

The laugh that came with the silly gesture, the familiar warmth of it like a hug to him, was more to you. While you swore it because he was being uncharacteristically childish. “I want to say I could get used to this ‘new chapter’ version of you because I love seeing you back to the Bucky that would protect Steve from his own stubbornness and me from my bad... taste, but if you’re going to make me laugh this much all the time... Can a person die of laughter? Is it going to be an oxygen deprivation type of death?” Laughing nervously, glad Steve wasn’t around to read you like a book. The embarrassment truly stemmed from how you loved the feeling of his stubble scratching your skin. Steve would’ve called you on it, that some how, something had just flipped like a switch and you were seeing the history of your friendship in a completely different way. The anxiety was starting to bubble as you question if he did too.

It felt so obvious to you, that the universe was laying the cards out on the table. You both shared silence and sound, space and somehow time- not just time in the sense of being in a new time zone or having shared a lifetime of memories, it was more and as you parked the rental Vespas at the shop and picked up your little bicycles, Bucky pulled you into the biggest hug. You didn’t ask him what it was for or hesitate to hug him back.

The sun was low, the street lamps turned on, and the only barrier between you two were the bikes. Hiding your smile in the curve of Bucky’s neck you could have sworn you heard him groan when you lips brushed the base of his neck at the collar of his t-shirt. “You know where we are?” He asked as he led you around the bike just a little, still holding you until he pulled on your hip to make you look out at the view. A hefty amount of stairs led down deeper into the plaza, flanked by older peach and dusty rose buildings. The architecture was beautiful, but you honestly had been enjoying the company on this trip more than the food and your love of history was always always something you didn’t flaunt. “It’s late and we’ve been dragging each other all over this city since we got here, so I’ll forgive you for not realizing just yet.”

Buzzing with excitement and curiosity he took your hand, lacing his hand in yours and taking you down the stairs a few at a time. “I’ve got little legs!” You laughed, true or not it was always hard to keep up with the soldier’s longer legs. The joke of protest was met with Bucky’s arms scooping you up. You were so tempted to protest, so tempted to tell him that the last thing he needed was to hurt his arm lugging you down some stairs in Rome. Then you saw his smile, the one that reached his eyes and the only thing you could say was, “The stairs! Stop looking at me and look at the stairs, Bucky!”

“I’d never drop you.” He said it so matter of factly and you believed it. “I really want to enjoy this so close your eyes.”

“Demanding.” You chuckled, no longer hiding that you loved it. “Fine... but only since you completely unnecessarily but oh so gallantly walked me down oh so many Roman stairs.”

With a crinkle of your nose you shut your eyes and he set you down  shortly thereafter. You swallowed at the dryness in you mouth when his hands found yours again almost immediately. Bucky’s breath shook in your ear, surely from the effort of lugging you around, you swore, biting into your bottom lip waiting for the cue to open your eyes. But he waited, his hands still holding yours and then enveloping you in a tight hug, his chest pressed to your back, his chin over your shoulder. “Okay, now you can open them.”

You didn’t have to read the placard to know Keat’s home. When Bucky and Steve were away for boot camp you’d written them every day, jokingly telling the boys to not become blockheads and to keep each other safe. While the letters were fairly similar, you knew Steve was already hiding doodles on the envelopes, he had ‘his thing’. So you sent Bucky poetry, Keats being one of your favorites. How you’d forgotten the stairs was beyond you, but you weren’t breathing, your eyes stung with happy tears. This was a bucket list visit and your chin quivered as you recalled the emotions of reading you first poem and the worry about losing the boys forever. You’d made yourself sick worrying Bucky would do something stupid to save Steve.

“Hey, pretty girl, this was supposed to make you smile!” Bucky squeezed you in that hug a little tighter and finally you took a breathe and the few tears dripped down your cheeks. “I thought you loved John Keats.” You could only managed a mildly frantic nod as you tried to collect yourself, a soft smile- one too similar to an apology found your lips. “This is you in celebrity shock?” A nudge to Bucky’s side made him laugh and you let go of his hands so you could spin around and hug him tightly back. “Ahhh there’s the reaction I was hoping for.”

“You never talked about the poems I sent you. I just assumed you didn’t want to tell me I was being lame.” Chewing the inside of your cheek you looked back at the building and then up at his bright blue eyes, which were only on you.

“I loved them. They got me through...” The arm, he didn’t have to say it and you squeezed his side to let him know that. What you hadn’t expected was the quiet man that kept his longer chatting to odd things he’d dug up on science threads on Reddit or political rants to make a confession in the middle of the Piazza di Spagna in words that you both shared years ago:

Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—         Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night And watching, with eternal lids apart,         Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite, The moving waters at their priestlike task         Of pure ablution round earth's human shores, Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask         Of snow upon the mountains and the moors— No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,         Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast, To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,         Awake for ever in a sweet unrest, Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath, And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

Was that what did it? Was that the moment you fell head over heals for Bucky Barnes? It felt irrelevant to label the ‘something happened’ moment when, under the stars and in the summer heat you pulled his mouth to yours and kissed him fearlessly. His hands pulled the two of you somehow ever closer and the only compromise to the separation of your soft lips to his was the gasp for air. The dopey smile on his face as he cupped your face gave you the opportunity to use your words. “I’m in love with you, too.”

Bucky’s fingers pressed gently into your soft skin and he pulled your mouth back to his. He didn’t ask when you knew, you didn’t ask him either, and it didn’t matter. His tongue caressed yours and you moaned into his mouth, your fingers tugging on his cloths, his hair, every inch of you pressing into him until you both were breathless messes again. “I’ll bring you back.”

“Promise?” You didn’t know if he meant to Italy or the Keats-Shelley Museum, but you were too distracted by his blown out pupils and how beautiful his lips looked wet and swollen from kissing you. The thought of that action alone was still dizzying.

“Yeah, I promise, but I have one more surprise.” As your eyebrows drew together in confusion his hands pulled away from your face, where they had been resting gently on your neck, brushing your jaw, leaving a sting of heat in their wake. He took your hands in his and he got down on one knee. Your mouth fell open and you picked it up quickly, but your head lulled to the side like a confused puppy as your heart raced so loudly in your chest that you were certain Bucky would feel the vibrations in your fingertips. “Will you marry me? Steve always knew I wanted this. He swore up and down that if I just took five minutes to think about what you meant to me romantically that I would realize every single person I’d been with never compared to the girl who climbed in my sandbox. I wouldn’t have been left at the alter if I would have realized the only person I wanted at my side was the person I wanted at my side in sickness and in health, good times and bad, was always already there. Yes, you and Steve are my best friends, but I should have realized sooner why there were differences between my friendships with the two of you.”

“Everyone saw it but the two of us.” You looked down at Bucky, his hands may not have held a ring, but it was perfect and it was very much the two of you in your own world. “I guess I need to call Steve to come to Rome after all.”

As if he was reading your mind, he knew what you meant, you weren’t leaving this city without marrying him. Pulling out your phone, you tapped the little phone icon and in one swoop Bucky was picking you up and spinning you around, his lips kissing every inch of skin they could find and you laughed breathlessly. Steve answered on the second ring but the pair of you laughing muffled his greeting. You pulled the phone from your face and saw the minutes counting and you hushed Bucky with a smile and gentle little thwack to his peck. “So he told you?” Steve asked, tone anxious.

“Told me what?” Your eyebrows drew together and Bucky set you down, leaning in to listen to the call.

“He told you she called it off because he wanted to marry you.” Bucky swallowed, knowing that Steve was leaving out the key detail that after somehow getting his confiscated phone back he had drunk texted the Bride-not-to-be and told her as much the night before the wedding. “Is it finally happening?”

“Yeah,” You both said in unison, smiling despite the circumstances.

“Well, only if you can get out here. Someone has to give me away and seeing as how he won’t stand there without you and I won’t marry him without your blessing, it’s a bit of a co-dependent situation.” Bucky muffled his laugh, squeezing your hand before kissing your temple. “What do you say, Aramis?”

Steve let out a long sigh, but you could hear his keys jingling like he was already headed for his car. “Far be it from me to delay the inevitable. I’m surprised you two didn’t take care of this before we enlisted. Y’now, speaking of the three musketeers, does the impulsivity of this make him a D’Artagnan?”

Bucky let out a whistle and jokingly pumped his arm in victorious celebration. “You’ve done it now, Steve. Straight to his head.”

“I have to torture you a little for making me live through a couple of decades of angst and oblivion.”

You could practically hear the approving smile, “See you soon, stupid.”

Unceremoniously ending the call, you leapt into Bucky’s arms and picked up kissing him, drizzling in a lifetime’s worth of unsaid I love yous. Through laughing and smiling, fingers tangled in hair and soft curves pressed to the cold stone wall of the museum, you drank in Rome and Bucky. Each kiss was a vow to no longer letting a moment pass you two by.

All Tags: @tom-hlover​​

Bucky Tags: @caplanbuckybarnes​​

Accidents Happen - Last Words

Summary: An epilogue, or, the beginning of the rest of their lives.

Content: Cuddles, mention of blood and teeth, mention of alcohol, mention of drugs, mention of bad parenting

Word count: 2,817

{Part 7}

The best thing about their apartment, according to Virgil, was that it was directly opposite what he considered the best coffee shop in the city. It meant that he could study in the café until it closed, and then cross the road and crash on their couch if he missed the last bus. It was convenient, he said - although all three of them knew that he used it as an excuse to spend as much time with them as possible, especially during term time. Virgil didn’t like admitting it, but they all knew that he got a little lonely in his dorm room on his own.

Logan had ended up studying an astrophysics course on the other side of the country and wasn’t able to visit very much. Patton was closer, only two hours away by train and studying veterinary science, but even that distance was difficult to bridge more than once every few weeks given how intensive his course was.

Roman knew that Virgil lived for the holidays, when all three of them went back to their hometown and were able to spend weeks together.

During term-time, though, Virgil had to make do with the frequent calls and texts that came with a long distance relationship and rare meetings with Patton only. As such, he spent a lot of time crashing in their apartment, to the point that he may as well live there rather than his dorm.

If Remus were asked, he would say that the best thing about their apartment was that they were only a fifteen minute walk from the gym, where he had taken up not only boxing and kickboxing, but also judo, taekwondo, and jujitsu. Roman had no idea where he found the time to take all of those classes as well as work full-time in the tattoo parlour that had given him an apprenticeship. He had practically had a heart attack when Remus had come home one afternoon and announced that he was going to get qualified to teach children’s martial arts classes.

“When will you fit that in?” He had asked incredulously (although both Janus and Remus said that shrieked was more accurate).

“I’ll manage, Ro-ro,” was all Remus had said - and he had, too. Roman had had his doubts that Remus would be capable of keeping his more disturbing thoughts to himself for long enough to manage not to traumatise some poor kids, but so far no lawsuit had come crashing down upon them.

At first, he had thought it a fortunate coincidence that Remus’ apprenticeship was in the same city as the university at which Janus was going to study law, but when he had mentioned this his boyfriend and his brother had looked at him as though he had said something mildly stupid. (They did that a lot, actually).

“Did you really think I was gonna make Jan go to college without me? I waited until he got an offer and then started looking for something to do here.” Remus lifted his head up from where he had been lying across the couch, legs lazily bent over one of its arms.

Janus snorted and threw a piece of carrot at him, which he caught in his mouth. “That is not what happened. I told you that I was taking you with me even if it meant I had to force you into a suitcase and keep you under my bed like some contraband pet. Under threat of having to survive on smuggled cafeteria food, you started looking for a job.”

“That’s what I said,” Remus protested, tugging at the white streak in his hair. “You couldn’t stand being without me, so I applied for apprenticeships with all the stabbing parlours around here. They were really nice about the whole prison thing, actually.”

Roman didn’t bother mentioning that he had had no idea that Remus had any interest in art, let alone talent, until he had asked for company on the walk to work for his first day. That had been eleven months ago, just a few weeks after he had been released; Roman had returned to their apartment and mentioned his surprise to Janus, who had pulled a sketchbook from a shelf and allowed him to flick through it on the proviso that he didn’t tell Remus until his brother showed him himself. A lot of the work was dark or disturbing.

All of it was really, really good.

Remus had stopped self-medicating and started seeing a sleep therapist about a month after they had moved in. It had been a rough year - Roman’s room was right next to Remus’, but Janus was also woken by his screaming, and his room was on the other side of the small apartment - but the frequency of his nightmares seemed to have dropped. There were still nights that Roman was startled awake by his brother’s nightmares, still mornings when he entered the main room to find a dishevelled Remus that looked as though he had not slept at all, days where he went to wake Janus up so that he wasn’t late to his morning lectures to find the two of them curled around one another like puppies - but these had become much rarer occurrences.

Janus frequently said that his favourite thing about their apartment was that it was far enough away from campus that he didn’t have to worry about seeing people he took classes with all the time, but Roman and Remus both knew that he didn’t really mind his classmates. When Janus was in a slightly more giving mood, he would imply that his favourite thing about the apartment was its freedom.

Every other weekend, Janus took the train home to visit his parents - that had been their condition for allowing him to get an apartment rather than just staying in the student dorms - and every time he returned, he commented briefly that it had been nice to see his parents before spending the next two hours complaining about how pushy they were.

“We’ve barely even sat down to lunch and they’re already asking me whether I’ve been getting my essays done on time - it’s exhausting,” he whined, and Roman slipped his arms around his waist from behind and pressed a kiss just beneath his ear. He stopped whining almost immediately, preferring to turn around to use his mouth for more interesting things.

“All they care to ask about are my grades,” he moaned on a different occasion, walking into the apartment and dropping his coat in a pile by the door and then simply lying down in the middle of the floor. “And I remind them I have a social life too, and they ask if I’ve met anybody ‘more suitable’ to share a room with. Or anybody ‘without connections to known criminals’ to date. Or - oof, Rem, get off…”

“No,” was the response. Remus had taken the opportunity to just drop down on top of Janus and was now lying on top of him, deliberately going limp to make himself harder to displace. “You’re stuck now.”

“It would just be nice,” Janus complained, arriving home at two in the morning - he wasn’t expected until evening the next day: the trip must have been particularly unpleasant that time - and slipping into Roman’s bed rather than his own. “It would be nice if they cared more about me than the son they think they ought to have…”

“Shh. Sleeping now,” Roman responded, but he still rolled over and draped an arm over Janus’ torso and a leg between his legs. “Complain tomorrow.”

He did keep going back, though. Janus often ended his rants by commenting that they always seemed pleased to find that he hadn’t been poisoned by substandard cafeteria food or inedible cooking, and did seem to actually try to find his lengthy explanations of his subject interesting.

