#just picturing it happening in the soft glow of lamp light in a house decorated for fall | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

noroi1000 · 1 year

Text

Nyan VI

„Christmas Cats" 🎄

(Pictures not mine. Found it on Pinterest)

You've gotten used to hearing the same Christmas songs on the radio over and over again. It's the same every year around Christmas. More and more carols. More and more decorations in houses and on the streets of the city.

Lights that shine so beautifully at night. They catch the eye. They make you admire how nice a snow-covered Christmas tree looks with colorful lights.

This Christmas is nice. Even if you were going to spend it alone this year after moving.

You are no longer alone.

You have two people with you.

And you wonder how gray your life would be if they were suddenly gone.

As if Satoru and Suguru disappeared as quickly as they appeared.

You wouldn't want to find out that everything you went through with them was a lie. If it's a dream, you don't want to wake up from it. You don't want to open your eyes and suddenly realize they're not there for you. You don't want to find out that they were never in your life.

That's why you want to dream in order to live happily. With them. You want to ensure your best moments. With them.

You want to give them the best moments. And there's no way you'll always think of them as someone very important in your life.

You love these two. As fluffy creatures, and also as people.

Everything that others might hate about them, you love it.

You can find everything you need in them.

And you also try to give them everything they need. And the most you can give them is your love.

Cats or not cats, you give them something from the heart.

You do not know what you can give and as a gift.

You just give them yourself. You want to be there for them always.

Considering both cats somehow have their own credit cards. And there's as much money on those credit cards as you would make in a few years.

They can have everything.

They could even trade you if they got bored of course.

You don't want that to happen.

That's why you're there to show that you care about them.

Even if you have no idea what else you can give them.

With a slight smile, you walked over to the green Christmas tree in the room, thinking about starting decorating.

You grabbed a cardboard box with ornaments and started looking at colorful baubles, chains and lights. Suddenly, you saw a fluffy tail lifted up and peeking out from behind the cardboard.

White fur billowed showing softness. Encouraging you to reach out and stroke it.

"Toru, would like some exact colors on the Christmas tree?" you asked, pulling out a smaller box of lamps.

He lowered his tail and showed himself to you.

He sat down where he had been standing before. Only his muzzle was visible.

Wondering what it's like to be a cat…

Maybe they're more cats than people because it's cooler?

You have to think about it another time. Now you are waiting for a reply from the cat. You would like to do it according to their tastes.

But making it colorful is also not bad. Each of you will find something for yourself.

Satoru put his front paws on the cardboard and peered inside.

He didn't look up at you, but suddenly jumped inside, drowning in the glowing Christmas tree chains.

Before you could get him out, he dove under it. When he showed up again, you saw him smiling.

(You still don't know if it's possible for cats to smile, but you do.)

In his teeth he held a star put on the top of the Christmas tree.

And he had a chain around his neck.

You smiled as you looked at his cute face.

When you reached for it, it suddenly jumped out of the cardboard and ran to your bedroom.

"Satoru!" you shouted laughing.

The sight of a running cat with a star and a colorful chain around its neck is sweet.

With his fluffy tail up, he disappeared through the door.

Life with them is really wonderful.

Grabbing any color of baubles, you slowly put them on the lower branches, slowly getting higher and higher. Seeing a runaway cat with ornaments is one thing.

Now you also had a perfect view of the cat that puts one bauble on the lowest branch with its paws.

They say cats are the best at removing Christmas tree decorations. They jump on the Christmas tree and there are no more decorations.

And you can boast of a cat that helps you decorate the Christmas tree.

"Suguru." You chuckled softly at the sight.

You pulled out your phone and took a picture of him.

Then he suddenly left. You saw that he met up with Satoru and settled in one place, watching you grab the ornaments one by one.

One idea of a white cat was enough to make a big smile appear on his face and his blue eyes sparkled.

You turned to see him turn around and go back to the bedroom.

You sighed with a smile.

Cats have their own paths.

Especially if those cats are Suguru and Satoru.

You got up to plant your bombs higher and higher.

Until at one point you couldn't reach the branch.

You looked around, looking for them. Each of them is two meters tall. They could help you now.

Or at least bring you a chair so you can stand on it and reach higher.

"Can you pass me a chair?!" you shouted, hoping that one of them would grant your request.

You waited a while. Then you heard the soft footsteps of little paws.

And you also felt something soft and purring brush against your legs.

You looked down to see Black Cat.

"Suguru, could you bring me a chair? I can't reach."

He looked at you like that for a long time.

You wanted to roll your eyes, but suddenly you saw white smoke below you and your body was lifted high.

So suddenly you were sitting on his shoulders with your legs on either side of his head.

"I won't let you stand on the chair. You will bend and fall. It's not safe." he said with a slight smile.

"It's also not a perfect solution…" You groaned as you held onto his hands as he shook yours.

Suddenly, he crouched down with you on top of him and grabbed a cardboard box of ornaments. Then he stood up straightening up.

"You see? It's easier. I will give you ornaments."

"Carefully!" you screamed clinging tightly to his neck, almost strangling him.

"Easy easy. Don't try to strangle me, baby." He chuckled rubbing your thigh with one hand.

As you let go of his neck, he handed you the ornament.

You hung it. Then he handed you another.

Over and over again.

He stepped back with you for a moment to see the effects from afar.

You were more focused on not falling down, so you missed one very important detail.

"I see we already have a star on top."

"Suguru, I haven't worn it yet–."

You stopped when you looked at the Christmas tree.

You saw Satoru sitting on top of the Christmas tree.

You don't know how, but it stayed there without even moving the branches.

The next surprise for you was that you heard him meow. A bit weird…

Until you finally heard the melody of a Christmas carol. The cat that meowed a carol.

Until he finally jumped on you.

And everything around became soft and fluffy.

Those were supposed to be the best moments this Christmas. Everything is always great with them.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk fluff #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen #gojou satoru x reader #gojo satoru #jujustu kaisen #gojo x you #Gojo x reader #gojo catoru

94 notes · View notes

selfless-desires · 23 days

Note

[ food chain ] ; for johnny

one proclaimed predator who thinks himself the top of the food chain now meets something that truly is the top of the food chain , and now realizes what it is like to be small fry ; perhaps johnny sees the eye of the beast from the top back window of family house as godzilla peers in .

‎‎ㅤㅤ

Particles of dust danced within the soft afternoon glow , heavenly light seared through the window to paint a picture that'd almost feel ethereal . What one might not know were the terrors such house could behold , floors painted in gore of the fallen just a couple feets below … it was all too easy to forget about up here , if only for a moment . The stench of death would be masked beneath the musty air in the room , bones would be seen in the forms of lamps & other decorations rather than piles on the floor . It was almost peaceful up there … almost .

ㅤㅤ

Seated atop one of the cardboard boxes scattered about was none other than the youngest of Slaughters— a cannibal , just like the rest of 'em , though he'd choose to steer clear of family reunions . Earlier that week his dear ' sister ' came home from her adventures , something that'd need to be celebrated— or at least that's what they've come up with for a reason to feast at the dinner table . Johnny was expected to show , he was sure , though that wouldn't stop him from going against their wishes— his mother's wishes . It hasn't for a long time now , a loathful sentiment he'd cling to now he had the power to say no .

ㅤㅤ

Rays of light illuminated swirling tendrils of smoke , casting ephemeral patterns before they'd vanish once and for all . Wouldn't be the first nor the last time Johnny'd be found here , cherishing the peace of solitude . Haunched with an elbow resting on his right thigh did the man choose to smoke , savouring every inhale longer than usual … there was an itch at the back of his mind , the calm before the storm , a hunch he tried his best to ignore with every drag of tobacco . He should've known better , rarely did his intuition lead him astray— though one thing was sure : nothing could've prepared him for what would happen as for most it'd be beyond imaginable .

ㅤㅤ

There'd be weak tremors at first , soft clatter of chimes & bones , though it wouldn't be long before the whole house would move with it all . Dazed eyes would blink to consciousness as debris fell from the weathered walls , each quake causin' the floorboards to creak , the lights to flicker— an earthquake , it had to be , there was no other explanation for such degree of discordance … none that was logical . Just when he was about to dash for the door did a strong tremor cause his legs to wobble & nearly lose his balance— on uncertain feet would Johnny try to advance , teeth clenched , fingers grasping at the wall as he'd try to find purchase , something to lean against …

ㅤㅤ

That'd be the least of his concerns once he bothered to find out why the loft was casted in a veil of darkness , though .

ㅤㅤ

Just as quick as the earthquake came did it seem to settle , though there'd be no time for repose . Disoriented would the cannibal seek answers only to be met with a sight that'd cause him to pause , limbs to tense , his breath to catch in his throat . Like a deer in headlights would Johnny stand there , frozen in place , staring out through the window only to be met with a piercing glare from a sole , radiant eye … every cell in his being told him to run but he couldn't find it within himself to move , a feeling that should've been unknown if not unfamiliar to someone who prided themself for their fortitude— their strength . It shouldn't have been like this , he shouldn't feel like this ,

ㅤㅤ

Petrified in the face of something that made him feel all the things he was meant to raise within others— whether they be victim or foe .

ㅤㅤ

#[ ★ ] — answered ... ！#[ ★ ] — ic / [ johnny slaughter ] ... ！#[ ★ ] — rel / [ johnny s. & godzilla ] ... ！#[ ★ ] — verse / [ king of monsters ] ... ！#mxsanthrcpic #we are bringing godzilla to texas #no I will not elaborate #when the hunter becomes the hunted

0 notes

workofheart · 3 years

Text

promise

levi never thought he could have a peaceful night’s rest until he found himself in your arms

requested by: @thecaptainsbride

pairing: levi ackerman x reader

wc: 2.5k

genre: fluff, canonverse, establishing domesticity

a/n: we had levi comforting reader, and now we have reader comforting levi :’) in terms of the request, i altered the timeline a bit but i think it still captures what you were going for! enjoy u guys <3

Levi isn’t used to letting people into his space.

In this line of work, he’s learned to be careful of the people he trusts to see his life from the inside. Not only to retain the secrecy and plans of the Scouts, but to protect his well being when he is so surrounded by death and destruction. A heart can only break so many times before it fails to beat at all.

That’s why, when the night comes when he finally decides to let you stay over, he’s tense. He observes your every step, unsure if he’s nervous or embarrassed or scared. It’s not skepticism, he knows, because he does trust you. You’re the only person he could possibly imagine him letting get so close to him with all that he’s experienced. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have let you enter in the first place; so for once, he’s going to have faith his own judgment.

You slowly pace around his room, peeking at the knick knacks Levi has accumulated over the span of his life so far. He has quite the array of stationary arranged neatly on his desk, and a curated assortment of pens and ink to choose from. Worn, loved books line the shelves of the wooden case, small pieces of paper poking out from the top. A nimble finger traces over the cracked spine of one with a faded green cover.

“Can I?” you ask, turning over your shoulder to see him. Levi is sitting on the edge of his bed, palms pressed tightly to his thighs. He takes a deep breath and nods gently in response, dark strands of hair falling in front of his eyes.

You carefully tilt the spine towards you and pluck it from its spot. Flipping through the pages, you can see how Levi has diligently underlined, highlighted, and starred the passages. Small notes in his delicate handwriting decorate the margins with definitions and insightful observations. This book has been well read, and you’re sure the others are just the same.

His room is fairly bare for how long it’s been his home, but how much of a home is it really if he’s always on the move with the scouts? Constantly between hotels, barracks, abandoned homes, or whatever else the world throws at them next, he hasn’t had time to make the space livable. They’re never in one place too long - this is more like a headquarters to come back to after the day is done. And for Levi, the day is rarely done, even when the sun has set and the sky turns dark.

It’s strange, but he almost likes having you here. To him, it’s always been just a room. A simple, stupid box in a line of other simple, stupid boxes to house people just like him. Now that you’re occupying the space, though, it’s much different. It’s no longer just a room, but a sort of home.

Your presence here gives it much more meaning than any trinket he might have placed on the shelf. Things in this room he’s never given a second thought suddenly burst to life with your interest in them, pulling memories from the depths of his brain as he recalls where he got them, when he got them, just because you asked.

It’s much too easy for him, too, the way he imagines coming home from a long day to greet you at the front door. He pictures you perfectly, hair twisted into a loose braid, a soft nightgown hanging off your shoulders, feet sporting cozy slippers that make muted thuds as you walk over to give him a warm welcome back. He imagines quiet mornings sitting at the table for two, sipping tea and working through crosswords together. He sees himself reading aloud to you at the bay window, dozing off against his shoulder under the light.

The thought of such uncomplicated, reliable domesticity with you is a thought he lets himself dream about. It seems natural, a routine he wouldn’t mind slipping into in the slightest, and you haven’t even stayed the night yet.

He wouldn’t mind living here forever as long as you did too

When your curiosity has been, for the most part, sated, you return back and join him on the bed. You plop down, expecting to sink right in - why exactly, you’re not sure, because it’s incredibly characteristic for Levi’s bed to be as hard as a rock.

Okay, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but the firmness is still shocking beneath your fingertips.

“Have you ever even slept in this bed?” You ask with wide eyes, hands pressing down into the austere cushion, trying to fluff it like it was a pillow. The incredulous smile adorning your face makes his stomach flip. He crosses his arms across his front as if to mask his heart beating out of his rib cage. He's never been in such close, private quarters with you before.

Levi shrugs. “I don’t really sleep anywhere.” Internally, he shakes off his nerves, not wanting to embarrass himself by leaning into them. The thought of showing how bashful he feels alone is mortifying, but he doesn’t know yet that you’d only love him more for it.

You can’t help but to tease, muttering, “I mean, I know of a way to break it in.” Your face is utterly serious, but your eyes, swimming with a mirth Levi is far too fond of, give it away.

Levi diverts his eyes with a small roll to the side, the hint of a smile crawling up his face. He’s the last person you’d think to be flustered by such a thing, but it’s only because it’s you. “Go to bed, brat.”

You pout. “Only if you lay down with me.”

“I told you, I don’t sleep.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t lay down.”

You know your way around Levi too well, he thinks, or maybe he just loves you. The way you can get his resolve to crumble with a mere pleading expression must be some sort of crime. You read him like a book and know him like the back of your hand to a point where it would be dangerous if it were anyone else. Usually the thought of such a person would intimidate him, but he doesn’t mind being seen by you - not that he has a choice. Against your will, he doesn’t stand a chance; not now and not ever.

He sighs a long sigh and gestures for you to get in with a small wave of his hand. While he stands to close to blinds and light the lamp by his bedside, you scramble under the covers. The initial feeling of warmth covers your skin and makes you shiver as you adjust, crawling hastily under and pulling the blankets up close to your chest. They’re soft and clean and smell just like Levi.

He lets out a yawn that oddly reminds you of a lion pup, but you don’t mention it, instead locking it away for you to think of later on. If you said anything, he’d probably never do it again. Gently, he pulls up the covers on his side and slides under to join you, the bed sinking with his added weight.

“Goodnight, Levi.”

“Goodnight, dear.”

After laying for a while, staring up at the ceiling, Levi feels himself become drowsy. He lets his muscles relax, lets his jaw unclench, lets his eyes fall shut. Though he’s a bit puzzled as to why, sleeping now seems so inviting, and who is he to deny it?

From his side, you watch his breathing slow. It settles into a steady rise and fall of his chest, and his lips part slightly.

The progression is slow. At first, you work up the courage to slip your arm over his middle. You spend minute after minute contemplating, picturing him pushing you away, but you’re getting tired and enough is enough. You slip your arm over his middle and stay completely still; then, nothing happens.

Until moments later, when he rolls onto his side to face your direction. His eyes are still closed, rhythmically relaxed breaths leaving his nose. Then, you move onto your back and scoot up a bit further onto the pillows. He unconsciously curls into your warmth, shifting further into your body, and it makes you melt immediately, swelling with a giddy feeling. You’re almost worried the joyous thumping you feel inside your chest will wake him up.

Eventually, Levi’s head rests perfectly atop your shoulder, small puffs of air falling lightly on your skin. Your hands rub calm circles into the skin on his back where his t-shirt has ridden up, careful not to rouse him from his slumber.

It’s like that for a long time. You keep yourself awake, content with just holding him for now. You take the time to think, watching the flickering glow of the lamp, listening to his quiet breaths, feeling the muted beat of his heart on your hip.

It’s hours later when Levi sucks in a big breath, blinking awake in alarm. His head picks up off your chest and he looks around, finally settling on you who blinks right back. His lids squeeze shut and he mentally grounds himself as he realizes he’s safe.

“You okay?” you ask quietly, voice low as to not interrupt the calm of the night. Your hold around him tightens to let him know you’re there.

He shakes his head slightly and sighs. “Bad dream.”

“‘S all right,” you say, hand moving from his back to his nape, “you can go back to sleep.”

He rubs his eyes, yawning. In an instant, he freezes, realizing the position he’s in. He’s practically clinging to you like a child would a toy, and he feels a familiar heat flush his skin as his head hangs. “Sorry.” He swallows. “I should probably start work.”

He starts to push himself off of you to get up, but your hold on his shoulders is firm, pulling him right back down.

“You’re tired,” you say. “Stay. I’ll be right here.”

He sighs, looking around, before resigning and dipping his head back down to lay on top of you. He doesn’t feel like arguing something he knows he wants deep down anyway. He nuzzles his face into your front, shaking his head slightly as if to clear his mind of what was plaguing it in his rest.

“Promise you won’t leave,” he mumbles softly into your shirt, barely audible. He’s too tired to put up a mask for show, and he’s relieved to see that you don’t need one from him come rain or shine.

Your fingers card through his silky locks and brush them back from his face as his body finally sinks into yours, his weight a warming comfort. It’s slight, but you feel his head tilt just a bit further into your palm.

You place a chaste kiss to his crown. “Promise.”

☆☆☆

When the morning sun finally wakes and rises above the horizon line, Levi finds himself turning away from the beams filtering through the curtains. He feels the golden light on his lids, and he flips onto his opposite side, clinging to the cozy feel of his bed. The only thing that pulls him from his slumber is when his hand stretches out to find emptiness all around, your presence absent from his space where he so desperately wants you.

“Morning, sleepyhead,” you say, watching him shift slowly and gain his surroundings. You’re standing at the small counter across the room, boiling a pot of water on the stove - Levi can tell from the faint rumbling of bursting bubbles inside the steel kettle. He slowly peels his eyes open to get a glimpse of you, features seeming to glow with the light pouring in from the windows. He feels his heart skip a beat that he’s not ready for.

Levi is surprised that he has slept in so late, let alone slept through the entire night at all. It’s rare that this happens - he almost wants to say it’s the first time it has occurred for him, waking up in secure comfort rather than burning fear. The only thing that could make it better were if you were right beside him.

Of course, Levi can’t bring himself to say something so forward this early in the morning. Instead, he mumbles a small, “Come back,” a hint of a whine to his voice that only you could identify.

There’s a muted clinking sound as you stir a spoon around in the porcelain cups you’ve prepared, knocking against each other as you try your best to pick them up. It feels like a juggling act, trying to bring them over safely. You don’t know how Levi makes it look so easy every time he brings you a cup when they are so awfully hot to the touch. He must have gotten used to it, or bears the sting for the sake of his collected appearance.

