#wherever we are! somewhere in the middle of nowhere!

[hellishfig]

finally listened to come from away in its entirety a few days ago

and since i’ve listened to it in full about ten times and watched the broadway recording five times

genuinely one of the most beautiful musicals i’ve ever seen/heard

the story behind it is desperately sad, but it’s also about love and community and finding beauty in the darkest times

and the fact that the people it’s based on are still alive and wanted to share how much this affected their lives– it’s just gorgeous

i keep thinking about beverley bass and jenn colella (who plays her in the show) and how they became close friends through this. jenn colella has two tattoos commemorating her time in this show, and beverley bass gave her the jacket and pins she wore on september 11th to wear on broadway

this event was the beginning of a dark time for so many people, especially people who were muslim (or even looked muslim to idiot americans), but even as it was happening, there were people who were kind. there were people who did everything they could to help

it’s amazing, and so often we focus on the darkness in the world, it’s lovely to have a story of the inherent kindness of humanity

#i can’t stop thinking about this #also the music is incredible #and the staging? losing my mind #every actor plays multiple characters and they do it so WELL #and the musical motifs???? #wherever we are! somewhere in the middle of nowhere! #i’m fine tom i’m fine #if i don’t shut up now i never will #come from away #jenn colella #beverley bass

[yuwuta]

WHEREVER YOU WANNA GO, THAT’S FINE WITH ME — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO 

cw mentioned/talks about death but not like… in a serious way 😭 this whole thing is very unserious and stupid it’s just a thought i couldn’t get out of my head, megumi being… megumi, f2l but what’s new, also inspired by some clip from a tv show i’ve seen on tt but idk the name of it, if you do pls let me know

you ask megumi you make one of those marriage pacts with you—that if neither of you are married by thirty-five, you two will get married to each other—and he just hums for a moment before asking, “do you think i’ll be better suited for marriage at thirty-five?”

“what? n—i don’t know? maybe? it just seems like an appropriate age to get married if you’re not already, that’s all,” you explain.

more humming. he blinks, “i don’t think i’ll be all that different at thirty-five.”

“well, that’s concerning,” you joke, “you’re supposed to change—grow a little bit as a person and all that, megumi. even you are capable of it.”

“i won’t want anything different out of a marriage at thirty-five than i would right now,” he corrects you, then turns to you, and with all seriousness demands, “so, state your stipulations. what do you want from me, let’s figure out of this is gonna work now.” 

you scoff, and cross your arms. “what do i want from you? that’s not how a marriage works.” 

“that’s how this friendship already works.” 

you say, megumi does; he pushes it than he should have, you say to stop, and eventually he does, and the cycle continues. he’s always stubborn, and sacrificing himself beyond necessity, and you’re always pulling his ear for it. 

“okay. fine,” you settle, straightening your posture, “i want a house. three bedrooms, so nobara and yuuji don’t have to bicker about sharing when they stay over.” 

megumi considers it, then counters with, “four. gojo needs a bedroom, too. one floor, i don’t like stairs.” 

“where the fuck are we going to find a one-level four-bedroom house? i don’t want to live in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.” 

“we’ll find one,” he shrugs, doesn’t flinch when he promises: “or i’ll have one made for us. next: vacations.” 

“twice per year. somewhere tropical, and somewhere metropolitan.” 

“i don’t like the beach.” 

“then you don’t have to go on the beach.” 

“you’re responsible for me if i burn.” 

“i’m responsible for you either way, i’m your wife,” you taunt, “pets, next. i want dogs. two. maybe three. and a bunny.” 

“no bunnies, they’re too much work.”

“but i want a bunny, megumi.” 

“you won’t have time for a bunny,” he rolls his eyes, “and you’re gonna get pissed when it chews up the expensive couch you’re gonna make me buy, and takes a shit in the expensive fruit bowl you’re gonna con gojo out of. no bunnies.” 

you pout and frown, but megumi doesn’t budge: “no bunnies.” 

you sigh, “no bunnies, but i want the dogs.” 

“i didn’t say no to the dogs. unless you want a golden, then i’m not raising that.” 

“why not? we already have yuuji.” 

“exactly, we already have yuuji.” 

“fine. i want a king sized bed. the really big, oversized ones you get in america.” 

“done. children?” 

“you want children?”

megumi shrugs, but you swear there’s a dust of pink on his cheeks, “maybe. maybe not. if i did, no more than two.” 

and suddenly you can’t help but feel heat in your own face, hot with the image of two tiny megumis running around. 

“that’s fine with me. maybe kids, but no more than two,” you cough, “i want one of those heated driveways for the house.”

“i’ll have it built. i’ll clean and do laundry and take out the trash if you cook.”

“what about days i don’t cook?”

“then i’ll do that, too,” megumi nods, “anything else?”

“yes. if i die first, you can remarry, but you visit my grave at least twice a year, and bring peonies. and that picture of me from prom where i look really good.” 

“no.” 

you stop. you blink. “what do you mean ‘no?’ you wouldn’t visit my grave?—kinda cruel considering i birthed your up-to-two future children and raised your dogs.” 

“i won’t remarry. and i don’t want you to if i die first,” he corrects you, again, “and there’s no dying first and leaving me behind, i’m going with you.”

he doesn’t leave room for debate in his declarations: won’t, don’t; not wouldn’t, shouldn’t, couldn’t—you have to pinch yourself to stop chasing the rabbit of temptation running through your mind. 

“i don’t… think you get to decide that,” you chuckle. 

“of course i do,” megumi grins, uncrosses his legs and leans over. he reaches a hand to the back of your head and pushes it forward until your foreheads meet gently; and as if the affection wasn’t shocking enough, he continues, “where you go, i go. that’s marriage, right?” 

he widens his smile a bit, before letting you go, leaning back into his seat again with crossed arms like nothing happened, and you’re left staring, blinking, breathing shallowly like prey that narrowly escaped being caught.

you don’t speak, so megumi does, “i have one more thing.” 

and slowly, you unthaw enough to let out a questioning hum. megumi tilts his head before telling you, “i want your last name.” 

“what? you—you would change your name?” you stutter, “but fushiguro is so pretty! and it’s your mom’s name, so few people get their mother’s names.” 

“yeah. this way, our up-to-two children get their mother’s names, too.” 

“i—okay… yeah, i guess they do,” you gape, then pout, “wait, what if i wanted to be mrs. fushiguro?” 

“tough luck,” he grins, “you get everything else.” 

you get me, instead, is what’s left unsaid. 

“okay, fine. sounds like a deal to me.” 

“great. we can’t have a spring wedding because gojo and toji will sneeze obnoxiously loudly, and we can’t have a summer wedding because the anniversary will conflict with our tropical vacation, and nobara will kill us if it’s too close to her birthday,” he says, standing up from the couch to head to the kitchen, “so i’ll see you at the courthouse in september.” 

you nod reflexively, sinking back into the couch with a satisfied smile. it’s a while before your brain processes his words, and when it finally does, you spring up in a fluster, “october? megumi, i said when when we’re thirty-five and if neither of us are already married! megumi? megumi fushiguro, come back here!” 

#i......... need to inhale him. that's all. #you can ignore all of this i just NEEDED to get this out of my head he's SO. he's his daddy's son that's what he is #which daddy? it doesn't matter 😐 which is why he's extra terrible #this also lives in an au where megumi is like 'are u done dating other guys yet 🙄 dont u know that we're endgame' #and has never made a single romantic comment to u before in ur entire life OH i hate him #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk scenarios #jjk imagines #megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #megumi fluff

[desperate-daydream]

I LOVE YOUR WORKS SO MUCHHH!!!! Could you please make a headcannon or short story of Five having a husband who's more chaotic than Klaus? Or a shy husband but more deadly than Five?

☂️Umbrella Academy

❀ five hargreeves x male (chaotic husband) reader ⚣

A/N: thank you so much!! I’m glad that you like reading what my crazy brain creates. XD. alright, I hope you like this one.

tags/warnings: you‘re five‘s husband, you and klaus are the chaos duo

(headcanons)

so, yeah, you‘re sometimes even more chaotic than klaus

five still can‘t believe how he fell for you

well, actually, you were the one to fall at your first meeting

like literally. you fell into his arms even

he caught you and you had looked up into the most handsome face you‘ve ever seen (and that cute little frown)

that wasn‘t the last time you fell and he had to catch you

when you walked somewhere you either jumped or ran around or you were walking on top of a wall

it seems like there is nothing to stop you from your antics

get up in the middle of the night to go swimming? okay

steal a little something from that ignorant asshole that had insulted you mere moments ago? why not?

bring home any pet you find on the streets and convince five to let it stay for a while? definitely

start singing and dancing out of nowhere, wherever you are? always

five will never admit it, but you manage more often than not to convince him to help you with your crazy ideas

he will say it‘s because he has to make sure you don‘t accidentally kill yourself

but he‘s mostly just deeply in love with you

he would do anything for his husband

he‘s killed for you before and he‘d do it again

everything to see his precious chaotic husband happy

but he also saw his life flash before his eyes when you and klaus met

he literally went and got a knife to carry around at all times in case you two got into serious trouble

another thing he would never admit is that klaus was probably his favorite sibling

apparently he had a lot of sympathy or whatever for the chaotic ones

okay so, the next thing he knows he finds klaus and you laying half naked in the living room

and somehow you two had found a stray kitten again and brought it back with you

together with at least ten bags full. of. clothes.

he made his way through the bags while purposely avoiding the cat that followed him with its gaze

then he slowly shook you awake

“(y/n)“, he sighed, “..love, wake up.“

you grumbled and slowly opened your eyes

a smile formed on your face when you saw that it was your husband and you reached out your arms towards him

he sighed again but let you pull him in to cuddle

you snuggled closer but five wouldn’t let you fall asleep again, he sat up and pulled you into his lap

you took the chance to kiss him

as much as he loved kissing you your husband pulled away after a few moments

“brush your teeth“

you let out an annoyed whine and pinched his cheek

“okay, can we talk about the cat now?“

five gestured to the creature that had approached them

you bent down to pick it up and the kitten started purring while it snuggled against your chest

„Can we keep it? Pleeeeease“, you put on your best pout combined with big pleading eyes, „for just a few days?“

five sighed another time, he knew he couldn‘t resist you

he nodded and you cuddled closer to him together with the kitten

yeah, five really loved his chaotic husband

so much that he let you get through with most of your crazy ideas

in the end your chaos brightened up his days much more than anything else

#five hargreeves #five hargreaves x reader #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves x male reader #x male reader #male reader #x trans male reader #trans male reader #husband reader #gay #the umbrella academy #umbrella academy

[writeforfandoms]

State of My Head - bonus

Find the series masterlist

We all seem to be in a bit of a fun mood tonight so! Have a cute date between Gaz and his cat. 