The freedom of living away from his high-pressure home was something that Roman understood, too. Nobody really minded if they didn’t put away laundry for a few days, for example - apart from Remus, who seemed to enjoy sitting in the dirty laundry hamper for ‘artistic inspiration’, and found his creativity damped when he only had clean clothing to squat in. Nobody cared if they went out for an evening together and didn’t get back until the early hours of the morning, or if they spent a lazy morning in Janus’ bed together, kissing, reading to one another (Janus liked it when Roman did voices for different characters; Roman loved hearing the excitement in Janus’ voice as he read something new), talking, sometimes just hugging. Except Remus, who complained sometimes that they were sickeningly cute. Nobody gave Janus a hard time if he stopped revising after only an hour and went to shower, saying that he just couldn’t focus any more that day. Nobody sent disappointed, judgemental glances at Roman if it took him more than a day to master a script.

The freedom was incredible.

But when one of them caught Janus in a particularly truthful mood, he would admit that his favourite thing about their apartment was the twins he shared it with.

He loved coming home after lectures to find Roman passed out on the couch, pages of whatever script he was trying to learn all over his chest.

He loved the evenings when Roman was out working, or studying, or auditioning, or trying to make friends, and he could fill two glasses with wine and watch a film with Remus, or gossip about the comings and goings at the tattoo parlour (the most disturbing thing Remus had ever gotten to submit a design for that might end up on an actual human being, he had told Janus delightedly, was a row of different kinds of teeth - human, shark, lion, cat, snake - puncturing the skin like needles going through fabric. His boss had commented that he appreciated the attention to the blood and torque on the skin), or chat about the stupid things people in Janus’ classes had said (honestly, if anybody genuinely thought an oboe was a giant cello, they deserved to be laughed at).

He loved the days when the three of them got to eat together, or went for a walk, or played games, or just lazed around and did very little.

He loved the gentle ribbing, the way the twins were constantly coming up with new nicknames for him, for one another, for their neighbours, for the kitchen appliances, for the regulars at the coffee shop across the street. A lot of the names were in no way repeatable in front of a sensitive audience. Only about half of those names came from Remus.

He loved it when Virgil visited and spent the night on the couch, and then made blueberry pancakes in the morning to thank them.

He even loved it when Remus had managed to set a bowl of cereal on fire at three in the morning, although he had requested that it not happen again.

The apartment wasn’t large, but it could have been an awful lot smaller. There was a bedroom for each of them (Roman and Janus did spend a lot of nights together, but they enjoyed having their own space as well), a main living room with a kitchen in the corner, a bathroom, and a final room that they used for laundry and storage. If Remus were asked - and even if he weren’t asked - he would say that the worst thing about the apartment was that the walls were relatively thin, and some nights he found that the nocturnal activities of his roommates it very difficult to get to sleep - though Remus’ phrasing had been rather less delicate.

Roman found that rather embarrassing. Janus had just smirked. They had both promised to try to keep it down after that.

Roman loved everything about the apartment.

When he had sat down and informed his parents that he was turning down his college offer, they had had a fit. What was he thinking? Clearly, he wasn’t: the stress of the last few months, of Remus’ shocking behaviour, had pushed him over the edge. Did he want to turn out like his brother? (He had had to work very hard not to start shouting when they said that). They’d been watching this happen, but this was okay, they’d get him somebody to talk to, and… He had turned the offer down as politely as he could.  Trying to inform them that he had only applied to study classics because university had been practically all they had talked about with him for months without offending them had been unfairly difficult. When he had been making his choices and sending in his applications, Roman had assumed that this was what he had wanted to be doing; it was what they had wanted, after all, and didn’t they want what was best for him?

Looking back, that had been when his smoking in the woods had gone from an occasional fun thing to a stress relieving habit.

Instead, he had started looking for a part-time job in the city that Janus was going to be studying in, and had used some of the money that had been set aside for college to go halfsies on the deposit for the apartment with Janus. They had moved in two weeks after Remus had gotten out of jail; Remus had spent those two weeks secretly staying with Janus, and moved in with them immediately.

Roman didn’t go home much. The disappointed silences and the hurt confusion and the pointed looks and the way his parents seemed to blame his new attitude entirely on his brother’s bad influence made the place feel stifling.

Remus had only tried to visit their parents once since moving into their apartment, the first time Roman had visited. They had gotten in the front door and Dae had wrapped Roman up in a suffocatingly tight hug, then pulled away - and seen Remus. Her face had closed up. “You’re not welcome here,” she had said, and Roman would never forget the look on his brother’s face when she had simply pointed at the door.

They had both left.

Roman didn’t know why he kept going back. Each time, he tried to bring up Remus, tried to show their parents how much he had changed. Each time the air seemed to be sucked out of the room until somebody changed the subject.

They weren’t fond of the fact that he was dating a man, either.

He considered staying away completely when they announced that Dae was pregnant again.

He didn’t, though. When the baby was born, Roman was determined to be there for it. He had spoken to Remus about it, too, and they were coming up with ways for both of them to be able to take some of the pressure away from their new sibling.

Now, Roman spent his days working as a stagehand in a theatre on the other side of town, and took night classes in social studies. Remus wasn’t the only one that wanted to help people. He auditioned for shows whenever the opportunity came up.

He went on days out with his brother, got coffee with Virgil, hung out with Patton when he came into town sometimes. He went on dates with his boyfriend, hung out with the other people at the theater and in his classes. He made mistakes, apologised for them, didn’t make them again.

He wasn’t an angel by any means - but then, he wasn’t a demon either. None of them were. Sometimes they messed up, sometimes accidents happened, but that was okay. They were all human, after all.

And just then, they were three humans celebrating Janus passing his first year of classes. Roman had spent the day trying to make sushi, while Remus alternated between making unhelpful comments about how interesting it would be to try using something other than fish, like raw chicken for example (Roman had looked at him in mild horror), and making bukkumi for dessert after stating that there was no law saying that they couldn’t have a Japanese main followed by a Korean dessert and accompanied by very French wine, and that he should know because his best friend was a lawyer.

The main course was a bit of a mess, but Janus had been thrilled anyway. The didn’t light candles - Janus wasn’t entirely comfortable being close to naked flames - but Roman had made up for that by spending the previous day making entirely too many origami snakes, which decorated almost the entire apartment now.

After dinner, they piled onto the couch and Janus chose a crime show for them to watch together.

If this was what life looked like now, Roman thought, one arm around Janus’ waist and the other cradling a mug of hot chocolate, then he didn’t have any complaints to make. 

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I don’t know when it actually started. I had been aware of time slipping for me occasionally. I might have thought it was Sunday and it turned out to be Monday, but I had shrugged them off as a result of stress. The alternative would have been some mental disorder, and you really don’t want to go there in your self diagnosing. It wasn’t until after the “break in” it started to become a regular occurrence. A serious one as well. Best I knew I woke up Saturday morning to a trashed apartment. Well, not totally trashed, but a few items broken, lots of things moved around, empty beer cans on the floor, some money missing.

I was shocked I managed to sleep through whatever had transpired in my apartment, and a little scared to what could have happened, what could have been done to me. Perhaps something had been done to me? Perhaps that was why I slept through it all. I couldn’t figure out any reason for it. Sneak into someones apartment, at great risk, tranquilize the sleeping resident, and then throw a party. Did they use sleep gas, like they do when they rob truckers sleeping at truck stops?

It was when I decided to call the cops I got the chills. The phone said it was Monday morning. The whole weekend gone! I decided the police had to wait, as I hurried to work. I got there enough on time to not be suspicious, but obviously I spent the entire day thinking of little else. As a creative writer at an ad agency my hours are flexible, and as long as I deliver in time and at quality no one cares, but it would still be weird to not show up at all. But I barely managed to do anything useful while there. I felt tired, mentally drain, and sore in my muscles, as if the adrenaline of the morning had a lingering effect. Above all, questions and thoughts kept popping up. Do I need to change locks? Are there now drugs stashed in my apartment? Did they do something else to me? Is that why I feel funny? Do I need to schedule a doctors appointment? What would I say that wouldn’t lock me up?

Cleaning up in the apartment took less time than I had feared, and once done I realized there was even less for the police to do. What was the crime? Where was the evidence? As the days passed, it was almost like it hadn’t happened. Oh, how wrong I was.

A couple of weeks later it happened again, only this time I woke up wearing someone else’s clothes. It smelled like sweat and auto repair shop even before I opened my eyes, and I practically jumped out of bed when I looked at myself. A worn under armour hoodie, filthy, threadbare jeans, and workers boots, splattered with caked mud. There was a light brown outline on the sheets where my body had rubbed dust into the fabric.

I could feel my heard pounding, as I ran through the rooms of my apartment to see if anyone was still there. Only later did I realize I didn’t have a plan for what to do if I had found someone. As before the place was a mess, but I sensed more things were missing.

I rushed into the bathroom and started to rip off the clothes. I smelled like someone else, I looked like someone else, and I hated it. I felt violated, somehow. This wasn’t just drawing a dick with a sharpie on someone drunk. I threw the hoodie on the floor. I tried to pull off the boots, heel against toe, but it didn’t work. I almost felt trapped that I couldn’t just throw off all the shit that was on me. I sat down on the toilet and frantically tried to untie the knots on the boots. It for sure took longer than if I had been calm. It didn’t help that I saw dirt under my finger nails. Once the first boot was off I reeled back from the smell of stale foot juice. Someone else’s warm boot smell, and on my foot, a thick, grey sock. I yanked it off, fast as I could, and did the same on the other foot.

Though the end was near, I just felt more and more trapped. The jeans had a belt with a belt buckle large as my hand. I undid it, and undid the buttons. The worst for last. Under the jeans I wore a jockstrap. Not any of the sexualized neon-pink ones from a pride parade. No, some disgusting, once white jockstrap with a few blue and red lines on the waist band. I got out of the jeans, and then as quickly as possible pulled off the jockstrap and thew it in the heap with the other shit.

My heart was still racing, the room smelled of feet and sweat and diesel, and my sight was transfixed on the pile of clothes on the floor. It took probably a minute to calm down. I looked in the mirror. There was a clear dirt line where the hoodie ended and my neck started. Determined I walk out of the bathroom to the kitchen to get a plastic bag. I needed to put all of the clothes away before I started to shower. I shuddered to imagine what damp air would to do them and the smell they would give off.

It started out brownish and took a while until the water running into the shower drain was clear. Only then did I start with soap. One full body pass with hard soap and one with some liquid soap. Then two thorough shampooings and finally one pass conditioner, something I rarely use. But I felt like I needed it this time.

I wasn’t at all surprised to find that it was again Monday, not Saturday, when I checked my smartphone. I made a deal with my project manager on Slack to work from home. I needed to vacuum and wet wipe the entire apartment to get the dirt out, figure out what was missing, and try to figure out what the hell was going on.

Assessing the damage I could immediately see that my hunch of things missing was true. A few art pieces were gone, and most of my formal clothes as well. It was just bizarre. The state of my apartment didn’t make sense either. It didn’t look like someone had thrown a party, but rather as if they had squatted there. Rifled through my stuff like a burglar, but also lounged around, dragging dirt all over my carpets and furniture. I was trying to think back to the last time it happened, what was different from then. This was like a serial killer story on CSI. They keep getting bolder and bolder after each kill, at least in the show. Did this guy, whoever he was, think his method was perfected enough that he could come and go as he wished. Even mock me by dressing me up. Who knows when he’ll...

I dropped everything and checked my phone calendar. This was the last weekend of the month, and last time it had happened was also the last weekend of the month. I flipped back through the month in the calendar, desperately trying to remember anything about the previous times I had lost track of time. For all the ones I could remember anything about, they had all been the last weekend of the month. So that was his pattern. How had I not seen that before? All I needed was some go pro or something. Motion activated, long battery time. I was doing some of my best work in a long time that afternoon. “Perhaps you should work from home more often” my project lead told me on slack.

It was such a roller coaster of a day, I reflected, as I took my second shower. Despite having thrown away the clothes, that smell of sweat lingered. Probably my imagination, but I had also spent several hours scrubbing floors, so my body was sore all over. I felt like I’ve had quite a workout, which probably was true. As I let the water wash over me I was thinking of all the different places to put cameras in the apartment. I wanted as few as possible, for cost reasons of course, but have as wide and good coverage as possible, yet be hard to find.

Something had not gone according to plan. I had purchased the cameras well in advance, tried them out, and checked the footage. All great. I had put limits on my credit cards. Made backups of my computer. Hid away some of the more valuable items. Everything was set when I went to bed. I was nervous, sure, but fully expected to wake up with the face of my tormentor recorded. At least I had expected to wake up at home.

This looked like a scrap yard, and my bed had been a bunch of cut up cardboard boxes. It took some minutes to get my bearings. My entire body felt stiff. I must have slept here, in the cold, on the hard surface all night, and I didn’t have much clothes on either. A tattered T-shirt, just as distressed jeans, and a pair of OK jogging shoes. I smelled like I hadn’t showered all week. Looking to my left I could see a camera on a rack of junk, looking back at me. It might even be one of the ones I bought and hid. So much for that attempt.

As I got up to get it, I something more than just soreness, and looked again at myself. Since when was I this ripped? My arms were way larger than when I went to sleep. My work is sitting with a lap top, writing almost the same thing over and over. I don’t have veins that pops. There is nothing that bulges when I bend my arms. Apparently I do now. Even without a mirror I could tell the rest of the body had changed just as much as well. What the hell is going on?

I stood up and walked a step to the camera. Everything felt wrong. My center of gravity was somehow off. My pose was different. My gait was different. It’s like my newly gotten muscles forced me to move differently, or they would rub against my body, stopping them. The small camera was recording, but I had no means to view it here, wherever I was. I stopped it, grabbed it and started to look for an exit.

After a few minutes of random turns in the heaps of trash I found a clearing and an open gate. An older man in a neat, but worn, blue coverall sat in a plastic chair, reading some papers and drinking coffee from a cup of out of place fancy china.

- Kyle! Here this early? I didn’t even know you were here.

Kyle? Who is this man mistaking me for? No time to figure that out. I have no idea where I am, what time it is, or how to get home, and I need to get there before anyone gets suspicious.

- The early bird. What time is it anyway? - It’s 5... 48.

I thanked him and exited. Once outside of the gates I started to recognize where I were. This was the industrial park south-west of the city. Lots of small and medium companies have lots there. The other kind of “lots”. God, and I’m a copywriter. It would be almost an hour walk to get home from here. I started to pat my pockets to see if I had any money or anything on me, and almost jumped and yelped.

I have a monster cock. It’s huge! You don’t just suddenly grow a large penis in your twenties. Certainly not while sleeping through a weekend. I just realized that perhaps I was wrong there too. It could be a year later for all I knew. I might not even have an apartment to come back to. I found my keys in my right front pocket and some wrinkled cash in my left.

I managed to find a bus stop at the outskirts of the park, with a bus passing every 30 minutes according to the posted schedule. I reckoned that even if I had just missed a bus, it would still be faster to wait for the next. Thankfully it was deserted. People would be travelling to their work at this hour, and most would come by car anyway. So I got to stand there and be self conscious all by myself. What a crude and obscene sight I must be, perhaps less so out here with literal blue collar workers, but at least pushing it. I couldn’t wait to incinerate these tattered clothes, and scrub myself an hour in the shower to get rid of this stench of man and machine parts. I just realized I would be on public transport in this state. Perhaps walking would be preferable after all.