“I was planning on it,” you reassure him, “just had to stretch a bit.”

Your feet pad lightly across the wood floors until you reach him, offering the tea which he graciously accepts. You set your own on the nightstand to cool while Levi takes his first sip immediately. It tastes just like how he makes it for himself. Considering he’s never explicitly shown you exactly what he does, he’s both surprised and deeply touched.

His eyes follow you as you clamor in next to him. He asks the question that’s been playing on his mind since he stirred awake hours ago.

“Were you awake all night?”

He sees your expression falter slightly and knows right from then. Regardless, you brush it off without hesitation, nestling up to his side.

“No, no,” you lie casually, “I woke up a little before you did and went to sleep after.”

With a gentle hand, you straighten out the part in his hair, laying down the slight frizz from where his head was pressed into the pillow.

Levi looks at you for a long time, observing your tender gestures. He sees right through your words, and also sees the slight droop of your eyes, a hint of darkness beneath them. He thinks of you awake all night, petting his hair as he rests while you don’t, and brings a twinge of guilt to his heart. At the same time, his soul is utterly warmed and thankful. He’s not sure what to make of someone who’d do that for him.

He disregards your previous statement and instead addresses the obvious truth. “Don’t do that for me. You need sleep too.”

It draws a laugh from you. The way your eyes crease has his heart faltering. “I sleep more than enough, trust me.”

He peeks at you over the top of his tea cup, wishing he could freeze this moment in time, capturing how you look perfectly down to the miniscule curve of your lips so that he’ll never forget it. Maybe, he won’t have to.

He doesn’t need to ask because the answer is clear, but he does anyway.

“...Would you mind staying again tonight?”

#levi ackerman fluff #levi ackerman fanfic #levi ackerman drabble #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x reader fluff #levi fluff #levi drabble #levi ackerman imagine #aot fanfic #snk fanfic #aot fluff #snk fluff #aot x reader #snk x reader

2K notes · View notes

sithsecrets · 3 years

Text

vows | din djarin x reader

with the armorer’s blessing, you and din marry in a place more beautiful than any other you’ve ever been to.

---

2.7k words

mentions: sex, fem! rea`der, marriage customs/wedding customs, lots of fluff, happy crying, big wedding presents!

this is part 7 of my valentine’s week series! read the other parts here!

---

“You’re sure you don’t mind keeping him for a couple more days?” you ask Cara, bouncing the baby lightly in your arms.

“’Course not,” she says with a shrug, perpetually unbothered in a way you’ve always envied. “He’s good company and an even better wingman. You should see how women flock to me in the bazaar when I’ve got him on my shoulder.”

You roll your eyes at that, mock-perturbed, but you give Cara the baby when she reaches for him anyway, glad to know he’ll be in good hands while you and Din are… wherever he’s going to take you.

The details are all of this are still hazy to you, and you’ve been thrumming with nervous energy since the Crest touched down on Nevarro. With the Armorer on board, you and Din are free to marry… whenever. The way Din explains it, the two of you could duck into a supply closet right now and come out five minutes later as husband and wife. You’re not going to do that, of course, but you could, and the idea is kind of freaking you out. Seeing the Child has soothed you a little bit, though you’re still worried about imposing on you and Din’s little circle of friends.

“If you get sick of taking care of him, Cara, you can send me and Din a comm. We only need—”

“What you need,” Cara cuts, hiking the baby up on her hip, “is to get married, say that you love each other, and then proceed to have wild sex for the rest of the weekend. The kid is fine with me, really. Don’t worry about me, or him, or anybody else. Just focus on your husband.”

You blush at the tease in Cara’s voice, still unaccustomed to her frank, vaguely crass nature after all this time. Leaning down, you give the baby one last kiss on his green little face, whispering that you love him before you pull away. He seems unphased by any of this, far more focused on entertaining Aunt Cara. Apparently, the two of them are joined at the hip now, a fact that, by all accounts, has made Greef insanely jealous.

“Everything good?”

Din’s voice catches your attention, and not one second later do you feel his hand on your back. He comes to stand beside you, looking between you, Cara, and the baby.

“Everything’s great,” Cara tells him. “Your girl here is just worried that the both of you are putting me out by asking me to watch the kid for a couple of days. As if me and him aren’t going to have the best time, right, dude?”

As if to emphasize her point, the Child gurgles and cries out in excitement. Din reaches out to hold his little hand, gentle and affectionate, but his voice is frank through the vocoder.

“Make sure he’s asleep before you bring a girl over, Cara.”

Cara gives him a shove, mock offended. “Go get married before I change my mind, tin can.” But she’s smiling as she says it, and Din huffs out a laugh.

---

The sun is beginning to set by the time you and Din make it to your destination, every inch of the horizon blazing bright orange. The walk here wasn’t a long one, the little house you’ve come to located just outside the city, and yet you still feel like you’re a million miles away from the rest of the world. There’s a lot of space around you, open ground with any and all neighbors far off in either direction. You never knew there were houses out here, but then again, it’s not like you ever proclaimed to be an expert on Nevarro.

Before you can ask, Din’s already typing in the door’s passcode, letting you walk in before him when it clicks open. You come into a teeny entranceway, the house’s front room laid out before you. Off to your left is the kitchen, and then a hall the rest of the rooms past that. It’s by no means a palace, but you don’t care— it’s a sweet little place, perfect for you and Din’s needs. Neither one of you has a liking for fussy spaces, and this certainly isn’t that.

Off the hall past the kitchen lies two bedrooms, one with an attached bathroom and one without. A second bathroom sits at the back of the hall, and then there’s not much more to see after that. A pantry, a small storage closet in the front room— nothing about this place is extra, everything has a purpose. Even the furniture, or what little there is to be found is plain and practical. No decorations, not even much technology— just a simple little house, bare and basic.

“Who did you rent this place from?” you say to Din, peeking in the kitchen cabinets to see what you can find. A few pots and pans, a set of dishes, silverware… There’s even some food in the refrigerator, enough for you to cook a few meals this weekend.

“It’s not a rental,” Din replies, stock-still in the living room, “it’s ours.”

You stop dead in the kitchen, one hand still on the handle of an empty drawer. Slowly, every so slowly, you turn around, heart hammering in your throat.

“What?” is all you manage to say, voice so small in the— in your kitchen.

“It’s ours, cyare.” Din takes a step closer, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I bought it for a few months ago. Greef helped me get a good price. It took some time, but I finally got all the furniture and the pots and dishes for the kitchen. I didn’t— I don’t know anything about decorating, so I didn’t so that. I figured I couldn’t pick out everything anyway, you know, since it’s not just my home.”

Tears well up in your eyes as you listen to Din speak, and… and you just don’t know what to say. Suddenly, everything around you seems infinitely more precious, infinitely more splendid. The little table and chairs, the couch in the living room, the forks in the silverware drawer— all of it was picked out by Din, all of it’s for you.

“I know we never discussed getting a place like this, but we can’t live on the Crest forever. You and the baby deserve stability, and if we have other children… I want us to have a life, cyar’ika, a real life. But if you don’t like it, I can… we don’t have to come here. The Crest will still be our place, I mean.”

All you can do is laugh through your tears and throw up your hands, amazed. “Din,” you declare, “I just…”

Din won’t come to you, it seems, and so you go to him, wrapping him up in your arms. The warmth of your embrace pales in comparison to what’s in your heart, but it’s all you have for him at the moment.

“What do I say?” you ask, finally stepping back after what feels like an eternity. You swipe at your cheeks and sniffle, trying to get yourself together just the slightest bit. People cry through their vows all the time, but you don’t want to.

“What?”

You look at him. “What do I say, Din?”

He acts surprised, like he forgot why the two of you came here in the first place. “Oh! Right. You, um— Just give me a minute.”

Din turns his back on you, headed for the door. He throws two locks there, moving to the windows next. There’s two sets of shutters on all of them, and Din closes them firmly, even flitting off into the other rooms to presumably repeat the action there. You allow him this little ritual, not saying a word even as your excitement builds and builds. You could float if you wanted to, you think, so giddy and anxious and full of feelings that it’s a wonder they aren’t pouring out of your ears.

After a couple of minutes, Din returns, nerves showing in his voice as he asks you for your help. “I— I want to be me when you see my face. No armor, just… just me in my clothes, nothing else.”

You say yes, of course, and then you’re fiddling with straps and struggling with buckles. This part you’ve done at least fifty times before, well acquainted by now with the process of getting Din out of his armor. It takes more than a few minutes, but then the two of you are done, face-to-face in the kitchen. The light is dim, just two lamps throwing their warm glow onto the walls of your house, but you couldn’t imagine anything more perfect.

“Din,” you say softly, repeating yourself one last time, “what do I say?”

The string of Mando’a that comes out of his mouth is long and complicated, all the words twisted together on his expert tongue. You laugh before he’s even through saying it, reaching out to grab his hands.

“A little slower, please,” you murmur, “and maybe in parts?”

Din laughs, a real, genuine laugh, and then he’s breaking down the phrases for you. You set your face now, serious as you speak these sacred words into the air of your little home. Finally, it’s Din’s turn, and you think the vows sound so much better coming out of his mouth.

“Mhi solus tome,” he says to you, the words honey on his lips, “mhi solus dar’tome. Mhi me’dinui an. Mhi ba’juri verde.”

We are one when together, we are one when parted. We will share all. We will raise warriors.

The weight of what’s just passed between you settles like a soft, warm blanket on your heart. Din is your husband, it’s finally happened, and now you feel rightly and truly at home. There’s one thing left to do, the action that will complete this ritual, but it’ll only be right if Din does it.

It feels surreal to watch him raise his hands, to stand there as he grasps the sides of his helmet and pulls upward. Slowly, ever so slowly, your husband’s face is revealed to you. First his chin, and then his nose, and then… and then….

Din is beautiful. Beautiful, and terrified. The fear in his eyes is plain, the shaky quality of his breath only serving to show you how scared he is. You should comfort him, you know, you should reach out and hug him, tell him it’s alright, but… But you’re just so mesmerized by him, transfixed on all the features you’ve felt but never seen. The curve of Din’s nose, the slant of his mouth… You knew his hair was shaggy, but this wasn’t the length you were picturing! He looks so different than you thought, and yet you weren’t expecting anything less than the man that stands before you now. Stars, he’s so handsome, so… so… perfect. Din is perfect.

Miracle of miracles, even with as terrified as he is, it’s Din who speaks first.

“I think now would be a good time to tell you that there’s no take-backs on the vows.”

The joke fills your chest with warmth. “Not even if I had my fingers crossed behind my back?”

Din shakes his head, and you laugh, fingers twitching at your sides. You want to badly to touch him, to lean up and kiss him and put your hands in his hair while you do it, but you’d sooner die than frighten him any more than he already is. No, you need to be careful right now, careful like you were the very first time you two laid down together in the dark all those days ago. Din had been scared then too, shaking under your hands as you touched parts of him that no one had felt in years— maybe ever, if you’re being honest. This is going to be no different, that much you can tell.

“Can I touch your face?”

Din nods, tracking every movement of your hands as you bring it up to his cheek. He flinches when your fingers make contact, but you soothe him through it, stroking the hair on his jaw, tracing the curve of his eyebrow. No one’s more shocked than you when Din takes your hand in his own, twisting it until your palm is flat on his cheek. You can’t help but laugh— Din has always liked that.

“You alright?” you ask, relieved when Din nods against your hand.

“As long as you’re not regretting all your decisions, then yes.”

“No regrets here,” you affirm. You look him up and down then, deciding that the time for talking is coming to an end. “Are there sheets on the bed?”

It’s in this moment you realize that Din has his hands on your waist, and the tightening of his grip makes your heart jump. “Mhm,” he hums. “Made it up for us when we dropped the baby off the first time.”

“Take me there, then.”

Din doesn’t have to be told twice, and the two of you go stumbling into the bedroom together, kissing and trying to undress all at the same time. You have to coax him out of his shirt and pants, promising that you already know about every scar and mark he has. Still, Din’s uncharacteristically timid when he lays you out on the bed, and so you make a point of praising his body, pointing out all the things you love about him as he presses kisses to the swell of your chest, the inside of your wrist, anywhere and everywhere he can get his mouth on. And it’s no chore, not by a long-shot, not when parts of him are so toned and tan and cut perfectly.

Thankfully, Din seems to derive some confidence from this, and you find him to be much more sure of himself when he parts your legs and pushes inside you. You’re on your back for a while, blissed out and content to be fucked by Din for the rest of eternity, but then Din’s pulling you into his chest, murmuring that he wants you in his lap as he maneuvers you around. You let him put you where he wants you, moaning softly when the two of you are settled again. This has always been such a good angle for you, and Din’s never been one to make you do all the work yourself, even in this position. Tonight is no exception, it would seem, the press of his cock robbing you of all coherent thought within seconds.

It feels like one long, blissful eternity passes before you have to so much as think about thinking again, every bit of you focused on the sex and the feeling of Din’s arms around your body. He’s the one who pulls you back down to reality, holding you back from his chest so he can look you in the eye.

“I’m crying,” Din tells you, announcing this as though he’s surprised. Sure enough, tears streak his cheeks, his skin wet under your fingers as you go to cradle his face.

“That’s okay,” you say, because it is. “Are you happy?”

“So happy,” Din says at once, and the strain in his voice tells you that he’s getting close. “I love you so much, cyare, fuck, I just… I just…”

“I know,” you soothe, falling back onto his chest, threading your fingers in his hair. “I know, baby. I love you too.”

Not ten minutes later, the two of you are lying beside one another, breathless and coming down. Din still has tears on his cheeks, and you know you probably look like a mess, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You should shower, you know, shower and probably change the bed, but you’re so comfortable here under the covers. Din seems similarly inclined, reaching for you from his side of the bed,

“I take it you like the house then?”

All you can do is nod, snuggling into his chest.

“This is all I’ve ever wanted, Din. I can’t wait for the baby to see it.”

“We can go get him tomorrow, if you want,” Din offers, one hand dragging up and down, up and down your back.

“Sounds good,” you murmur, and then you’re dozing off in your husband’s arms.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #my writing #din djarin fanfiction #valentine's week 2021

122 notes · View notes

truly-madly-slytherin · 3 years

Text

The Dark Princess

*gif not mine//credit to the owner

A/N: Hello loveliessss! 🌸 so I’m hoping that my writing in this chapter has improved somewhat from the last and that it is as magical for you to read as it was for me to write ☺️ I appreciate every like, reblog and follow so thank you all so much 🥰🥰 there’s a bit of a jump between the prologue and the main story so this is more of a filler chapter and in case anyone is confused she has the diary because Tom makes sure (Y/N) intercepts it in between Ginny getting rid of it and Harry finding it. Alsooo I suck at introductions so bear with me 😅 Happy reading peoples! 🥳🥳 Italics = flashback/dream, (E/C) = your eye colour, (H/C) = hair colour

Summary: It is the beginning of the summer after your fourth year and you are moving into Riddle House with your father, at his insistence, making you think back to when you first met him during your second year at Hogwarts. You won’t be there for long though...

Pairing: AU Lord Voldemort x daughter!reader, Tom Riddle x OC!

*I don’t own any of these characters except the OC, all rights belong to J.K. Rowling and the filmmakers

PROLOGUE

Chapter One

➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰➰

Riddle House once stood as the most prestigous mansion in Little Hangleton. Now whimpering on top of the hill, a ghostly shell of itself; it’s derelict and decrepit condition reflected the sinister history encased within the walls. Each room explored was more somber than the last, and emptiness clouded the air so thick it was almost suffocating.

*gif not mine//credit to the owner

The floorboards creak beneath your feet as you traipse down the hallway, your father a few steps ahead.

“And now... we have the kitchen” he announces with a flourish of his arm. Dimly lit by a grubby window, the room, like the rest of the house, left a lot to be desired. Tiles hung from the walls whilst every surface was caked in decades worth of dust. Cobwebs strewn here and there, the sink was more rust than steel and there was a large cavity where the cooker once stood.

“It’s.... interesting” you force out, the weak taste of iron flooding your tastebuds as you bring your teeth down on the flesh of your bottom lip. Taking out his wand Voldemort flicks his wrist and the dingy room quickly transforms itself into a modern kitchen.

“Wow!” you whisper running your fingers along the cool marble.

Turning to face you, his nonexistent lips contort into a terrifyingly sweet crescent. “Luckily I had the foresight to prepare your bedroom before you arrived.”

Trudging back through the hallway, you take time to notice the portraits hanging along the wall, a series of black smudges where the faces once were. Wandering upstairs you spot a door with a wooden rose-embossed sign reading ‘Y/N’s Fortress’.

“Here goes nothing” you sigh.

Entering, a gasp escapes your lips. In the middle of the large room stood a king sized four-poster bed, adorned with a rose quilted headboard and white chiffon curtains. To your left was a beautiful vintage french dressing table complete with matching bedside tables decorated in tiny hand-painted black, red and pink roses. The grand wardrobe standing beside it, decorated in the same tiny roses, could surely house more garments than you even owned. To your right hung a wicker swing seat, pink rose buds woven throughout, appearing as though it was made entirely from the delicate plants, positioned perfectly in view of the large Edwardian window. Hanging above the headboard were pictures of you, your mother and father, clipped evenly along a piece of string intertwined with fairy lights, glistening as each scene plays out before you.

“I mustn’t take any credit, Bellatrix was in charge of the preparations.” Your father states watching you from the doorway.

“It’s beautiful” you whisper, tears welling in your eyes.

Voldemort set about fixing the rest of the house giving you time to settle and take it all in. Lying on the soft mattress, you think back to the first time you met your father, a stark constrast to the man you know today.

Sitting at your desk the blank pages stare back at you and your fingers rake through your messy (H/C) curls for the hundredth time. Front to back the diary was barer than the day it was made.

You had been in the girls bathroom during lunch when you noticed something on the floor. Finding a small black book with leather as soft as feathers and gold lettering along the bottom, you pick it up to inspect it further.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

Your eyebrows crease as the name rolls off your tongue, a frown etching it’s way onto your forehead. What would a boys diary be doing in the girls bathroom? Nevertheless you keep the book, and make your way to class, letting it burn a hole through your satchel until the end of the day. Your last class was Potions and with any luck it would go quickly. Settling into your seat, you spin around to the cute blonde haired boy behind you.

“Is there any one at Hogwarts named Tom Riddle?” You ask him, red hot flames licking at your cheeks as his crystal blue eyes meet yours.

“Not that I know of. And I know everyone who is anyone around here” he snorted. Choosing to ignore the radiating arrogance you turn back to the front, mind racing. The diary didn’t belong to a Hogwarts student at all, so how on earth did it end up in our bathroom?

Your leg jerks up and down repeatedly below the desk and your eyes wander back to the clock. 3:43pm. Exactly one minute had passed from the last time you checked. Ahead of you Professor Snape is droning on about a potion you hadn’t yet caught the name of.

“And the 5th step in the brewing of the Wiggenweld Potion is...?” Snape drawls out, his beady eyes searching out his next victim. Chewing on your lip you try to concentrate, to no avail.