Warnings: allusions to spicy times, kissing, shifter behavior, fluff, Gaz is the cutest. 

Word count: 721

You'd seen plenty of springtimes, had smelled many flowers and hunted many critters. 

And yet this one right in front of you might take the cake. 

Gaz had shuffled you into a car early that morning, refusing to tell you where he was taking you, only grinning and near-bouncing with energy. You did note the basket he'd set in the back. So wherever he was taking you, he was at least planning to feed you. 

It couldn't be all bad, then. 

"Here we are," Gaz told you, parking the car. In the middle of nowhere. "Just a quick walk to where I wanna take you, yeah?"

You eyed him for a moment and then grinned. "Just a reminder that if you try to leave me here, I will make you regret it." 

Gaz laughed, leaning over the center console to kiss you. "I would never," he murmured, bumping his forehead into yours affectionately. 

"In that case… lead on." You smiled, kissing him once more before you got out of the car.

Gaz carried the basket, leading the way through a nice little wooded area. It was very pretty, almost too idyllic with the spring sunshine filtering down through the leaves, tinting the air faintly green. And the smells were near overwhelming, so much richer than base. 

Finally, though, Gaz stepped out of the woods and you paused, eyes going wide. A field of wildflowers stretched out in a natural clearing, a riot of colors and scents. 

"Here we are," Gaz said, sneaking little looks at you. You were busy drinking in the beauty of the spot and the day and the thoughtfulness of your person. "Do you–?" 

You didn't let him finish the question. You turned and kissed him, throwing your arms around his shoulders to pull him closer. His noise of surprise quickly turned to approval, his free hand landing on your hip. 

The flowers were momentarily forgotten as you enthusiastically showed Gaz just how much you appreciated this. 

Finally, though, you settled down to actually eat. Gaz had packed a nice lunch for the two of you, and let you take whatever you wanted. 

After the two of you ate, he flopped back in the sun, stretching out. He peeked over at you with a fond little smile. 

"'S safe here," he mumbled. "I checked. You can shift here." 

You didn't waste any time, immediately throwing off your clothes (and ignoring Gaz's wolf whistle) before you shifted. 

The world was always bigger from this perspective, but no less beautiful. You sniffed any flower that caught your eye, meandering through the flowers. At one point, the flowers had grown so tall that they were over your head, which was amusing. You bounced up out of that patch, hearing Gaz laugh somewhere behind you. 

And then you found the perfect patch of sunshine and flopped over on your side, purring softly. The grass and flowers made for a nice soft napping spot, and the sunshine was warm on your fur. 

You didn't move even as you heard Gaz move, even as you felt him settle next to you. One long finger gently stroked the top of your head, and you opened your eyes enough to slow-blink at him, purring louder. 

"Knew you'd like this," he murmured, gaze adoring. "You're especially beautiful in the sunshine, love. Suits you." 

You tipped your head to lick his finger, still rumbling with a deep purr. He just hummed, resting there and moving his hand at your insistence so you could continue grooming him. 

At some point you actually did fall asleep, warm and content with Gaz's hand trapped between your front paws tucked against your chest. 

Finally, though, he moved with a quiet apology, and you shifted back. You'd say you didn't care that you were nude, except you tilted yourself in such a way to invite his gaze. 

"Do we have to leave already?" You asked with a little pout. 

"Maybe not quite yet," he murmured, something hungry in his gaze as he leaned over you, one hand planted in the flowers beside your head. "We've got a little time, love." 

"Good." With a wicked smile, you pulled him down on top of you, intent on wringing every moment of pleasure out of the sun-soaked afternoon you could. 

Multiple times, if you were lucky.

#state of my head #shifter au #kyle gaz garrick x reader #f!reader

[lostdreamr-blog1]

A Ghost Playing Hangman {J.Seresin} Part 9

Word Count: 1.5k

Warning: mild swearing, mentions of loss, lots of fluff ahead

A/N: Here is part 9!! So many more exciting things to come! I love hearing you thoughts on where this story is going! As always, my inbox is open to you all.

-Chelsea

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7  Part 8

You found yourself in Jake’s truck with more questions than answers. It didn’t matter how many times you asked where you were going, the man wouldn’t budge. He was dead set on keeping everything a surprise for you.

Not being in control was a new thing for you. Being a pilot, not having control over a situation means life or death and because of that, you always tried to stay in control. Which is why your foot was now tapping against the floorboard and your arms crossed, trying to distract yourself by looking out the window.

“Tap your foot any harder and you’ll put a hole in my truck.” You glanced over to see him smirking at you, relaxed as could be.

“I just don’t understand why you won’t tell me where we are going.” He chuckled at your stubbornness and reached over to give your hand a squeeze.

“Most girls would be thrilled if a guy put forth the effort in planning something out.” You tried your hardest to keep your eyes from rolling because he was right. A lot of guys didn’t do things like this, but it still didn’t cover up the fact that you were on edge.

“We are almost there anyway.” He had been driving for close to an hour and it wouldn’t be long until the sun started to set. Looking out the window, there was nothing in sight besides the long, winding road and the ocean itself. You thought maybe he had made a reservation somewhere for dinner, but that clearly wasn’t the case.

Jake pulled his truck onto the beach and backed it up to where the tailgate was facing the water. You followed his lead as he got out and walked around. “Can I know now?”

He gave you a wink, one that would’ve irritated you to the ends of the earth a few weeks ago. But in this moment, you found it almost endearing.

He dropped the tailgate and grabbed a few things out of the back seat. How he managed to hide a couple blankets and pillows, you had no idea. But here they were, being laid out in the back of the truck.

You gave him a questioning look when he held out his hand for you to take, but you walked forward and allowed him to help you up. There had still been zero explanation as to what we were doing in the middle of nowhere.

He sat down with is back up against the truck and patted the space in front of him. You followed his command and sat down in between his legs with your back leaning against his chest. Arms were draped around you, and you couldn’t help but let out a content sigh.

“I’ve come to notice that when something is bothering you, you head out to the beach. I know how stressed you are right now because I’m living it too. Tonight, I wanted you to try and relax some and figured this was my best option. Just you, me, and the ocean.” Your heart warmed at the thoughtfulness of it all. No one had ever done something like this for you, and you were starting to realize how rare of a man Jake Seresin was.

“Tomorrow is a big day for you too. I don’t want you to be stressed out here to make me happy.” His arms pulled you closer and you felt his chin rest on the top of your head.

“Darlin, wherever you are is where I’m happiest.” This man is so much more than people have given him credit for. You wanted to kick yourself for the way you initially thought of him, not knowing that this side of him existed. You fell into rumors and prejudices that people laid out before you, not trying to make your opinions of him. How many people have written him off as a cocky pilot who only cared about himself? To think about how dangerous that thought could be if he went out there tomorrow and no one had his back because of what they thought they knew.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours?” His voice brought you back to the here and now.

“Thinking about how dumb I was when I first met you.” You felt his chest rumble with a chuckle.

“Don’t blame yourself. I don’t let many people in. You should know what that is like.” And you did. It was easier to put an act on than be who you truly were. Less chances of getting hurt.

“I know there is a good chance both of us won’t be picked together, but of all pilots I wish it would be you who had my back.” You felt him let out a deep breath.

“For the first time in my entire career, I’m hoping I don’t get picked for this. Same goes for you. I feel like there is so much more to lose this time and it’s making me question where I want to go from here. I know I’m a damn good pilot, but what is that worth? Because in the end, we all get put in the ground in the same damn box regardless on when it happens. And by God, I don’t want that happening to either of us any time soon.”

It wasn’t a secret that many Top Gun pilots didn’t have a family to go back to or a significant other. The things you all are asked to do makes wanting to settle down more of a dream than a possible reality. And it was something you didn’t truly understand until now.

“I know this relationship is still very new, but am I crazy to think that losing you tomorrow would be the worst thing that could happen? The pain I feel just thinking about it makes me want to not show up, and that scares me.” You grabbed one of his hands and started tracing random lines onto it. Trying to keep yourself together enough to possibly enjoy the night.

“Sweetheart, I hate to tell you this but you’re it for me. There is not one else in this world I would want to call me out on my bullshit.” You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped and was thankful some of the tension that was building up had started to fade.

“Did you ever hear about the time I was almost kicked out of the academy?” That caught his attention and moved us away from the harder conversation we were just having.

The two of you had stayed out well past sunset, trying and failing to make time slow down. It wasn’t much longer you found yourself fighting to stay awake in the passenger seat on the ride home. You had both talked for hours. Telling stories from the academy, your families, and everything in between. Leaving there, you felt like Jake knew the real you. The side of you that had been locked up for years begging to come back out. But as nice as that felt, it seemed like it might have all been for nothing. That in the next 24 hours, you might be retelling these stories to a ghost.

Jake managed to get you out of the truck and into bed, with you swaying on your feet from exhaustion. Once he knew you were tucked in with multiple alarms set, he went to leave.

You reached out and grabbed his hand. “Stay. Please.” Even though you were on the verge of passing out, you noticed his hesitation. Staying with you meant a few different things. On one hand, it would provide both of you the comfort you craved. Falling asleep in Jake’s arms allowed you to forget about what was happening tomorrow and live in a false reality, even if it was for only a night.

But on the other hand, him staying would symbolize the fact that one of you could lose the other tomorrow. It was accepting a slow goodbye, letting you hang on to each other for possibly the last time. But if he didn’t stay, the possible farewell would be pushed off until one of you was flying off the carrier.

Both options hurt too much to think about.

You didn’t know if it was relief or heartache when he pulled his shirt off and slid into bed next to you. His arms were quick to pull you into him, providing a blanket of safety for the next few hours.

His voice came out as a whisper, but you heard every word he managed to get out. “There are so many things I want to say to you, but I’ll wait until after we are both back home and safe.” You closed your eyes as a few tears managed to escape.

You didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but right now you wanted nothing more than to stay in this man’s arms forever.

A/N: Thoughts? Comments? I love to hear what you all think if their story so far! Thank you so, so much for reading!!!

Tag List: @blue-aconite @ahopelessromanticwritersworld @rosiahills22 @dempy @rebekahjonesx @luckyladycreator2 @fangirling-4-ever @multi-fandom5 @coyotesamachado @callsign-blue @justanothermagicalsara

#jake hangman x reader #hangman x reader #hangman top gun #topgun maverick #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin x you #jake seresin #hangman fic #a ghost playing hangman #topgun #top gun

[nonsenseships]

(Reverse)Harem AU Life, Dynamics & Other Stuff! Pt.1

So, I mentioned that I like to reality-base my selfshipping, right? When I'm doing AUs though, I tend to step away from that and get as over the top as my brain takes me! Walk with me. Waaaalk with me, babe.