At that moment the bus just rounded the bend in the distance. It would be weird to not take it now. The bus came to a stop just in front of me, and two hispanic looking men stepped off at the rear and I stepped on. I picked up my wad of cash and asked the driver how much for a single to town center.

- Travel card or travel app only.

I didn’t move, trying to come up with something to convince him to take me anyway. Pay him personally perhaps.

- Just take a seat.

The bus took a depressing sight seeing tour of our declining manufacturing industries before heading back into town. I can see from the time, date and temperature a gas station sign that it is just Monday two days later from when I went to sleep. Whatever had happened, happened during those 72 or so hours. My normally noisy mind was quiet. I couldn’t come up with any explanation for what was going on. Some 24 minutes later, according to the bus clock, I was reasonably close to home to walk.

Predictably my home was in a mess when I opened the door. On the floor were pieces of smashed surveillance cameras mixed with dried dirt, ripped papers, shredded clothes and other parts of my life smashed to bits. At least my laptop was unharmed, sitting on the living room table. I would have to deal with the rest of the apartment later, but my immediate concern was the camera I brought with me. I connected a USB cable between it and the laptop, and the vendor app started automatically.

The software showed the final frame of the video, with me pressing the off button at the junkyard. Fuck, I looked terrible, and almost unrecognizably different. I clicked at the start of the progress bar and the image switched to an interior view of my apartment, from what I thought had been a clever place in the bookcase to hide the camera. Into view walked me, in only underwear. Was I sleepwalking? What was this? The me in the video looked like how I remembered myself from this Friday, but he walked “looser”, for lack of a better term. He, I, looked furious.

- What the fuck is this shit? Yo spying on me now, fucking lib? Making your own fucking government spy program?

He was holding another camera in his hand, and threw it at the wall, showering the room with cheap, Chinese plastic shards.

- Just typical of you people, ain’t it? Can’t stay out of honest folks lives. I’ll fucking show you then. All this bullshit has to go. “Ooooo! Look at mee! I type on a compuuuter for living!”

He spat a large glob of spit somewhere on the floor off camera.

- I’ll butt into your life then. See how you like that? I’ll show you what a real fucking american looks like.

And he reached out to the camera and pressed the off button. It instantly cut to almost complete darkness. He could just barely make out the outline of a man moving, illuminated by the far distant sodium light. The camera then did cuts after cuts, as the motion detection turned on and off recording. As I fast forwarded It became apparent this was the camera setup recording me as I was sleeping on a stack of cardboard.

I didn’t even watch to the end, but just threw the laptop on the table and looked around in disbelief. “Schizophrenic” was all I could think. That was the only explanation that made sense. Somehow I was switching between me and this douchebag on a set schedule. Or was that imagined also? What about the body? Did I imagine that? Or did I imagine my old body and this was the real one? No, schizophrenic isn’t the word. What’s the real medical one... Multiple Personality Disorder! That’s the one! Fuck! I’ve been off my game all morning. Did my mind change too, and not just the body?

I picked through the devastation of my home. Almost all of my clothes were gone, replaced with distressed and dirty clothes that looked like it belonged to a teenager, mechanic and/or farmer. Most of it off brand, but some fox racing and carhartt stuff looked almost new. Where was all this shit coming from? This time I didn’t just dump everything in a trash bag, but tried to sort through the mess. If this really was a Dr. Jekyll and Kyle situation, perhaps it was best to keep as much of this shit as possible, or he would just drag in more. All of my broken stuff had to go though.

As I got rid of the last torn book pages and shredded tie, I realized that I didn’t actually miss all my stuff. I was more upset with how I lost it. I was just about to head out for lunch when I saw myself in the mirror. I’d spent all morning in that shitty T-shirt, jeans and shoes without thinking about changing. Suddenly I felt dirty again. Damn him!

This time the surprise was that there wasn’t any surprise. I stepped out of the shoes and found I had no socks on me, which felt icky to me. As I started to pull down my jeans I found I didn’t have any underwear either. I stopped at the knees and was transfixed with what I saw. My dick and balls where probably twice my old size. The legs looked stronger than before. I undressed the last part of the jeans just with my legs, and could clearly hear them rip further. Then I grabbed the T-shirt and pulled it off in one motion, and got a good whiff of really strong body odor. The upper body was something else. I had abs. I had pecs. Not huge ones, but well defined. My body had never looked this good before, and probably never would if it had been only up to me. I spent a really long time cleaning myself in the shower. How the fuck was this possible?

Andy was the first one to say something, perhaps even the first one to recognize me.

- Wow! What the hell happened here?! - Morning Andy. Just some workout that paid off. - Bulk payment? Well, you look great. I like the hipster look.

I had washed a pair of carhartt pants and a plaid shirt, brushed some boots clean, and managed to dress close to what one of our art directors looked like, but with muscles. As much as I hated all the crap in my apartment, it did fit my body, and it would take both time and money to replace it all, so I gathered I would use what I could. There was no hiding this body anyway.

It was a weird day in many ways. In one way it was like I was a new employee, with looks and outright stares from women, and a few guys, I didn’t know very well. Some people I had barely talked to before, mostly quite fit men, chatted with me to assess if I would fit in their social circle. And those I worked with the most couldn’t stop giving remarks about my body, some flattering, some jokes, many subtly envious, and several hurtful in the line of meathead and jockywriter.

I was obviously self conscious all the time. Even when I didn’t have eyes glued on me, or remarks woven into every dialogue, I could feel my body in a way I had never done before. I couldn’t sit the same as before. My legs were different. My junk was way different. My arms rubbed against my body in a new way. I felt restless as soon as I begun a task. And above all it felt like all my talent had left the building. I was not being very productive.

It pretty much dragged on like that. Perhaps less with the staring and the remarks, but certainly with my confidence and performance at an all time low. It was self reinforcing. The worse I performed the more certain I was that this was my new peak. As good as it gets. I didn’t bother to buy any new clothes. It felt pointless. At least I was always showing up with clean clothes. I kind of had to, because after a day they stunk.

After two weeks Jared, my boss, took me aside for a lunch meeting in his office. I knew things were going piss poor, and that I hadn’t been upfront with him about it. I made the decision to tell him everything I knew. The lost times, the “break ins”, the abduction to the junk yard, the sudden body changes, and my theory of multiple personality disorder, despite it not explaining everything.

He didn’t say a word while I spoke, and carefully consumed his Vietnamese BBQ baguette, making the appearance of almost not listening at all. Once my story was up to date with the last few days. He was just silently nodding and remained quiet for too many seconds.

- Can I meet him? - Who? - Kyle.

I was surprised. Somehow I hadn’t even thought of that as a possibility. I could never meet him, of course, but someone else could.

- When’s the next full moon? - The what? - The next time Kyle emerge? - Last weekend of the month. Week and a half from now. - We are way behind on cataloging. Boring and non-creative work, I know, but... you know... - Yeah, I know. - Well, you shouldn’t have any problems lifting the boxes at least.

It felt weird having my boss doing an all nighter binging Netflix content in my living room, while I was going to bed in the bedroom, but he was adamant he wanted to do this. So I fell asleep and strangely nothing appeared to be different when I woke up.

I quickly got dressed, blue jeans and fox racing shirt, and found Jared sleeping in my living room. It was 6:41 Monday morning according to my phone. Had he been here the whole weekend? I had a look around in the apartment. Some things had moved around, but it looked neat and clean enough.

- Hey... Hey Jared.. - Mmmmm - Hey, what happened?

Jared made a big yawn and sat up in the couch.

- Mmm. We certainly had too much to drink. - We? - You don’t feel it? I guess Kyle was right. - Right about what? - Well, it’s certainly more than just a mental thing, but we already knew that. I think I may have brokered a truce. - A truce? - Just trust me on this one. Don’t go to a doctor or anything. Keep his stuff in the apartment somewhere. - And me? What do I get.

Jared had a wry smile. Why was he so stingy with details?

- You get to be the message lead for our Chrysler commercial. - WHAT?! That’s huge. Wait... Why are you giving it to me? If someone asked a few days ago I would have said for sure I would be fired very soon. - I think you’ll do great. I’ll think you’ll manage to craft exactly the right message for heartland consumers. I have it from a good source that you’ll be just the right blend of creative writer and redneck for the job.

rainstorms and kisses. [dabi x barista!reader]

Genre: Fluff/ (one line of) implied smut

Summary: Where you and Dabi mess around when you two are stuck in the cafe without an umbrella.

A/N: Since y’all seemed to enjoy coffee and cupcakes, so here’s a part two to the coffeeshopAU! This also works as a standalone fic, but here’s part one if you’re interested!

Wordcount: 1617

Dabi lounges back in his comfy armchair in the corner of the cafe as he sips on his now lukewarm coffee, eyes finding your form as you worked behind the counter, waiting for your shift to end so that he could spend time with you.

Nearing the closing time of the cafe, most of the customers and employees had begun to leave, with only a few regulars left who were finishing up your coffee. When your boss had spotted the scarred man entering the cafe, she had informed you that she would have to leave early today, asking you to help her close up shop, winking at you as she tossed you the keys and telling you to “have fun”.

Needless to say, Dabi visiting and picking you up after work had become a common occurrence, ever since he asked you out, him coming in at seven never changing, but he would instead sink back into one of the comfy chairs in the cafe, and wait for you until your shift ended.

You hand the drink off to the last customer and bid them goodbye, leaving him and you alone in the cafe. As the door swings shut, he slides his phone into his pocket and comes up to hug you from behind, his tall form enveloping you. You tip your head back, looking back and up at him as he leans down to capture your lips in a sweet kiss. 

“Hey, handsome,” you say, not even trying to stop the grin that was creeping onto your face as you turned to face him. “Hey, cupcake. I missed you,” he says, lifting you up to his eye level as you wrap your legs around his slender waist and peck him on the lips, the rough texture of his bottom lip brushing against your soft ones feeling absolutely perfect to you. After a while, your lips break apart, both panting slightly as he gently sets you back down. 

“Wanna help me clean up so we can leave earlier?” you ask, throwing a towel at him and getting to work wiping down the tables yourself. 

“Your boss should really be paying me for this, considering I help her close up shop so often,” he responds, but he starts wiping down the table next to yours anyways.

“Shush,” you tell him. “You’re the one who should be grateful to Touka, considering she lets you sit there like a total creep and take up the best spot in the cafe every single day. I’m surprised no one has tried to kick you out yet.”

“Aww, I thought you loved me, babe,” he responds easily, glancing at you as you push the chairs in and move on to clean the next table. 

“Uh-huh, you reply, unamused. “I’ll love you when you finish sweeping the floor for me.”  

He laughs, slightly flicking the back of your head as he passes by behind you to grab the broom. “You’re lucky I love you or you would be dead by now, cupcake.”

“You only love me because I make the best coffee, Dabi.”

“I think we both know that’s not true, Y/N.”

You shrug. He wasn’t wrong, after all. You knew he really did love you, even if he didn’t always show it. “C’mon, let’s just hurry up and finish here so we can go.” He chuckles and goes back to his sweeping.

“Aaannd we’re done!” you cheer, wiping your hands dry and hanging your apron up. “I’m gonna go grab my stuff from the break room, okay? Wait for me here.” 

“Do you have an umbrella, Y/N?” Dabi asks as he looks out the window. 

“No, why? Is it raining?” you ask, walking towards him to look out the window as well.

The black-haired man nods in affirmation, moving to the side so that you could peer out and see the pouring rain outside.

You sigh and pull out a chair, sitting down and closing your eyes in exhaustion. 

“Well, I guess we’re not leaving anytime soon then,” he says, nudging you gently to get you to scoot over and make space for him.

You curl up to him, relishing in his warmth and breathing in his comforting scent as he wraps his arms around you and pulls you closer, relishing in the comfortable silence between the two of you. Between the constant bickering between you two, it was rare for the two of you to fall into silence. 

“Want me to make you some tea?” you mumble against his skin, too tired to lift your head to look at him. He chuckles, you feeling the vibrations in his chest as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.“You’re so weird, cupcake. You work in a coffee shop, make the best coffee, and yet you prefer tea.” 

You pout at his words. “There’s less caffeine in tea, and it isn’t healthy to drink so much caffeine late at night. You just never listen to me,” you tell him. 

He boops your nose gently, making you scrunch up your nose at him. He smiles softly, taking in your adorable expression as he resists the urge to pinch your cheeks.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever you say. I still want my coffee though,” he answers.

You roll your eyes at him and get up, stretching as you did so. “Well, if you want coffee so badly, you’re gonna have to make your own,” you retort, sticking your tongue out at him. “You know I can’t cupcake. That’s why we’re dating.”

You feign hurt as you gasp dramatically, bringing a hand to your chest. “Wow Dabi. I thought you loved me,” you say, turning your back to him and walking towards the counters to fix yourself a cup of tea. The black haired man trails behind you like a lost puppy, and the thought made you stifle your laughter.

“Hurry up and wash your nasty hands so we can get started,” you tell him, flicking water at him as you do the same. 

Dabi complies. “What are we making, cupcake?”

“Since we’re stuck here anyways, you’re going to learn how to make coffee so that you stop ordering off my paycheck here,” you tell him, earning a laugh from him in response.

“Okay, okay, I’ll humor you, cupcake,” he says, slinging an arm around your shoulders, and you elbow him in the ribs. “Why can’t you be more serious,” you sigh, opening a cabinet and pulling out two mugs, sliding one over to him, and he grabs it.

After an hour of trying (and failing) to teach your lanky boyfriend the art of coffee making along with lots of complaining and you just barely managing to stop yourself from throwing something at him, you finally sigh and give up. You push him aside gently as you brew him a cup of decaf coffee, grabbing some tea leaves from the cabinet to brew yourself some tea as well in the process. As you wait for the coffee to brew, you throw a towel at him and demand for him to wipe down the mess that the two of you had made in the past hour. He gladly obliges as he watches you work, not-so-subtly eyeing your figure as you poured the coffee and tea into separate mugs, turning to give him his when you notice him staring at your ass.

You flush red under his intense gaze, feeling vulnerable as his eyes seem to undress you. “Stop looking at me like that, you pervert,” you say, huffing in embarrassment as you shove his mug towards him. 

He smirks at your flustered expression, pulling you closer by the waist and giving you a squeeze. “I can’t help it though babe, it’s your fault you’re so damn hot,” he replies smoothly, making you swat at his arm. 

“You’re so stupid,” you tell him, not knowing how to respond to his bold statement. 

“You’re not so bad yourself though.” The words slip out of your lips before you realize it, and you gasp and cover your mouth at the thought of yourself saying something so scandalous.

His eyes widen, not expecting something so cheeky to come from your lips, and he relishes in your flustered look, pushing you against the counter and towering over you with that ever cocky smirk on his face.

“Aw cupcake, you think I’m hot? That’s cute,” he teases, enjoying the moment as you become helpless under him, unable to push him away because of the mugs you were holding, and your eyes unable to meet his.