“Miss Rosier?” His expectant eyes land on you, lips curling into a signature smirk.

“A-add more salamander blood until the potion turns t-turquoise” you splutter.

“Very good. Someone who has obviously been making notes, wouldn’t you agree Mr Weasley?” The air escapes your lungs with a whoosh as he narrows his eyes at Ron across the room. Ron gulps, ducking his head in an attempt to hide the crimson blush now creeping up his cheeks.

Finally the clock stikes 4 and you make sure you’re the first one out, darting between the students and managing to make it halfway through the dungeons before the bell rings out. “Pureblood” you mutter, the portrait swinging open. “Ooh someone’s in a hurry!” Paying no mind to the painting you dash up the stairs.

“Tracey?”

“Daphne?”

With no answer you plonk down at your desk and begin writing.

“My name is Y/N Rosier, and this is my diary.”

Your (E/C) eyes go round, lids refusing to blink as you watch the words slowly sink into the page. Your small hands vigorously rub at them and yet the page remains just as blank as it had been originally. Your brain scrambles to make some sense of what is happening, but not giving your thoughts a chance to untangle themselves, words begin to materialise across the page.

“Hello Y/N.”

Curiosity trumping any thought of sense, the tip of your quill connects with the aged paper once more. “Who are you?”

“My name is Tom Marvolo Riddle.

And I am your father.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. The fluttering birds that previously occupied your ribcage die out as your heart threatens to beat right out of your chest, pumping ice throughout your veins at an ungodly speed. The pounding in your ears nears defeaning as the middle of the book suddenly throws out streaks of blinding light.

Regaining your vision you’re surrounded by stone walls and green glowing lamps. The click-clack of shoes echo through the dungeon as hushed whispers become audible.

“No Tom! I told you- I warned you- I told you something bad would happen- that something so evil would surely have consequences, and you ignored me. And now look! A girl has died Tom!” The young woman vigorously shakes her head, her wild ginger curls bouncing about her face while she scolds the boy.

“Lower your voice before somebody hears you.” He hisses, the pair coming to a halt in front of you. His lips curl into a sneer as his large hand wraps around her dainty wrist. “I am Lord Voldemort after all.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like that!” she seethes. Snatching her wrist from his grasp, her perfectly manicured finger points at his face. “Your name is Thomas Marvolo Riddle and I am not one of your little followers bowing down at your feet and kissing your arse! And most importantly Tom, I am not scared of you!” She storms off and Tom continues hot on her heels as you scurry behind.

“For Merlins sake! Fleur wait-” Blocking her path, Tom’s hands come to rest on the girl’s arms, this time gently caressing her skin. “I’m sorry I should never have spoken to you like that, I don’t want you to be scared of me... I forget myself sometimes. Forgive me?” His hands move to cup her cheeks, and her slender arms wrap loosely around his torso as her anger seemingly dissolves.

“Well don’t forget yourself too much around me otherwise one day you may turn around and I won’t be here Tom.” At least a foot shorter than him, his chin rested comfortably atop her head.

“Don’t worry, Princess, it won’t be long now before I am crowned the greatest sorcerer the world has ever seen.” Her head buried into his chest ignoring the icy tones lacing the boys words.

Your hand shoots to the base of your skull as a dull ache begins to resonate. ‘He needs to work on his landings.’

“Y/N there you are! Where were you? We missed you at supper. And what on earth are you doing on the floor?” Daphne gives you a quizzical look before extending her hand and helping you up.

As you dust off your robes you try to think of a convincing lie. “I wasn’t feeling very well after Potions. I had to run straight to the loo and then came to lie down - I suppose I must have fainted.” With a shrug of your shoulders you begin to change out of your robes, Daphne following suit.

“Lumos.”

With everyone else now asleep you decide to take your chance to figure out just what on earth is going on. The faint glow illuminates the makeshift tent you had created with your bedcovers, an inkpot balanced expertly between your knees and quill secured between your teeth. Opening the diary with your free hand you reposition the wand.

“Are you there?”

Just as before the ink disappears, so sucking in a breath you stare at the page. After a few moments nothing had changed. ‘Of course it’s blank you bloody idiot. I must be going bloody barmy!’

Before you could finish scolding yourself, the words appear across the page.

“Hello again Y/N.”

“What happened earlier?” Not having much time you wanted to get straight to the point.

“No beating around the bush, I like it. Just like your mother.”

“My mother Fleur?”

“Yes, Fleur. She truly was a wonderful witch. Say, do you think you could do me a favour Y/N?”

You weigh up your options before replying. “Not until you tell me what’s going on.”

“I will answer all of your questions, but it must be in person.”

“But how would I? You couldn’t even see me earlier.”

“I will show you how, just go to the girls bathroom on the first floor.”

Under the mask of the invisibility spell you sneak out of the common room, diary clasped tightly under your arm. Moving through the dungeons it doesn’t take you long to reach the first floor bathroom. As you await your instructions you begin to feel a strong magnetic pull towards one of the sinks. Unable to resist you move to stand opposite. Lightly tracing the stone serpent beneath your fingertips, your mouth opens and words of a language unknown to you flow out. Suddenly the marble sink shifts to reveal a vertical tunnel.

“Jump Y/N. Jump!”

Without giving it a second thought you launch yourself down the hole. Your face scrunches up like a ball of paper as you brace yourself for an impact that doesn’t come. Landing on something soft and scaly, you open your eyes.

Below you was the largest snake you had ever laid eyes on, with skin the colour of green ivy and piercing red orbs easily the size of your skull, if not bigger. Bowing down, it repositions your body on its spiky head, and begins speeding through the tunnels. Coming to a stop in front of a large stone monument, the creature bends down and gently slides your slim frame off, and onto the wet floor.

As you stand upright, a silhouette steps out from the cover of the shadows.

"My darling Y/N..."

KNOCK. KNOCK.

Bolting upright, your confused eyes dart around the room. The sky was now jet black and above you the fairy lights were glowing softly in the darkness. Rolling your legs off of the bed you answer the door to find your father standing on the other side, arms tucked neatly behind his back.

“My apologies love, did I wake you?” he asks with a level of affection you hadn’t been expecting.

“Yes but no matter, I hadn’t meant to fall asleep in the first place” you reassure him, shrugging off the last remnents of sleep.

“Very well. I have some unexpected business to attend to, and as you are still new to this house I don’t feel comfortable leaving you here alone, so I have arranged for you to stay with a dear friend of mine for the remainder of the summer” he states matter-of-factly, leaving no room for compromise.

“Oh. I hoped I would be staying here for the summer.”

With your (E/C) doe-eyes and lips pouting just enough to be noticeable, you were the image of your mother when she was sulking, and Voldemort found a dull warmth spreading throughout him at the reminder of the distant memory.

“I know Princess I do apologise. I hoped we would have the opportunity to bond during your time away from Hogwarts. However the situation is simply unavoidable.”

“Fine” you sigh in defeat. “So who will I be staying with? Anyone I know?”

“You’ll be staying with the Malfoy’s.”

99 notes · View notes

beerecordings · 3 years

Text

Okay, here is part three of the latest Marvin's Cage story. Find the whole story so far here Let me know if you enjoy! Thanks for reading. Tws for mentions of possible cannibalism, mentions of past torture, panic attacks, and imprionsment . Light through the side of his box. “Marvin, Marvin,” he mouths, soundless, tears in his eyes. “Brother, brother.” Marvin does not come. “Jameson,” the soft voice is calling. “JJ. We won't hurt you, I promise."

No. This is not right, not right! This has never happened! He clutches at his hair and bites down on the collar of his shirt, tears racing down his face. They need to go away! They're not supposed to be here! They're not supposed to know! Marvin will be so, so, so angry! He can't do it again, can't go back to being alone alone alone alone. His skin so untouched it hurts, so he scratches at it, at his lonely skin, his lonely bones. Marvin will not touch him hold him call him little brother. He can't go back. Makes his brain so numb and then so crazy. Can't can't can't. “Jamie, breathe, Jamie – ” “Give him space, dude! He's scared of us. Jameson... just... he's really just – ” “Marvin did this to him!” He flinches at the loudness of the voice, biting his collar til he feels thread tear. No, no, no. This is Marvin's worst nightmare. His brothers know about him, and they're angry at Marvin. Angry at Marvin who was just protecting all of them, who takes care of him and loves him. This can't be happening. They need to understand. How does he make them understand? How does he even try to explain when his heart is beating so hard it hurts all the way up to his throat and he can't stop crying? This is why you can never fight Anti off, sneer an old pair of hands in his head. You're the most pathetic little creature ever to walk across the earth. Of course Marvin locked us away. Him and Anti are both right. “I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he signs desperately. “Brother, brother, M! Please! I want M!” “It's been so fucking long since I took that BSL course. I'm the worst brother.” “Don't start, Jackie, shit. I don't think I ever bothered trying to learn for more than, like, two Youtube videos. Schneep would know. He learned it in about three days and he doesn't forget things.” “Brother – that was brother, I remember! Yeah, JJ, we're your brothers, dude. I mean, if you want us to be. Can you just – please, breathe.” No, they don't understand. These are not JJ's brothers. These are Marvin's brothers. It's a term of endearment more than anything technical: the relationship does not transfer. Marvin always made that very clear and JJ understands. Chase and Schneep and Jackie are not dangerous like he is. Chase and Schneep and Jackie do not have to live in cages, and they get to come find Marvin whenever they want, and they can have things like their own money and lots of friends. They can walk around the city at their leisure. See the sky. Have jobs. Walk around stores and talk to girls and make friends. They pick out their own food and books and toys. They're nice people who have never killed anyone or stabbed each other or made Marvin so upset that he burned their faces on accident and left them alone for days at a time. Schneep is even a doctor who saves lives, and Jackie is a real-life superhero, and Chase has babies who love him. Of course Marvin had to keep them safe from JJ. He's just grateful that Marvin never listened to him when he would beg to get out. Marvin even took care of him when he could have so easily left him to rot like he deserves. “JJ, JJ, please. You can trust us. Didn't you say you remembered me? Please, please, I'm begging you – come here.” Yes, of course he remembers Jackie – remembers the warm voice trying to calm him for hours, and the gloved hand in his own, and the presence watching over him as he drifted close to sleep, the safe and loving presence. How could he forget it? Some days, it is all he thinks about. But it's not something he can have. No, he won't come out. He won't risk making Marvin angry, and he certainly won't let Marvin's brothers get hurt because of him. He will stay here alone like he has to. He is a good boy like Anti told him, like Marvin told him. He is good and he is not hurting anyone ever again. He is staying right here. “Fine, I'll go to him,” comes a vehement voice, and then someone is pushing at the broken wood around his door. Jameson sucks in a wheezing scream and darts behind the curtain over his little bathroom, shoving himself between the wall and the toilet

and squeezing himself into as tight a ball as he can manage around his little stuffed dog, the first present Marvin ever brought him. Jackie can't come in here – neither of them can! Anti will kill them! “Jackie, he's freaking out, stop, stop!” There's a low howl of frustration, but no one comes any closer. His box falls quiet again with nothing but soft murmuring from Marvin's brothers as JJ sobs, biting at deep scars in his palms, the result of being possessed on repeat by a demon with a passionate love of any kind of blade. His hands raise the knife – no hilt. The blade goes down, goes into his palms, goes down, goes into his palms. Goes into her chest. He can hear her screaming. Can hear himself laughing. There's blood in his mouth that isn't his. His birds are already picking at her as she suffocates around the silver of the knife. The bugs are creeping onto her flesh and crawling up his shirt. No, no, no! If Marvin would come – if Marvin would quiet the memories like he always does – But Marvin does not come. Marvin does not come find him. Alone, alone, alone. “JJ, JJ,” they are calling to him, begging at him, but this is not something he can let himself have. He'd rather die right here. No, no, no, no. He is not going anywhere. Ever. His little stuffed dog is licking at his face. He closes his eyes and rubs its fur til the panic fades. His good dog, good boy. He drifts in his head. He's playing with his dog in the yard. Marvin is on the porch reading. The sun is warm. His dog licks his face. He is staying right here... everything is okay... there you go, JJ. There you go. There's a good little brother. You know how much I hate to see you cry. Cut it out, okay? I don't want to hear that anymore. Be good and I'll come back tomorrow. Be good and stay right here. Yeah, he's good. He's good. And when he's good, Marvin comes back again. Marvin will come back. . The soft scrape of cardboard on wood wakes him. He sits in the darkness behind his privacy curtain. Things are quiet again. “I wish he would just...” “I know. But you can't stay here all day.” “Well, neither can he!” “Shhh, keep your voice low. He obviously does, I mean...” The voices devolve back into incomprehensibility, too soft for him to understand. He wipes at his ruddy, weary face and sniffs, curled up against the side of the toilet. He's a little germ freak, as Marvin says, but he doesn't have to worry. He cleans everything every morning so Marvin will not think he's messy. The decorations are always dusted and straightened. He wipes the toilet and his little mirror down, and the sink too, so it's clean when Marvin comes in to shave him on Wednesdays. He isn't allowed to have a razor in here – Anti will try to cut him up again – but Marvin takes care of him anyway. The bathroom smells like their shaving cream and the lemon scent of his cleaners, stacked neatly on the shelves in his back-left corner next to his laundry: Marvin's clothes and some old t-shirts and sweatpants. He isn't allowed to wear anything that isn't Marvin's. Marvin has to be the one to put it through the wash, and if his brothers saw it, they would ask why he was washing things that did not belong to anyone in the house. JJ lets out a tired sigh, a little soothed by the quiet and the reminiscing. Marvin takes care of him. Still, he wants to know what that sound was. When Jackie and Chase's distant voices stay distant, he squeezes his dog for courage and creeps out from behind the curtain, blinking at the light of his sun lamp. The leaves of his plants and the lead in the drawings on the walls gleams quietly in the yellow glow. His place, his things, his presents from Marvin and pictures of Marvin and his shared space with Marvin. Maybe when he comes to see him, they can lie down on the mattress and have a nap, or play some games, or watch pictures on Marvin's magic screen together. Yeah, he feels better. Yeah, there's my tough guy. Stop crying, JJ, I mean it. He gets to his feet and sneaks over to the sill of his box where Marvin sometimes leaves him

things. There's a little pad of paper on his shelf, the sort of book you might use to make grocery lists or notes to pin up on the fridge. He pulls it towards himself, looking right and left for one of Marvin's brothers to leap out at him, but nothing happens. Hi, JJ,reads the first page, in messy, crooked handwriting. My name's Chase (I'm the one in the grey shirt) and Jackie is the one in the red hoodie. He doesn't know what a hoodie is. He glances down the way Marvin usually comes from and can still hear them talking. I'm sorry if we scared you. We're still figuring out what's going on. You don't have to get close to us if you don't want to (but I promise we won't hurt you if you do). I thought it would be easier for you to have a pen and some paper. Is there anything you need? Or anything we can do to show you we are on your side? Do you remember us? I also left some food by your door. It's perfectly safe, I promise. I will eat some with you if you want. Please don't be scared. We aren't with Marvin right now, or Anti. We are not going to let anyone hurt you. If there is anything we can do to help please tell us. I hope you do remember us a little bit. If you don't, though, we want to say hi! Maybe you can write me back? The paper is all for you. - Chase There are some smiley faces and even a little drawing of the plate of food on the paper. JJ glances over at his door. A dish with rice and meat is tucked on the plate alongside fat slices of oranges, a neat line of bright green cucumbers with ranch drizzled on, and a big sweet-looking roll with pecans. His mouth waters. He listens for Marvin's brothers one more time, and when they're still far away, he steps over to pick up the plate and brings it back to his mattress, sitting down and eating with relish. It's hot and fresh and home-made, better than he remembers food tasting. Most of the stuff he gets is take-out from a restaurant or leftovers. Not that he minds! It's just a lot of tasty food. He's eating faster than he means to, scooping the rice up with his plastic silverware and tearing the soft bread of the roll between his teeth. Meat between his teeth – hot flesh, red blood – Anti's smile is crimson and beaming, his own eyes are wild with delight – cannibal – No, no. He hugs himself for a few minutes and goes through the breathing exercises Marvin taught him. He's okay. He does not eat all the beef, but he eats everything else, scooping up the leftover ranch with his spoon and licking his fingers clean of the orange juice and sticky frosting from the roll. His stomach hurts with how full he is. It's a good feeling. “Jameson?” He jerks upright, pupils blown. A figure leaps back from his window. “Sorry! I just – I was just checking if you wrote me back or – sorry, I'll give you some space...” He backs away again. Jameson grabs at his chest, shuddering. Sudden voices in his box only ever mean Anti until today. And Anti – Anti hurts him. Even when they're playing. He doesn't think Anti ever learned how not to hurt someone. He thinks that's why he plays like that – testing his limits. Interested in human suffering as a primary characteristic. He plays with the edge of Chase's note, trying to think. He hasn't talked to anyone but Anti and Marvin in so long. What would Anti say? Pet, look, he's almost as pretty a present as you were. Oooh, but already a scar in his head. Who wants a scar on him I did not put there? Hm. Still pretty though. He looks like my master. Tell him to come over here and snuggle with us, Jameson. I will wrap my hands around his throat and see if he chokes the same way Jack does. Jameson chews on the end of his pencil, sighing. They need to stay away. What would Marvin say? Who, Chase? He's my baby brother. I guess I was always pretty attached to him. I was all jealous when Jack added Schneep, and I do snap at Jackie a little when he ticks me off. Chase, though, he's my – he's my little brother, you know? He's a special person. Well, anyway, it was him you stabbed the night I had to lock you up. Within about five