NSFW somewhere

✕ACCOMMODATIONS✕

If you took a look at my roster, you'd see why I call this 'the heftiest harem'. That's many a' man for certain. For that reason, I felt there was no other choice than for me to set them up in the most prodigious lodging imaginable.

A disgustingly opulent 15br villa out in the middle of nowhere, to be exact.

Mine. Someone died and left it to me in their will. I never met them but I'm using their villa for debauchery! I hope they're proud of me. Anyway, I invited them to move in one by one to join the arrangement after some time of dating them individually. They're allowed to decline but it's my imagination, so why would they?

I have my own bedroom, of course. There are some guys that room together, some that sleep alone. There are some that I couldn't convince to move in full-time but do visit when the mood strikes or they're just dying to see me. OH! There is one spare room that doesn't belong to anyone but does have its use-- but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Roommates: Satoru/Suguru Simeon/Lucifer Takayuki/Masaharu (currently MIA) Reiji/Tokiya Barbatos/Diavolo Beelzebub/Mammon/Satan

Solo Sleepers: Osamu Masato Akira Natsuki Zayne Choso

Visitation Only: Pickles Saitama Charles

Although the villa's overall design is as above, each bedroom was later redesigned to reflect the tastes of the housemates. I wanted them all to be comfortable. Shared rooms were a bit trickier but I got the roommates to work together to come to an agreement on what they'd like or what they wouldn't like in their rooms before settling on a final design. In cases like Barbatos and Diavolos' though, Barb didn't mind what the room looked like so long as Diavolo was satisfied with it.. which is just like him.

Who gets to sleep with me? Generally, I sleep with the person I've spent the day with but sometimes, when dates are shorter, I just call up whoever if I'm not wanting to sleep alone. I can sleep wherever but generally speaking, unless I'm looking at someone who isn't opposed to sharing (ex, Satoru & Suguru) where I can sleep in their shared room together and there be little jealousy issues, I tend to prefer my room or that of the solo sleepers. Rarely do I sleep in shared rooms.

There is also the live room as a sleeping option but it also has other uses. Let's get into it. Shall we?

The Room is a perfectly normal bedroom, just as beautiful as anywhere else in the house except just a couple years ago, it underwent a bit of a redesign to appeal to a few more naughty... shall we say, curiosities? Some of the guys wondered often what it was that the other men did that made me want them. Why was I not satisfied with just one? Hypersexuality or simply being insatiable were not acceptable answers, apparently. That was when our resident weasel Mr. Yagami came up with the idea of watching me with the other guys. Somehow, over time, that idea transformed into outfitting one of the spare bedrooms with cameras that provide an optional live feed that could be watched from anywhere.

Here are a few important instructions:

◈Feeling like an exhibitionist? Enter the room, switch the key near the bed and you're in control of the live feed. Anyone with a screen, the stream's current wifi connection and the feed code can access the stream at any time. You can even set the system to record your session and auto-send to your device for safe keeping!

◈Feeling like a voyeur? Make sure you're connected to the secure, stream-only wifi, enter the code emailed to you (random each time someone switches the key) and tune in. You can save other people's sessions if they've set their session setting allowing people to do so. Screen recording is NOT permitted.

◈If you're ESPECIALLY proud of a session, you can burn your session on a dvd and store it in the library for later retrieval. Movie night anyone? Be sure to date and name it properly so that you know what you're looking for.

It cannot be stressed enough how optional and consensual The Room is. The housemates CHOOSE to take me there, they CHOOSE to turn on the feed and others CHOOSE to view it. Still, this has given rise to plenty of jealousy.

There are some frequent users of The Room, which is not always the same as the frequent viewers of The Feed. Then, there are some housemates that wouldn't touch either with a ten-foot pole and obviously, I would never attempt to persuade them.

✕RULES, EXPECTATIONS, ETC.✕

There is a lot that goes into making this arrangement work. Most of the established rules are sort of understood but unspoken. There are rules set for the boys as housemates but then there are also rules for us pertaining to our arrangement.

◈No favoritism. I'm not to show one partner favoritism over any of the others in any capacity. That's what I promised them before they moved in. Well, the lie detector determined that THAT was a lie. It's not something I do intentionally. It just happens.

◈Wait your turn. Time is scant with a roster this big and everyone's itching for their turn. I wish I could clone myself so that I could be with everyone at all times but alas... They all agreed, originally, to never interrupt anyone's date/alone time with me. A common courtesy. But still, it does happen from time to time. They just get antsy seeing someone else parading me around, I guess? I don't suppose The Room helps that at all.

◈If you break it, fix it. If you can't fix it, arrange for repairs to get done. There are a few handymen in the house, talk to them. Outside handyman invoices are the breaker's responsibility. Naturally occuring household damages, ie. appliance problems, plumbing issues, etc. comes from the allocated household funds. Anything else from your own pockets.

◈If you dirty it, clean it. There are cleaners that stop by once a week to help keep a handle on the tidiness of the villa because, well, there are 23 people filtering in and out of there. However, everyone is still expected to do their part in the meantime.

◈If you don't get The Job done, someone else can and will. 'Nuff said.

◈Grocery runs are twice a week. Everyone has to add what they need to the online checklist by the deadline and if you miss it- better luck next time.

◈Unless you're Beel, don't eat anyone else's stuff. If you are Beel, at least leave a little bit for the rightful owner.

◈Everyone (except Natsuki) is scheduled with at least 3-4 other housemates to cook breakfast and dinner daily. Everyone must complete their scheduled shift or submit a reasonable explanation as to why they cannot to Lucifer at least two days in advance. Outside plans and dates will be taken into account when the schedule is made monthly.

◈No physical fighting. Physical fights will result in suspension from the house for a period of time specified by me based on severity and reasoning.

Part 2.

#ns-reverse harem au #nonsenseships info

[jksprincess10]

Dressed for revenge 10. Temporary

A/N: Here’s the start of Arc 3! Hope you guys like where the story is going.

CW: angst, trust issues, joel being an ally

Masterlist for this fic      

Please reblog!*

Third arc: Jackson

Mid-December 2023, on the road

Over the next few days, they barely stop to rest. After what happened, Joel feels an urge to pursue happiness, and he thinks he would find more of it where his brother is, wherever that is.

As they get further up north, it gets colder. The roads are icier. They don’t know if they will make it. But they can feel it. They’re so close.

On that road trip, Ellie explored every hiding spot in Bill’s truck. She found old cassettes, and they alternated between them every day. They knew all the songs by heart.

But Ghost didn’t get tired of singing.

At least, it shut their mind off.

They didn’t talk about the kiss and about the newly found affection with Joel. They didn’t know where they stood, but they would sort things out at the end of their journey. 

There were things far more important in the present.

Like the roadblock they come across, in the middle of nowhere.

Old, worn-out cars are blocking the rest of the road. Joel and Ghost come out of the car with their bag and their weapons out to inspect.

“Stay here.” Joel orders Ellie as he gets out.

It’s the only road. They can’t go anywhere else.

“Fuck.” Joel says and kicks the tire of one of the old cars.

“It’s fine. We’ll walk the rest of –”

But they’re cut off by gunshots.  They get down on the iced ground. Bullets fly through the carcasses of the cars.

When there’s a break, Joel raises his hands in the air as a peace offering, while Ghost stays down, their bow drawn in case.

But he meets the gaze of the black-haired man, and he can only recognize one person.

“Tommy!” He shouts.

Tommy and his people lower their guns.

“Joel?” He asks, like he’s in front of some kind of mirage.

Ghost lowers their bow and gets up to look at the man who’s Joel’s younger brother. They’re both different, but they can see a resemblance in the way their skin is tanned and the way their noses curve similarly.

Tommy gets down from his horse, jumps over the car and falls into his brother’s arms. After a long, emotional embrace, he looks around him to see Joel’s companions.

Ellie had gone out of the truck when she saw that there was no danger.

“This is Ellie, and this is Ghost.”

“Nice to meet y’all.” He says sincerely.

Of course, he had Joel’s charming southern accent.

“I… looked for you for so long, Tommy. Where the fuck have you been?!” Joel asks almost angrily.

“Why don’t you come with us so I can explain?”

**

Ellie is sitting behind Tommy on a horse, Ghost and Joel took another one. They load the essentials in their bags, but they wouldn’t need much now that Joel found Tommy.

Him and his people guide them to the rest of the way.

Mid-December 2023, Jackson.

It’s hard to describe what they are looking at. It was like a city was preserved, frozen in a bubble. It was booming with life, and it all seemed so… normal. Ghost can feel the emotion rising in their chest.

 Hell, had they wished they had found somewhere like this with Wyatt.

Instead of -

After touring this whole place, Maria, Tommy’s wife, leads them to a house that was free. Joel promises to see Tommy later to catch up, the trio has to make themselves at home first. Ellie follows Maria, who promises her a haircut.

While Ghost is undoing their bag in the main bedroom, Joel looks at them through the door frame.

“Don’t you… wanna live somewhere else than with us?”

Ghost stops and turns around, brows furrowed.

“What do you mean, Joel?”

“You asked me to free you. I did. I don’t wanna keep ya hostage.”

They keep undoing their bag with frustration now, clothes flying instead of being put folded carefully.

“You know this is… temporary. I have to get Ellie somewhere.” Joel adds.

“And where is that, exactly?! I wish you would tell me the truth, Joel. But I know you’re hiding something. You never talk. We… We never talk. We never talked about what happened the other night. You… you don’t even look at me.” The more they talk, more frustration builds in their gut.

“I wish I could tell you. I can’t. This is… This is bigger than Ellie, and us.”

“You don’t trust me?”

He stays silent.

“Fine. I’ll go for a walk. Feel free to get rid of my stuff if you want me to go somewhere else.”

Before he can say anything, they’re out the door.

Mid-December 2023, Jackson, Maria and Tommy’s house.

They meet Ellie at Maria’s house, who welcomes them with a warm smile. She’s already working on the girl’s tangled hair.

“Can you do mine after, please?” Ghost asks as they sit in a free chair. “It’s getting long.”

“Sure, but your hair is so short.” She says.

“I like it that way.”

Ellie frowns and looks up at them, while Maria is scolding her for moving so much.

“What’s wrong G?”

“It’s – Joel. He’s being weird.”

“He can be an asshole sometimes, I’m sorry.” Ellie says as she tries to stay still for Maria to cut her hair.

“Doesn’t want to tell me where you’re going, doesn’t want me to be there, doesn’t even look at me since…”

“You know, Joel and Tommy lost a lot…” Maria says. “He did bad things, too, and brought Tommy along with him. But… he lost his daughter, Sarah…” She says without missing a beat, still cutting Ellie’s hair.

Ghost and Ellie stay silent for a moment, taking this new information in. So, she didn’t know either.