The moment is ruined for him when you knee him in the shin though, and you take advantage of his surprise and pry yourself away from his grasp, and you sit down in the chair that you had pulled out earlier. You take a sip of your tea, the warmth spreading through your body as you look out into the rainy evening sky.

He pulls out the chair across from you and sits down, resting his chin in his hand as he looks at you. 

You can’t help but fidget under his intense gaze. “You’re such a creep, Dabi,” you tell him, “I’m surprised you haven’t been arrested yet.”

“It’s fine,” he replies, still not taking his eyes off you. “It’s not like I ogle girls on the street, you know. It’s just you.”

You almost choke on your tea from his response. Why does he have to be so smooth, you think to yourself, racking your brain for a way to say something back.

“You’re flattered, aren’t you,” your boyfriend drawls as he leans near you, and you’re too flustered to move away as he gently pokes your cheek. Your face heats up at his touch, and you feel a warmth radiate in your chest as you lock eyes with him, a soft, genuine smile spreading across his face, different from the usual smirk he would spend your away. 

“Yeah, I guess I am,” you say, the smile on your face mirroring his as you rest your elbows on the table and lean forward to close the gap between the two of you.

Maybe rainy days weren’t so bad after all, if they meant you could spend more time with the person you love.

Survey #341

“anger, misery, you’ll suffer unto me”

Would you risk your life to save a total stranger? I don't think so. Have you ever trashed your ex’s car after an argument? No, and I never would. Grow up. Have you ever done something because of peer pressure you are ashamed of? I don't believe so, no. Have you ever been embarrassed to introduce your parents to anyone? No. Would you leave a note on a car claiming responsibility if you damaged it? Yeah; guilt would eat me alive otherwise. Have you ever used someone's handicapped parking pass to get a parking spot? Fucking ew, no. Have you ever held back a well-deserved compliment because you were jealous? No. Do you guilt people into giving you what you want? Ugh, no. Would most people consider you better than average looking? Ha, no. For yourself, would you rather have a perfect body or high IQ? Give me the perfect body, living in my horrible one has affected my mental health badly enough. I'm fine with having a moderate IQ. I just want to feel happy in my own skin. Have you ever embarrassed some intentionally in public? Wow, no. Have you ever used a false ID? Also no. Are you embarrassed to tell people your job? I'm embarrassed to tell people I don't HAVE a job. Do you remember the first conversation you had with the person you have feelings for? I don't. I'm sure it was RP-related and not friendly, but I don't remember the exact convo. Have you ever got a D or F on your report card? I want to say no; I think the lowest I ever got was a C. If you had twins, would you give them rhyming names? Ugh, no. I'm sorry if you're into it, but I'm just not. I would want to ensure they knew their uniqueness and individuality was seen. Is there anyone that you wish was IN your life who used to be? There's a large number of those kinds of people. What brings out the worst in you? Probably when I'm building up towards a PTSD meltdown. I get VERY short and snappy and am convinced everyone hates and wants to leave me. My mouth also has NO fucking leash, and I know I can say very mean things that I'll regret later. What do you prefer, Skittles or Starbursts? Skittles. Mike & Ikes or Jolly Ranchers? Jolly Ranchers for sure. What is your favorite thing to eat with peanut butter? Waffles (with syrup). Don't knock it 'til you try it, I'm telling you. What are some wild animals commonly found where you live? Besides birds obviously, there's squirrels, deer, opossums, raccoons... Have you ever had a lucid dream? I think I've had just one. What's your biggest problem at the moment? Probably my anxiety having stunted my growth in so many areas. Have you ever turned down a job offer? I don't think so, no. What's the longest hospital stay you've had? For what? I think my longest was almost two months for suicidal thoughts. Two months might sound long, but it was like... my third or so psych hospital stay for that same reason. What's something really basic that you're terrible at? Even the most simple math. I don't even know the majority of my elementary multiplication tables. Have you ever hugged someone for over a minute? Yeah. Would you ever get a tattoo on your collar bone? I have one there already, but I plan on getting it covered because it was an impulse tattoo that I feel no connection towards. Have you ever searched for your house on Google Earth? My old house, yeah. Are you a beach, country, or city person? Country. Living in the suburbs has definitely reminded me of that... Are you faster at text messaging or typing on the computer? Typing, by a long shot. I make typos texting too much. Have you ever kissed anybody who had a mustache? Yeah. Who is the last person that you said "I love you" to, besides family members? Sara. When was your first real relationship? Sophomore year of high school to early college. Have you ever cried over an ex? I've cried the entire mass of water on Earth over an ex lmao. Have you ever kissed someone of the same sex? Yes. Is there something really bad that you’ve done, that only YOU know about? No. Have you ever copied someone else’s homework? I think I have once or twice, but obviously with consent. What’s a hobby you would like to try out? If my legs worked like actual legs and I didn't sweat like an absolute pig, I would like to try out herping, but without actually interacting with the animal like picking it up and scaring the daylights out of it. I'd just be happy enough looking for reptiles, amphibians, and inverts to photograph instead. Does that still even count as herping? What was the last event you attended? My youngest niece's birthday party. How about the last event you organized? I've never organized an event. What’s something you get excited about doing and want to do it right away? Whenever I take nature pictures, I'm immediately keen to get them into Lightroom and do the postproduction. Is there anything you feel you’re better at than anybody else? Definitely not. What’s the biggest insect you’ve ever seen? If you exclude places like the zoo, that would probably be a rhinoceros beetle or something. Oh no, actually some kind of local moth I don't know the name of. They're beautiful big white boiz. How about the biggest spider? I might be mis-remembering, but I believe at a reptile convention I went to with Sara, one of the vendors had a goliath bird eater tarantula in one of the cups. I do know it was some tarantula species for sure, though. Who was the first person to break your heart? My dad. Obviously not romantically, but him just splitting on the family with no proper communication absolutely broke my heart for years. First person to give you flowers or candy on Valentine’s day? I'm sure that would be my parents. If you exclude them 'cuz that's kinda obvious, I believe it was Aaron, my first boyfriend. I'm pretty sure we were together on Valentine's Day, because I remember getting him a giant Hershey's Kiss. First band you obsessed about? I wasn't truly obsessed with any band 'til Ozzy in middle school. Can you do a backflip? No; I've never tried and never will. I was and still am too afraid of breaking my neck. Like I have a MASSIVE fear of paralysis, particularly from the neck down; that fear is actually the biggest one that keeps me from driving, fun fact. Are you an optimist or a pessimist? Of the two, definitely a pessimist, but I at least think I align most with being a realist. What’s the biggest lie you’ve told someone? I'm unsure. Have you ever been hit on by someone of the same sex? Yeah. How many doors are in the room you’re in? Just one. Have you ever been engaged and broke it off? No. Has anyone ever drawn a picture of you? Tyler once drew a picture of him and me. It was cute. That guy still dove in WAY too fast. Have you ever dated a redhead? I haven't, but I love redheads. Natural red hair is just gorgeous. What are your thoughts on facial hair on guys? Historically, I seem to generally like some, but it really depends on the guy's general appearance. I can like none at all or a full beard and mustache, it doesn't really matter to me. Did you go anywhere today? No; my mom is in Florida with her brothers totally cleaning out Grammy's house, so she's not here to take me anywhere. Do you have any nieces or nephews? Oh yikes, I have a lot. I honestly can't count because I've lost track of how many boys and girls Katie has. You have a choice to shoot your father or die, what would you do? Jesus. I'd rather die; some things just aren't worth living after, and I'd have no desire to keep going if I killed my father. Did you ever cry at the end of King Kong? I've never watched it, actually, but I. LOVED. The video game. I haven't played it in years and only faintly remember how it ends, but I don't remember crying. Are you in any amount of pain at the moment? Quite a lot, actually. It's kinda a TMI subject so I won't delve into it, just know I'm hurting like a bitch. What was the last sugary thing you ate? I snacked on some chocolate chips earlier today... which I really shouldn't have done, but I think I had reasonable restraint and didn't totally binge. When was the last time you did something extremely stupid? Who knows, that's not a rare occurrence, it feels like. Have you been to any parties lately? Only my niece's bday party in February. Thankfully it was kept pretty small, given Covid; not that anyone in that family besides my sister gives a flying fuck about precautions, though... Can you touch your pinky to your thumb around your wrist? Ugh, no. Close, but not enough. I still have thin wrists and hands, but yeah, yay for being overweight. If you were to start a charity, what would you call it? I'd hve to put more thought than I'm willing for one survey question. I'd have to decide what KIND of charity I want to start first, which I'm unsure of. Probably something related to animal wellfare and conservation or something similar to the Trevor Project. Maybe LBGTQ+ youth disowned by their families... I dunno. There's so much good I wish I could do. Are you comfortable with your body? Holy fuck no. It's only gotten worse since I started gaining weight again and almost entirely erased all weight loss progress I'd made. What is your recent inside joke? Most recently made? Idk, man. I don't make those often. Would you rather be a human, vampire, or a werewolf? Er, I'm good with being a human. If I was a vampire or werewolf, I wouldn't exactly be very welcomed, I'm sure, and both have seemingly painful traits to cope with. Are you good at giving directions? It is absolutely impossible for me. I have NO sense of direction, like, at all. I don't know highway names, local exits, etc. etc. etc. etc. Why did you last curse? Pain when readjusting myself due to aforementioned issue I'm having. What is your purpose in life? I hope it involves animals and spreading words of peace and an appreciation for art. What is one of your weak points? I'm very, very, very dependent on others. I'm really working on trying to correct that. I can barely do shit on my own as is. Who was the last person you heard snoring? My cat, haha. Would you rather shower by yourself or with another person? 100% by myself. Another person would just get in the way and make me VERY self-conscious of my body, even if it was my romantic partner. Just please leave me alone to hate myself for 10 minutes. :^) What was your last addiction? You could say my current one is John Wolfe, a really funny let's player I've gotten into. Been bingeing some of my favorite games he has playlists of for a few weeks now. You are in a tank full of spiders, what do you do? Well one, I'd like to know what kind they are. Venomous? Harmless? You gotta give me the details. If I don't have any, then I'm admittedly freaking the fuck out, even though I know I should stay very calm when trying to get out. Fear would win, though. If killing yourself meant saving the world, would you? Saving the world from what? But odds are, yeah. I don't cherish my pretty damn mediocre life more than I do the lives of what, 8 billion people? Have you ever stayed up all night just to talk to someone? Yeah. When was the last time you eavesdropped someone? I kinda do that sometimes when Mom's on the phone and I can hear her from my room, and if they're on speaker. Particularly if the subject is me. When was the last time you went to a club? I've never been to one. How have you been sleeping? Poorly. Are you adopted? No, I'm not. Do you like scrapbooking? Not really, no. Do you collect anything valuable? "Valuable to me." <<<< This. Nothing of great monetary worth, though. Have you ever been beaten up? No, thankfully. Do you know anyone with an eating disorder? I don't think so, in my personal life. What was the last thing you killed? An ant. Have you ever used someone for money? I never could, no. When was the last time you went to the zoo? Sigh, it's been many many years. I'm so ready to get my goddamn legs back in shape so I can go again, this time with a REAL camera, too. Last time I went was when I still only had a Kodak EasyShare; I have a professional Canon camera now with much more education on photography too, so I would be in absolute heaven with at least twenty memory cards in need, haha. Maybe next fall... Is there a teacher you hate more than anything? I actually never had a teacher I hated in my entire school career. It really, really is as simple as just being a respectful student. In most cases, I should emphasize, because I do understand some educators just suck. Now I had some teachers I wasn't very fond of, but most certainly none that I hated. Do you own colored eyeliner? No. Do you have manners? I honestly think I'm very mannerly. When was the last time that you had a pet that died? We last had to put my dog Teddy down; he had cancer and was literally withering away. I knew in my very core that even if we didn't bring him to the vet to euthanize him, he would've died naturally in a very short period of time; I doubt he would've survived another night. Now I'd like to move on. What is your favorite medication that you take, and why? The combination of Vraylar and Lamictal is the reason I'm alive. It keeps my bipolarity and depression under control. Do you decorate Mason jars? No, but those are some of my favorite crafts visually. They're very pretty and cute. Can you see the mountains from where you live? Oh hunny, I wish. Did you ever play pranks on April Fool’s Day? As a kid, yeah. I don't anymore. I'm not really even a fan of April Fool's Day as an adult because of how cruel some jokes assholes play are. Which instrument would you play if you could learn to play one? Maybe violin. Do you part your hair on the left side, right side, or in the middle? The left. What are some names you like that start with the first letter of your name? Uhhhh Bianca, Braelynn (look I know it's so stereotypically Southern but it's pretty)... and idk from there, those are the two that come to mind first.

#6 Kristy’s Big Day: Chapter 8

God, I really hate Karen.

So the first day of the BSC day care group is a success but then Karen goes and ruins it the next day. But you wouldn't be able to tell that from Dawn's entry in the BSC notebook. What a morning my group had - all thanks to Karen's imagination.

I'm noticing a pattern here. Every time Karen acts like an obnoxious, annoying, spoiled brat, the BSC just laughs, shakes their heads and blames her wild imagination! When with any other kid, they would complain about what a pain they were. DOUBLE STANDARD!

Ok, well they decide to take the kids out so they don't grow bored of hanging around the Thomases house all day. Hey, if they get bored, put them to work packing up the house and cleaning, since you have like two weeks to vacate! So they decide to all take little trips. Mary Anne takes the babies for a walk but she has the problem of cramming both babies in Beth's stroller. Mrs. Fielding didn't leave one? Though I guess it would look pretty weird, pushing two strollers at once. She finally remedies the situation by smushing Tony into Beth's lap, which does not sound safe at all, especially for the piece of crap strollers of the 80s. Eventually, Beth wants out (and I would too if I was a baby with another stuffed on my lap), so Mary Anne lets her toddle around next to them and you know how fast babies walk. So Mary Anne's occupied for the day with that.

Stacey takes her group to the park to catch minnows and...that's pretty much it. Some problems because Ashley's leg is broken, but she doesn't seem to mind. Also, I don’t know if kids from eight to ten would find catching minnows exciting but what do I know.

Claudia and Kristy combine their groups to go to storytime at the library. They pack bags of graham crackers and juice (yeah, try that at the library where I used to work) and diapers and toys and load the kids into David Michael's wagon and Mary Anne's old wagon. David Michael complains about them using his wagon because complaining is his other talent besides whining. They then head over to the Newton's, where Jamie joins them and Mrs. Newton breathes a sigh of relief because she now has time to go get the mail.

Dawn takes her group to the playground. And oh lord, this is going to be fun, just judging by Kristy's line here: Karen Brewer always seems to make things more interesting than usual. Yeah, you just keep telling yourself that. “More interesting” is code for “ruins stuff by being annoying.” And right away, she starts by telling David Michael and Berk that according to some “big kid” on her street, Martians are going to attack Earth at seven that evening.