minutes of finding you, you stabbed one of us. I started to imagine what would happen if we just let you roam free and... you get it, right? Why I had to? Yes. Of course he does. This is what he needs to express. He clears his throat and sets his pencil shakily to paper. Dear Chase, Thank you for my dinner. It was very tasty. You are a good cook. I do remember a little of that night you all found me, but not much. I was rather unwell. I am dearly sorry for stabbing you and I hope your shoulder has healed well. I should not like to stab you again, but I do not always have a choice. Unfortunately, despite Marvin's best efforts to find a way to help, I still fall victim to possession against my will. Please leave me alone so I do not stab you or your brothers. If you will get Marvin for me he will know how to fix the box. I am not bothered by your presence but the thought of what might happen to you is very alarming. It would be in the best interest of you and your family to kindly exit this place and leave me to my own devices. There is no need to be concerned about anyone hurting me, though I appreciate your worry on my behalf. Thank you for your time and understanding, and, again, for the food. Sincerely, Jameson Jackson There. That's okay, isn't it? Maybe? P.S. I would like to see Marvin very much. Is he all right? Thank you. Okay, there. Then he will not have to wonder. Hopefully everything's okay and Chase can go bring Marvin for him. Then things will go back to normal. Things will go back to... To normal. Normal is good. Normal is... His box is quiet. The light gleams on the leaves and the lead. There are scratchmarks in the wood where he has tried to claw his way out during breakdowns. He closes his eyes. Things will go back to normal. He can never leave. He lets himself drift off in his mind again, walking in circles around his box with his eyes closed. He's on a beach with his dog and a big family... little kids come running up to him and he picks them up and plays with them in the ocean, yanking them back from the waves or ducking them under the water while they shriek in delight. The sun is so warm and the sand is hot between his toes. Marvin is suntanning on the beach while Chase and Jackie play in the sand beside him, and everyone is laughing. His box is dead quiet. Not even the wind to keep him company. Alone, alone, alone. . “I'll kill him, I'll kill him.” “Jackie. Breathing.” “I'll – oh, he – I'll tear him to pieces, look at this, he – I'll kill him, I'll destroy him, how could he...?” “Jackie. Jackie.” Chase is so tired he doesn't even get to his feet to try and calm Jackie down. He's slumped across the couch of the living room with Queenie on his stomach, kneading her claws into his t-shirt and purring. Her belly's all swollen with kittens, but instead of becoming more reclusive like a normal cat mother, she has decided she wants to be on top of someone twenty-four hours a day. Chase scratches her ears and sighs. “How could he do this?” groans Jackie, for perhaps the hundredth time today. Chase still doesn't have an answer. Jackie is clutching JJ's note in his hands tightly enough that he's definitely torn a hole or two in it. “He made him think he has to be – he has to be in this box. He – he won't come out to me. He won't come out to me.” Chase reaches for Jackie's jacket, catching his sleeve, and tugs his brother down onto the couch beside him. “Jackie. This note – it could be good news.” Jackie looks at him like he's finally lost it. “Hear me out! I know it's... not great that he seems to think he really does have to stay in there. But Jackie, look, he's not scared of Marvin! What if we jumped to conclusions about how this went down?” “He locked my little brother in a box,” says Jackie flatly. “But what if JJ asked him to do that?” Jackie blinks and looks down at the smudged note. “He... does seem to think he's dangerous.” “And, well, he is, isn't he?” “Don't say that.” “Jackie, it's just facts. Er, not JJ, I mean. Anti is the dangerous one, but he uses the

little man like a weapon. That's not his fault, but it's the truth. He did stab me that night.” “Anti stabbed you!” “Yes. But he used JJ's hands. Jackie, is it so wild to think that maybe JJ was just so scared by the things Anti has made him do that he actually asked Marvin to help him protect us from him?” Jackie's eyes water. He shakes his head. Chase sighs and touches his brother's shoulder. “It still wasn't right of Marvin to do what he did. He definitely should have talked to all of us about it and not left us thinking something terrible had happened to him. But if JJ really came to you and begged you to keep him away from us – well, maybe, as a temporary solution, you might take him somewhere safe and secluded, and take care of him yourself, right? Maybe not a little locked box, but... somewhere. It's not – Jackie, it's not unthinkable.” Jackie just shakes his head, staring down at that note. “What's wrong?” asks Chase softly. “Wanted to make him feel safe,” croaks Jackie. “I should have – if I had made him feel safe, he wouldn't have thought he needed to be locked away. And Marvin – yeah, should have told me. Even if JJ did beg. My baby brother.” After a long day, the tears are finally coming dripping down Jackie's face. “I know, man,” whispers Chase. Jackie falls against his shoulder. Chase wraps his arm around him. Queenie nudges her way into their laps and sits contentedly down, purring like a little motorboat. “Maybe JJ and Marvin really were just working together to protect us,” mumbles Jackie. “Maybe he did take good care of him. If he had told us, maybe it is... thinkable.” “I shouldn't have told Marvin we weren't brothers anymore.” Chase rubs at his face. “I was too quick to think it was the worst scenario.” “No, it's not your fault,” replies Jackie softly. “It's his for not telling us, so it really did look like the worst scenario – and my fault, for exploding on him instead of listening. I should have been calmer.” “I honestly think you were surprisingly restrained for the situation,” says Chase, a little amused. “If it were true that he just locked JJ up against you will, you oughta have kicked his ass.” Jackie snorts, rubbing at his face. “Yeah. I guess. I don't know, though. There's just... there's something really off about that box. The kids' toys and the – I don't know. I get a really bad feeling. It's hard to describe.” Chase hums and nods. “Well, what we need to do is talk to JJ more, right?” Jackie perks up, glancing over at him. “Right. Figure all this out.” Chase smiles at him. The weight on his chest is so much lighter than it was a few hours ago. This – this makes so much more sense than what they thought before. Of course it was unimaginable that Marvin would lock JJ up like a prisoner against his will and abandon him in there, unloved. What he did was still wrong, but this alternative is so much lighter than that one. Maybe they can still fix this. Marvin could come back with Schneep, and once they were all on the same page Marvin would apologize for leaving them out of the loop. Together, they'll all be able to find a better way to keep JJ safe from Anti. Then they can all be together like they're supposed to be. Yeah. He can see it now. Marvin and Schneep will come back home, and JJ will come out of the box, and everything will be wonderful. Just a few hours ago, that seemed so impossible. “You're crying again,” says Jackie, touching his face. “Chase?” “No, it's okay,” chuckles Chase, wiping at his face. Happy tears. He's so relieved it hurts in his chest. For a few hours there, he really thought Marvin might have done something that cruel. But not his brother. Not his Marvin. No wonder it didn't make sense. It wasn't true. He should have known Schneep was right. Schneep is always right. Chase chuckles, shaking his head. “Just a rollercoaster day, that's all.” “No fucking kidding. I'm going to go write back to JJ. Do you want to come with?” “No, no, I think I'll get started on dinner.” Chase has already moved on to their reunion meal in his head. He'll cook

something Marvin loves and make JJ so much good food they can't even eat it all. Bread, ice cream, pasta, casserole... there's so many options. Maybe he'll just make everything. His heart is light again. It's going to be okay. “Okay, then,” says Jackie, heading back towards the mirror. “I'll be in there with him if you need me.” “Got it,” Chase replies, getting up to head to the kitchen. “Oh, um – Chase?” “Yeah?” He turns back towards his brother. Jackie smiles at him in the evening light. “I'm really glad you're here.” Chase smiles back. “Me too,” he says.

Things are going to be different. But surely, surely - they have to turn out okay. Just this once.

. Dear JJ, I don't really know how to right to you. This is Jackie. I'm glad you remember me a little. I'm your older brother. You don't want to come out of the box? When did that start? Was it your idea to be locked up like that? I guess I can see how you would think you could be dangerous. Trust me, I've encounterred Anti enough times to get it but if you give me a chance I promise I will keep you safe. JJ there has to be a better way then you being locked up like that! I don't even care if you and Marvin thought it was a good idea it's terrible. You do not have to be a prisoner you are my brother. I really want you to come stay with me. What can I do to get you out of there? I will do anything to make you feel safe, JJ. I promise I will keep you safe. Marvin is okay. He's just staying at another house right now. He knows I am talking to you. I'm worried about how he might have treated you, can we talk some more before you talk to him? Tell me about how he treats you. I want you to be able to make your own choice. Don't worry about him, okay? Who decided you should be in that box? I want you to be here with me. I really want you to be here with me and I promise I will keep you safe. Maybe we can talk face-to-face? Even though I'm bad at sign languge. I have wanted to see you for a really long time. I love you. I don't care if you hid from me or if Anti has used you, that doesn't matter now, none of us ever blamed you for Chase's shoulder. I've been looking for you, JJ. I've been looking for you this whole time. I thought about you every day. I would have looked forever if I had to. Every day of my life. If you think you have to stay in that box, please tell me why. I need to understand. I won't lose you again. You won't lose me too. I'm your big brother and I really want you to be here. I promise I will keep you safe. JB . Dear Jackie, Please, just go. You weren't supposed to know. I will be in trouble and I will hurt you. It is my fault. I'm not like you. I can't fight Anti. I'm not what you think I am. I'm sorry. I'm sorry you looked. He said maybe he would tell you I was dead, but he knew you would not stop looking unless there was a body, so he couldn't even though he wanted to. He loves you. He didn't want you to be in pain. But he didn't know how to stop it either. He cried over it so much. Maybe now that you know, you won't have to worry about me anymore, and you and Marvin can be happy again. I'm happy here. Marvin has taken such good care of me. He treats me very well. Please go home to your brothers and don't think about me. I'm sorry I made you all so sad for so long. Sincerely, JJ There are patches of wetness on the pages. . JJ, who decided you should be in that box? Tell me. . This time, there is no answer. Big blue eyes look up at Jackie from the corner of the cage, and all he wants is to go in there with him. But when he moves forward, JJ flinches and flees back to the bathroom, and all Jackie can do is sink down beside the cage, hold his head in his hands, and try not to think about the words he wanted to tell you I was dead. . Chase: Schneep you ok Schneep: Yeah. We're at Stacy's Chase: Did you tell her Schneep: Kind of. Still not sure really what happened Chase: Us either dude. Marvin say anything more? It sounds like maybe he and JJ both decided he should be locked up or whatever Schneep: He is all freaked out still. I gave him something to calm him down and he fell asleep. I am worried though. He insists the Jameson must be kept in the box. I think Anti is pulling strings Chase: I don't have any idea what's happening at this point Schneep: How is he? Chase: Very shy. Scared of us. He also thinks he has to stay in the box Schneep: Healthy? Chase: He kind of hides. Won't let us in to see him Schneep: I come by tomorrow and check on him Chase: Ok, sounds good. Tell me if anything changes? Schneep: Yes I will Chase: And say hi to the kids for me. Maybe not a good idea for me to have them this weekend after all Schneep: No worries. We will figure everything

out, my friend. Take care of JJ for me Chase: You take care of Marvin. I think it's going to turn out alright. Schneep: Yes, it will. See you tomorrow, love you Chase: Love you . There's blood in his mouth. JJ circles his cage, using a rag to clean the walls and wipe down the boxes and sink. When it's clean, he sits down again, reaching for his violin. There's blood in his mouth. He gets up again and wets the rag. Circles the cage and wipes down the walls and boxes and sink. He sits down and rubs at his face, exhausted. There's blood in his mouth. No. The box is clean. He's not going to clean it again. There's blood in his throat. He covers his face in his hands. Stop imagining it, JJ. Distract yourself. His dog licking at his face, warm sand between his toes, Marvin is holding him – Blood in his throat. In his teeth. He picks flesh out from between his molars. Copper tang against his tongue. He feels the weight of the blood settle in his stomach. He bites into flesh. Jameson. I am not going to listen to this story again. That's fucked. Anti isn't here. Stop crying, okay? The corpse is going cold beneath his fingers. Anti is laughing. The blade swirls around in his hands. He is torn between hoping Anti will stop possessing him so he can have even a minute alone in his own head and praying that Anti never leaves again, because when he does, that is when JJ becomes the victim of his curiosity. There's blood in his mouth. JJ gets up and wets the rag. Circles the cage and wipes down the walls and boxes and sink. “Jameson,” murmurs Jackie. “Are you okay?” He's standing just outside the box, looking at him. JJ avoids his gaze, scrubbing the clean right wall with vigor. Jackie doesn't seem to want to hurt him. He supposes that makes sense. It's not Jackie JJ should worry about – it's what Anti might do to Jackie that's concerning. He wishes Marvin's big brother would leave. “Can you show me your stuffed animals?” asks Jackie. “Or your puppets? Why do you have all those?” JJ pauses, chewing on his nails as he glance at his animals, arranged neatly on his mattress. The finger puppets are in their box by the barred window. They're just for fun. For distraction. He knows each of them intimately. All the puppets have names and families and jobs and aspirations. All the animals have their own place in the world in his head. It's just a game. It's just a game he plays for hours at a time. He tells the same stories on repeat. The important part is that he knows they're not real people right now. Marvin was so relieved. There's blood in his mouth. He circles his cage. Cleans the walls and boxes and sink. It's already clean. He knows it's already clean. “Do you play the violin?” JJ pauses again, eyes flickering over to Jackie. Yes, he does. For hours a day. “Would you show me?” asks Jackie gently. JJ hovers. He's not sure he should. But he never gets to show anyone except Marvin and the toys. It would be nice. He never got to show anyone Marvin's birthday song. It's not going to hurt Jackie. It's just his music. He picks the violin tentatively up. Sets it back down again. Jackie is looking at him uncertainly from the window, smiling a faint, confused smile. Fuck's sake, he's – he's weird, isn't he? Not Jackie – JJ. He turns away from Marvin's brother, biting at his nails again. It's been so long since he interacted with anyone other than Marvin and Anti. What must he look like to Jackie? He's treating him like he's so fragile. Maybe he is. But this is how he lives. This is how he has to live. He used to fight. Does Jackie know that? Does Jackie know that there were days that he would come out of possession kicking and striking at Anti, spitting at him and writhing before Anti could stuff him back into whatever hiding place he had found to contain him? Does Jackie know that JJ used to curse at Marvin and demand to be let go? That he eventually crumpled beneath the isolation and the monotony and just collapsed in on himself, sitting mindless for days at a time no matter how much Marvin begged at him to

get up? Does Jackie know that he hates this? There are tears dripping onto the violin set beneath his chin. He can't think like this. This is where he has to stay. He can't go. He can't leave. There is blood in his mouth. This is what he has to do. He can't tell on Marvin, can't tell Jackie that Marvin dragged him into this box and locked him up while he cried. This is what he deserves because he's done so many bad things and he will do so many more if he is released. Oh, there is blood in his mouth. He can't get out. He has to be a good boy – he has to stay – he has to – “Major freak-out,” he signs to himself. This is what Marvin calls a major freak-out. Yeah. Okay. “Have to stay calm, JJ, you can't come out of your cage. “Come hold me, Marvin, please! “If you calm down I'll come in there. Okay? “Please can I come out just for a few minutes? Oh, God, I want to see a priest. Are you going to keep me here my whole life? I'll die here! I'm going to die here? I can't take it anymore! I can't take it! Oh, God, I want to see the sky, I want to hear birds, oh, God, our father, who art in Heaven – “JJ, be good. Penguin, stop that. You know you can't come out. So be calm. I'm working on finding a solution. “But you never do, you never do!” “JJ.” And now the voice does not sound like Marvin's. JJ isn't sure why. He keeps signing to himself, circling his cage, chewing on his collar. He talks to Marvin. Marvin isn't there, but he knows what he will say. Yes, Marvin is here. They're talking and hugging each other, yes, Marvin is making it better. Marvin isn't here. “Jameson, hey. Jamie, can you look at me? Jamie, can I come in there with you?” Yes, yes, he wants that! He hates to be alone for freak-outs. They last hours and sometimes he slams his head against the wall so hard the light hurts his eyes for days. Sometimes he scratches at the wood til his nails split. Sometimes he clings to Anti and begs him to take him away from this place, because even the torture and the killing would be better than sitting in this same – fucking – spot – for the rest of his miserable existence. He hates to be alone. Alone, alone, alone. “Please, please,” he begs. “Please, please.” “Okay, I'm coming, Jamie, I'm coming.” Marvin doesn't call him Jamie, but it doesn't matter, because a moment later, there are arms around him. There's no torture quite like the touch-starvation, and JJ is someone who knows torture. When Marvin started touching him and hugging him and sitting with him, it changed everything. And the most wonderful part about it is how those months of his skin crawling and his brain going numb and foggy with a bizarre and visceral sort of insanity as he rubbed at his own skin and rocked and day-dreamed about being touched til he could hallucinate it – they all just fade into the background when someone puts their arms around him. He latches on like a cat in a tree. Octopuses himself around their body. And in return – joy of joy, he is being squeezed back, squished against their body and rocked. He is scooped all the way off his feet, making him giggle. He buries his head in their shoulder and shakes, pressed so tightly together it's a little hard to breathe. “My little brother, my little brother,” someone is singing. “My JJ. Here you are. I have you back again, I have you.” He's grabbed by the waist and spun in a circle before he's drawn back to their chest. He laughs weakly and hears them laughing back. “Here you are. Chase was right. This is all that matters. You are everything that matters.” Kisses along the side of his head. Hands on his back and cupping his head. He's rocked back and forth, back and forth. Steady and strong. Gloved hands. A red hood. The smell of rain and sweat and coconut on the jacket. And that feeling – that feeling of safety... Yeah. He remembers. How could he forget? When this was what he dreamed about for so long? Jackie is holding him. His awareness comes back to him in pieces as he comes down from the second or third panic attack of the day. Jackie has crashed down onto the

mattress with him. He's being held like a little kid, but Jackie doesn't seem bothered by his weight or his neediness. Jackie just clings to him. Clings to him as tight as he's clinging to Jackie. JJ cries quietly as he comes back to himself. Jackie wipes at his face and hums to him, nonsense music in the air. “My JJ, my JJ.” He doesn't seem bothered by the crying either. “I missed you, JJ.” His voice breaks. Jackie coughs and kisses the side of his head one more time, his voice fading away. “Have to go,” signs JJ, crying into his chest. “Have to go, before he hurts you!” “I'm so sorry, James, I never really got to practice with the sign language, I should have worked harder...” “Go, go!” He points to the door. “Go away!” Jackie shakes his head at him. JJ should push him away, but he just – he just can't. Marvin will kill him for this. Anti will kill Jackie for this! “Nothing's going to hurt you anymore,” whispers Jackie. “Never, you're never leaving my sight again. I'm never going to let anything happen to you ever again.” And he wants it to be true so badly it hurts. He just clings to Jackie, shaking. “Oh! He let you get in there with him!” A new voice in the expanse of the mirrors. JJ feels Jackie nod. “Do you guys... do you want some space?” “Yeah, please,” whispers Jackie. “Maybe he'll let you come in too in a minute, but if we could just... just get a minute...” “Just text me if you need anything.” And it's just him and Jackie in the quiet of his box again. “Nothing matters but this,” sings Jackie, brushing at his hair. “My baby brother. I love you.” Love, love, love. He closes his eyes and holds to Jackie, and just for one moment of weakness, he lets himself have this.

#marvin's cage

14 notes · View notes

the-edge-of-great · 3 years

Text

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ friendsgiving ♥

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

The silence that immediately follows “How did you spend your holidays?” is brief but deafening. Her heart sinks. She looks to Luke for help, but he’s watching the guys on the couch, eyes jumping between Alex and Reggie; the weight of the conversation seems to rest on their shoulders, and they don’t notice because they’re too busy avoiding everything, especially their bandmates.

So Julie backtracks, quickly. “I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head. “I shouldn’t—Forget I said anything.” She reaches to fix the sheet music but realizes it’s already perfectly straight, and her hand falls flat, and there’s still an awkward silence, so she begins playing the start of Finally Free, which isn’t at all what they were working on, but this hasn’t happened before. She’s always been careful asking about their past because she doesn’t know how far is too far. And until now, she hasn’t struck out with any questions. They’ve been cool about it, mostly answering anything she wanted to know. If they didn’t want to talk about it, they kindly changed the subject. At some point, she thinks they became open books to her, and she them.

That’s why this question tumbled out so casually.

And that’s why the silence is scaring her.

Luke, finally, saves her. “We’d spend Thanksgiving with my dad’s family,” he tells her with a smile, which she immediately mirrors as her shoulders slump with relief, “and for Christmas, we’d go to my aunt’s place to party with my mom’s side. She actually lives in Pasadena.” He chuckles. It takes her all of five seconds to realize why that’s funny to him, and then she breathes a laugh and rolls her eyes.