“We all lost people.” Ghost says coldly, getting reminded of the loss of their brother. “We all did bad things.”

 They remember the burning church.

All the dead cult members they left behind.

“But… it can explain why he’s that way.” Ellie concedes.

“I guess so.” Ghost crosses their arms over their flat chest. “But… I don’t wanna be left alone again.”

“I want you to stay with us, G.” Ellie smiles. “And I’m sure Joel does too, but he has a weird way of showing it. He… likes you a lot, obviously.”

“This is giving me a headache.” They say, reminiscing Joel’s kiss. “ Let’s… talk about something else.”

**

While Ghost walks back home, Ellie stays behind with Maria. Something about her wanting to see the horses. But they knew she just wanted to give them and Joel space.

They enter silently enough for Joel not to hear them, and they hear noise from the living room. Joel and Tommy are talking. Ghost knows it’s not good to spy on people… but they still do it. It was the only way they’d see Joel being genuine.

“She’s immune, Tommy. It’s a fuckin’ miracle. We have to take her to the fireflies – they have doctors… they can, they can find a cure.”

Ghost frowns and listens.

“And the other girl? Ghost ?”

Ghost’s fist tightens.

“They’re not a girl. ” Ghost can’t help but smile a little. “They… followed along. Saved them from a fucked-up situation. I like them. A lot. But… It scares me, Tommy. I don’t wanna… I don’t wanna lose any more people. And I sure as hell can’t save them all.”

They can hear the strong emotions in Joel’s voice. He was usually so cold-headed.

It hits them that he was probably crying.

Ghost decides to make their presence known by stepping in the living room and by clearing their throat. Joel looks up at them with watery eyes and Tommy gets up, uncomfortable.

“How long have you been here?” Joel asks.

“Long enough.” They say.

Taglist:  @casa-boiardi @naynay2319 @  eddie-munson-dungeon-master @  dindjarins-brown-eyed-girl @  cutesyscreenname @  angel-with-a-heart @  scrambledslut @itgetsdark-x @cloverhasnobrain​ @toxicanonymity​ @cutesyscreenname @scrambledslut @wannab-urs @str84pedro  

#dressed for revenge #joel x non binary character #joel miller x nb oc #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x oc #joel miller x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction

[faithfromanewperspective]

i grew up in this little suburb of sydney called beverly hills. it's a pretty average suburban suburb, very multicultural, the urban poor caught up in the sprawling metropolis of sydney interspersed with the go-getters whose double incomes paid off and allowed them to replace old aesbestos shacks with new, double story houses on the cookie cutter lots similar to the one I grew up running in the small yard of.

my parents used to joke all the time about the name of the suburb. used to joke about living in a bougie area of california full of celebrities, even though, when I grew up and saw more of the world, even though I've not actually been to california the two places could hardly be any more different.

and yet. we've had housing prices skyrocket over the last 15 years; it's weird to get your head around the concept of 'multimillion dollar houses' and think one of those new mansions going up in my old suburb, on one of those tiny lots. in my head, it's the wrong beverly hills for that. but the same thing happened in other areas of sydney also known to be generally poor. it's kind of dystopian, really, seeing all these households who I know can barely afford fuel and groceries, living in generational multimillion dollar houses, just because they or their parents played their cards right back in '99.

when I'm out in the eastern suburbs it's much the same: people are richer there but they're also interspersed with university students, the typical broke ramen-eating townhouse-living bunk-bed kind my dad was only a few years before I was born. but the freestanding houses out there? multimillion dollar houses. like, not just two million, maybe even five or six. celebrity expensive. (and yet all the local celebrities I know of have long since left the country because you can't really get anywhere in australia). make it make sense.

and it's the same walking around brisbane too. even though the sprawl of suburbia hasn't choked the city yet, I see freestanding houses in the inner suburbs and I look at the price tag and I'm like, who are we really allowing to live here, near all the amenities? I paid my share of rent for one of those houses once. I see the same houses in the outer suburbs, car dominated, near smaller hubs of amenities, I see the house prices double over the span of a year. rent doesn't double, at least. but who are we allowing to live here? who are we forcing out to here, who are we forcing out of even here to somewhere a lot further?

somewhere like the empty houses out campbelltown way in sydney? less vibrant, since the whole penrith cbd thing never quite took off like they wanted it to? brisbane is even worse, I almost moved to jimboomba for the farm lifestyle because I saw they put a new bus in in flagstone and grossly miscalculated the number of hours in a day. who are we allowing to live there, commuting 4 hours a day? who are we forcing to do that, whether due to finances or a need to be around nature for mental health, job reasons, or something else?

because the ingredients are there, to do so much better. it feels like a puzzle piece spread out on my desk, in the dozens of books I've got filed away on my shelf out of pure necessity to do something about the problems I see all day every day. every day I squint at the vision and it reveals a little more detail to me.

I can do this, listening to the songs of another artist who just left the country to make it on the global stage. I can do this, missing my linking bus because of the one bottle neck where the previous bus had to share the road with traffic and there was simply too much of it. I can do this, old laptop groaning on a train in the middle of nowhere as I complete an assignment, I'm stubborn like that, car-free and plane-free wherever I can be even if it meant no soccer this year. I miss soccer. I wish I didn't need a car to do it. I wish society didn't make my brain so dysfunctional I can barely do it. I deserve it, deserve all these things I'm working towards because damn it we all do. but no one seems to see how these pieces connect to enable us to get it like I do.

but sometimes i connect the dots to solve some other thing and it makes me think, no really I can do this. solutions for small things, solutions for big things, I know it's some chemical process in your brain that makes you more confident when you do well at something but didn't Jesus tell a parable about it? if you do well with something small you'll get to have a shot at something big? because you've shown you can do it? show me the next puzzle I can solve. build up that confidence. this is all that this is. every ambition. none of the multiple millions might be mine. but I can manipulate a lot more than you realise, simply because I see everyone's needs and I slot them together in creative and efficient ways. I grew up in beverly hills. I can turn poverty into a whole lot of profit just like my suburb did but in a lot more functional way--and promoting racial equality all the way.

#urban design #sydney #brisbane #western sydney #beverly hills #silver studies urban design #australia #housing crisis #i neglect online safety for the whimsy #okay not really since I don't live there anymore

[darubyprincx]

Ashes Pix and dandelions (symbolism, healing, however you want to interpret that)

They stepped out into a forest dimly lit with the greyish-blue of late dusk, the breeze flowing between the leaves and the bountiful foliage on the ground- when had Pix last seen a fern? When had any of them last seen a miracle such as this?

"Oh, my gods," Fwhip murmured, looking up.

They all simply stood there and drank in the scenery: the gently fading light, the brush of plant against leg, the coolness and freshness of the breeze. Somewhere deeper in the forest, an owl hooted. A cricket chirped somewhere nearby and Pix flinched, startled, but held still, held rapt by this simple but infinitely sweet noise.

"I think we made it," said Gem.

"Yeah," said Fwhip, turning around. "Oh, the portal's gone already."

Pix didn't look behind him to check. He trusted Fwhip's word, and anyways, forests at night were dangerous places to be wherever you were. He took his time finding his way through the thicket, almost blessing the way that there were so many living things here that they could obstruct his path like this.

The bushes he pushed his way through thinned suddenly, and in the middle distance between what could be guessed was more forest if you squinted and where the three stood now, a small collection of yellow lights shone and illuminated the familiar angular shapes of low houses: Pix suddenly found that his throat had choked up.

Beside him, Gem gently gasped. "There's people," she whispered excitedly. "There's people!" She whooped so loudly that the inhabitants of this small cluster of buildings surely could have heard her even from there. "Oh, my gods, this is..."

"Yeah," said Fwhip. "It's great. But also, we haven't talked to anyone else but ourselves in literal months. We don't know if they're friendly or if they even speak our language."

"Well," said Gem hesitantly but determinedly, "there's only really one way to find out, right?"

:-<•>-:

It was a tiny place, as it turned out, with nobody in the streets and only five or six buildings clustered around a small central green with a well in the middle. Gem marched right up to the nearest house and knocked on the door.

"Gem, what are you doing?" hissed Fwhip.

"Hoping," Gem whispered back.

The door opened.

An older woman stood there, long hair greying and carefully braided back into a large poof of curls at the back of her head. She was a little shorter than Fwhip and looked at the three of them with no small measure of surprise, which made sense but made Pix suddenly want to run back into the forest. What would she say? What would she think? Surely she would turn the three of them out. Three random strangers in the middle of nowhere, of course there was no reason to let them in. He had followed Gem with a small measure of caution but nothing more but now he was starting to have serious doubts. From Fwhip's face and the way he froze, it was clear he felt the same.

Gem took a deep breath and nervously exhaled. "Hello," she started tentatively. "We uh- hello, we're travelers and we're not from anywhere around here and it's getting dark. Could we maybe have some directions or a map please?" She winced, and Pix internally curdled back into his skull, but the woman just raised her eyebrows minutely and looked behind her.

"Kaloh," she said in a thick and unfamiliar accent, "we have visitors."

A young man with the same thick hair as the woman came to the door and startled a bit when he saw the three at the door. Gem, who was closest, stepped back a bit.

"At least we can understand you," said the woman with a sudden laugh. She stepped aside. "Come, come. This is a place in the middle of nowhere and I do not have the knees for travel. Do you know how rarely we get guests? No, come in. I cannot leave you standing out there."

The three glanced at each other, clearly unsure, each waiting for the other to make a move.

"If we were to kill you," said Kaloh bluntly, "we would have done it immediately. No use wasting food on those who will be dead in the night."

"That is true," said the woman with a nod. "But you three are far too awkward to be lying. If you want a meal," she gestured inside, "there is broth in the pot."

"If you'll have us, then we will gladly enter," said Pix after a short pause with a small bow. "Thank you."

"Manners, too," said Kaloh, mildly impressed. "Where are you from?"

"That's a conversation best had over dinner," said the woman, ushering the three inside. "In you go."

:-<•>-:

Pix let the other two do the talking, simply focusing on the meal at hand and the room around them. There was a woodstove against one wall, some chairs with clearly handmade pillows sitting adjacent, and several doors which Pix could only assume led to bedrooms. The whole place had a comfortable, lived in sort of glow to it, and he could feel himself relax automatically even as he kept an eye on both the food and their hosts, as bad as he felt for being suspicious of them.

The woman's name was Myra, and she had lived here for decades. Her wife had died several years previous, leaving her with a spare bedroom and a son to raise alone. She managed well these days, though, she said while bustling around to hand off the dishes to Kaloh. "It just gets quiet around here sometimes, so forgive my excitement."