Is this the same big kid that told her about Morbidda Destiny? If so, I hope someone gagged the bastard for putting these stupid ideas in her head. ARGH. Anyway, Dawn tells her that's stupid (well, in a nicer way than that. Dawn's bitchy, but not to the kids) but it's no use. Karen says the kid who told her is a big kid, in 8th grade. Of course, David Michael and Berk believe her. Kristy so gave Dawn this group on purpose.

Karen says the kid told her a lot of people know about this but they don't want to believe it. I guarantee this kid is also a 9/11 truther who thinks Covid is a hoax. And that JFK was murdered by a magic bullet. Also, Karen's really gullible, even for a six-year-old. Dawn tells them Martians are silly stuff (so ironic, considering she's Little Miss The Ghost of Jared Mullray is Haunting Me) and Karen insists it is not silly stuff.

They continue to the playground, the kids staring up at the sky. David Michael justifies the Martian thing by saying he saw them on TV. So, of course, they must be real. Dawn asks him if he thinks Mickey Mouse and Bugs Bunny are real because they’re on TV and David Michael says “No. But there might be Martians.” Dammit, kid on Karen's street, you unleashed a monster. Dawn once again reiterates there's no such thing as Martians but the kids say there are. You see where this is going.

The kids discuss what'll happen when they land and Dawn throws her hands up in exasperation. Wow, a babysitter losing their temper with a kid? Definitely an early book. But despite this being an early book, Dawn hasn't taken action against Karen. The kids keep scaring the shit out of each other, with talk of ray guns and spray guns (you know, guns that spray stuff so you can't move and they can bring you back to Mars) and Karen says UFOs are going to arrive. “Hundreds of 'em. All shiny and silvery.”

Did I mention I hate Karen? Because I do. And because she's the BSC Golden Child who can do no wrong and is always funny, cute, and imaginative, nothing happens.

Dawn, desperate for some distraction, pulls them over to an arts and crafts thing that's set up, with kids making puppets. It doesn't work because Berk asks David Michael if he can stay at his house and hide in the basement, because he doesn't know if his hotel has one. Dawn finally gets assertive and tells them to knock it off. Oh wait. She thought about telling them they weren't allowed to discuss Martians anymore, but decided that was too mean. I take back calling her assertive. Dawn, you're a wuss.

Dawn asks if they want to enter the puppet-making contest, then catches the kids whispering to each other. She tells them no secrets but Karen announces they're going to go swing, so she takes off with the others in tow. Dawn, completely oblivious, goes to find out about the puppet contest. A few minutes later, a little girl named Tina comes running over to Fran, one of the counselors. She's crying about Martians. Uh oh. Dawn marches over to the swingset to find Karen, David Michael and Berk warning the other kids about the Martian invasion.

One boy starts to cry and runs home, with others following him. Dawn, at this point, is pissed (I know, someone's actually angry at something Karen's doing). She orders them back to the puppet table, despite Karen's protests that she needs to warn everyone about the Martian attack. Hey Karen?

Everything's quiet for a bit, until a branch falls from a tree nearby and Karen shrieks that the Martians are coming. Kids scream in horror, run for the hills, cry for their mommy, all that stuff. Fran glares at Dawn and her group and Dawn apologizes profusely for what's going on. She offers to help find the kids, Fran tells her someone else is supposed to be at the playground soon and instead asks for them to get the hell out of here. And just like Elvis Costello from Saturday Night Live, Karen's been banned from the playground. Nice.

Dawn's really ticked off now. She finds her group hiding in a storage shed and takes them home. On the walk back, she gets off her ass and does some babysitting, scolding them for their behavior and giving them a talk about how they shouldn't scare the crap out of other kids. She also makes them promise not to talk about Martians anymore.

Thus concludes one of the very, very few times someone calls Karen out and yells at her for her bad behavior. A very rare occurrence indeed. Oh and Kristy throws in at the end how she's thinking of a special wedding present for her mom and Watson. What do you get for your mother and a millionaire? Hello there, Subplot That is Barely Dealt With.

task eight - high school never ends

Let’s start with the simple stuff first. what classes did you take in high school? which ones were you most and least excited for? did you have a favorite teacher that made the days more enjoyable?

Lia shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Talking about high school--especially after Jack and her’s conversation--was not her idea of a good time. The blonde played with her fingers and took a deep breath. “Classes? Uhm, well--I took all the usuals. Math, Biology, History--oh, English.” A smile slowly unfolded over her face. “English was always my favorite. Mrs. Buchanan--she was the kindest woman. I always thought I might end up like her one day. She had such a way of pulling you into the story. I remember one day, we were reading The Great Gastby and the way she was asking us to think about the story really...put me there. Like I was in the car with Daisy and Gatsby. I could feel the anguish they felt over Myrtle, the panic and the fear. It was...spectacular.” Lia shook herself out of her memory and cleared her throat. “I also took French mais ça n'avait pas de sens puisque ma famille n'est jamais allée en france.” She giggled slightly. “Ah, still have it. I didn’t much like math--I wasn’t really good at it. That had always been more of Bennett’s thing.” A sigh passed through her lips and she looked down. “I wasn’t going to college, so my momma and dad didn’t much care if I took harder classes or not, so I didn’t do many honors or AP. I convinced them to let me do English though--at the time I thought I could also convince them to let me to school for it too.” That fight still seared in her memory,  the embarrassment of having to be reminded her place still hot in her heart. “Favorite teacher? Mrs. Buchanan. She’s a special lady--I hope she’s doing well.”

and now, outside of the classroom. did you participate in any extracurricular activities like sports, band, or other clubs? were you apart of the prom planning committee or did your parent always sign up to chaperone field trips? or did you bolt home or to work at the end of the day?

Magnolia let out a hearty laugh at this question. “Extracurriculars--no ma’am. The Barnes don’t do extracurriculars. At least, not me. In fact, I do believe my momma once said that school was my extracurricular. Because if I wasn’t at school, you’d better believe I’d be practicing baton twirling, question and answers, pageant walks, doing some sort of philanthropy for the local community--anything that made me look more of a queen material. I’d practice for hours a way twirling that stupid...” She blinked, realizing the aggression that had taken over her voice. “I mean, no--no time. Momma said that a pageant queen has to be motivated and dedicated to her craft, so I spent a lot of time practicing.” Another smile found its way to her lips. “But, when I did have free time, I was usually hanging out with Jack. Maybe riding horses or learning to cook from his momma or--if Jack wasn’t around--hanging by the old oak tree behind our houses on the tire swing, just thinking. i couldn’t get a lot of thoughts out inside my house, so i had to find a place to do it outside. I loved that old tire swing, she and i had some mighty good memories.” She felt a few southern saying slipping in to her words and she took a deep breath. “But no, I wasn’t involved in high school very much. I mean, it was hard to be involved when you left halfway through, right?”

a night to remember. did you go to prom? if so, did you have a date or fly solo, and was it a good time where you danced all night, and what were you wearing? if not, did you have an ‘anti-prom’ party, or why else did you decide not to go? what about other school dances or pep rallies?

Lia swallowed thickly. She did not want to think about prom right now. Her mind flew to the pale blue dress in her closest and she closed her eyes. Prom. Prom was supposed to be the thing. Their thing--Jack and Lia’s. How much time they had spent coordinating colors, figuring out small little things, even way before they were even allowed to go. Lia had always been a planner and she had kinda pulled Jack in on the whole ‘planning from prom early’ train. She never showed him her dress though--partly because she was embarrassed she had even ordered it so early but also because she wanted it to a be a surprise. She hadn’t even told him she had gotten it yet. Lia had pages filled with ideas for what her hair could look like, shoes could be and even what kind of make up she’d do. The blonde was so meticulous at making sure prom would be nothing like the pageants she had been attending her whole life. Not a single thing matched the pagaents--her dress would be completely different, her hair? curled and loose--and no tiara at all. she wouldn’t even attempt to submit herself for royalty--she just wanted a night that was just...simple and fun. She wanted to enjoy music and dancing and just be a teenager for one four hour experience before she had to go back to the world she lived in.

The day she learned she’d be leaving--and not coming back, a part of her snapped. It wasn’t dramatic and it wasn’t explosive, but lia had changed that day. Her father had packed up her room, and already driven off to FedEx to have it shipped off. He didn’t seem to notice or care that the large garment bag was doing in her closet. It all just..went. No questions. No conversation. Her mother was stone cold like she always was. “I will not have a daughter who is bent on grabbing the wrong kind of attention in my household. Do you understand what it might look like if this got out? That your little charade could cost your father the speaker of the house, even. Do you know how that would make us all look. Perhaps Bennett will lose his full ride? Do you want that? How would you feel knowing you cost your brother Princeton? No, no that just won’t do. London will be perfect, no one will know you there and you can start over. Maybe chose to leave the dramatic’s behind? No one needs to know why you left, Magnolia. No one. Don’t cause any more damage than you already have. I’m tired of cleaning up your messes.” Lia closed her eyes, biting her lip at the memory of that day. 

 “I didn’t go to prom.” 

Some more of the hard hitting q’s. who did you sit with at lunch? did you keep the lock off your locker or decorate it? were your headphones always snaked through your sleeve? was cutting class a normal occurrence or would you never dare? did you ever get detention?

“Freshman and sophomore year, I ate lunch with Jack, Sarah Beth, Hannah and Lila. Probably some other people, and those girls kinda rotated in and out as they pleased, but Jack and I usually ate together for the most part. When I moved, I liked to eat alone. In my room mostly, probably reading a book or something. By the end of boarding school I had started eating lunch with Bex, which was nice. She didn’t like to talk a whole lot but neither did I. Though, in our small conversations, I learned she liked to blow glass and create really cool art pieces. She always promised to show me but we just never got around to it.” Fingers tapped on the table. “I was a boring high school kid--never skipped, never got detention and when I did go to the headmaster’s office, it was because I had gotten a good grade or impressed my teacher.” There was a time though, when she was asked about applying for colleges. Lia had told her teacher she wasn’t going and it had sent a wave of concern through the older woman. So Lia had gotten called to the headmasters office and she had to explain that she wasn’t to go to college, her parents wouldn’t pay for it and she knew her grades were good, but not scholarship level. Her headmaster kept telling her she had potential, but on the day that she was sent away, she had stopped really believing what people said about her, at least in that way. She didn’t think it really mattered. It was such an uncomfortable conversation because the tables had been flipped--but Lia was firm. College wasn’t meant for people like her. Luckily, she had found a job with Mr. Worthington shortly after graduating--and sometimes she thinks she’s learned more in her personal assistant role than she would have at school. 

upward and onward. what did you want to be when you were sixteen? was there a career path in mind, a certain college, another route worth taking? were you excited to see your high school in the rearview mirror or was moving on bittersweet?  if you graduated, was it scary or exciting or a mix of both? did you end up where your younger self expected you to?

What did she want to be when she was sixteen? “What did I want to be or what did my mother want me to be?” A humorless laugh escaped her lips and she felt herself lower her guard for a moment. “I wanted to be a writer. Or an English teacher--I really loved Mrs. Buchanan. But really, I wanted to write. Poetry, a novel, a screenplay, it didn’t matter. There was nothing I loved more than putting pen to paper and letting the words flow right out of me. It was so...” thereapuetic? “relaxing. But Momma wanted me to be a wife--even had a whole plan to get me there.” Her laugh was different this time--softer, more gentler. Her mind went to when Mrs. Barnes told Lia that she had already picked out the person she was going to marry. Lia had just come home from school, running up the stairs to throw her practice clothes on before her mother could yell at her for running late. But instead Momma stopped her before she could make it to the stairs, and pulled her in the kitchen. Lia tensed--kitchen talks were never good. When she had heard that her mother had picked out her future husband, Lia felt a rare sense of fight arise in her and she was ready to go off...until her mother expressed who it was. “Jack?” She blinked, completely thrown aback. “Like--lives right next door, rides horses and is like a cowboy, my best friend Jack?” What shocked her the most was how...well, how much she wasn’t bothered at all by the idea? Perhaps there was more to that then what she understood at the time, but for the first time in a long time--she wasn’t mad that her momma had made a choice for her. “Y’know, I think that was the one thing Momma did right.” She said softly, running a hand through her hair. “But no--I mean, college wasn’t in the cards for me and when I got sent away, it was up to me to figure things out. And looks like neither one of those futures really worked out, huh?”

and last but not least. if you could tell your younger self one thing - what would it be?

“Say no and don’t you dare get in that car Magnolia.”

Holy Water

Masterlist.  Kyran.

~#~

Honestly when Gabriel was woken up in the middle of the night by a crash, his first thought was that Zane had found him.  The prince of angels was the best tracker in the world and Rae’s silly spells could only stop him for so long.

But there was silence after the crash and Zane wouldn’t have bothered with silence.  Gabriel got up slowly, careful to keep his wings folded flat against his spine.  He couldn’t risk the dim light being seen, no matter who had broken into his house at two in the morning.  

He crept out into the living room.  The source of the crash was obvious – a vase had shattered on the floor, flowers spilling into in a small puddle of water. Next to the broken ceramic was a huddled mass of black.

Gabriel slowly walked closer, grabbing a baseball bat on his way in.  The huddled mass was not moving, but the vase had not toppled on its own.  Just as he sidestepped the puddle of water, the mass groaned and shifted.

It was a person – Gabriel could distinguish four limbs and the moonlight shone off of pale skin.  Then he found a pair of red eyes staring at him from the shadows.

“Kyran,” Gabriel hissed, ready to swing the baseball bat, “What in the name of hell are you doing?”

“Gabriel,” Kyran said chirpily, but made no move to get up.  That, at the very least, halted Gabriel’s swing.  “My absolute favorite person in the world.”  Now Gabriel could hear the hint of bitterness under the heavy sarcasm. “How fortuitous that I should land here.”

The pair of red eyes vanished and Gabriel tightened his grip on the baseball bat.  Well, that had been strange, but at least the demon was gone, now.  He’d have to look into demon-proofing his apartment in the morning.

Gabriel turned and saw Kyran’s red eyes staring at him from the kitchen doorway.  The demon was standing now, but the moonlight had fallen on his face and Gabriel could see that he was swaying.  “I’m still here?” Kyran asked incredulously to no one in particular, before crumpling to the floor.

Gabriel was officially freaked out.

He turned on the lights just to solidify that this was not some pineapple-induced nightmare and looked back to where Kyran was collapsed on the living room carpet.  The demon wasn’t moving, but the soft groans told Gabriel that he was still conscious.

Gabriel looked at the baseball bat for another long second, but decided that he could probably kill Kyran with his bare hands at this point, and left it against the wall before moving to the demon’s side.

“I repeat,” Gabriel said, nudging Kyran with his foot, “What in the name of hell?”

“I’d rather not be here either, dearest angel mine,” Kyran said in a hoarse voice.  He was attempting to lever himself up, but failing quite miserably. His hands were twitching and didn’t seem able to take his weight.  In the harsh light, Kyran’s pale skin was chalk white and Gabriel could see the remnants of dried blood around his mouth.