“Holidays were always hectic for me,” Reggie says next. Julie’s heart flutters. “Like, three or four days of traveling to make sure we see both sides, both sets of grandparents, and somehow not barf from all the food.” He and Luke share a laugh, and Alex smiles faintly as he jumps to his feet.

“I just remembered,” he says, stepping over Luke, “I’m meeting Willie today.” He looks back at them briefly, his smile weak and probably forced, before vanishing.

Reggie and Luke share a look. Mumbling something about the beach, Reggie disappears too.

As soon as he’s gone, Julie’s face drops to her hands. “That was a disaster,” she groans.

“Family’s just a hard topic for them,” Luke replies quietly.

Chewing on her lip, Julie takes Alex’s spot next to him. “Tell me why?” she asks softly.

“Sure, since they outed all of my shit last month.” He chuckles.

“Whaaat?” Julie shakes her head. “They didn’t—” The look he gives her makes her stumble. Sheepishly, she adds, “They were trying to help.”

“I know.” Shaking his head, he explains, “Reggie’s parents fought a lot. So much that he didn’t like us coming over, like, ever. It was, seriously, all the time.”

“Fighting, like… arguing? Or…?”

“Just arguing,” he reassures. “They’d scream at each other, and sometimes at him if he got in the middle of it, but…” Luke sighs. “Just arguing.”

“And… Alex?”

He pauses, gaze dropping to his lap, and Julie’s stomach turns. She reaches for his hand, half to grab his attention again, half because she feels she’ll need a better alternative to digging her nails into her palm when she hears whatever he has to say. He intertwines their fingers, locking her hand in a grip tighter than she expected. If she wasn’t nervous before, she is now.

“Alex’s parents weren’t cool with him being gay.”

Julie sits up straighter. “What—What does that mean?” She needs better clarification because she knows what that could mean—she’s seen it on the news, on Tumblr and Twitter and Instagram, heard about it through the grapevine of high school—and her heart aches at the idea of Alex—sweet, caring Alex—going through anything of the sort.

“They didn’t kick him out which, I guess, is something, but they just… stopped caring. They stopped acknowledging him.”

Julie shakes her head. “They don’t deserve any praise for not kicking him out,” she says quietly, lip curling at her words. “Not for doing less than the bare minimum of being parents.”

“Getting angry over it is a lost cause.” He smiles sadly at her. “You don’t know how many times we talked about getting him out of his house. Both of ‘em. Bobby and I would spend nights out here, drawing up plans to run away to Vegas or something.”

“I should’ve never brought it up,” she mumbles. “I know holidays are hard for some people.”

“Hey, no, it’s okay.” He shakes his head, turning to her and taking her other hand in his. “It’s okay. You didn’t know. Besides, it was bound to come up eventually. Family’s just… different, you know?”

Julie sighs, shoulders slumping forward. She watches Luke’s thumb rub across her knuckles. Thanksgiving is in a few days; her house is going to be lively with the whole family. When Mom was alive, the studio was a place for the kids to hangout. Obviously, nobody went near it after she died. Dad locked it up before people began arriving. Julie wonders, as she looks around the room, if they’ll open it to the family again. Or maybe it should stay closed for the guys’ sake.

“So… No holidays?” she asks. “At all? ‘Cause… I have an idea…”

Luke raises an eyebrow. “What’re you thinking?”

“It’s this thing called… Friendsgiving.”

~**~**~**~

Star Wars and other movies downloaded to the computer? Check. Computer hooked up to the projector? Check. Two white sheets borrowed from Flynn strung up in front of the instruments? Check.

“Are the lights too much?” Julie asks, waving her phone around the room to show off her decorations. “They feel too much.”

“No, fairy lights are cute!” Flynn exclaims through the phone. “And you went through all the work hanging them up.”

“I know we think they’re cute, but will they think they’re cute?”

“Jules, they’re like puppies; they’ll be excited about anything.”

“Okay.” Julie nods. “Okay.” The lights are weaved around the loft railing and framing the sides of the sheets. She had to improvise with Christmas lights, so when she turns them on, instead of faint white, a soft rainbow glows off the loft and cascades down to the floor.

“Look okay?” she asks Flynn again. She doesn’t know why she’s so nervous. It’s just Luke, Reggie, and Alex… But Reggie and Alex haven’t had a good Thanksgiving in a while. So, okay, maybe there’s a little pressure for things to be perfect. Or a lot. Maybe the lights is overdoing it—

“Dude, what’s up with you?” she hears Alex say outside.

“They’re here!” Julie stage whispers.

“Okay?” Flynn says just as soft. “Go talk to them? And the lights are cute! Keep them on!”

“As Julie would say,” Reggie adds, voice getting louder as he nears the studio, “you’re acting hella sus.”

“Wait, wait,” Luke says, probably trying to stop him. “Just—Wait a second.”

“I’ll text you later,” Julie tells Flynn as she heads for the door.

“Julie!”

“What?!”

Flynn smiles at her. “They’re going to love it, okay?”

Julie stops, hand inches from the door handle. Taking a deep breath, she returns Flynn’s smile. “Thanks, Flynn.”

Feet shuffle out of the way of the door that swings open a few inches. Julie pokes her head out. “Hi there,” she says, grinning.

Alex squints at her. “You’re in on it too, huh?”

“Alex, honey, I planned it.”

Luke, who froze in the middle of holding Reggie back with arms around his chest when Julie stepped out, backs off and joins her by the door.

“And you guys never figured it out!” he says proudly, fist bumping her.

Reggie and Alex share a look that makes her think yeah, no, they totally figured something was going on. She giggles.

“Well, uh…” Julie glances over her shoulder. “You guys want to see what the secret is?” She leans against the door to push it open and waves them past. “Ta-da.”

Along with the Christmas lights is a lamp beside the couch, covered by a blanket to dim the brightness. In place of the coffee table she pushed to the side are pillows and blankets layered over each other. Board games she found in the loft are stacked high in the chair next to the couch. They’re a mixture of generations: some she received as Christmas and birthday gifts, and others that have been around for as long as she can remember—favorites among her family, especially her parents. Maybe the guys will remember them too.

The shelf behind the couch is empty except for the projector. She had to find an extension cord to plug in her computer and leave it safely on the couch (she may have tried to balance it on the shelf with the projector, but one close call was enough to look into alternatives).

After the door is latched behind her, she joins them in the middle of the room, playing with her hands. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” she begins. “I didn’t mean to bring up any bad memories.”

Alex shakes his head. “It’s not your fault, Julie. You didn’t know.”

“But I do now. And… I don’t know how you guys feel about the holidays, but I hope you give this one a chance?” She steps around them, kicking off her shoes as she goes. “It’s not an official holiday, but over the years, it’s become more popular.” She steps onto the couch and looks back at them with a smile. “It’s called Friendsgiving. Families suck sometimes, and you can’t choose them. But, you can choose your friends.” Standing on her tiptoes, she flips the projector on. A light beam shoots past them and shines across the bed sheets. Two was a better decision than one, it seems. The picture has plenty of room to spread out. Perhaps not the best quality, but at least they can watch it full screen.

“I have all of the Star Wars movies downloaded,” she continues, stepping off the couch, “along with a few others if we get sick of the marathon. I don’t know if you like board games, but I found a few in the loft?” She points at the stack.

“You did… all of this for us?” Reggie asks, almost breathlessly.

“Well, yeah. And Luke helped.” Luke smiles when the guys look at him. Julie adds, “I don’t think I could’ve guessed your movie taste without him.”

“There are some good ones on there,” he promises.

Alex huffs a laugh. He spins in a slow circle, taking in everything. “This is awesome, Jules.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, but… You’re wrong about one thing.” She freezes. Luke and Reggie look back at him. Alex shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, looking over each of them, the corner of his mouth curved in a smile. “You can choose the family that matters.”

“And it’s us?” Luke teases. “We’re your Chosen Ones?” As he and Reggie share a laugh, Alex walks away from them.

“C’mere,” he says with a laugh, pulling Julie into a hug. Alex gives some of the best hugs. He’s tall enough to tuck her head under his chin, and she can bury her face in his chest.

Luke and Reggie must move in, because Alex walks them near the couch. “No, no, she’s my Chosen One. You two go away.”

“We were here first,” Luke whines.

“But it’s Julie,” Reggie reasons. He shakes his head, a fond smile on his lips.

Luke nods. “Good point.”

“Still, you’re crazy if you think I’m just going to ignore group hug potential,” Reggie says, lunging for them. Alex pretends to try getting away, but he actually opens an arm for him, and now Julie’s squished between them. Not even a second later, Luke’s on her other side. They’re a mess of laughter until someone missteps. They fall in slow motion, it seems. Julie rolls off of Alex’s chest and into the arms of Luke, who hugs her to his chest immediately.

“Good thing Julie has all of the pillows of the universe here,” Alex jokes.

“Oh yeah, I called in every favor. They asked how many I wanted. I said yes.”

Reggie pushes himself up. He squints at the stack of board games. “No way! You have Candyland?”

Luke chuckles in her ear. “Are those Christmas lights?”

“I improvised.”

“I like it.”

Alex is looking at them. “Me too.”

Julie grins. “Thanks, guys.”

“Reg, Candyland or Star Wars?” Alex asks, rolling onto his stomach.

Reggie pauses, board game in his hands. “Can we… We can do both!”

Julie laughs out loud.

After a few minutes of clearing away the pillows (“Oh good, I thought we’d never see that rug again.”), setting up the game, and playing the movie, they’re ready: Candyland and Star Wars. Not how she ever imagined spending the day before Thanksgiving.

“Hey,” Julie says as she draws a card. It’s green. She looks up at them, smiling. “I love you guys, you know?”

They each share looks, grinning at one another. To her left, Luke draws next. “We know, Julie,” he says, moving his character forward. When he meets her eye, he tell her, “We love you, too.”

“Now, keep that in mind when I completely destroy all of you in these games,” Reggie warns.

Julie raises a challenging eyebrow.

“Bring it.”

#julie and the phantoms #jatp #julie molina #luke patterson #alex jatp #reggie jatp #some band fluff on this fine morning #this started out with a lot of angst potential but then i was like #no #i have a cuter idea #eog writes

80 notes · View notes

fics-not-tragedies · 4 years

Text

One Day in December: Chapter 8 🎇

one - two - three - four - five - six - seven - eight - nine - ten - epilogue

This chapter is second to the last and I hope it’s a good one!

Words: 3669; Warnings: some nice gentle smut; Summary: Another year Bianca and Andrew decide to ditch the annual party.

Hozier tag list:

@letoursilencebreaktonight; @angelpeachamber; @sgt-morgan; @julessbrown;

December 2017

Andrew sat in the car, head back against the seat, waiting. He texted her earlier, just to confirm that she’d definitely be there. It was ridiculous that they wouldn’t just meet someplace else instead of the stupid party… but neither of them really made the effort to suggest another option. Besides, she was right; it was kind of tradition…

The tour was over. He was done. Promotion for this last album drained him, and he was exhausted. The minute he got back to his home in Wicklow, he slept. And slept. And then slept some more. And when he thought he couldn’t possibly sleep anymore… he did. It was a solid ten days before he fully emerged from his post-tour coma; and the first thing on his mind was someone; someone who deserved far better than how she was treated. He thought about the texts he and Bianca had sent over the last two years, and it made him sick to his stomach. The more he thought about it, the more he felt like he was actually going to be physically sick; and so he did. He splashed cool water on his face after he’d thrown up what little contents his stomach contained, and stared long and hard at his reflection in the mirror. He looked worse for wear, despite the endless hours of sleep these past two weeks.

Sitting in the car now, he squinted, brow furrowed, as he thought back to that day nearly a month ago now, when he sent his first text to Bianca in over three months. His neck felt hot even now, thinking about how weird and awkward it had been. He knew she must have felt as strange as he did after all that time; and she was terribly short with him the first day or two.

Andrew didn’t care at all, he embraced it actually, willingly accepting her icy cold one or two word responses. She started to warm up to him again after a little while, and they went back to texting one another on a regular basis. The last conversation they had was about meeting up again; and so here Andrew sat.

He got there early and waited, music quietly humming in the background as Andrew thought about Bianca and what she was going to look like this year. He hadn’t seen her in over two years, and he’d done nothing but dream about her and what she must look like now. The last time he’d seen her, he was a much different person; and he was positive she was too. He thought about her face when he’d said goodbye that January; heading back out on tour. It was like all the color and light was drained from her pretty face and it tore Andrew into a million pieces. He remembered lying in his bunk on the bus, picturing that expression over and over and over again.

They broke it off not long after.

Andrew absentmindedly felt around for his cigarettes and lighter, hoping it would calm his nerves. He was excited of course, but terrified he’d screw up all over again. He knew what he wanted from her and he hoped she wanted the same.

His phone buzzed across the dash, and he snapped it up, reading the message.

I’m just around the corner.

Andrew froze, she was nearly there. He typed a quick ‘alright’ and pulled down the visor to check himself out one last time. He didn’t look amazing, but he did look better than he had and that was good enough. He fixed his hair back with the palms of his hands and took the cigarette from his lips, exhaling a deep breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

He ducked his head spotting a figure walking from the direction he knew her loft was located, and watched her for just a moment before he got out of his car. She was wearing a dress. Always a dress. And her tights had a pattern that he couldn’t quite make out, and she was wearing her fur coat; the same one she’d worn that last Christmas. His heart swelled when her face came into focus, and he closed his eyes trying to calm himself before he opened his door and got out.

He could hear the clicking of her heels on the pavement, the crunch of the gravel beneath her soles, and for some reason it took him straight back to two-thousand-and-ten when she couldn’t get away from him fast enough.

“Hey you” he called to her, his voice thick and heavy as it sailed across the bitter winter air. It echoed off the deserted pavement, his car too far away from the party for the noise to interfere.

Bianca looked around, trying to locate where his voice was coming from. He was dressed in nearly all black, probably looked like a shadow to her. When she spotted him, her face lit up. The smile that stretched across her face as she approached set Andrew in motion and he met her halfway. He didn’t even stop when he reached her, he couldn’t.

“I’m just gonna hug you… not even gonna ask…” he murmured as he leaned in to threw his long arms around her and hugged her close to his chest.

Bianca closed her eyes and melted right into him. The knot in her throat felt thick and her stomach churned, but he was here, and he was real and that was all she could ask for.

He didn’t let go. Andrew held her for as long as she would allow, the two of them in the middle of the empty street, snow flurries flying around them.

“Are you crying?” Andrew asked her softly, “Because I am.”

Bianca laughed, the words catching on their way out, “I can’t help it.”

Andrew could feel the wetness seeping through his shirt to his chest and he sighed, squeezing her even tighter if that were possible, “I wanna look at you, but I don’t wanna let you go.”

“You can hold me and look at me” her muffled voice suggested and it made Andrew laugh.

“I suppose I could” he drawled and brushed his lips across the top of her head before leaning back a little and ducking his head to get her to look at him. Bianca lifted her head from his chest, her eyes glassy with fresh tears, her nose red, “Ah…” Andrew smiled, “I could swim in those eyes of yours…”

It was true. He thought about it a lot… getting lost in the pretty shades of her hazel irises, the amber and the olive and the mahogany. It was true, he thought about them enough to differentiate each color completely.

Her cheeks burned, her eyelashes fluttering against them. Bianca could feel his fingers pressed into her shoulder blades and the small of her back, and she wanted to scream at him; ‘don’t ever let me go!’

“So how are you?” Andrew asked her softly, the deepness of his voice resonating through his chest and into hers.

“Right now? Perfect” She smiled up at him, her arms still wound firmly around his back.

The wind spiraled up around them, blowing her hair across her face, and he frowned in concentration as he sorted it all back out again. The snowflakes were caught in her toffee-colored bob and in her eyelashes, and she looked like the sweetest thing he’d ever seen. “Before this though, how were you doing?”

“Good. Normal” she eyed him curiously, “What about you?”

“Not that great” he admitted almost immediately, with a small chuckle, “But let’s not get into that right now. Because… we’re together.”

Andrew honestly felt better than he’d felt in he wasn’t sure how long, and his lips ached with the very strong desire to kiss her…

“Should we, um…” Bianca gestured towards the direction of the house with a nod of her head, and Andrew glanced at the festive decorations and the bright lights and the happy people coming and going; the loud music thumping…

“I…” Andrew didn’t really want to go now that he was with her, “… don’t know if…”

“I don’t really wanna go anymore” Bianca blurted, looking up at him again, “Do you wanna come back to mine?”

Andrew nodded his head and Bianca mirrored him with a smile and a sparkle in her eyes. Andrew walked her back to his car, opened the passenger door for her, and reluctantly let her go. He was going to be beside her in a second, but he was feeling hopelessly attached.

It was quicker than walking, but they had to take more streets to get there considering Bianca always took shortcuts, cutting across yards. They drove in silence. They both knew what was going to happen once they got there, and the sexual tension in the car was at an all time high. Andrew parked his car on the street just outside her flat, and the two of them walked up together.

“You’ve changed some stuff…” Andrew commented, taking note of how adult and how put-together everything was. All the art she’d once had leaning against the wall on the floor was now hung, and her books shelves were organized and she had her little kettle on the oven, and all the things he remembered so clearly were all in their little place.

“It’s been two years” Bianca murmured quietly, glancing at him as she headed for the stairs to her lofted bedroom. Andrew followed her slowly, his feet shuffling hard and heavy on the steps. He watched her legs in front of him, the way her dress shifted and caught on her tights. His fingers itched, his lips still aching…

When he reached the top, she was stood in the middle of the darkened room, her tiny bedside lamp providing a dim glow behind her. She was waiting for him, and it took Andrew a stride and a half to reach her, the two of them melting into one another.

“Andrew…” Bianca whispered, the ache in her voice sounding equally as desperate as he felt.

He took her face in his hands, admiring her for what seemed like the longest moment in history, until he finally touched his lips to hers. It was soft and sensual… a gentleness in Andrew that she didn’t think he possessed any more.

Andrew groaned into her mouth, the sweetness of her lips a taste he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much. He’d forgotten; forgotten what she felt like, what she sounded like, the way her lips moved against his. And like a silent agreement had been made, they began stripping one another out of their clothes, pulling back to assist, and giggling a little when something stuck or someone had trouble with a tricky zipper.

That was Andrew.

His fingers trembled so hard when she’d turned in his arms to reveal the long silver zipper down her back, that he got stuck and nearly gave up, “Why can’t it just happen like in the films?” he muttered a bit defeated, and Bianca faced him once more, a teasing little smile on her lips.

“It’s alright, look” she grabbed the hem and pulled the whole thing over her head, leaving her standing there in her bra and tights.

Andrew swallowed hard, feeling strangely like he was reliving their first time together all over again, “Well, that works.”

She bit her lip as he advanced on her, kicking off his boots and pushing his jeans further down his hips. He wrapped his arm around her back, and helped her lay back as gently as possible, resting his knee on the bed for leverage. Bianca’s body hummed, her skin dotted with goosebumps as she watched him crawl over her. It felt like a dream and she felt like crying, but she didn’t, she couldn’t because he was really here. And she’d keep repeating it to herself as long as she had to.