Pix nodded as he took a sip of water and a small mouthful of soup, which was a veritable feast after surviving on scraps for the past eight months. He felt that the sheer amazement of the situation they had found themselves in had not settled in quite yet for him, which was lucky because he knew that as soon as it hit him he would not be able to compose himself. That was okay.

Somehow, he figured he'd be alright.

They were informed that this house had a shower, with warm water of all things, and Gem was pointed towards the door ("th' lady goes first, it's only manners") with a promise that the other two were soon to follow, reeking of horses as they were.

"I genuinely cannot thank you enough," said Pix, looking up after Myra passed by his seat, which had been dragged at incredible speed out of a closet as soon as they had entered. "However I can repay you, I would be happy to."

"The company's payment enough in itself," said Myra with a smile. "And the fact that you're all soon to be clean. The whole house will smell like onions in only hours at this rate."

Kaloh looked over from where he was standing at the sink. "I am curious, though," he said. "All travelers have some sort of story to tell, and you haven't told a single one yet."

"Well," said Pix slowly, "there's not much to tell." That wasn't strictly true, but anything more than a brief synopsis would take the entire night and halfway through the morning to explain. "We've been traveling for eight months- when we started, it was autumn, and when we got here, summer had begun. The place we came from- it wasn't safe to be there anymore, and so we went looking for somewhere kinder."

"This soup's really good," added Fwhip. "But yeah. It's a really heavy story, and a long one too, and I don't think we're ready to tell it yet."

"Oh," said Kaloh. "I didn't mean to press. I was just curious."

"No harm done," said Fwhip with a half shrug. "You didn't know."

"Shower's vacant," announced Gem, walking out with a burst of steam and wet hair. "Which one of you wants to go next?"

"This one smells worse," said Myra, pointing at Pix.

"Guess that settles it, then," said Pix with a laugh.

:-<•>-:

He took as much time as he dared himself to allow.

The water was warm. It came freely and it came hot, washing almost a decade of grime and sweat and blood and tears and sin from his skin and from his tangled hair. For a short amount of time, he just stood there with his forehead pressed against the wall, heart full to bursting.

The spare bedroom had two beds- two! With mattresses and sheets! Gem and Fwhip took one, and Pix the other. It was strange sleeping alone after so long of having someone else beside him, pressed shoulder to shoulder, gentle breaths and heads leaning sideways, but although the soft sheets were strange on his rough, calloused skin, they were a blessing nonetheless. He lay faceup for a while, just staring at the ceiling.

"You good over there?" asked Fwhip, who was tucking in the blankets more securely over his shoulder while also making sure Gem had enough to do the same.

"Oh, yeah," Pix said without really feeling it. "This is great. I just was wondering- like, what did we do to deserve this?"

"I don't think we deserve or don't deserve it," said Fwhip after a short pause and a shrug that Pix could see even though he wasn't looking anywhere at him. "I'm kind of done with the whole 'prove you have the right to be alive' thing. I think it's really nice of these people to do this for us and I think I wouldn't mind doing their chores for the next few days just as an extra thank you."

Pix exhaled and rolled onto his side, towards the wall. "That's a good way of thinking about it actually. I guess I just sort of expected... worse."

"So did I," said Fwhip, "but I will gladly take this. I stopped believing in an afterlife or really any sort of all powerful benevolent deity years ago, shortly after you left the second time. I think the best Heaven I can get is gonna be in places like this."

It was quiet after that. Pix stayed in bed but let his eyes wander around the section of the room in his view: there was a door to what he assumed was a small closet, and a window letting in silk-soft beams of a full moon's light. Kaloh had hurried in shortly before bidding them goodnight with a small clear cup full of what Pix assumed was water with a couple of dandelions suspended in them. Didn't dandelions represent hope or something? Gem had told him that once.

It didn't matter. He could think about it tomorrow. Pix got the feeling that this was the best turn of luck the three had gotten in a long time.

#i know i said there wouldn't be an ashes epilogue but i've had this scene stewing in my mind for a bit so you'll have to forgive me. #ray's tag #answered #ashes au #mcyt #empires smp #there's so much missing from this short piece and so much more that i wanted to add but it'd serve better as an ao3 oneshot than a #Tumblr post lol

[sapphireshineauthor]

Hamefura Poll Fic: Part 2

This should probably have a title... perhaps "A Long Way From Home"? (I shall also put this under "hamefura poll fic" in the tags, I'll be tagging it solely in that after part 4-5. Enjoy this one, and thanks for voting on the first one! Enjoy this continuation!

Previous | Next

Previous Vote: > | A strange tablet with angelic wing engravings | <

The ringing was coming from some kind of tablet. It was on a shelf near Alan and it began to glow a faint blue along the wing like carvings. They went to it and saw in more detail other odd carvings in the center, the wings merely framing them. What looked like alchemic circles danced across the stone in smooth and jagged patterns. 

"Uh, is anyone hearing voices?" Alan asked as they focused on the tablet that began to blink and pulse with light. 

"I think so, it's very faint though…" Mary said as she got closer to the object. 

Data… Boundary…. Potential… 

"What is that?" Mary wondered as the barely audible words sounded broken from the tablet. 

Alan remained focused on it. "What even is this thing?" 

Alan reached out to grab the tablet. Only when he did, the room suddenly became engulfed in light. Everyone barely had a chance to shout out each other's names before the world sounded with a deafening ringing sound before suddenly going dark. 

*+*+*+*+*+*+ 

Geordo blinked open his eyes with a groan, ow… why did his body feel like it's been run over by a carriage? 

The first thing he noticed was how dark it was. The second thing he noticed was the shadow of dense trees overhead and the loud chirping of crickets. The third thing he noticed was that he was lying on uneven grass and dirt, not old, wooden floorboards. 

He sat up with a wince as he tried to look around. He was definitely in a forest, but it didn't look like one he recognized. He heard a slight groan beside him. 

"Mary?" 

Mary sat up as well, rubbing her head as well. "What happened? Where are we?" 

"I don't know, Alan touched that tablet in the storage room and…" Geordo looked around, "Alan? Alan!" 

Mary stood up following Geordo's shouts, but looking around, the silver haired prince was nowhere to be seen. 

Geordo stopped for a moment as he tried to think. That tablet caused this, did they ended up teleported somewhere? But then… 

"It was early afternoon when we started." Geordo said, "It's practically the middle of the night now."

Looking up above the dense treeline, the light coming from the moon and stars just managed to shine through. 

He was about to call out again before he heard rustling leaves and saw Mary walk back to him. 

"Alan isn't in this area," Mary said, "But there is a city a short distance from here. It… looks very strange." 

"A city?" 

"Yes, but it's not Sorcier, it's actually not a city I recognize at all." Mary said, she was getting more and more confused by the situation the longer they stood here. "It doesn't look like any of the ones we studied or seen. Come with me." 

Geordo followed Mary through the small clearing to an opening in the treeline. His eyes widened. 

There, standing just a mile or so ahead, was a "city". It wasn't flat like Sorcier, but with it's still wide grounds, it was stacked up like a tower. Lights shone from the different levels and some kind of structure stood at the top of it. 

"Where are we?" Geordo breathed. None of this made sense, where was Alan? Where are they? What is this place? What did that tablet do? He didn't know what to make of any of it. He looked further to see the roads leading into the city and saw a small cart with a lantern not too far traveling along. It looked like it was taking a different path into it.

"Considering this, we don't know where we are, what shall we do?" Mary asked, she was at a loss for what to do. But hopefully some discussion will merit some fruit. Hopefully with an end result showing them where Alan is… wherever that may be. 

#bakarina #hamefura #hamefura poll fic #my next life as a villainess #geordo stuart #mary hunt #hamefura fanfic

[the-oaken-muse]

Roadside Vigil

Dannymay Day 10: Bones

Read it on AO3 if you wanna.

Content Warning: Animal death, graphic description of a corpse, graphic description of decomposition. This is my attempt at writing gore, enjoy, if that’s your jam.

He blinked at the sudden darkness, eyes slowly adjusting to the absence of light. They were standing on the side of an empty highway in the middle of nowhere. Crickets chirped and an owl hooted somewhere in the distance. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves overhead.

“If you brought me all the way out here to kill me, you’re a little late for that.” Danny joked.

Clockwork indulged him with a small smile.

“So… you gonna tell me what we’re actually doing out here?”

“We are here to meet your teacher.”

“My teacher? Uh, isn’t that, like, your job?”

“It is my responsibility to ensure you are properly educated, yes. However this lesson in particular is one that that I am not exactly qualified to teach you.”

“You? Unqualified? What—”

A twig snapped at the edge of the tree line, drawing his attention. His sharp eyes found a small fox wandering out of the woods, slowly approaching the road, just feet from where the two ghosts floated.

So entranced was he by the beauty of nature, he didn’t notice the approaching car until it was too late. In an instant, it sped past, wind whipping at Danny’s hair. The fox let out a panicked yelp a second before the thud of metal on bone. The car didn’t even slow, gone as quickly as it had come.

“No- what?” he whispered in horror, turning to his mentor. “No.”

“Yes.” Clockwork replied softly.

“You knew this was going to happen,” Danny accused.

“I did.” He confessed.

“Why?”

“Often, even the best timeline comes with tragedy,” came the cryptic reply. “I want you to stay with this creature, watch over it… your teacher will be here soon.”

Danny glanced down at the still, twisted form where it lay on the ground, thrown back from the road by the force of the impact.

When he turned around, Clockwork was gone.

Typical.

Danny plopped down next to the dead fox.

So he was just supposed to sit here and what? Babysit some roadkill? If this was Clockwork’s messed up way of getting him to take a vacation, the two of them would be having words.

He plucked at a few tall blades of grass next to him, tearing them into tiny pieces. Now that his initial adrenaline had worn off, he was bored. There was nothing around, like at all. He got up and walked a few steps down the road before turning back to look at the small lump of fur nestled among the weeds.

He couldn’t just leave, Clockwork had tasked him with watching over the little guy… for some reason. Not to mention his mysterious teacher hadn’t shown up yet… He’d said the teacher would arrive soon, but soon to Clockwork could mean seconds or centuries. Ancients, he hoped it wasn’t centuries.

He kicked a rock and watched it sail into the underbrush then looked for another, then another. After he was satisfied with the small section of roadside he’d cleared, he spent a few minutes walking heel to toe down the painted lines, arms out for balance.

Danny looked around, still no sign of any teachers. Maybe they’d gotten lost? To be fair, it was kind of a weird meeting place. Dead fox, side of the road, you can’t miss it.

Its little body was still warm when he sat back down next to it.

His gaze drifted upwards to the sky. At least one good thing about there being nothing around was the distinct lack of light pollution. He leaned back until he was fully lying down in the damp grass. It had been so long since he’d stargazed… come to think of it, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even stayed the night in the human realm.