“So why are you here?” Gabriel asked, crossing his arms.  Kyran muttered something, cursed, and muttered something else before pushing himself into a sitting position.  The movement caused what color was left to drain from his face. 

“I’ll be on my way, just give me a second,” Kyran closed his eyes, wincing, and disappeared again.  This time, he didn’t manage to stay upright – he reappeared a foot to the left and his red eyes locked on to Gabriel for a second before rolling back into his head.

Gabriel didn’t move and stared at the formless pile of demon on his floor.

~#~

Gabriel did not know why he was dumping Kyran on his couch as opposed to out his seventh-floor window.  Or perhaps into a dumpster, where trash like him belonged. But Kyran no longer looked like the sneering, two-faced demon that Gabriel had sworn to kill.  His features were slackened in unconsciousness and Gabriel was struck by just how thin he was.

Demons had cracked the secrets of immortality and delved into dark arts so powerful that angels could not hope to catch up. But they were solitary, hunted creatures and Gabriel only now realized what that meant.  He wondered when Kyran had last eaten – and wondered if anyone had bothered to remind him.  If he had anyone to remind him.

With a dab of a wet cloth, most of the dried blood vanished from Kyran’s face.  He didn’t look visibly injured and Gabriel assumed that his uncharacteristic exhaustion was due to overexertion.  Too many spells in too short a time, most likely, doing whatever underhanded thing the demon did when he wasn’t helping Rae break into abandoned underworld hideouts.

Gabriel paused a second more before going to get his tools.  A rune circle would make him feel a lot safer and would also prevent the demon from escaping. Gabriel wanted answers on what had happened to Elizabeth and demon would give them to him, if it was the last thing he did. 

Gabriel hoped that it was the last thing he did.

Bringing out the chalk, Gabriel moved his carpet out of the way and began inscribing a circle around the couch, effectively trapping the demon inside.

~#~

Kyran woke up at around eleven.  Gabriel had, by that time, already debated over whether or not to make the demon breakfast, had consequently burned that breakfast, had placed a glass of holy water at Kyran’s side, removed the glass, and resorted to flicking pieces of lint at the demon’s head while Gabriel cleaned.

He was just starting to wonder whether he’d drawn the rune circle properly – he might have been a half-second away from calling Rae in panic that he’d accidentally killed her pet demon – when Kyran stirred.  Red eyes blinked open to stare blankly at the ceiling and Kyran’s face scrunched up in a wince.  He shifted slightly and stared coughing – which sounded wet and not remotely healthy – bringing his hand to his mouth.  When he removed it, it was dripping with blood.  

Kyran looked at it and muttered something too low for Gabriel to hear.  The blood vanished.

“I’m guessing that’s not a normal occurrence,” Gabriel stated, and felt somewhat mollified when Kyran let out a shriek and whipped his head so fast that his neck cracked.  He stared at Gabriel with a deer-in-headlights look – Gabriel didn’t think that he’d ever before seen that combination of shock, panic and fear on the demon’s face.

“What?” was the only thing Kyran managed to say, which was even more gratifying.  Gabriel enjoyed seeing the normally unflappable demon so shell-shocked.

“I’m going to ask you the same thing I asked last night,” Gabriel said coolly, “And this time I want an answer.  Why the hell are you here?”

“Cursing, Gabriel, really?” Kyran quirked an eyebrow, and Gabriel narrowed his eyes before reaching for the chalk.  A few adjustments to the rune circle wouldn’t hurt, and maybe being shocked every ten seconds would loosen Kyran’s tongue.

“What are you doing?” Kyran asked when Gabriel knelt down at the edge of the circle.  “A rune circle, seriously?” Kyran mocked, but Gabriel could feel the edge of fear in his voice, “Are you that afraid of me, Gabriel?”  Gabriel stayed silent and began modifying the circle. “Gabriel?  What are you doing?  Gabriel!”

“Answer my question and I’ll answer yours,” Gabriel said, carefully adding a symbol here and a circle there.

“You are pushy, aren’t you?” Kyran muttered, but his voice had an edge of anger, “I have no idea why I’m here.  I was trying to get out, but my teleportation spell failed. As you can see.”

Gabriel paused and looked up to meet Kyran’s gaze. The demon looked…worried.  “Why did you faint?” Gabriel asked.  Kyran scowled, clearly showing what he thought of this interrogation, but he darted a quick glance to the chalk in Gabriel’s hand and answered.

“Lack of sleep,” Kyran said shortly, the usual tone of amusement absent, “I don’t see why that’s any of your business.  Now let me out of here, and I’ll be out of your apartment before you can say ‘Elizabeth’.”

Gabriel knew that the mention of his fiancée’s name was meant to be provocative, but Kyran’s smirk looked alien on his weary face and there was still a smidge of blood at the corner of his mouth, vivid against his grey skin.  Kyran didn’t look like he could sit up properly, let along teleport out of Gabriel’s house.

So Gabriel shrugged, “Okay,” and smudged the lines of chalk.

Kyran stared at him like he’d gone crazy. “What?” he asked flatly but Gabriel didn’t answer him.  He merely stood up and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms.  Kyran stared at him doubtfully for a few more seconds before taking Gabriel at his word.  Shooting him one last suspicious look, Kyran closed his eyes and vanished.

Gabriel heard curses from the entryway and went to investigate.  Kyran lay on the floor, tangled in the coat rack he’d teleported into.  His skin was still deathly pale and his struggles were getting weaker.  Sighing, Gabriel stepped closer to give him a hand.

“I don’t need your help!” Kyran spat out and Gabriel was so surprised that he actually took a step back.  He’d never heard that tone from Kyran before – the demon usually varied from sarcastic to mocking while always sounded amused.  Anger was rare but Gabriel had never seen this fury.

Kyran managed to extricate himself from the furniture and lay on the wooden floor, panting.  Gabriel didn’t move to help him.  The demon slowly pushed himself forward, making it about two feet before another coughing fit overtook him.  The coughing didn’t stop and the blood steadily dripped from Kyran’s curled fingers to form a puddle on Gabriel’s spotless floor.   

When it ended, the demon lay in a curled position on the floor, a dark patch of blood next to him.  Gabriel met his eyes and noted that the fight in them was gone.

“I may need your help,” Kyran conceded wearily. Gabriel stepped forward and reached out a hand.  Kyran took it.  Gabriel pulled the demon to a semi-standing position – Kyran weighed next-to-nothing and that was worrying – and silently suffered the demon’s head on his shoulder as he maneuvered him back into the living room and onto the couch.

“I’ll get you some paper towels,” Gabriel said as Kyran started coughing again, “And a glass of water.”  It was a good thing Gabriel had been watching the demon while he talked, because otherwise he would’ve missed the full-body flinch.  Red eyes darted up to his face, wide with something darker than fear and Gabriel paused.

Kyran was coughing.  He was coughing up blood. Demons healed remarkably quickly and didn’t fall sick, in fact, the only thing that impeded a demon’s ability to heal was –

Holy water.

Gabriel lunged forward and caught Kyran’s hands before the demon could jerk away.  There, the little red spots on his hands.  What Gabriel assumed to be the leftover stain of blood was actually small burns that healed, inch by inch, as Gabriel watched.  He looked up to meet Kyran’s terrified gaze.

Just for that moment, Gabriel forgot that Kyran was wanted for a dozen murders, his fiancée one of them.  He forgot that he was a demon whose very existence pissed people off.  He forgot that Kyran lived to make his life more difficult.

At that moment, all Gabriel could think about was how it would feel to have acid poured down your throat.

“Who did this to you?” Gabriel asked quietly. Kyran’s eyes were still wide and Gabriel was abruptly aware that he was practically straddling the demon.  He pushed it aside and tightened his grip on Kyran’s fingers.  “Who did this to you?” Gabriel asked again, his words dropping into a hiss.

Kyran’s eyes were darting to the left and right, as if looking for something that would save him.  There was nothing – Kyran was magically exhausted and Gabriel could’ve overpowered the lean demon even if he hadn’t been coughing up holy water.

“I’m not going to ask again, Kyran,” Gabriel warned and Kyran laughed.  It was not a normal laugh – it was too sharp and too hoarse and dissolved into coughs halfway through.

“What will you do if I don’t answer, dearest angel mine?” Kyran asked with a half a smile, “Kill me?  If you wanted to, you’d have done that already.  Don’t threaten me with a bluff, Gabriel, it’s insulting.”

Gabriel had had it with Kyran’s arrogance. Extending his wings fully, Gabriel leaned down until he was a few inches from Kyran’s face.  “Tell me,” Gabriel hissed and he could see the fear in Kyran’s red eyes, see him cowering, see him try to push himself further into the couch to get away from Gabriel’s wings.  The aura was probably burning him – the glow of an angel’s wings was poison to a demon’s skin and Kyran lacked his usual shadow of darkness to protect him.

“A group of crusaders,” Kyran said, his voice cracking.  His eyes were closed and his whole face was scrunched up against the glow, “I insulted them.  They were drunk.  I underestimated them.”  He started coughing again and Gabriel let him go, rolling off the couch and heading towards the kitchen.  He pressed his wings against his spine again and filled a glass with tap water, tightening his hands into fists to stop their trembling.

Most crusaders were towering hulks of men, with nasty tempers and even nastier tricks.  Kyran was lucky that holy water was all they did to him.  Unless…

“Are you hurt anywhere else?” Gabriel asked, setting the glass of water at Kyran’s elbow.  The demon still had his eyes closed and a sheen of sweat had appeared on his forehead.

“You are strangely concerned about my wellbeing today, dearest angel mine,” Kyran whispered hoarsely, before cracking his eyes open, “And I’m fine, thank you very much.”  His eyes fell on the glass of water before flicking up to Gabriel’s face.

“It’s normal water,” Gabriel rolled his eyes, “If I was going to force you to drink holy water, I wouldn’t put it in a glass and just hope that you’d drink it.”

“I wasn’t aware that you’ve put so much thought into my future poisoning,” Kyran quipped back but he took the glass nevertheless.

“I’ve devised some elaborate schemes,” Gabriel said lightly, as if it wasn’t the truth.  Kyran narrowed his eyes, like he knew what the angel was thinking.

“Go to sleep, idiot, you look exhausted,” Gabriel snorted and took the empty glass from Kyran, “And next time, don’t pick fights with big guys in bars.”

“Sure,” Kyran mumbled as he closed his eyes and wriggled further into the couch, creating a nest for himself, “I’ll make sure I’m outside a bar before I start picking fights.”  Gabriel scowled at the demon but he was already fast asleep.

Shaking his head in exasperation, Gabriel cleaned up the mess Kyran had made at the door and got another blanket for the shivering demon.  He would kick Kyran out of the house the minute the demon was able to teleport, but right now, he was a liability.  If Zane got ahold of Kyran in this weakened state…well, that would be all of Gabriel’s and Rae’s secrets right there.  He had purely selfish reasons for keeping the demon on his couch.

And if Gabriel went out at night and found a group of crusaders who were bragging about dumping a gallon of holy water down a demon’s throat – well, he didn’t do anything.  Anything at all.

If those crusaders were discovered beaten and bruised in the back of some alleyway, well, that was just a coincidence.

Meeting after the war

Headcanons requested by the lovely @emilynorthpole who I told I’d do them once I got off school and then got a little busy hehe love u babe <3

Sooo After the war Harry went to live in the muggle world for a while

He thought he could handle the Wizarding World and he thought he wanted to work with the aurors but as soon as training began he realized that wasn’t what he wanted

It’s hermione who suggests it first bc she understood the struggle Harry was facing

Ron never really gets it (he grew up in the Wizarding World and he can’t really imagine leaving his home) but cmon he’s Ron fucking Weasley ofc he’s supportive af

So Harry decides to go study in a muggle university, staying in muggle London bc he doesn’t want to go too far yet

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy fucked off to another continent after the war bc the government couldn’t touch them there

Everyone expected Draco to go with them

BUT

He didn’t

He applied to work in the ministry (he didn’t really want to work there, but he thought it was the proper way to redeem himself)

He did eighth year right so they gave him a job but ofc they gave him the job they thought he would most hate

Soooo he worked in the muggle excuses department (or whatever it is called) and just comes up with excuses all day to explain magical occurrences to muggles

Which leads to him working PRETTY closely with careless aurors *cough* Ron Weasley *cough*

Ron hates him at first

Draco doesn’t blame him

He really has changed, and Ron knows it but he would never admit it to the FERRET that he thinks he’s sort of funny in his wit now that it’s not offensive or bigoted

After a few years they’re getting along pretty well

Draco goes to pub night sometimes but he’s never encountered Harry

UNTIL

So it’s been a few years and Harry’s been building his life and going to therapy and all and he feels like he’s ready to go back to the Wizarding World (he did hang out with hermione and Ron often, just in the muggle world)

And he agrees to go to the Wizarding world but NOT to something as public as a pub

So they went to Ron and hermiones

He knew Ron was friends with Draco so he knew he was going to be there

Draco, however did NOT know Harry was going to be there and he could not be less prepared

He walks into the apartment and quite literally falls on his face (the grace and poise he was raised with go right out the window where potter is involved damn him)

Harry doesn’t laugh thank god

Ron does

So hard

So does hermione, tho she does it while she helps Draco up

He now has a cut on his chin and it stings but damn it he’s not going to go to the bathroom to clean it OR ask for a healing charm

So he just stays there like a fool

“Potter”

“Malfoy”

That’s all

It’s pretty awkward for the first half an hour

Harry doesn’t really say anything (too worried that the press will find out he’s here)

Draco doesn’t know WHAT to say

He literally apologized to everyone two years ago this embarrassing awkward shit was over

But here is POTTER who is probably the person that Draco most needs to apologize to and the only person that he hasn’t apologized to

Hermione and Ron leave to get the food and drinks

Bc that’s a two person job

So Draco just blurts it out

“Potter I’m so sorry”

“What?”

“I’m sorry. You saved my life in multiple occasions, and I was horrible to you at school, and I-“

“Malfoy stop”

Draco’s just ???

“I don’t need you to apologize”

“I let death eaters into the castle”

“I literally cut you open. I almost killed you”

The most uncomfortable silence ever

And then Draco laughs

He doesn’t know why but he just laughs

Maybe it’s because he’s here sitting with Harry bloody potter talking about the time he almost fucking killed him

“What’s so funny Malfoy?”