Andrew took his time.

He let his lips and his hands explore, rediscovering her body and all the things he’d fallen in love with and was forced to walk away from. Andrew’s fingers tickled the sides of her breasts and down the flanks of her body while his lips whispered kisses down her sternum, grinning at the way she sucked in her stomach. He hooked his fingers inside the waistband of her tights, the pattern still unclear to him, and he sat back, inching them down her legs. She lifted them, helping to kick them off, and when he tossed them aside, he sat there, his gorgeous muddy eyes raking over her body.

“You should take those off” Bianca whispered leaning up on her elbows. She was completely naked and he was still in his boxer-briefs; soft grey ones that left very little to the imagination.

“Alright… em, yeah…” Andrew said thickly, his deep voice echoing through the loft.

Bianca shook at the sound. Andrew stood up, prepared to just yank them off and kick them aside and be over and done with it. But Bianca was already inching towards the edge of the bed.

“I wanna do it…” she whispered, like maybe she was afraid to say the actual words aloud. She slid her legs over the side of the bed and Andrew stepped in between them, shivering at her fingers as they brushed against his thighs.

Her eyes followed her hand as it crept across the front of him, her fingertips only a little hesitant as they stroked him slowly through his briefs.

Andrew groaned low in his throat, almost growling at the feeling. He was throbbing hot and thick and ready for her, and the touch of her hand on him could’ve easily tipped him over the edge. But this wasn’t the first time, and he was much more prepared. He watched her as she stroked him, fascinated by him and what she knew was waiting on just the other side of that heather grey material.

Bianca wasn’t going to get into all that just now, but her throat felt tight at the idea of doing it later. Instead, she just leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his stomach just below his navel as her fingers dragged his briefs over the curve of his ass and down his legs. She could feel his cock brush against her when she freed it, and her body was suddenly on fire, remembering how good he’d once felt inside her.

Andrew watched her as she sat on the bed again, inching backwards, radiant in the dim room, like a beacon; a blazing bright signal he’d been chasing on somewhat of a misguided course for far too long. His stomach had been knotted up and anxious up until this point, but now, as he crawled back over her again, covering her mouth in another deep kiss, he felt at ease. Like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

Andrew pushed himself inside her, the moan in his throat catching as he sank into her. Bianca whimpered a bit strangled, and Andrew searched her face with concern in his eyes.

“Are you alright, Bianca?” He whispered, holding himself steady on his forearms.

Bianca placed her hands on his cheeks, and nodded, “I just forgot…” she whispered back shyly.

“Forgot what?”

A pretty shade of pink crept up her neck to her cheek, “How good you felt.”

“Oh…” Andrew laughed softly, bowing his head a bit embarrassed but he didn’t know why. He shifted a little and Bianca moaned again, “What?”

“Andrew…” Bianca sighed, “I’m okay. I just… you can keep going. I promise I won’t break.”

He didn’t have to be told twice, he began moving his hips into her, sliding in and out so easily. She felt like a dream, like a dream he had so many nights before. It took him a moment to get into a groove, but when he did, Bianca melted into the bed, her leg wrapping around his calf as he thrust into her.

“Oh baby…” he whispered against her ear when he felt her arch her back and meet him halfway.

Bianca moaned with each movement, her head fuzzy and clouded, lost in the feel of his hot skin, flush and sweaty and sticky as he moved against her. He felt so good inside her and she squeezed around him, making him groan. He pulled out almost completely, teasing her before he thrust back in and Bianca cried out. He kept doing it, loving the way she sounded when she moaned his name, begging for more.

Andrew sat up on his knees, lifting her hips and watched himself as he disappeared in and out of her. He brushed his fingers down her stomach to her abdomen, his thumb slipping down and pressing against her clit. She moaned, her palms reaching up and planting firmly against her headboard, feeling her stomach and back sweating as she held her hips up for him. Her flat was hot, especially in the loft, and the two of them were glistening with sweat in the soft amber light.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her, admiring her and all the pretty shapes her body made as she moved against him. The way her soft pink lips parted and the way her eyelashes fluttered against her cheeks, the spots of red that covered her neck down her chest as the sweat and heat became too much. He leaned forward, kissing her just under her breasts, and then up the middle to her neck, where he kissed her wetly, his nose brushing along her jaw.

“Mmm… c’mere Bianca…” he sighed, his voice thick with lust and emotion, his arms winding around her back.

He lifted her up until she was sitting in his lap, his cock still deep inside her. She wrapped her legs around his back when he got settled, her arms around his neck. He kissed her face all over; her eyelids, her cute little nose, her soft cheeks. His fingers sunk deep into her hips, and he lifted them so she was hovering for just a moment, until he pulled her down hard onto his cock. The both of them groaning as he filled her up again.

“Andrew…” she breathed, beginning to grind her hips into him, riding him, their bodies pressed so tight together.

He held her against him, his fingers splayed across her back as they moved together. He helped grind her into him, guiding her, speeding up the pace to get her going an slowing it down when he thought he might cum too soon. Andrew had experienced a lot of good nights in the last year or so, most of them on stage performing for thousands of people, but none of them felt quite like this. He was lost in the girl he’d been in love with since he was twenty; the very girl that had most likely been the cause of every single breakup he ever had. He’d never told Bianca this, but… she was the only one. She always had been.

Bianca let Andrew move her, and she ran her fingers through her hair, breathing heavily as she writhed in his lap. Andrew hadn’t taken his big muddy eyes off her for a moment, and a smile curled up on her lips as she leaned forward to kiss him.

“I’m so happy you’re here” she mumbled, catching his bottom lip between her teeth and pulling away slowly. Andrew slowed his pace when her fingers slipped through his hair just above his ears, and he felt like crying. There were so many emotions coursing through his veins, his body humming, his mind completely lucid for once. He knew what he wanted. He’d wanted it for so long, and he hadn’t known how to make it work, but he knew he could now.

“I love you” Andrew told her carefully, making sure she knew from the sound of his voice, that this wasn’t something that had just occurred to him in the heat of the moment.

Bianca’s features softened, and she stopped moving, tilting her head as she gazed at him, “You love me?”

Andrew nodded slowly, his brows furrowed as he watched the way her expressions changed, the way the colors in her eyes melted, the pretty amber dissolving into the the mahogany like whiskey, “I’m not just saying it… because…” he gestured down between them, “I think… em, I think I’ve always known… but… em, it weren’t ever the right time… but…”

“Andrew, I’ve loved you since the moment I met you” Bianca interjected, her voice raw and overcome with emotion.

Andrew’s eyes widened, glassy and tingly when he saw the tears in hers, “Let’s not cry, alright?” He laughed, brushing the first tear he saw trickle down her face, “I’m never going anywhere ever again. I’ve belonged to you since that first night.”

Bianca covered her face with her hands, willing herself to stop the tears from falling; but this was all she’d ever wanted. Years of pining for him, and he’d loved her all along.

“D’you know… that first Christmas… I, em, I didn’t shut up about you the whole ride back to my folks house?”

Bianca was laughing into her hands and Andrew tilted his head, pulling them away. Her nose was a little red, and he cupped her face in his hands, loving the way she fit so perfect, “Really?” She whispered, angry at herself for falling apart during such an important moment.

“Yeah… the other guys told me they couldn’t wait for me to pass out. Then when we went on tour, and I must’ve talked about you for few months straight” Andrew grinned fondly at the memory.

She smiled, blinking the tears from her eyes, and falling against his chest. She pressed her lips to his neck, kissing him softly.

Andrew rubbed his hands up and down her back, “I’ve always loved you, Bianca.”

23 notes · View notes

anistarrose · 5 years

Text

Tulip’s Return (Infinity Train One-Shot)

Summary: Tulip reunites with her parents, and finds a strange gift in her bedroom.

Warnings: none

Word Count: 1200

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20192683

Tying up some loose ends (because I’m a big softy).

***

Tulip tumbled to the ground, hands and knees landing on soft earth. The golden glow of her exit door dissipated in the blink of an eye, leaving her kneeling alone in the middle of the yard.

Her yard.

She really was home.

The front door was unlocked, but she hesitated before opening it. How would she explain to her parents? Would they even believe her if she told them the truth? How could she prove —

She shook her head, and swung the door wide open. She’d faced countless challenges far more intimidating than reuniting with her parents. She was ready for this.

They were both here, her mom and her dad, and they were sitting at the kitchen table.

“I think I’m gonna head out now,” her dad said. “Can you call me if they say it looks like the Michigan lead might actually… amount to something?”

“You know I will,” her mom replied as he stood up. “Be careful on the road. I heard there’s a thunderstorm coming in —”

Almost in perfect unison, their heads swiveled around to stare at Tulip as she entered the kitchen. They didn’t say anything.

Tulip froze. She wasn’t ready for this.

“I’m back from game design camp,” she said weakly, and gave an awkward wave.

As if her words had broken a spell of paralysis, her parents rushed towards her. Her dad got there first, and practically crushed her in a bear hug.

“Tulip, where have you been? We know it’s not game design camp, so — so don’t try and tell us — oh my god, I just can’t believe you’re okay.”

“You are okay, aren’t you? No one hurt you?” her mom asked, brushing a hand against Tulip’s cheek as she pulled her into another hug. “This scar — when did this happen? Who did this to you?”

“The police have been looking all over,” her dad explained. “We were afraid you were dead in the Wisconsin wilderness, or tied up in someone’s basement — where were you, Tulip?!”

“It’s good to see you guys too,” Tulip whispered, wiping her eyes. “But it’s — it’s kind of hard to explain. I don’t think I ever thought about how I would explain it, because getting home always felt so far away…”

She took a deep breath. “Okay, here goes. This is going to sound unbelievable, but… I was on this crazy magical train where every car was a different universe. And there were robots, and corgis, and evil robots too, and this number on my hand that I had to get to zero before I could leave —”

Her parents exchanged a concerned look.

“Don’t look at each other like that! It was all real —” Tulip gasped. “And I can prove it, too! I need something reflective!”

She rushed back to the hallway, and skidded to a stop in front of the large rectangular mirror that hung on the wall. “See? No reflection!”

Reflected in the mirror, she saw her mother’s jaw drop as her father raised his hands to cover his mouth. There was no sign of Tulip’s reflection.

To drive the point home, she pulled a pen out of her pocket and waved it around. The mirror showed it floating through thin air, even when Tulip held it behind her back.

“How…?”

“I pulled my reflection out of a mirror and let her wander the world on her own,” Tulip explained. “She’s pretty cool once you get to know her. I just wish I had a way to know how she and the others are doing now…”

***

Tulip was used to that strange sensation when you return home to sleep in your own bed for the first night after a long road trip, and all the perfectly normal fixtures of your house feel alien for the first few hours back. But that feeling was nothing compared to the wave of disbelief she felt when she finally made her way back into her bedroom.

Her shelves had been dusted and her fish had been feed, but almost everything was still right where she’d left it — from her coding books, to the pictures of Mikayla and her family, and even the ribbons pinned to her bulletin board and the medal hanging from the lamp on her desktop. Her room looked too clean to be lived in, yet still too cluttered to be out of use — just like how she felt she’d been away for both an eternity, and no time at all — and the more she thought about that contradiction, the more overwhelming it grew.

(Tulip felt a brief pang of guilt for forcing her mom to make the choice between cleaning up and leaving things as they were. How many days had she come in here to dust, forced to look at all the reminders of her missing child?)

She collapsed onto her bed and lay motionless for a few minutes, staring at the ceiling and tracing the path that the cracks in the tiles took, just like she used to do whenever she couldn’t fall asleep. The winding path led her eyes down to the shelf above her desk, decorated with extra Christmas tree lights that never ended up being needed — lights that she hadn’t yet turned on this evening, but were somehow still flickering before her eyes.

Tiny sparks danced in tiny bulbs, as if the current running through was coming not from the plug they were attached to, but rather induced by some other electromagnetic phenomenon nearby. A soft clatter rang in her ears — like a piece of plastic falling and landing on something hard — but went silent after just a fraction of a second, leaving Tulip to wonder if she’d imagined it.

She stood up, approaching her desk with a caution she’d learned early in her stay on the train. There was one new object on her shelf, in front of her bulletin board of notes and awards — and she couldn’t be sure, but she had a hunch it hadn’t been there for more than just a few moments.

It was a sleek, black, rectangular flash drive, and as she picked it up, she noticed there were two words written on one side in a familiar glowing green font.

Infinity Train.

She inserted it into her computer’s USB port — getting the alignment right on her first try, which was probably a stronger indication of supernatural involvement than anything — and opened the single folder it contained, labeled with the same title.

Inside was a long list of .mp4 files, so long that several seconds of scrolling with the mouse wheel seemed to hardly move the scroll bar at all. Tulip did, however, recognize several familiar file names:

Music_ in_Space_Car

Corgi_Car

Italy_Car

Chrome_Car

And so on, continuing seemingly ad infinitum. But more than any other, Tulip felt drawn to the first file, titled:

Engine.

She double-clicked to open it, and for a moment, static filled her brain. But then she blinked, and found herself staring down at her own hands — holographic and transparent, as if she was still physically sitting at her desk while her mind was projected into a distant location.

“Hello, Miss Tulip!” One-One chirped from his position in the center of the train’s control board. “My mom and I figured out a way to keep in touch!”

***

(Thanks for reading, comments are welcomed as always! I definitely have plans for more Infinity Train fics (mainly one-shots, but potentially also crossovers) so stay tuned!)

#infinity train #infinity train spoilers #tulip olsen #infinity train tulip #infinity train one one #rosalia writes fic

353 notes · View notes

timebird84 · 4 years

Text

🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘19 🎄

By @smokeyloki

The carousel horse had a wreath around its painted neck; Erik admired its stiff, dusty leaves as he brushed past it. Sprigs of holly were placed, at random, about his little house, in addition to a few white-and-gold painted candles. As far as holiday decor went…his house was sadly lacking. Christmas was never a huge event for him, though, so why should this year be any different? Why should the thought of snow excite him, or presents wrapped in crinkly gold-and-silver wrapping, topped ribbons and lace, or the concept of a warm dinner laid out at his little table?

No; Christmas usually meant chilly drafts in the lower levels of the Opera House, forcing him either to the upper rooms or holing him up in the catacombs. Disturbances about the Opera Populaire were considerably fewer during the winter months, often with the exception of M. Carriere’s Christmas Ball. This monstrous event gathered flocks of Paris’ finest snobs, dressed in what they considered to be the most fashionable styles. Gerard would have instrumentalists playing that hideous excuse for music…worn-out Christmas pieces that rattled about in his brain for weeks afterwards.

Some years he strutted about amongst them, dripping in borrowed finery he had discovered and pieced together. Capes, great hats, a polished walking stick, gloves, and best of all would be the signature mask, glittering with beadwork, feathers, glitter…whatever had captured his fancy that year. Sometimes they were elegant, other times downright grotesque. No matter what mood seized him, Gerard would always find him out and give him sour looks through the whole evening.

Tonight he had a red costume hanging in a small closet of his house…but the party had to wait. For tonight was a night different from all past Christmases. Tonight, in this particular December, he now knew the beautiful Christine Daae, and she had insisted upon showing him something of great wonder and importance.

Not even the prospect of a ruined gala could keep him from seeing his lovely little songbird.

Christine Daae was dressed simply, yet warmly, in a pretty dress with ruffles, a frock, an overcoat, and a muffler that looked real sitting on the piano in their practice room. It seemed that the extra francs being given to her (an arrangement made in a recent anonymous message to the Opera manager himself) were much-needed. At any rate, she cut a rather becoming figure, stooped over a little box with her cheeks and nose flushed bright red from the chill, her golden flyaways curling all over her head, her eyes sparkling with an inner light that dimmed the glow of candles and lamps in the room.

If not for his own strict sense of propriety and intense awareness of his own state, he might have said something regarding her beauty. As it stood, he kept his mouth shut, though he couldn’t be certain his eyes didn’t betray everything to her when she met his gaze. His eyes had a way of opening his very soul to her, it seemed.

Ah, but this was hardly the time or place for such thoughts.

He took her little hand in his – how chilly it was! – and pressed his lips to it. This small act of chivalry sent a shudder through his soul, sending it almost to rapture. Outwardly, however, he remained the picture of tact and nonchalance.

“What is it you wanted to show me?” he asked, looking from her to the box. Upon closer inspection, he could see, now, that it was a large cupboard, its one face filled with tiny drawers. Each drawer had a round, wooden knob and each was painted a different color. Whatever it was, it had Christine in a flurry of excitement, if her shining eyes and nervous fingers were any indication.

“Do you like it?” she asked, gesturing to the box.

Erik blinked, first at her, then at the box.

“Perhaps…” he responded uncomfortably, “…If I…knew what it was.” For the Phantom, not-knowing something was a matter of mortification, especially when admitted before Christine Daae! It seemed to happen specifically around her, as well.

Christine was staring up at him, her little face showing disbelief and wonder. It made him flush, and he was grateful for his mask, for once. Then she shook her head and laughed a little, at a loss for a proper response.

“Why, Erik, it’s an Advent Calendar!”

The exclamation did very little to clear up any confusion, but at least Erik could now say that he knew what it was. He nodded, slowly, his gaze tracking from her to the calendar. Christine waited for him to speak, and when he didn’t, she opened the little box that had a gold “1” painted on the front.

“Every box is for the twenty-four days leading to Christmas,” she explained. “I never really had one growing up, but I heard enough about them and when I saw this sitting in a window of a shop, I just had to get one!”

Erik listened, captivated by Christine’s voice. Even when speaking, her voice outshone arias, sonatas, and carols. He hardly caught the words themselves, until Christine was holding a piece of chocolate in his face.

“-For each day!” she was saying. Erik blinked again, pulling himself back to the present. Christine dropped the chocolate into his gloved hand. He stared at it a moment before gingerly picking it up between two gloved fingers and popping it into his mouth. Christine watched him and waited.

“It’s good,” he finally nodded, and she clapped her hands together.

“And there’s twenty-four days altogether, so you get twelve and I can get twelve! Of course, we also have to read the verses for each day, too…we can’t just eat the chocolate.” She eyed the box with a wistful sigh, and Erik glanced at it, too.

“Do we have to save each box for each day?” he finally asked, and Christine turned to look up at him. Her expression was haloed in soft, golden light and the Phantom’s heart bounded to his throat.

“That’s the way we should do it,” she responded, slowly. “But…this is your first calendar, right? And mine, too!”

Erik nodded, fighting to keep a stoic expression. “We can always put more chocolates in it later,” he pointed out, which was really all the reason Christine needed to make up her mind.

“Alright. Come here, Erik, and I’ll start at the beginning. Remember, you only get half the chocolates.”

She sat herself down on the floor, and Erik, after a moment of hesitation, followed suit. He spread his cape out behind him, smoothing out its wrinkles as Christine began to rattle off Bible verses, neatly printed on little slips of paper. Some he recognized, others he did not, but he was content with her voice and their closeness.