He supposed the crickets were kind of nice to listen to, and it was pretty peaceful way out here, wherever here was…

 The next thing he knew, he was blinking in the early morning sunlight. He sat up and stretched his arms above his head, back letting out a series of satisfying pops. He smacked his lips, his tongue tasted like sandpaper and his eyes felt like it.

When was the last time he’d slept?

He surveyed his surroundings with bleary eyes. Traffic was beginning to pick up, mostly going the opposite direction from the car last night. That meant he would probably need to go that way if he wanted to find anything of substance, a city or some other place that would attract commuters. There was still no sign of his teacher, but the dead fox was still there.

Both he and the fox were cold and damp with the morning dew. It lay there, neck twisted at an unnatural angle, tongue lolling out of its mouth, cloudy eyes staring straight through him. He grimaced and scooted out of its line of sight.

The day passed by uneventfully. He switched back and forth between counting the cars that passed by, making tally marks for the different colors he saw; absent-mindedly swatting at the few flies that occasionally landed on the fox; and making a sundial out of a stick and handful of stones.

As the sun began to set, day turning to dusk, something changed. A sudden drop in temperature had his breath fogging the air. Perhaps this was the long awaited arrival of his mysterious teacher; he floated a bit off the ground in his excitement, swiveling his head this way and that until a dim green glow caught his eye. It was coming from the fox.

Not every death begot a ghost, but he supposed vehicular manslaughter was traumatic enough to do it.

The little ghost stirred as if waking from a slumber and stood up, leaving its body behind. It looked down at its body then back at Danny, sad red eyes piercing his heart, head tilted in a way that would have been endearing had it not signified a broken neck.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered to it. “I’m sorry, there was nothing I could do… there- there wasn’t enough time…” He had long outlived his lifetime and would continue to accumulate lifetimes like paper folded in on itself again and again… he had all the time in the world, but it still wasn’t enough. Never enough. All he wanted was more time. “I—”

His words were swallowed by a sob escaping his throat. He clamped a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound as his vision blurred and hot, wet tears left burning tracks down his icy cheeks.

The little ghost nuzzled against his arm, his tears landing on its head as he wept, grieving his past.

That night, he cried himself to sleep with the fox’s ghost curled up at his side.

 The next morning Danny was awoken by the cawing of crows.

He bolted upright with a gasp, birds scattering in a flurry of feathers and wind.

The fox blinked at him from its place at his side, tail flicking gently in a way that reminded him of a tapping foot; it almost seemed… annoyed at his disruption.

“Uh, morning?”

The little ghost silently turned back to its corpse, which was... being pecked at by a handful of carrion birds?

“Hey!” Danny shouted, jumping to his feet, “Cut that out!”

He felt a small tug at his waistband, the fox was pulling him back down. One final aggressive tug had him on his bottom in the dirt. The fox planted itself in between him and its body.

The birds flapped their wings at him suspiciously from a few feet away; deeming him not to be a threat far too quickly for Danny’s pride, and going back to their meal.

He moved to shoo them again and was again stopped by the little green fox.

“What? You’re really just gonna let them… uh,” Danny glanced over at one of the birds that was really going for the eyeball and grimaced, “… eat you? You’re really okay with that?”

The fox simply stared back at him placidly.

“Okay, fine, whatever. It’s your body.” He crossed his arms, scowling.

Satisfied, the fox settled in next to him to watch the birds eat their grisly breakfast.

“This is fine, this is great, this is fine.” Danny muttered. “This is absolutely not at all disturbing in any way.”

He flinched as a crow tore off a piece of skin with a snap.

“That teacher better get here soon.”

 The following days passed much the same; Danny sat with the little fox as first the birds, then the insects, made a feast of its flesh. As its body ballooned with foul smelling gas, then melted into a puddle of fur and bones and writhing maggots. Hundreds upon thousands, their mass churned as one. Focusing on a single pale worm as it wove and burrowed only made the multitude more horrific. His stomach writhed with them, turned as much by the sight as the smell.

At times, it became too much and he would walk a ways down the road to take fresh air into his lungs. When this happened, the fox would allow him a few minutes respite, before herding him back to their roadside vigil.

As the birds gave way to the bugs, so too did they in turn give way to the mold and the fungus. Slowly the smell became more tolerable. It went from sharp, sticky, sickly and putrid and wrong to something… familiar.

He’d always complained about the smell of the fertilizer. Plugging his nose if he ever had to walk into her greenhouse.

“Manure is an excellent source of nutrients for the plants, Danny,” she’d say. Or, “It’s just a little ammonia, Danny, it’s not that bad. It means my compost is rich in nitrogen.”

And she was right, it wasn’t that bad. And her plants were always thriving, so it must have been doing something good for the soil.

If he looked closely, the plants ringing the fox did seem to be greener, stronger, more… alive.

He took in his silent companion with new eyes. Life out of death. Conservation of Mass. He was witnessing one of nature’s miracles in real time.

 Days and weeks and months passed. The occasional ant or other insect still skittered across the fox’s bones, and there was some sort of fungus growing in a few places, but for the most part they had passed the torch to the elements. Wind and rain and sun beat down on what remained of the brittle skeleton. Still they watched; the solemn ghost fox, and the old ghost boy.

It wasn’t a glamorous affair. It had been a brutal death, meaningless to the perpetrator and to the hundreds of people who passed by, so caught up in their self-absorbed daily lives, eyes straight ahead, staying between the lines. The only funeral was the parade of scavengers who came not to give a fond farewell, but to take. Although, it seemed, it was a gift given freely.

 It was a cold and rainy morning, Danny could just barely make out the outline where the fox once lay. He looked to the place at his side where his companion sat, blurred at the edges, fading away.

Not every ghost stayed forever. Some chose to move on after a time, after they’d met some goal only they could quantify.

As the last bit of decay washed away with the rain, the little fox vanished, gone with the mist.

He didn’t think it would hurt this much, the second death, but he’d been there since the beginning, since the first. This one was a much more dignified passing, a choice rather than fate. In a way, he envied that final decency.

“I won’t forget you,” he whispered to wind, tears mixing with the rain streaming down his face.

He didn’t even flinch when a voice behind him spoke.

“So,” began Clockwork, “what have you learned?”

A blade of grass bounced with the raindrops. Danny reached out a finger and gently ran it along the length of the leaf.

“Death—” He took a deep breath, marveling in the clean scent of petrichor, “Death is a beginning. Life with no death would be just as bad as death with no life, the two must exist in a balance.”

“I was worried about you,” his mentor admitted. “You exist outside of the cycle of life and death, you are both, but you are out of balance.”

“I- I know.” Danny sighed, finally turning to face Clockwork. “There’s- there’s something I have to do.”

#danny phantom #dannymay2023 #day 10 #bones #clockwork #gore #animal death #immortal danny fenton #angst #original character #my work

[spreadyovrwings]

64 Oslo Square

‘Companion’. Middle English. From Old French ‘compaignon’, literally ‘one who breaks bread with another’.

Strapped for cash, John gets a job at a bakery as their new delivery boy. Juggling school and Queen and work is exhausting, but it’s more than worth it. It’s worth it because of you.

Warnings for this chapter: None!

//

Chapter Four

John was never late. It was part of what endeared him to Roger when they were first introduced. Everyone else just sort of turned up when they happened to, but not John. He was always reliable, a rare quality in students and musicians.

Well, Roger supposed, John had so many commitments, it made sense. He didn’t want to be midway through a show or cycling across town and realise he should be sitting an exam; though Roger was fairly sure Deaky would still write mental checklists and plan his days to the minute even if he had nowhere to be.

It was an admirable quality. Roger knew if it was anyone else, such rigid punctuality might have aggravated him. He was young! He was the drummer in a rock ‘n’ roll band! Life was supposed to be fun. But he liked John, and their new bassist never lectured them when they turned up late, aside from the odd, very cautious jibe. His good timing was for his own benefit and that suited Roger just fine.

It was good for the band too. They needed someone sensible to keep them grounded, and John was the most down-to-earth person Roger had ever met. If he and Freddie were the imagination, then John was the direction, and Brian fell somewhere in-between. 

It was Thursday night and the clock in the changing room was ticking towards eight. 

Roger surprised everyone (though nobody more than himself) by arriving first. 

He’d spent the day sleeping, shattered after a long morning at the market. While Freddie went off to lunch with a few of his college friends, Roger collapsed on the sofa. When he finally awoke hours later, it was dark outside and the sandwich he’d made for himself was still lying on his chest with a single bite taken out of it. 

Brian was next to arrive. His long winter coat swung about his spindly legs as he apologised for being late, even though he’d only arrived two minutes after their agreed time. 

He’d been teaching today. Roger could tell from the chalk dust on his shirt cuffs and the stacks of paper stuffed into his leather bag, along with miles and miles of guitar cables.

They chatted quietly as they settled into the space, waiting for their bandmates to arrive. They were just laughing at a note one of Brian’s kids had slipped into his pocket (a comment on his substitute teacher’s wild hair) when the changing room door opened again and their frontman swept in.

“Everyone, stop panicking,” Freddie beamed. “I have arrived.”

He never wasted time on ‘hellos’ and ‘good evenings’. They’d all been friends for long enough now that he didn’t see the need.

Freddie dumped his bag down on the nearest flat surface, then shrugged off his enormous fur coat, moaning about the rain all the while.

Perhaps to compensate for being horrendously late, he was already partly dressed in his stage costume, though it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume that he’d worn black satin trousers to lunch.

Brian watched him with a faint smile.

It never mattered how late Freddie was, or how outrageously he acted when he did, eventually, arrive. It was worth it, just for the fact that he always made the room a little brighter wherever he went. Still, that didn’t mean they were ever going to take it easy on him.

“How gracious of you to bless us with your presence, Fred.”

“Yeah, s’ not often we mere mortals are so privileged,” Roger chimed in.

He peered curiously at the label in Freddie’s fur coat, wondering where he’d got it, until Freddie pulled it away.

“Ha,” He moved away. “Ha,” Hung up his coat. “Ha.” Then turned back to face his friends with his hands planted firmly on his black satin hips.

Further arguments were snuffed out when the door opened again for the fourth and final time. It let in a gust of wind that swept around the room, toying with Brian’s curly hair and sending a shiver over Roger’s skin.

Tonight’s gale was so strong, John had to throw all of his inconsiderable weight against the door to get it closed. When the door finally clicked shut, he almost sank to the floor in relief.

“You’re late.”

John looked up at Roger.

He was staring at him with something akin to curiosity. Roger’s words rang with astonishment rather than ridicule, as if he genuinely couldn’t wrap his head around the thought of John being, as he’d feared, the last to arrive.

Roger couldn’t help smiling when John’s mouth settled into a deep, firm line.

“I know.”