Harry’s angry

It’s a knee jerk reaction for everything draco does

But then

He begins laughing too

He also doesn’t know why it is

Maybe it’s bc he never thought that when he came back to the Wizarding World it would be to sit in his best friends’ living room with Draco fucking Malfoy

But he is

And after that it’s so much easier for some reason

And Harry enjoyed being in the Wizarding World but he wants to take baby steps not just return out of nowhere

And Draco has been working in the muggle office of the ministry for a long long time but he’s never actually Been in the muggle world

Harry offers to show him around

Draco’s surprised that he offered

Ron is too

Even Harry’s surprised

Hermione just looks oddly smug

So they set up the “tour” for the next Wednesday

Why Wednesday? No one knows

Harry half expects Draco to bail

He half expects himself to bail

Neither of them do

Harry shows Draco where he works

He teaches art to children bc he found art really helped him cope and he likes teaching

He shows him his favorite cafe

And his favorite takeout place

And his favorite pizza place

Draco’s never had pizza

Harry practically shoves it in his mouth

Draco loves it

After that, Wednesday’s become “crappy food Wednesday” even tho the food is rarely crappy

Draco’s so eager to try everything that even Harry (who’s been living there for over two years now) ends up trying food he didn’t even know existed

Then Friday’s become movie night Friday’s

And sundays become workout Sunday’s (turns out Draco did a lot of yoga to cope and tho it’s not Harry’s favorite thing he likes how peaceful Draco looks while doing it so he pretends to like it)

And then Monday is the day draco lets Harry paint him (he’s amazing to paint, especially in the light of Harry’s bedroom)

And then may second Draco arrives at his apartment looking lost and Harry just understands

They sleep in the same bed that night

Then it’s crappy food Wednesday, and then it’s Thursday and Draco doesn’t go home and then it’s movie Friday and Draco still doesn’t go home and Harry’s never really liked having people (other than Ron or hermione)in his personal space, but somehow, he doesn’t mind with Draco

In fact, he wants him to stay

When it’s Saturday and Draco says he’s leaving Harry just blurts out “stay”

And he does

And Harry gets offered the Hogwarts dada teacher position

And he takes it

They keep the muggle apartment (connected to the floo network so Harry can come and go to see Draco)

Draco quits the ministry and becomes a pediatric nurse in a muggle hospital bc he found he really very much liked the muggle world, and he could sneak small healing spells on babies he knew wouldn’t survive (which is technically against the statute of secrecy but shhhh no one needs to know)

And they still go to Ron and hermiones on saturdays

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Commissions

Watercolours (Queen x Artist!Reader)

Summary: Following a difficult few weeks you beg the boys to take you with them to Ridge Farm where they then discover a small secret of yours.

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,574 (No wonder it took me forever to write)

A/N: It’s 1:15am and this. was. exhausting. I’m posting a bit later then what I originally planned but as promised, it’s here. This one took a bit of a turn to what I started with but in the end, I think I’m fairly happy with it. Let me know what you think! ♡ (Not my gif)

When you heard Freddie, John, Brian and Roger were taking a road trip to the countryside to record their next album, you practically begged them to let you join. Not only so you could witness the boys create something extraordinary; a new era of Queen, but it also provided the opportunity to escape the recent painfully restless nights in London, where your small apartment felt the slightest bit too cramped for comfort. Your seemingly endless work and responsibilities leaving you tired and burnt out. With the suffocating feeling in your chest becoming far too strong, you knew you needed to step away from the busy world, even for a short while.

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

“Please Freddie, I’m begging you.”

“Hmmmm...I’m not sure. John? What do you think, should we bring our little tyrant or leave her behind?” Freddie teases.

“I vote leave her behind.” He puffs

“Hey! Just because I’m good at stopping your fights does not make me a tyrant. If it weren’t for me you would’ve all killed each other by now.”

“Us? Fighting? Never.” Roger drawls, his tone equally as teasing as the other two. 

Brian sat in the background watching the situation unfold, lightly giggling at your exasperation. It was without question you were going. Even if you didn’t want to, they’d still find a way to convince you. It wasn’t as if they were oblivious to your moods over the past few weeks, it pained them to see you so stressed and exhausted and they knew that disconnecting was exactly what you needed. Plus it meant you all had some time to spend with one another, an occurrence that’d be becoming slightly more rare with their busy schedules. Simply, you needed them and they needed you.

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

When the day finally came, you couldn’t contain your excitement for the whole journey. It was almost as if the second you stepped out of the car you felt instantly relieved of the pressures that had been troubling you for so long. After taking in a breath of fresh air studying your surroundings you then turned to the others, “Isn’t it beautiful?” After taking a drag of his cigarette Roger spoke up “I thought this was supposed to be a recording studio.” Clearly the boys weren’t as sold on the new setting as you were. Paul had shown you all to your rooms and told you to make yourself comfortable as recording would start in a few day’s time after everyone had settled in. The five days that followed were slow but still comforting. The new setting caused a shift in everyone’s attitude, provided an opportunity to take a load off and relish in the simple atmosphere.

Mainly you just settled into the new environment, making yourself familiar with the in’s and out’s of the place. Apart of course from the evening you and Brian decided to go for a walk together, getting caught in the rain and running back to the house, only to find that Roger had locked you out despite denying your claims. (Even though it was easily distinguishable from his howling laughter on the other side of the door). But soon enough, everything was set up and the boys were ready to start.

On the first day, Freddie insisted you stay next door and spend the morning taking a moment to yourself: “You’ve been stuck with us the past five days, at least take a hour or so to yourself.” He said. You realised he was right, the entire point of you going on the trip was so you could think through some things and figure out what to do next. As much as you enjoyed your time with the four, spending every waking moment with them somewhat defeated the purpose.

“Alright,” You smiled, “But you’ll be next door if I need you, yes?”

“Always Darling.”

Somehow they knew exactly what you needed, exactly when you needed. One thing the boys didn’t know about you however, was that you held a certain passion for art. Though you didn’t think of yourself much more then a hobbyist, your work said otherwise. Originally, you started out painting landscapes but as your friendship with Queen developed, you saw more enjoyment in painting them. They brought a new essence into your life, which then reflected in your work.

After settling down at the dining table with your supplies spread all over it, the small tin of watercolours making a quiet ‘clang’ as you placed them down, you flicked through the leather-bound folio. Knowing you had a couple hours on your own you made the bold choice to work on a few unfinished sketches from the last show you visited, it wasn’t as if anyone would see, you’d just have to pack up before noon when they came back for lunch. You didn’t exactly enjoy keeping your hobby a secret but you struggled to overcome the anxieties of not being good enough and kept your work solely for your eyes only. With your work station set, you began. You hand moved effortlessly across the paper, and the whirlwind of colours bled into one another. Each pencil and brush stroke placed with a calculated precision. A certain love and care that could only be highlighted through art.

Just as everything was going well, a heavy gust of wind blew though the open window, sending pages flying, scattering pencils and spilling the small dish of water you had out to clean your brushes. Cursing to yourself for not closing the window earlier, you hurriedly soaked up the water with a nearby cloth, hoping it hadn’t ruined any of your paintings and in the process; knocked your tea off of the table, thus resulting in the cup shattering on the hardwood floor.

“(Y/N)? Are you alright Love?” John’s voice called out, the barn door creaking as it opened and closed behind him.

“We heard something fall, just wanted to make sure you hadn’t hurt yourself.” Brian added.

“No no, I’m fine. I just spilled my tea is all. You can go back to recording, I can manage.”

As they turned the corner you held your breath hoping your body would block their view from the small disaster behind you.

“Well you look suspicious.” Brian said matter-of-factly.

“Everything’s fine, I’ll clean it up. No need to worry.” As you were speaking to Brian, in the corner of your eye you say John’s head tilt slightly to the side, your open sketchbook and art supplies now in his full view. A small smiles played on his lips, “Is that Fred?” He said, nodding toward a stray piece of paper.

“What? No, I mean yes,” In that moment you knew there wasn’t any redemption. Would they think it’s strange? Surely they would, otherwise you wouldn’t have hidden it for so long. The press taking photos is one thing but their friend using them as a muse without their knowledge is whole other ordeal in its own.

And at that moment, just like clockwork, Roger and Freddie walked in. “What’s going on?” The black haired male asked.

“(Y/N)’s an artist apparently, a bloody good one at that.” John said as he picks up some of the sketches you’d been painting over.

“No, that’s certainly not what’s happening, I umm-,” Although you knew it was already far too late, you scrambled for the loose pages that escaped your sketchbook, silently praying that they wouldn’t see any more then what they already had. Despite your efforts, each of the boys had already picked up various pieces and were studying each one in immense detail. The swirls of colour and carefully places lines depicted Freddie flaunting on stage, John and Brian deep in concentration during their respective solos, Roger twirling drumsticks in his hands and finally, the group taking their final bows at the end of the show. Each piece held a certain vibrancy that they hadn’t seen before.

“I never knew you saw us like this,” Roger breathes out in disbelief, holding the pages up to the light and studying them further.

You hesitated for a moment, but then spoke, “What do you mean? Of course I do, you’re my family.” You still felt shy but you spoke honestly nonetheless. “I can’t quite describe it but when you’re performing you’re just, in your element doing what you love. You’re all just so raw and so, you. I like trying to capture that.”

“What? When do you even-?” Freddie pressed.

Scratching the back of you head you went on, “I usually sketch while you’re performing and then I’ll paint that night after you’ve all gone back to your hotel rooms. It distracts me from my own thoughts I guess.” An uneasy silence filled the air. “These ones were from your tour in Sweden, I’ve been meaning to finish them for a while but never really got around to it. I know they’re not the best and doing this without you knowing is strange but-”

“Oh shut up.” Roger said, pulling you into a hug.

“They’re amazing,” John paused “We don’t want you thinking otherwise.”

“Especially with the way you go on when we’re feeling insecure about our playing.” Brian added.

“I only go on about it because you blatantly ignore you’re talented.” You interject, lightly pouting.

“And look who’s blatantly ignoring their own talent now,” Freddie smirks. “I’d even go as far to say you made me look too handsome.”

What’s Going On (Gwilym x OFC)

Hi all! Alright, I AM NOT A WRITER, not really. This is my very first fanfic, so please bare with me! This is between Gwilym and an OFC named Siobhan, pronounced Shi-VAWN. There was no prompt for this, it was purely on a whim.  I am planning on writing a second part, but classes have started again so I’m unsure as to when I’ll get around to it! Feedback is welcomed!

@winnielinleigh here you go babe! Hope you enjoy!

*Disclaimer* - based on Gwilym Lee, however, I don’t know very much personal info, he seems a bit private, and i respect that, so as far as speaking about him breaking bone, I made that part up, there is no facts to that statement. 

Warnings: a few curse words, drinking... don’t drink an drive kids! 

Word count: 4k

If you haven’t given What’s Up by 4 Non Blondes, you should!

Siobhan smiled to herself, in fact she couldn’t stop smiling since she got the call. At 1:27, she received a call from her manager that she was going to have a solo show in one of the biggest galleries in the state.  This was a huge opportunity for her to get her name out there as an artist. She was so excited and so ready for this to happen, it was literally her dream come true.  She texted her friends sharing the news.  They were all so excited for her.  Her three best friends that were local all decided tonight they’d celebrate.

She cleaned up her studio and ran home as fast as she could.  It had been a while since she enjoyed a night out.  

As soon as she stepped through her door, her friend and roommate, Danielle assaulted her with a giant hug.

“I can’t believe it! You did it! They want YOU!” Danielle squeezed her friend tight.

“I know! I’m still trying to believe it myself!” Siobhan giggled.  It was true, she had worked her entire life to get to this point as an artist.  They were both artists, working in different mediums, she painted in oil while Danielle did watercolor and ceramics.  Danielle, however, settled into a ‘normal’ life, working retail and doing art on the side. Siobhan got a job at a local studio/gallery right after she graduated from college and worked tirelessly to grow and refine her art.  That was all she wanted to since she was a kid and now it was finally coming to fruition.

“Alright, Mika said she’d pick up Milo on her way over.  I offered them to stay the night if they were too far gone to get home safely,” Danielle informed her.  Mika and Siobhan met their first year at college. Mika was the only non-art person out of the four, she studied biology and worked for the FDA doing research. Milo was Siobhan’s very best friend and the guy she had fell in love with early into their friendship.  It was a one-sided love, not that he didn’t love her. He did, just not in that way.  She never told him her feelings because she knew him, she knew how he worked, and she knew he didn’t reciprocate those feelings. Siobhan resolved with the new year to let those feelings go.  Too many times had she fallen for a friend, too many times had it remained one-sided. No more. She was 28, for fuck’s sake!

“Cool, I’m excited, I need a night out!”

“Yeah, you do!” her friend sassily responded, giving her biggest grin.

A little after 8, Mika walked into their rented house, Milo in tow.  Siobhan was ready except for her shoes and was helping Danielle finish her makeup.  

“Congratulations Von!” Mika ran up and hugged Siobhan as she was about to swipe some eyeshadow across Danielle’s lid.  Lucky, Siobhan saw it coming and dropped her hand before it could hit her friend’s cheek, messing up her makeup.  

“Woah! A hug? What is this?” She teased, leaning into the hug.  Both Mika and Milo were not hugging people, much to Siobhan’s displeasure.  “Did you get a lobotomy on your way over?”

“Har, har, har,” Her friend rolled her eyes. “No, just ‘cause I don’t like touching doesn’t mean I can’t choose to give a hug! It’s my choice!”

“Yes, it is, and I will always take a hug from you, whenever you choose to give one!” She said releasing her friend.

“Congrats, Von,” Milo said giving her a hug as soon as Mika stepped away from Siobhan.  She knew better not to tease Milo about the hugging. His lack of physical affection towards anyone stemmed from a deeper problem.  Knowing this, Siobhan reveled in the highly rare occurrence of physical affection from him.  He moved her to arm’s length, looking directly in her eyes, “you deserve it,” he said sincerely.

“Thank you,” she gave a sheepish smile.  Even though her head said not to think to far into it, her heart tried to run wild with the intimate encounter.  “Alright,” She said brightly, shaking off the unwelcomed feelings, “you guys go make some drinks and I’ll finish Danielle’s makeup!”

“Coladas for all!” Mika cheered.

“That’s the only thing you know how make, isn’t it?” She heard Milo tease as they made their way to the kitchen. Siobhan laughed and continue to work on her friend’s face.

After a few Pina Coladas and Margaritas, the Uber honked, and they filled out the door.  They were deposited in the heart of the small downtown area.  The city was a college town.  Siobhan always felt the city itself was a contradiction.  It was large, but felt like a spread-out town, no the big city it was considered to be by the locals.  Not like the actual big cities she was used to back in California.  This was the mid-west, a very different walk of life than the one she grew up in.  She only stayed here because she got the job at the studio/gallery.  It didn’t hurt that Mika and Danielle also stuck around after they graduated.

They headed towards their favorite rum club for a few more cocktails before hitting up one of the clubs. The night was going perfectly, Mika and Siobhan even got Danielle and Milo to join them on the dance floor. Danielle was a bit harder to convince than Milo.  Once he saw some creeps trying to separate Mika and Siobhan, he joined them, leaving Danielle little choice but to join in, since she hated being alone.  Seeing Milo’s protective side, sent a pang resounding through Siobhan’s heart.  She tossed back the rest of the drink she was nursing and focused on the thumping beat of the music, ignoring those irritating little feelings.  She actually was doing better with controlling her emotions towards him, it had gotten a lot easier lately, but there were still moments that flared them up.

About half past midnight, they decided they all needed a bit of air.  