Outside, snowflakes fell in a silent stream. Above the heads of the soprano and the Phantom, a great gala was well under way, filled with chattering voices and clinking glasses and one anxious Opera manager searching the room for any sign of a tall, masked attendee with bright green eyes.

Tonight, though, the gala held no appeal. Tonight, all the comfort and joy so often invoked in those tiresome carols could be found by a piano, with a box of chocolates, and a voice of songbirds retelling the account of good news and hope for mankind.

#PotO Advent Calendar #PotO #The Phantom of the Opera #fourteenth door #smokeyloki #Timebird84

30 notes · View notes

shels-kpop-main · 5 years

Text

Moments, Part Two

Ben!Roger x Reader

Warnings: none, a bit of slow burn

Word Count: 1744

Part One: Moments, Part One

Life on the farm was simple for you. Sleep, eat, take pictures. You had come to England at the insistence of your mother and uncle. They agreed it would be best (even though you were an adult and could make your own choices) if you spent some time away from Texas. Especially after everything that had happened last year.

So you packed up your things and boarded a flight to Heathrow. It had been six weeks and you had yet to consider going back. The sudden death of your father forever ruined Dallas for you. In fact, it ruined many things for you—including music. You just didn’t find the same joy in it that you used to. You still enjoyed dancing and watching live performances, but listening to music by yourself usually just made you feel empty. Like something was missing.

But being surrounded by what was possibly the world’s most high-maintenance band offered a great distraction. Although the farm was quiet and nestled away in the countryside, the arrival of Queen and their crew reanimated the once empty grounds. Their schedule was simple, too. Eat, sleep, and record an album. Simply put, they were there to make noise. Beautiful, brilliant noise.

On this particular morning, the wind howled outside and the skies had darkened. It wasn’t raining, but it was still miserable outside. You could hear Freddie downstairs, playing the piano and singing softly. You shuffled down the two flights of stairs to the ground floor, yawning into the sleeve of your sweater.

“Good morning, darling!” Freddie called as you walked by the door to the piano room. You gave him a sleepy smile and wave, but he had already turned back to the keys. You stepped out of the front door and into the fresh air, and immediately regretted it. The gusts threw your hair across your face, and you quickly scurried over to the small wooden building next to the main house. You all but threw yourself inside to get away from the wind, howling through the spaces in the doorframe.

“Ah, good morning, Y/N!” Your eyes were watering from the cold but you recognized the voice to be Brian’s. You smiled and shuffled over to the kitchen counter. Brian and Deaky sat at the bar, which was covered in papers. Song ideas and lyrics, you assumed.

“Morning, fellas,” you replied, spitting hair out of your mouth with no pretense of grace. Deaky grinned.

“Bit windy out this morning, innit?”

“Yes, it certainly is. God, I’m starving. There anything to eat?” You asked, pulling open the fridge. There was one carton of eggs and a jug of milk. This didn’t leave you much to work with. But after sniffing through the cabinets, you found some tomatoes, an onion, and some salt and pepper. That, you could work with.

Are y’all hungry? I can make omelets, or eggs and salsa.”

“Eggs and salsa?” Deaky questioned, wrinkling his nose.

“Sure, just scramble some eggs and throw salsa on ‘em.”

John continued to look concerned while Brian just squinted at you.

“It’s a good combination. Just trust me,” you assured them, and got to work. Twenty minutes later, you handed them each a plate.

“Go on, try it.” They each took a bite, then swapped glances.

“It’s decent,” Deaky allowed, trying to sound nonchalant. Brian, however, offered no pretense, and began scooping more eggs onto his plate.

“Is this a Southern thing?”

“You bet it is,” you grinned at them. Before long, Brian and Deaky had finished almost half of the large amount of eggs you cooked. You swatted Deaky away as he came back for thirds.

“Save some for the other two, now.”

At that moment, Roger and Freddie strolled in. Rather, they fell through the door along with a whirl of leaves and another howl from the wind.

“It’s like a bloody tornado out there,” Roger spat, fixing his hair in the decorative mirror on the front wall. Freddie tousled his own hair back into place, and sat next to Deaky at the bar.

The boys spent the next half hour making quick work of the remaining eggs and discussing their song of the day. You mostly just stood and watched them, peering over the edge of your coffee mug. You loved watching the songwriting process of these four brilliant idiots. There was no organization to it, and sometimes their choices came down to their individual moods. It was chaos, but it was magic.

You spent the rest of the day as you always did, following the guys around and taking pictures. Your camera was starting to feel like an extension of your arm. You no longer noticed the weight of it.

By the time evening had rolled around, the wind was no closer to dying down than it had been that morning. You walked back to the main house after dinner, deciding that tonight would be the night that you would attempt to light a fire.

The living room was small but featured a pretty large fire place. Someone had stacked firewood next to it, but the weather had been so mild it had gone unused. Not tonight.

Pushing the door open, you stepped into the house, grateful to be out of the cold. You left your shoes by the base of the stairs and started putting wood into the fireplace. You heard the door open a moment later, and looked up to greet them.

“Hey,” you smiled.

“Hi.” Roger sat down next to you, resting his elbows on his knees.

“I’m making a fire,” you told him, determined. He looked amused.

“I can see that. How are you planning to light it?”

“With a lighter, of course. Jerk.”

Before you could ask, Roger reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a lighter. When you accepted it from him, he frowned.

“Your hands are freezing. You really must be cold.”

You rolled your eyes and gestured toward the fireplace.

“I am. So, you know, fire.”

He chuckled as you held the small flame under the logs, watching the fire slowly catch. Once you were confident that the fire was strong enough, you handed the lighter back to Roger. He had pulled a cigarette out, and lit it. You watched him as he did so, lit on one side by the glowing fire. The other half of his face was dimly lit by the small lamp in the stairwell. After he put his lighter away, he looked up at you and laughed.

“Do you ever put that thing down?”

You frowned, pulling your Nikon away from your face. In truth, you hadn’t even realized you picked it up again.

“Oh. Uh, sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he smiled, taking another drag.

“If you’re ever uncomfortable with me taking pictures, just let me know and I’ll stop.”

“Oh no,” Roger corrected you, “I love having my photo taken. I think I make a damn good subject.”

You gave him a wry smile, setting your camera down on the hearth. You grabbed a blanket from the couch and wrapped it around yourself. You were sitting cross-legged, facing Roger. The heat from the fireplace warmed your left side, and you shivered.

At that time, you noticed something. As much as you watched Roger—the way he talked, the way he moved—he watched you just as much. It seemed that your eyes always followed each other around the room. You smiled to yourself at the thought of it.

“I’ve never smoked before,” you said, without really thinking about it. Roger looked surprised.

“Really? Like, never even tried it?”

“Nope,” you replied, shaking your head. “I wasn’t a cool kid in high school. Besides, my parents would have killed me.”

“Well, you’re a cool kid now. Have a try?” He wagged the cigarette towards you. You shrugged and then nodded, thinking, When in Rome…

You reached out, expecting to take the cigarette from him. But instead, he leaned forward, and held it up to your lips for you. You shivered again at the feeling of his fingers against your mouth, and hoped he hadn’t noticed. He smiled, indicating that he had.

His blue eyes were trained on you, watching as you closed your lips around the paper stick. His fingers relaxed a little as you inhaled, resting gently on your lower lip.

You were focusing too much on Roger’s face, and not enough on how much you were inhaling. You pulled back, coughing and sputtering out smoke. Roger laughed, a sweet and perfect grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.

After you stopped coughing, you chuckled to yourself.

“Hey, now I can say I’ve done it. And I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

“It’s probably for the best,” Roger replied. “These things’ll kill you, you know.”

You looked at him, amused by his ironic nonchalance. He was a total badass—you couldn’t deny it. But in the soft orange glow of the fire, Roger didn’t look as tough as he sounded. His blond hair was messy, and he brushed it out of his eyes often. His features were actually quite delicate. Thin lips curved into a shy smile. Those big doll eyes.

“You’re right,” you breathed. It was barely audible, but he heard it. He leaned forward ever so slightly.

“About cigarettes?”

“You do make a good subject,” you said, finishing your thought. Roger gave you a cool half-smile. But you could have sworn you also saw a slight blush coming to his cheeks. He opened his mouth, that perfect mouth, to reply.

But whatever it was that he was going to say, you never heard it. Because at that moment, the remaining three members of Queen crashed through the front door. It was clear they had had more to drink after dinner, and it struck you as odd that Roger was the only one sober out of the group.

The next hour was spent around the fire with the guys. Laughing, telling stories, making fun of Roger for his cupboard tantrum. You eventually bid them goodnight, and trekked up the stairs to your attic room.

Burying yourself under the thick quilts, you closed your eyes and replayed the events of the evening. You saw Roger’s face clearly, as if he was still sitting in front of you by the fire. You could still feel his fingertips, rough and warm against your lips. You fell asleep shortly after, holding onto the feeling.

#roger taylor x reader #shit gets real next chapter #roger taylor #ben hardy #queen #bohemian rhapsody #bo rhap #brian may #john deacon #freddie mercury #rami malek #gwilym lee #joe mazzello #fanfic #slow burn #moments series

186 notes · View notes

the-imagines-of-tonight · 7 years

Text

Oh, Romeo

Pairing: Connor Murphy x reader

Prompt: “I’m standing on a balcony and you randomly began quoting Romeo and Juliet at me”

Author’s Note: I live for Theatre Nerd!Connor and so this fic happened

Words: 1,233

Warnings: Underage drinking

Parties weren’t always your favourite thing. Yeah, you went to most of the ones you were invited to, but you often left early - either your only friends had left or you had lost interest. But something compelled you to stay at this one. And that something might have been the abundance of alcohol.

You weaved your way through the crowd that had formed in the living room of the house, walking past the extremely drunk teenagers jumping - what they called ‘dancing’ - to reach the brightly lit kitchen. Almost immediately your open hand found a sealed beer can and you breathed a sigh of relief. Standing around by yourself somehow seemed less awkward with a drink to nurse.

Dreading the return back to the overcrowded living room, you tried to find an escape, at least until you finished your beer and had stayed for what the host could deem a satisfactory length of time. Deciding to explore you left the kitchen through a different door, stumbling upon a staircase whose bannister was decorated with a string of fairy lights. You followed the lights up to the second floor, your eyes immediately catching sight of a half opened door at the end of the hallway.

A balcony. Cool air. An escape. You wandered down the hallway, looking at the pictures that had been hung on the walls. Pushing the door further open you stepped out onto the balcony overlooking the thinning crowd in the back garden.

Your eyes shut as a cooling breeze washed over you, somehow cleansing you. The night sky was navy in colour, but no stars were visible: you were too close to the city. A sigh passed through your lips before you took a sip of the beer in your hand.

A cough from the garden down below caught your attention - now only one person was standing outside, and they happened to be staring directly up at you.

“Two of the fairest stars in all the heaven, having some business, do entreat her eyes to twinkle in their spheres till they return.” You could see the wide smile on his face even with the lack of light provided by the slowly darkening sky. But you didn’t recognise the origin of his words until he spoke again, shouting up, “The brightness of her cheek would shame those stars, as daylight doth a lamp.”

“Oh my God!” You laughed loudly, the distant memory of the Shakespeare play you studied last year coming back. “Are you actually serious right now?” The mystery man nodded cheekily up at you, eliciting only a roll of your eyes. His eyes were still trained on you, drinking in the way you glowed in the faint light of the moon. Taking another sip of your drink you leaned on the railing. You hoped the light pouring out of the house behind you would illuminate the face of the stranger calling up to you.

“See how she leans her cheek upon her had, O that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!” Apparently resting your head on your hand had been the wrong move - he had now raised his arms up towards you and had almost convinced you he might actually be confessing his undying love for you.

“Any particular reason you have these lines memorised word for word?” You said, giggling at the rising feeling of butterflies in the pit of your stomach. You never thought that someone you had never met before quoting lines of dialogue from Shakespeare’s most well known tragedy could cause these butterflies, but hey, you weren’t one to go against your gut feeling.

He simply shook his head, arms stretched wide with a toothy grin on his face.

“Is it just so you can charm a girl you might happen to see on a balcony above you?” You quirked an eyebrow, wondering if he could even see your face.

“O, speak again, bright angel, for thou art as glorious to this night, being o’er my head, as is a winged messenger of heaven,” He had walked closer to the house, his words able to reach your ears without his shouting.

“Will you keep this up until I quote it back to you?” You sighed, leaning slightly further over, your forearms resting on the railing as your hands dangled over the edge. Apparently this man, whoever he was, was not going to reply unless in the form of a quotation, thus prompting you to continue, in a somewhat defeated tone; “How cam’st thou hither, tell me, and wherefore?”

The biggest smile came across his face and you could hear his laughter even from three metres up. “With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out.”

“Love, huh? Well why doesn’t this Juliet’s Romeo come up here and introduce himself?” You sarcastically teased him, surprised when he almost instantaneously disappeared from your line of vision as he darted into the house. Turning around to look towards the hallway you braced yourself, simultaneously excited and nervous to come face to face with your very own Romeo.

A boy surrounded by an unruly mop of hair appeared at the top of the stairs and began walking down the hallway towards you, a lop-sided smile finding a familiar home on his face.

“Diverting from the original script never felt so right,” He said as he set foot on the balcony, hands shoved into the pockets in his jeans. He was seemed awkward without the words of Shakespeare to help, but it endeared him to you. “It’s Connor, by the way,” He reached a hand out in your direction, the movements stiff and clumsy.

“It’s nice to meet you Connor,” You grasped his hand in yours and introduced yourself. “Weird that we’re doing introductions this late in the game, considering you’ve already declared your love for me and whatnot.” The two of you were leaning against the railing, looking out over the garden.

“Would you have preferred for me to wait four days like the actual Romeo and Juliet? ‘Cause I’ll happily say the same things to you in - what? 96 hours?” His head turned to face you and you realised just how close you two were. The warmth radiating from Connor left you at a comfortable temperature as you subconsciously moved in closer. You turned your own head towards him and noticed the way he quickly glanced down to your lips before returning to look into your eyes. “Would I also have to wait 96 hours to kiss you - or can I do that now?” His voice had dropped to a whisper and you blushed at the low tone.

Instead of replying you closed the remaining distance between your lips, gently pressing yours against his. He hesitated for a split second, as if he didn’t expect you to want to kiss him, let alone instigate it. His lips were softer than you thought, although still slightly chapped, and tasted of a sugary soft drink. You felt his hand cup your jaw and you smiled into the kiss, leaning into his touch. Pulling apart to catch your respective breaths he rested his forehead on yours. Connor let out a small laugh, his thumb lightly rubbing your cheek.

“I can’t fucking believe you quoted Shakespeare to me,” You said, returning his laugh.

“I can’t believe it worked.”

#Connor murphy x reader #Connor Murphy imagine #connor murphy reader insert #dear Evan Hansen x reader #dear evan hansen imagine #mike faist x reader #mike faist imagine #mike faist reader insert #dear evan hansen fan ficiton #connor murphy fan fiction #mike faist fan fiction

362 notes · View notes

spacednp · 7 years

Text

Blink-182

AO3 WATTPAD

TW: blink-182 songs?

Summary: The one where I listened Blink-182 songs while writing (this is a judge free zone I just love them lmao)

Additional Notes: I created a playlist for this story consisting of some of my favorite Blink-182 songs that made me want to write and I sat down, pushed shuffle and laid out a story a little and then I came back to it and cried bc I deleted the freakin playlist so it only has like two songs in it now bc I forgot the story I laid out whoops

WC: 3.2k

The sky was littered with tiny bright stars, twinkling shamelessly in the black sky. It was nearing the end of winter and soon spring flowers would fill London, though at the moment the air still had a deep chill to it and it got dark at five. The street lamps glowed yellow, emitting barely enough light for Phil to see the numbers on the houses from where he was parked on the street. He hoped this was the right address.

Phil gripped onto the steering wheel of his run down car, not caring that his knuckles turned white from the pressure. He was nervous, to say the least. Honestly, he hadn't been able to eat all day. He didn't even know what to wear, not to mention the hours he'd spent doing his hair (which was still pretty stupid, since in the end all he did was straighten and brush it and it still looked just the same). Phil shot a glance in his mirror to check his hair. He grunted at the annoying piece of hair that refused to stay in place and pried his hands of the steering wheel to fix it.

It was ridiculous, how Phil was reacting. It was just a date. Well, in all fairness, it was a first date... with a really cute boy... no, he was being ridiculous. Even if Dan was was the prettiest boy Phil had even seen and if Phil was still shocked that he agreed to go out with him, it was just a date. A date that he would probably never get a redo of if he messed up. Oh God, what if he messed up? There was no way Dan would agree to a redo date. Phil was sure Dan wouldn't even agree to a second one, even if the date went great.

There wasn't much more time for Phil to worry as Dan walked out of his house that minute, cocooned in a soft looking black sweeter. He pulled his sleeves down slightly and looked around, still standing on his doorstep. Soft light poured from the now open door and Dan's breath clouded around him as he exhaled, a gentle white puff.

Phil took a deep breath and exited the car, waving to Dan. Phil couldn't see Dan's facial expressions in the dim lighting but he assumed Dan smiled as he trotted over to Phil and his run down car. This was it, this was really happening. In that moment Phil was picking Dan up on their very first date. He hoped there would be more and they'd have a nice time, but in that moment he honestly didn't know. Maybe they'd never talk after this, or maybe they'd talk of this at their wedding, maybe tell it to their future children. Phil mentally face palmed himself. It was their first date and Phil was already thinking about getting married to Dan, clingy much?

"Hey," Dan breathed, crossing his arms and rubbing them to create friction in a lame attempt to warm himself up. In the terrible lighting of the streetlights Phil saw the golden flecks in Dan's eyes and he felt so privileged to see them. He felt warmth spread through him because it was just he and Dan in that moment, no one else. No one else was looking at Dan the same way he was right then, and Phil almost felt jealous at the thought of other people seeing Dan like this. It was stupid, but it was true.

"H-Hey," Phil stuttered, cringing at himself for stuttering. He couldn't help it, Dan just made Phil so nervous, he was always scared of what he thought of Phil; scared of what Phil was in his eyes. Phil snapped back into reality after a second of spacing out. He opened the door for the very cold Dan.

Dan smiled at the gesture and Phil felt like he was melting inside. He didn't think he was worthy of this-of Dan. "Thanks," Dan sung. Phil nodded, returning Dan's soft smile with one of his own. He walked back over to the driver's side and jumped in, glad he kept the engine running.

"Blink-182," Dan commented, referring to the song that was playing that Phil forgot was on. Phil laughed nervously and buckled his seat belt, afterwards reaching to turn of the music, muttering an apology to Dan. "Don't worry, I like it," Dan giggled. Phil was mesmerized by the sound of Dan's laughter and almost forgot to reply.

"Oh, yeah?" Phil asked, smiling. "Good because if you didn't like The Rock Show I don't think this would work out." Phil joked. Dan giggled.

"I know pretty much every word to this song," Dan stated, smiling wide. He buckled his own seat belt as Phil replied.

"Well, I'll have to put you to the test on that one sometime," Phil replied, putting the car into gear and leaving the song playing, which, Phil had to admit, helped calm his nerves.