Not wanting to waste any more time, or be the subject of further derision, John swayed to his feet with a sigh, then pressed his palm flat against the nearest wall so that he could kick off his tatty trainers.

He hated being late. New places and people only made the tough roots of his anxiety sink deeper into the earth of his chest, so John always tried to arrive at least half an hour early, wherever he was going. That way, he could get his bearings and attempt to settle his nerves before he was expected to be sociable. Plus, it was just polite.

John thought he’d left the bakery with more than enough time to swing by his digs first but packed trains, bad weather, and even worse luck meant that it took him longer to get home than he’d anticipated. 

He must have looked a peculiar sight with his new stage clothes stuffed into a bag from 64 Oslo Square, his long hair wild from the humidity, and his expression as grim as the grave.

Still, he was here now, even if he could still taste copper on his tongue from his frantic run towards their venue for tonight, a small college in Kensington. 

Before John could move to get changed, Freddie took him by the shoulders and gently tugged at him until he had turned around. 

“Why’re you all covered in..?”

Freddie frowned, holding him at arm’s length so that none of the detritus could spoil his ensemble. 

John looked down and realised that he’d taken half the bakery home with him. His clothes were covered in a fine white powder, his dark jeans, his thin red T-shirt, it was even sprinkled in his hair.

God, he thought, as he shook flour from his fringe, how embarrassing. No wonder he got so many funny looks on the District Line.

“It’s from work.”

“They’ve got you baking now, have they? Chef Deacon?” Brian teased.

John only grunted in response.

Freddie kept turning him around until he spotted what looked suspiciously like a handprint at the base of his spine. He met Roger’s gaze then pointed at the mark. 

Roger grinned so wide it almost made his cheeks ache.

“Do you have to wear one of those funny hats?” He asked, waving one hand above his golden hair as John broke free of Freddie’s grasp. “A toupee.”

Brian snorted.

“A taupe, Roger.”

“That’s what I said.”

John huffed, batting Freddie’s hands away when he tried to pull at him again.

“Can I get changed now? Is that alright with you lot?” 

They were always encouraging him to speak up, so John thought his friends would appreciate him standing up for himself for once. To his dismay, the boys only gave a chorus of ‘ooo’s, and John turned away to get changed, feeling defeated. 

He raised his gangly arms above his head and caught hold of the scruff of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth movement. He felt the cold immediately, his pale skin speckling, and John grimaced as he reached for his bag. 

“So, you’re enjoying it then? Your new job?”

Brian had been so busy with school, he hadn’t been able to catch up with any of his band mates in quite a while. 

Before John could even begin to answer, Roger scoffed.

“Oh, is he ever.” He laughed. “You haven’t heard him? ‘Oh, the bakery is so much fun. Oh, have you seen my new bike? Oh, my new mates are so nice.’”

John just stayed quiet. 

He supposed he had been talking about work a lot. A lot for him, anyway. It was just all so exciting. He liked that he got to spend his mornings alone with his thoughts as he cycled through the city. Then he got to spend his afternoons with Mickey and you, learning to bake and making tea for the customers.

Still, he didn’t appreciate the implication that he’d been prattling on about it incessantly, especially from someone as loquacious as Roger, who was always encouraging him to talk more anyway. He certainly didn’t think his clunky attempt at John’s accent was necessary either.

Freddie seemed to be thinking along the same lines. He reached over and flicked his fingers close to Roger’s nose, like he was shooing one of his cats away from his antique furniture. 

“Don’t be an arse, Roger,” he said, then smiled at John. “Are they paying you well enough?” 

John shot him a grateful look as he pulled on his new shirt. It was bright white and glowed, pearly and clean, under the spotlights, especially against the deep black of his suit. The shirt was made of the softest silk John had ever felt. It was the finest thing he owned by a mile. When he found it in the bargain bin at Granny Takes A Trip on the King’s Road, he could hardly believe his luck.

“They pay me as much as they can,” John said with a quirk of his mouth. “It’s enough.”

He didn’t mean to talk badly about the bakery, he knew they could hardly afford him and John was very grateful that they had risked hiring him. Still, uni would be over soon. He needed a home, food in the cupboards, and maybe, if he was lucky, a rickety old radiator to get him through the winter. 

“That’s good,” said Brian. He was twiddling with the tuners of his beloved guitar. “We need some new gear.”

John’s already flagging mood soured. He didn’t like the assumption that what little extra cash he managed to scrounge would go towards the band. For the moment, Queen was just as much a part-time job as 64 Oslo Square.

Thankfully, Roger piped up again before John could say anything that would inevitably lead to an argument.

“Have you asked that girl out yet?” 

John was so surprised, it took a moment or two for Roger’s question to process. 

Unfortunately, not everyone was as slow on the uptake. The effect was instantaneous.

“There’s a girl?” 

Freddie had been in the middle of changing his shoes when Roger brought you up, and was so thrilled by the prospect of romance that he almost tripped over his platforms in his rush to grab John by the shoulders again. 

John flushed as pink as Roger’s sparkly trainers as all eyes turned to him, excited and full of questions.

“She’s a woman, actually,” he said, feeling oddly defensive.

He wasn’t sure why that was the first thing to pop into his head but it was too late now. 

Freddie was grinning. 

“God, I can see her now. Hair all swept back from her forehead. Sleeves rolled up. Apron pulled tight. Ever so enticing and ever so delicious.”

John laughed, his shyness giving way to something else, something new.

As embarrassing as it was to be teased about you, it was exciting too. He wasn’t the chattiest person but John thought he might be able to talk about you for hours. 

Images of you swept through his head like a slideshow, snapshot after snapshot of your warm eyes, your inviting, soft body, the look on your face when you were about to tease him, the certainty in your movements as you moved around the kitchen.

“Something like that,” John said quietly.

He had to look down at his shoes to hide his smile. 

“Does she call you Johnny?” Roger was grinning too. “I bet she does. ‘Oh, Johnny, your hands are so big, come and knead this dough for me, oh…’”

John thought back to that afternoon, when you had laid your hands over his and together, you rolled out the pastry. The look in your eyes had sent a thrill down his spine. Now he thought about it, your apron strings were always pulled tight, emphasising your waist, pressing into your soft body just as his fingers ached to. 

“She’s nice,” John managed to choke out, his mind clouded with thoughts of you backing him up against the kitchen counter. “Kind.”

That made Brian snort. 

“Blimey, don’t go on about her.”

“We’re going round next week sometime to get a good look at her,” Roger told Freddie, who seemed delighted by the idea.

Roger shot John a pointed grin.

“I fancy something sweet myself.”

“Oh,” John huffed, slapping Roger’s shoulder with his discarded trousers. “Leave me alone. Pair of-”

The changing room door opened

They looked around to find a woman staring at them, clearly surprised by their appearance.

She seemed to think better of commenting on Freddie’s ensemble and the make-up Brian was prodding around his eyes.

“You’re on in ten minutes. Are you ready?”

/

They were not. Or rather, the band was ready. The boys practiced as often as they could, several times a week, in fact. They rehearsed and rehearsed until they were completely literate in each other’s mannerisms and they had their set list memorised, inside-out and back-to-front.

It was just a shame the kids didn’t like it.

“You had us here at the last bloody minute and now you don’t even want us to play?”

“Listen, you were fine. The kids just want to dance, is all!”

Roger, Brian and Freddie had been arguing with the headmaster for several minutes, and John had been miserable for all of it. 

The kids really seemed to enjoy their set. John had felt quite pleased when he saw their smiling faces in the crowd. But after their quick fifteen break, Queen headed back to the stage, only to find that the kids had requested to keep the disco for the rest of the night.

The headmaster had the unlucky job of breaking the bad news. He’d been very apologetic at first but Roger was so outraged by the whole thing, he’d been arguing with Mr. Galbridger all the way back to the changing rooms and his patience was clearly wearing thin.

“You’ll get your money, alright? What’re you so upset about?”

“I’m not upset, you-” Roger huffed as he shoved his drumsticks into his bag. “It’s the principle of the thing!”

“He’s the principle,” Freddie put in, which no one was in the mood to find funny.

“It’s fine,” Brian said, trying to placate his bristling friend and get their money. “Just give us what we’re owed and we’ll get on our way.”

The headmaster grumbled under his breath but acquiesced. He slipped his hand into his suit pocket and brought out a thick leather wallet. 

As the rest of the boys packed up their things, Brian held out his hand while the headmaster placed note after note in his palm. He was quick to count the money. 

“Hang on,” Brian shook his head. “There’s only £5 here.”

The headmaster cleared his throat uncomfortably as four angry faces turned to him.

“You’ll be taking half, of course.”

Roger was aghast.

“We’ll be what?”

“Well, you only played half a show.”

“Only because you stopped us! We agreed 10.”

“You're lucky to be getting that,” The headmaster wrinkled his nose. “If I knew your stuff was going to be so… Odd…”

Freddie raised a delicate eyebrow. 

“Well, that’s not very nice at all.”

Roger was fuming. John could practically see the steam pouring from his ears. 

“You're bloody right, it’s not!”

The headmaster’s practiced professionalism finally snapped.

“Listen here, you little sod,” He slapped another note in Brian’s hand, then jabbed a finger towards Roger. “Take six and get out. There’s no need to be a twat about it.”

At that, Freddie and Brian reared up, and John started packing his equipment away faster, sensing the need for a quick escape. 

“Oi,” Brian said, bringing himself to his full height. “Roger may be a twat but he’s my twat.”

“He’s our twat,” Freddie chimed in. 

Behind them, John put his head in his hands.

“Jesus Christ.”

“Just give us what you owe us, you tight old git!”

The headmaster, clearly tired of arguing, shoved a few more notes in their direction, then showed them the door.

Outside, the cold air was quick to settle their tempers. Money split evenly between them and safely stored away, they decided to call it a night.

Roger swirled his keys around his index finger.

“Alright then, you ‘orrible lot. Car’s round the corner. Who wants a lift?”

“Only if you’ve remembered your glasses,” Brian grunted, raising his hand.

“Thanks, I think I’ll walk,” John said.

“You sure?” Freddie hefted his heavy fur coat further up onto his shoulders, wrapping it tight around his waist to save himself from the cold. “It’s a long walk back. Do you even know the way?”

Annoyance made John’s body tense and he had to fight the urge to frown. They were always trying to look after him. It was getting rather tiresome. But he couldn’t worry that they didn’t like him one minute and be frustrated by how much they cared the next, so John just kept his mouth shut, as usual.

“I’ll be alright,” he said instead. “I know this part of town like the back of my hand now.”

“Ohh, that bloody bike,” Freddie grinned. “We’re definitely coming round next week, aren’t we Rog? I wanna see those skinny legs pedalling away.”

John elected not to say anything, apart from ‘goodnight’ and ‘see you in the week’.