“My feet are killing me! Why’d I let you talk me into wearing heels?” Danielle whined as they collectively plopped on the downtown square’s benches.

“Ha, it didn’t take much, really,” Siobhan retorted.  “The heels are what completed your look.”

“That, and you’re the shortest.” Mika teased.

“Hey!” Danielle squeaked, swaying a bit.  Siobhan and Milo chuckled.  “Well, whatever, at least Von isn’t wearing her tall heels! Those put you close to Milo’s height!”

“Not quite, I’m still a couple inches taller!” he stated.

“Yeah, we know, Mister 6-Foot-3, maybe,” Siobhan made scrunched up face towards her best friend. He playfully rolled his eyes in response.

“Hey, I have to pee!” Danielle was definitely feeling the effects of all the alcohol from the evening. Not only was she the shortest, but she had the lowest tolerance for alcohol.  Siobhan was actually surprised she’d lasted the whole evening.

Milo hummed, looking around. “Looks like the Dueling Pianos is still open.”

“Good,” Danielle jumped up and walked purposefully towards the musical bar, not waiting for her friends to follow.

Once they all were I.D’d, Danielle and Milo headed for the bathrooms.

“I’ll go with her,” Siobhan offered.

“Nah, I got her.” Mika walked fast to catch up with Danielle.  

Siobhan found an empty, relatively clean table about halfway between the bar and the stage where the band was back from a small break.  Siobhan enjoyed the Dueling Pianos.  It had an energy she was drawn to.  She generally enjoyed bars more than clubs, but the Dueling Pianos had the perfect balance between the two.  She’d already been through her hard clubbing stage, but Mika was barely 21 and wanted to go clubbing.  Siobhan would go with her, sometimes to let loose, but mainly to keep her safe. The other two, also enjoyed bars more, though Milo was a few months older than Mika, and Danielle was only 23.  All but Mika were introverts.  The age difference between Siobhan and her friends was due to the couple years she took off from college before returning at the age of 25.  They liked to call her Mom and tease about the age gap.  She didn’t mind, she always had friends with large age differences. To her, age was just a social construct once you hit legal age. It also didn’t hurt that she looked younger than both Milo and Danielle.  

Her friends found her as the band started Billy Jean, most of the bar goers sang along.

“I’m gonna get us some drinks!” Siobhan shouted over the live music to her friends.  They nod an acknowledgment. It took what felt like ten minutes for her to flag down a bartender, the band had already gone through their first song.

“We’re going to need all of your help out there with this one!” one of the pianists said as she started playing Don’t Stop Believing. Siobhan half watched the lead singer Peacock about the stage from her place at the bar.

“What’ll you have?” a raspy voice shouted, pulling her attention back to the bar.  She gave she order for the drinks and waited, scanning the room.  She noticed a man at the other side of the bar. He had long, angular features that were accentuated by the flashing colored lights from the stage.  He had a kind, yet appealing face, with deep set eyes, scruffy beard, and darker hair.  The bartender placed two of the drinks on the bar in front of her.  That was when she realized she had been starring at him, but what startled her more was that he had been looking at her as well. She broke eye contact and smiled a thanks at the bartender, feeling heat crawl up her throat towards her cheeks.  Thankful for the darkness of the bar, she decided to divert her attention to the colorful bottles against the back wall.  

The bartender placed the last two drinks in front of her and she began handing him enough cash to cover the bill and a tip, but he raised his hand shook his head.  

“You’re covered,” He said simply.

“W-what?” She stuttered.

“Someone said to put whatever you got on his tab,” replied the man, thumbing over his shoulder towards the man she had been staring at earlier.  She looked over at his smiling face, surprised. Why would anyone cover my drinks? She internally questioned.

“Hey,” a deep voice dragged her out of her self-deprecating thoughts.  She swiveled on her heel, realizing it was Milo. “Thought I’d come and make sure you were alright.”

“Ah, I’m good, but perfect timing, you can help me carry these,” she said smiling up at her friend. She glanced back at the man.  His smile had fallen as he watch their interaction.  She internally frowned, not liking the sight of the sadness marring his cute face.  She nodded a thanks with a smile to him, he raised his glass in acknowledgement.  They each grabbed two of the drinks and made their way to the table.  Once everyone had their drinks, Siobhan excused herself.

“Where are you going?” Mika asked.

“I have to go say hi to someone,” she said vaguely.  She expected them to assume she saw an old coworker from the coffee shop.  She gave them a reassuring smile. “I’ll be back, no worries!”

She headed back to the bar; to the far side of the bar. As she approached him, she studied his profile. He really was quite handsome, crestfallen, but handsome.  

“Hi,” she said, startling him. He obviously hadn’t seen her approach.

He looked up at her with a slight smile and eyebrows raised. “Hello.” His voice was just as pleasant as his face.  She wasn’t sure, but it sounded as if he had an accent.

“Thank you for covering our drinks…” she trailed off, slightly embarrassed that she even decided to go say something to him.

“Hope I didn’t make anything awkward between you and your boyfriend,” he said giving a polite smile. He did have an accent, British, she was sure of it.  

“H-he’s not, we’re not – um, I didn’t tell them you paid,” she stuttered. “I don’t have a boyfriend, he’s just my best friend,” she said more solidly.

His smile grew more genuine, “oh, good, well, I mean, you’re welcome.”

She let out a little giggle, causing him to smile more.

“I’m Gwil.”

“Siobhan,” she beamed, stretching out a hand. “Nice to meet you Will.”

“Gwil, actually Gwilym,” He chuckled, annunciating the G.  She noticed how much larger his hand was than the one she had offered as he shook it. Soft too. “It’s nice to meet you Siobhan.”

“Oh, sorry!” Her free hand flew up and covered her mouth in mortification. “Gwil. Gwilym,” She tested his name as he released her other hand. After a small pause, she looked him directly in the eyes. “Honestly, I can’t let you cover all of those drinks for me and my friends, I appreciate it, but please allow me to pay you back.” She said, feeling a bit awkward. She never liked when people paid for her.

He scratched at his stubbly chin and smiled, “it’s no trouble, really.” His eyes flicked over her face. She once had been decent at hiding her emotions, but towards her mid-twenties she stopped caring enough in most situations. In this moment, she wished she still had more control over her facial features. “hmm, I’ll think about it. Maybe.” He teased.

“You’ll think about it?” She quirked up her left eyebrow. Gwilym laughed, taking a sip from his glass.

“Care to sit?” his question was simple and innocent. Siobhan was pretty good at reading others’ vibes. There were no inky or unsavory feelings radiating from him. His eyes were earnest and smile was lovely.

“Love to,” she smiled, sliding onto the stool, placing her own drink on the bar. “So, Gwilym, you’re British, yeah?” he hummed to answer. “You’re a long way from home, then.”

He scratched the back of his head and laughed. “Yeah, ‘suppose so, aren’t I?”

“What brought you to this little big city in the middle of America?” she asked genuinely.  He looked up at her and her heart fluttered.  

“Bit of a long story, really, but the short of it is there was a bit of drama on the plane.”

“Oh, that sucks.” He quirked a smile.

“It’s not too bad, though we were supposed to only be grounded for an hour or so.”

“Seems like you’ve been here longer than that.” Siobhan felt a pull towards him, something she’d barely experience before.

“Hmm,” he nodded, leaning a bit towards her. “They told us our flight was cancelled and the next one scheduled for New York leaves at 11 in the morning.”

“They couldn’t divert to a larger airport?” Though there was an airport in town, it was tiny and had maybe a dozen commercial flights in and out a day.  The surrounding large airports were all about three hours away, driving.  

“Apparently not,” he shrugged, something about it was adorable.  He seemed kind of like both an 80-something year old and a 5-year-old all in one gesture.  

“That’s unfortunate,” she gave a sympathetic smile.

“Not all too unfortunate,” He smiled wide at her, causing her to blush. “Alright, Siobhan, what do you do? What brought you out? What’s your darkest secret?” He said brightly.

“Oh, you’re just diving in, aren’t you?” She giggled. He nodded, encouraging her, or maybe it was the alcohol. “I’m an artist and my friends took me out because I landed a solo show at a pretty big gallery,” she said proudly.  She didn’t brag about her art, but she was pretty damn proud that they wanted her paintings.  His eyebrows shot up.

“That’s amazing! Congratulations!” He beamed at her. She thanked him.  His very sincere smile turned mischievous, “And your deepest, darkest secret?”

She laughed, “oh, you’re serious?”

He nodded.

“Hmm,” she contemplated, tapping her finger on her chin, very much aware his eyes were glued to that area. A smile brightened her face, “how about two truths and a lie? But you have to go first.”

He considered the offer, “alright. I’m a Sagittarius, I’ve broken my tail bone twice, and I wish I were Batman.” He feigned a pout. They both laughed.  Siobhan considered the options, biting her lip unconsciously, drawing his eye there once again.

“Hmm,” her eyes flicked to his beautiful ones, she wished the lights weren’t colored so she could see what color his were. “You seem like an Aquarius, the other two are truths.”

“How d’you figure?”

“Oh, I can tell by the way you annunciate your ‘g’,” she said deadpan, he looked surprised. Slowly, her smile broke, and she began giggling. He realized she was teasing him and laughed along. “No, I have no clue, but I’m sticking with the lie is you’re a Sagittarius.”

“No luck,” he hummed.

“You wish you were Captain America?” she dramatically plopped her chin in her hand and wiggled her eyebrows.

Giving a hardy laugh, Gwil shook his head. “oh, yes, the man from Bristol dreams to be Captain America.”

Siobhan shrugged, “you never know! Chris Evans is pretty attractive!”

“Yes, he is,” he laughed again.

“Glad we agree on that, So, you broke your tailbone, three times… playing football, or was it rugby?” she gave him a sly smile.

“Neither, I’ve never broken my tailbone. An arm, yes, but that’s it.” He chuckled. “You’re quite terrible at this game, aren’t you?”

“I try to see the best in people,” she offered as an excuse.

“Good quality. Alright, let’s see if I’m any better.”

“Okay. I’ve gone scuba diving, I lit our toaster on fire on my brother’s birthday, and I’m a descendant of Cleopatra.” She smiled at him, with a glint in her eye.

He rubbed at his stubbly cheek, pondering.

He leaned closer to her, look her straight in the eye. “You’ve never been scuba diving.”

Her jaw dropped. “Yeah.” She tipped her head to the side a bit, “how’d you guess? Most people go for the Cleopatra thing, since I clearly bare no resemblance to her.” Siobhan was fair, her skin had a light spattering of freckles, aqua eyes, and her current hair color was auburn.

“You glanced to the side when you mentioned the diving.”

“Are you detective? Should I call you Sherlock?” she teased.

“Not a detective, just happen to know somethings,” he trailed. He was intriguing, but something familiar was nagging at her.  She recognized him somehow.

They kept talking and laughing, simply enjoying each other’s company.  Their surroundings dissolved, and what was left was a magnetic pull between the two.

The band struck up What’s Up by the 4 Non Blondes.

“Love this song,” Siobhan muttered without realizing, swaying to the beat.

Her comment surprised him, not because of how innocent and out of the blue it was, but because the guitarist had barely strummed 4 notes.  “How-?”

She looked up, registering she zoned out to the music.  She gave a bashful smile as the bar erupted into song with the band.

“I really like music,” she said simply.

“You are one of the more intriguing persons I’ve met.”

“Hardly,” a blush stole across her features. He looked her directly in the eyes, an emotion she couldn’t read flashed behind them.

“Truly.”

“Alright! We’ve got to settle this, which side of the room is louder?” one of the pianists shouted, still playing What’s Up, gaining the attention of all the patrons. “I think my side is.” She said egging the other pianist.

“Absolutely not! You all are going to beat them!” he bellowed to his side of the room.  The energy grew and rippled through the crowd.  “Yeah! We’ll show ‘em!”

Their banter went on a bit more, riling up the crowd. Siobhan and Gwilym laughed at the razzing.

“Okay, we’ll prove we’re better,” the female pianist stood up, continuing to pound on the keys of the white grand piano. “You lot are going to follow me! On the chorus I want you to sing at the top of your lungs!”

A great cheer erupted from their side of the room.

“AND I SAID– “she sang with a great passion.

“HEYYY-YEEHHHH-YEEEHHH! I SAID HEY! WHAT’S GOING ON!” Siobhan yelled along with their side, raising her glass. A slow smile stole across Gwilym’s face, eyes on her, as the other side retorted the same lyrics.  Siobhan was laughing and cheering, readying for the next volley.  She glanced at him with the biggest smile and nudged him, “you gonna join in?”

He nodded and joined in for the rest of the battling between sides.  By the time the song finished, they were cracking up, bright eyes directed at each other.  She felt her stomach flip, simply looking at him.  Somewhere before the song, she’d let down her guard with him. It felt nice. It felt like they’d been the best of friends their whole lives.

“Hey, Von!” a voice cried out, bringing them both back.  It was Milo. She forgot she was out with her friends. “They’re closing up.” He said eyeing Gwil, with the other girls in tow. Mika smiled at the Gwilym with a happy curiosity. Danielle, looking like she was ready to climb in bed, looked at the seated two with vague interest.  

“Oh, it’s 2 already?” Siobhan said surprised, looking at her phone.  There were five texts she completely missed from him. Milo gave a clipped nod. “Ah, Sorry.”

She stood and turned back around to Gwilym, pleasantly surprised at how tall he was.  She had guessed he was taller, given the length of his arms, but she didn’t realize he and Milo would stand eye-to-eye. She smiled up at him. “Gwil, these are my friends. Milo, Mika, and Danielle. Guys, Gwilym.”

“Nice to meet you all,” he said pleasantly, nodding to each of them.

Milo looked over him warily. “The Uber is almost here,” he said to Siobhan, looking at the other man.

With a flash of recognition, Danielle’s interest grew a bit, just in time for Milo to usher her and Mika towards the door. Siobhan began to follow her friends to the entrance.

Gwilym snatched Siobhan’s wrist, gently, whirling her around to face him. “Meet me for breakfast.”

Astonishment crossed her face. “Hmm, and if I don’t?” she taunted.

“I’ll be heart-broken.” He flashed her a charming smile, looking into her blue-green eyes.

“I’ll think about it,” she winked. He shook his head, lightly laughing.

“At least, let me give you my number. When you choose a place, call me in the morning,” he smiled knowingly, holding him palm up for her phone.  

“Bold of you to assume I want to have breakfast with you,” she teased sliding her phone into his hand. He quickly saved his number, handed it back, and kissed her on the cheek before she could move.

“Fortune favors the bold.” He winked back.

A wave of heat rushed up her face, not completely uncomfortable though.

“Von! The uber is here!” Mika yelled.  Siobhan turned and walked to where her friends were summoning her.

As she was about to climb into the car, she stopped and turned back to the tall, handsome man and called, “Expect an early call, Mr. Lee!” Smiling mischievously.

He gaped at her as she shut the door and the car zoomed away. He chuckled to himself. He should’ve known someone would find him out, but he was happy it was her.