Phil could hear Dan softly humming along to the chorus. He felt a smile stretch on his face. Daniel Howell-the hottest guy Phil could even picture-was in his car and humming along to Blink-182. How did it get better than that? It didn't. Nothing could top that. Phil enjoyed the music as he drove through the busy streets of London, passing street lights and traffic signs. The chorus played again and Phil's grin widened as Dan's voice hung in the air, hard to hear over the sounds of the city the song playing over it, but worth the strain it took. Dan in no way was a good singer, but he was Dan, and that's all Phil cared about.

"I fell in love with the girl at the rock show, she said, "what?" and I told her that I didn't know. She's so cool got me sneaking through her window, everything's better when she's around, can't wait till her parents go out of town, I feel in love with the girl at the rock show,"

Phil was almost disappointed when they reached their destination, a small dinner on the outskirts of town that Phil loved so much all the waitresses knew him by name. He felt like it would be a really nice place to take Dan as it meant so much to him, maybe a bit much for a first date, but it wasn't as intimate as having him over to Phil's house, which was the only other option Phil could think of. It was about as sappy and sentimental as Phil could get, and he figured Dan would appreciate it if they ever got to the 'sappy backstory' part of their relationship. Oh God, now Phil was thinking about them in a relationship. Well, he guessed it wasn't as bad as earlier when he thought about them being married.

Phil hopped out of the car before his imagination could continue. He shut his door with a bit more force than necessary and he slightly pleaded that it didn't scare Dan. Phil opened Dan's door, relieved to see that Dan didn't seem to mind Phil's slamming of his door. No wonder his car was in such terrible shape, dents and scratching covered the red car, and there was more holes in the seats than Phil could count.

"Thank ya," Dan said with a smile as he hopped out of the car. Phil gave a tight smile in return, locking his knees, convinced that if he didn't he'd melt into the ground because God, Dan was so cute. Phil shut Dan's door softer than he did his prior so Dan didn't think he was some door slamming werdio. Yeah, because that was a thing apparently.

Phil took the lead as they entered the dinner, doing his best to not check Dan out as he held the door for him and let him walk in front of him. He couldn't help it, Dan was hot. Like on a scale on one to ten Dan was the entire dragon. Get it? Because dragons have scales and they breathe fire and fire is hot? Okay maybe that joke was bad.

Phil sighed in relief as the warm air of the dinner greeted him and began to warm his freezing hands. The dinner carried the savory smell of coffee, even at this time of day. It was one of the things Phil loved most about the cozy dinner, no matter what time of day, no matter what time of the year, the dinner carried to warm sent of coffee.

"Hello, Philip!" Diana, the older American woman that ran the dinner sung as she heard the ringing of the bell and noticed Phil standing in the door way. Phil encouraged Dan to follow him, telling him that Diana didn't bite, as he walked over to greet the older woman who was dressed in her usual purple and pink uniform.

"Hey, Diana!" Phil chirped. "How are the grandkids?" It was a routine Phil never planned on breaking, even if he was on a date. As soon as he said his 'hellos' to Diana he'd ask about her grandchildren, because he knew how much she loved to brag on them. Diana shook her head tho and grabbed Dan's hand, who looked shocked and out of place.

"Now now, there's plenty of time for that next time you visit. I want to know who this young man is," She said sweetly, patting Dan's hand. He quickly recovered from his moment of shock and spoke up before Phil had a chance.

"I'm Phil's date," Dan giggled. Diana's dark eyes widened and she turned to Phil and then back to Dan. Her face eventually softened into a small smile. It wasn't that she was homophobic or against Phil being gay, in fact she was probably the most supportive person Phil had ever met, it was the fact that in all the years of her know Phil, he'd had two boyfriends, and each one had ended up hurting him somehow.

"About time Philly bring in a boyfriend," Diana stated, letting go of Dan's hand. Phil shifted uncomfortably and bit his lip.

"Actually, this is our uh, this is our first date," Phil stumbled over his words as he tried desperately to form a coherent sentence. The decor in the dinner had a peaceful feel to it, lots of pastel colors covering the paintings that littered the walls, but it wasn't really helping Phil at the moment.

"Oh really?" Diana gasped. She clapped her wrinkly hands together. "So he'll be your boyfriend after tonight?" If Phil had a drink he would of chocked on it. That wasn't how it worked! One date didn't make you boyfriends, right? No way would Dan agree to that. Phil opened his mouth to speak but Dan, once again, beat Phil to it.

"Maybe," He chirped. Phil felt his jaw drop. Maybe? What did that mean? Okay, obviously it meant maybe but still. Diana was practically spitting rainbows and dancing with unicorns at Dan's reply.

"Aw!" She cooed. Then, to Phil, she said, "You better not mess this up, I like him," Phil nodded once and tried to swallow the burning lump in his throat without success. He really thought he would never be able to breathe again and would die in that coffee smelling dinner in front of a fan girl old woman and his date.

"Anywho, you two go sit down wherever you want, I'll send Lacy out in a minute to wait on you," Diana chirped, walking away. Wait, Lacy? Oh that sneaky old woman. Phil let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, causing Dan to giggle.

"I like her," Dan said. Phil let out another shaky breath.

"Yeah? Well you won't when I explain why she's sending out Lacy," Phil said weakly, smiling a little. Dan cocked his head to the side and Phil shook his head, leading Dan to his usual booth in the corner of the dinner. Dan plopped down in the seat across from Phil and looked at him expectingly, smiling so widely a dimple appeared on his check.

"So?" Dan prompted, staring at Phil. Phil smiled weakly.

"Diana is a sweetheart, and she only means good by this, and Lacy isn't a bad person at all, she's a doll, I swear but she... well, she's the type of 'let it all hang out for tips' kind of waitress. So basically, Diana is trying to make sure you won't be checking her out on our date, which could be really stupid if you were gay and didn't like women at all but I swear she only means good and wow I've talked a lot," Phil rambled, taking a gasp of air in after all those words came tumbling out of his mouth. Dan smiled softly.

"Don't worry, I won't check Lacy out," Dan assured. "The only one who's checked anyone out so far is you when we walked in here." Phil felt his face heart up when Dan said that. Oh. Oh. Dan noticed that.

"I-um-sorry," Phil looked down at the wooden table and refused to meet Dan's gaze, embarrassment burning at him. Phil really needed to be more desecrate if he checked Dan out again. The air was filled with Dan's laughter once again as he reached his hands across the table and grabbed onto Phil's, prying them apart (Phil didn't even realize he'd joined them) and taking them in his own. Phil sucked in a breath and looked up at Dan in shock. It was their first date, you didn't hold hands on the first date, right? Looking at Dan he was greeted with a warm smile and pale pink dusting his tan cheeks. If Phil could ever capture a moment, be able to keep it forever, he'd pick this one. With Dan siting across the table looking so great, it was almost too much for Phil to handle.

"It's okay," Dan's eyes didn't flicker for a second as they burned into Phil's. "Now stop being embarrassed for twenty minutes so we can have a bloody date you sap," Phil laughed softly at Dan's words, feeling his nerves and doubts flutter away as he looked into Dan's eyes. When Dan pulled his hands out of Phil's and placed them in his lap Phil couldn't help but feel a little disappointed, but still, he did his damn best to not show it.

Just as Phil began to think of a reply, Lacy hurried over to the table, obviously in on the plan by how her dress came down a little lower than usual and how she swung her hips more than needed to walk as she approached the boys' table. Her brown hair swung behind her in a tight ponytail and her lips looked freshly glossed. She was really putting Dan to the test, and Phil wished she wouldn't. Even if Dan wasn't all that interested in Phil, it's not like Phil needed to know just yet. Couldn't he fake Dan being happy with him for a just one night? Was that too much to ask for?

Lacy quickly handed Phil a menu and slowly bent over the table to slid Dan his, watching his eyes closely, and Phil was sure Diana was behind a plant somewhere watching as well. Dan kept his eyes right on Lacy's though, raising an eyebrow at the waitress as if he found the whole thing ridiculous.

"I'll give you a minute to order," Lacy said as she righted herself, seeming pleased with Dan's performance. As she walked off Dan giggled softly, waving his arms about, and Phil couldn't help but join.

"That was amazing," Dan blurted in between fits of giggles. "She's so pretentious!" Phil nodded his head softly, agreeing with every word Dan spoke.

"That's Lacy for you, her and Diana both, they're pretty... territorial of me," Phil said, smiling so wide it hurt, but not caring because he was so happy.

"Why so?" Dan asked, smile fading as he detected the seriousness of Phil's statement. Phil had a moment of panic, that wasn't something he could answer on a first date! You didn't just go blabbing about your exes on the first date. Phil's first boyfriend was abusive and forced him into things he wasn't ready for and then the second was a blatant cheat and lair. It was no wonder the ladies at the dinner were so protective of Phil, even if it wasn't their place, it was still sweet and Phil appreciated it very much. It showed they cared, and that made Phil so happy, it was kind of stupid.

"I've had some... bad relationships in the past, but that's more of a second date type story," Phil replied, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

"Hm, such a shame, I love stories, looks like we'll have to go out again," Dan said with a grin, causing Phil to gasp.

"Wait. Like, really?" Phil blurred dumbly. Dan smiled and stood up.

"Let's go," Dan commanded, nodding to the door. Phil furrowed his eyebrows at the boy, confused as to what he meant.

"What, where?" Phil questioned, nervous as to what this meant. Was Dan bored? Did he already want to go home? Was Phil really that bad of a date?

"Second date," Dan replied simply, walking to the door. Phil stared at him as he walked away, confusion still filling him.

"That's not how it works!" Phil called after him, finally getting up to chase his date. What had he gotten himself into? Was Dan really that dense?

"Now it is," Dan retorted hotly, reaching for the door handle and letting himself out. Phil had to speed walk to catch up, grabbing Dan's wrist before he reached his car. "Hm?" Dan hummed as he turned around.

"Are you really that stubborn?" Phil asked. Dan simply nodded once in reply.

"Thank you for the date and all that jazz," Dan said and leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on Phil's check, causing his face to burn.

"Cheek kisses? What is this?" Phil blurted, still very confused. Dan had to have a few screws loose.

"A first date, love. Mouth kisses are more of a second date kind of thing," Dan responded with a wink. Phil felt his jaw go slack at that, and he lost his grip on Dan's wrist. Was that flirting? It had to be, or a sick joke.

"What happens on the third date then?" Phil questioned, trying to pick up on whatever flirting was happening.

"I guess you'll see when we get there," Dan giggled, making Phil smile. That boy was a mess, a perfect, Blink-182 loving mess.

#blink 182 #phanfiction #dan and phil #fluff #ummmm what else lmao

1 note · View note

ohhowelllovely · 7 years

Text

Mistletoe and Parchement (Pt.1)

(Hogwarts Fanfiction. Hehehehe)

I slowly placed my quil down on the desk, the parchment crackling slightly as I lifted my head up enough to take a glance to my right. The continuous swaying of the massive pendulum at the front of the great Hall was giving me a headache, though Alisha, my best friend, didn't seem to have one, or if she did she wasn't going to let it sway her chances of an Outstanding in her O.W.L.s. The room, I had noticed during the last 2 hours, smelt of wood and metal. The sort of metallic taste that is left on the tip of your tongue if you press a penny to your lips. I looked down at the smudged mess that was my test paper, and thought about the point in time that we get our results back and how much I'd hate myself for not trying to finish the paper up until the very last minute. Not only that, but Alisha will have her O, while me, average old Andy, will get another A for Acceptable. Perhaps even a P for Poor. I picked up my quil once again, feeling my headache begin to branch down into the bridge of my nose, and as the rumbling of the pendulum filled my mind once more and the soft scratching of quils on parchment became a distraction once again, I dipped the tip of my pen delicately into the black ink and put the feather to paper, rattling my brain for any scraps of information I could muster in those stressful last 10 minutes of my Ordinary Wizarding Level Examinations.

___________________________________________

"Time is up students, if you would please put your quils down and the caps on your ink pots!" Professor McGonagall held her wand to her chin, broadcasting her voice across the hall. I looked up sharply as my paper was pulled out from under my nose and added to the floating pile of test papers making its way down my isle of seats.

"Hey!" Alisha came over to my desk as I got up slowly. "How d'ya think you did?" She asked.

"Crap." I said through gritted teeth.

"You always say that."

"Because it's always true." I said as lightly as I could muster, slipping my hand into hers and beginning to make our way out the great hall.

"Well... yeaaaah okay." She sighed a little before continuing. "Anddyyyyy?"

"Yeahhh?" I raised one eyebrow at my best friend, watching as she scanned my face for any signs of a smile.

I flicked my long brown hair out of my eyes before saying again "Yeahhh?" This time with an even more prolonged 'a'.

"Well. We have the Christmas holidays coming up, and that was the exam before our last OWL, so we need to go down to Hogsmede."

I laughed as I began heading towards the common room. "Why do you say that?"

"Shopping." She explained, picking up her pace to catch up with me.

"Shopping?" I asked, "For what?"

"Presents for eachother obviously. Maybe for Ducky and Carlos too but mainly just for eachother."

"Ducky and Carlos don't deserve presents, especially not from Hogsmede, let alone Honeydukes."

She let out a small snort of laughter before continuing to follow me up the stairs.

"They aren't THAT bad." She said, "besides; they're our friends."

Now it was my turn to let out a snort of laughter. "Yeah. Okay. Most annoying friends ever."

Alisha rolled her eyes at my comment as we turned the corner of the corridor, heading straight toward the Slytherin common room.

____________________________________________

It was stifling in the common room. I had much preferred it when it was in the dungeon, but it was recently transported upstairs due to the "inequality of the houses". According to McGonagall, it was unfair.

Perhaps the way we are segregated and dismissed verbally is a bad thing, but being separated physically isn't. I crossed the room, my feet echoing on the flagstone tiles. Oh how I wanted to lie down on the cool floor and have it pressed up against my cheek, but somehow I didn't think that would be socially acceptable. My collar was beginning to choke me in the boiling room, and I could tell Alisha was hot too. I continued down the hallway to the girls dorm room and pushed open the door, heading straight down another hallway and into our room, holding the door open for a second to let Alisha in.

Our dorm isn't what you would expect of a Slytherin. Or perhaps should I say the stereotypical Slytherin. Our dorm is mainly created with magic.

A small triangular widow sits in the far wall, the walls are painted in a light cream, and the ceiling in a light pink, but in the dark it erupts with bright stars and an iridescent moon, along with ripples of purples and blues, shooting stars and swimming planets, like the great hall at night; of course Alisha did that. She learnt about it during charms when her teacher went off on a rant about spells. Being who she was, Alisha noted them all down. Among other spells she learnt that day, she learnt how to set wood alight for many hours and how to create an invisible coffee table.... small things that don't compare to the night sky spell but are still cool in a strange way.

Near the door is Alisha's bed, a light pink blanket thrown over and a rainbow quilt folded neatly by the dark blue pillows. My bed is on the opposite wall, black pillows covering almost every inch of the bed and a grey fur blanket thrown over the rest of it. Carlos bought me the blanket from Hogsmede in our first year. At the end of my bed is a small, thatch table, covered in books and parchement. A shelf is on the opposite wall, holding more books and a photo frame with a picture of me and Alisha in it. Our closet is just underneath that. It sounds tedious to share a closet but thanks to another useful spell that Alisha learnt from her ranting charms teacher, she managed to expand the inside of it.

A white, netting curtain is drawn over the window blocking out some of the light. I look over at Alisha as she walks over to her bedside table and switches on the yellow lamp, flooding the room in a warm glow. For the next hour we indulge in gossip and then I fall asleep as Alisha begins reading a book on Pigmy puffs.

______________________________________________

After what feels like fifteen minutes of sleep, Alisha nudges me slightly and then harder and then harder, and before I know it, she's prodding and poking me in my forehead.

"What?!" I let out an exasperated yelp as I glare up at her.

"Dinnnnerrrr" She smiles as she begins walking to the door.

"Uuughhhh" I pull myself out my cocoon of warmth and shuffle my robe onto my shoulders before following Alisha out the door, putting it back on the latch before continuing down the flagstone hallway.

______________________________________________

In the great hall we are greated by 4 tables covered in a beautiful abundance of food. We select our seats on the green table and sit down. Alisha tucks in straight away, pulling a massive chicken leg onto her plate, and following that with some creamy mash potato and green beans.

As I stare down the table at some spaghetti, I am met with a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. It's suddenly overwhelming.

Alisha looks over at me as buckle slightly.

"Andy are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." I say, pulling my tie slightly looser around my neck.

"I was just completely overwhelmed with this sensation that something has happened."

"What? You're pulling my leg here." She muttered. "I don't under-"

"GUYS!" We both turn around to see Ducky sprinting down the isle toward us, his face blotchy and panicked.

"Ducky? Wha-" Alisha began before being cut off.

"Have either of you seen Carlos?" His voice rising slightly.

"What? No. We've had 2 Owls today." Alisha explained. "Why? What's wrong?"

"I... I..."

As Ducky stuttered to find the right words a harsh wind swept across the hall, sending the candles a flicker. I looked up as the sky above us began to swirl. It was no longer a glowing mass of colours, with clusters of stars scattered across its pages. It had now turned to a completely black mass.

What was happening?

I turned back to Ducky as he was still trying to find words to explain it.

"Ducky you're scaring us." I said.

"Carlos is m-missing." He blurted out.

People were beginning to yell now, but it seemed to be completely quiet as my mind blocked out everything. Missing?

"How?" Alisha cried, standing up.

"I don't know-"

Ducky was cut off by a thunderous crack. I turned around trying to locate the sound. Then there was another and another. I wanted to believe it was a gunshot but I knew it wasn't.

Someone had just apparated into the great hall. Only the headmaster could do that, but there were multiple cracks. I raised my head once again, scanning the crowds of people that were scattering across the hall. I continued to search, trying to find people out of Hogwarts uniform. Another crack, then another, then another. I bolted round to try to grab hold of Alisha but she wasn't there. I saw her blonde hair through the crowd as I jumped up and down. Another crack. Another. Another. In the back of my mind I was still hoping it was gunshots. Hoping and praying. A flash of green light pelted across the room. "AVADA KADAVRA" I heard a man's voice bellow across the room over the sound of the screams. Another crack. Another. I was running toward the door now. I wanted nothing more than to be in my bed, looking up at the endless space, hearing the occasional page of a book being turned as Alisha read into the early hours of the morning. I wanted nothing more than that.

As I was being pushed as pulled I managed to catch a glimpse of figures dressed in cloaks, their faces covered in silver masks, decorated and etched into horrific patterns and faces. As I ran my mind etched the pieces together, forming a finished puzzle and as I began to figure out who these people were.

Death eaters.

Why here?

Why now?

My mind rushed through possibilities and questions.

I thought death eaters didn't exist anymore.

Why are they here?

Why-

My wandering mind was interrupted as my feet were swept out from underneath me. My head hit the stone floor, and my hearing became muffled as my eyes flittered slowly closed.

#harry potter #fantasy #fanfic #fanfiction #deatheater #mystery #love #friendship #harry #potter #Hp

0 notes