The thought of Roger and Freddie camping out in the bakery all day, poking fun at him and trying to catch a glimpse of you, made his stomach lurch.

They were only being friendly. John knew they only teased him because they cared and because they were genuinely interested in his new job.

Secretly, John was quite pleased that they were curious. He liked the boys a lot, he wanted them to like him too, so it was nice that they were interested in his life.

But then again, what if they said something in front of you, something that made you go back to just calling him ‘new boy’. Or worse, what if you took one look at Roger and…

John tripped over an uneven paving slab and swore under his breath. He nearly buckled under the weight of his bass on his back but managed to grab onto a nearby lamppost before he met the ground.

Some lads across the road jeered at him, whistling and hollering as John righted himself. They thought he was drunk. Embarrassed, John hurried on by, keeping his eyes down.

He turned a corner and found himself on a road he knew well. The shops were all dark, their shutters pulled down and their customers all gone. The air still smelt of perfumes and incense, of exotic foods and car exhausts. Beneath it all, John caught the oh-so familiar scent of cinnamon, vanilla, and custard.

He smiled to himself.

He knew, realistically, that it was the shop that always smelt so wonderful, but John would be kidding himself if he didn’t associate the scents of baking, of warmth and good food, with you.

He turned his head the other way, down the high street towards Hyde Park. 64 Olso Square peered back at him from the last corner. Like the other shops, the lights were all off inside, apart from the one in the flat above. A figure passed behind the closed curtains, the only sign of life. 

It was late, the bakery would have been closed for a few hours now. You would definitely be finished packing up. In fact, you’d probably be halfway home now. Unless… Well, he could always check.

Adjusting his bass, John figured it would probably be a little much to drop by now.

What would he even say? That he was passing by and thought he might pop in and see how you were? That it had only been a couple of hours since he last saw you but he missed you, that he’d thought about you all night, even when he was playing. That he liked the way you said his name and the feeling he got in his chest when you smiled at him?

John grimaced, embarrassed by his own eagerness.

He did miss you. It was a feeling he wasn’t entirely used to, but even though John was more than a little alarmed by the ache he felt in his chest when he thought about you, he couldn’t wait to see you again tomorrow.

/

Alone in your room, you settled by the window with your last cup of tea of the day. The book propped up on your knees was almost enough to distract your thoughts from the boy with the green-grey eyes. 

Almost. 

If you’d looked up, right then, and peered down at the street below, you would’ve seen him making his way back to his own tiny, quiet room, kept company by thoughts of you.

/

The bakery has been open for ten minutes, and you’d been stressed for nine of them. 

The Friday morning rush was no less intense than any other day. In fact, the grey sky seemed to have made people want to treat themselves, and the drizzly weather had driven them towards 64 Oslo Square’s open doors.  

Thankfully, you and Mickey weren’t alone today. Gladys had deigned to grace you with her company for the first time all week. 

As annoyed as you were with her for leaving you on your own so often, you had to admit it was rather comforting to hear Gladys’ mad plastic jewellery clinking as she bustled about behind the counter, fetching cups of tea and chatting with the  customers.

You could smell her sweet perfume from the kitchen. It cut through the scents of flaky pastry and vanilla essence, making your nose wrinkle as you flitted between the ovens and the counters, like a hummingbird between flowers. Still,  it was good to have Gladys back where she belonged.

Mickey seemed relieved too. With your boss behind the counter, it meant you didn’t have to split your time and could actually do what you were paid to do.

Together, you created Victoria Sponges, lemon drizzles, Chelsea Buns, Bakewell Tarts, and enough Viennese Slices to feed an army.

As the morning wore on, you fell into a rhythm. You and Mickey moved around the kitchen like bees in a hive, a rehearsed dance that meant you could often communicate without words. 

It felt good to be productive, to do what you were actually hired to do. You’d loved baking ever since you were a child, and even though it was stressful, and always boiling hot in the tiny kitchen, it felt natural to you.

As you swept a wooden spoon around a large bowl of sponge mixture, you realised you’d even missed the ache in your upper arm and the way Mickey shouted to you across the room.

The only problem was, you hadn’t been able to say good morning to John.

You caught a glance of him when you restocked the counter around ten. All the tables and chairs that usually sat outside had been brought in to keep them and the customers out of the rain, so John was sat in the very corner by the window, looking out at the grey sky as he sipped a steaming mug of tea. 

You stopped dead when you saw him, which was a bit embarrassing. Gladys definitely noticed. Hell, the man she was serving must have noticed how you came to an abrupt halt, halfway through a sentence.

You were just so surprised to see him, you couldn’t help it. John usually came into the kitchen to say good morning when he arrived. Gladys must have intercepted him and warned him that you and Mickey were rushed off your feet. 

Disappointment sank like a cold stone in your chest. You’d been looking forward to seeing John all day. In fact, the prospect of getting to talk to him had kept you going through your hectic morning.

You kept stealing glances at him as you refilled the counter trays, hoping and hoping that he’d look over at you and smile, but John seemed lost in thought as he twirled a biro between his long fingers.

When you were done, you hovered in the kitchen doorway, one last ditch attempt at catching his eye. In the end, the only attention you managed to capture was that of the young woman next in the queue. She pulled a sympathetic face at you as you undraped yourself from the doorway, and you headed back into the kitchen, defeated. 

Your humiliation didn’t last long.

When there was finally a lull in customers, Gladys bustled into the kitchen, talking a million miles an hour about absolutely nothing. You’d never met someone who could talk so much without saying anything. Still, it made you smile. It was good to have her back. 

That was until Gladys sidled up beside you, knocking her hip into yours while you were trying to roll out pastry. 

“Oi,” she whispered, a little too close to your ear. 

You pulled a face, drawing up your shoulder to stop her tickling you again.

“Oi?”

“Go say ‘hi’ to John.”

You had to force yourself not to smile at the sound of his name. Putting down your rolling pin, you faked an exasperated sigh. 

“Can’t you see the poor boy’s tryin’ to work?”

“Doesn’t look like it. He’s been starin’ out the window all mornin’. He looks a bi’ moony to me.” Gladys wagged a finger like a detective concluding her findings. “Maybe he’s got girlfriend trouble.”

That wiped the smile from your face. 

John hadn’t mentioned a girlfriend. Then again, some boys were like that, keeping relationships quiet in front of potential better offers. John didn’t seem the type but the thought still made your chest pang. 

Just because he hadn’t mentioned dating anyone didn’t mean that he wasn’t. John rarely offered up anything about himself. In fact, he didn’t talk very much at all. You never gave him the chance. Maybe Mickey was right, perhaps you should leave him alone. 

“‘e’s probably just puzzlin’ over somethin’. You know those universi’y types,” You waved your hand by your head. “Always away with the fairies.”

You were trying to convince yourself just as much as you were Gladys. In your chest, you shut the drawer full of feelings for John with a grim ‘thunk’.

“e’s shy,” Gladys wore an almost motherly pout. “e’s barely said a word to me since he started here. Ah ah! Shut it.”

You closed your mouth, smiling. Your pointed remark about Gladys’ absence vanished on your tongue. 

“There’s nothin’ wrong with shy, Glad.”

“I know but we’re a family, ‘ent we? I wan’ ‘im to feel welcome. Poor bless needs someone to be nice to ‘im. He’s sa’ out there all on his own.”

“He’s revising, Glad.” You laughed. “And we’re quite good mates, actually. You’re just never around to see it.”

“Oh…” Gladys dug her sharp elbow into your ribs. “Shut it, will you?”

You made a show of grabbing your side in pain, grinning from ear to ear.

“That your guil’y conscience talking, Glad?”

“Since when did you have such an ant’s nest up your arse? I’m here now, aren’t I?”

You rubbed your side again.

“And how lovely it is to see you.”

Gladys scoffed and flapped her hands at you, but you could tell you’d almost pushed things too far.

There was an unspoken line, rarely crossed. Gladys was a good boss despite her absences, and wasn’t half as daft as she looked. Behind the big hair and bright clothes was a good brain for business and a steely determination. Gladys was tough, she’d been through a lot, and she’d given you your whole life.

After twenty years, she’d earned respect from you, from Mickey, from the customers that knew her by name. You could tease her, talk back, and you had a big role and voice in the business, but there was always that line.

You squeezed Gladys’ shoulder, a silent apology, but true to character, she just brushed you off. You were forgiven.

You thought she might leave you alone after that. The bakery had its lulls but no one could leave the shopfront alone for more than a few minutes. It was a rule Gladys had for security reasons but you were also, fortunately, never short of customers.

Gladys made a show of peering round the kitchen doorway, then nodded her head towards where John was sitting. 

“And?”

It didn’t take long for you to grasp what she was getting at. Subtlety wasn’t something Gladys was known for. 

You glanced that way too, then grinned. 

“Very nice.”

Gladys rolled her eyes. 

“Oh, gawd. You do make my teeth itch, you know.” 

She went back to stand behind the counter, pointing one bony finger at you before she disappeared from sight. 

“Don’t break him.”

Turning back to the pastry you’d been rolling out, you smiled to yourself. The drawer in your chest opened again, just a little.

Now there was a thought.

In all honesty, you weren’t sure what to make of John. He was sweet, clever, and so gorgeous, it made you all stupid and fluttery whenever he met your gaze.

You liked that he was always early, and that he genuinely seemed interested in your work and listened when you talked. Most of all, you loved his funny little mouth and the clever spark in his eyes, and the way his face scrunched up when he was thinking.

In the few weeks since you met, you’d found that getting to know John was like squeezing blood from a stone. But you kept trying, because although he was reserved, John always seemed to want to stand close to you. He often had this look on his face like he wanted to say something but couldn’t work up the courage.

Yes, you would keep trying.

Across the kitchen, Mickey was warbling along to the radio.

You’d had a productive morning together. Perhaps you could allow yourself a small break.

All the tables inside the bakery were taken, filling the room with the low hum of chatter. The smell of coffee hung heavy in the air, the lights low and warm. You let your fingers graze across the counter as you moved behind it. You really loved this little shop.

You could feel Gladys’ eyes on your back as you made your way over to the corner where John was sitting.

He didn’t look up as you approached. John’s gaze was fixed firmly on the rain pouring outside, his nose pressed so close to the window, he was sure to feel the cold seeping in. His chin was propped up on the heel of his palm and he was completely still, no tapping fingers, no bouncing leg.

He was so deep in thought, John didn’t notice you were there until you wrapped your hands around the back of the scarlet chair opposite his. He started, making his elbow slip off the table. He scrambled to sit upright, apologising softly.

You felt terrible for making him jump but you couldn’t help smiling. He really was very sweet.

“Mornin’, new boy.”

John recovered quickly. He smiled up at you.

“Morning, Captain.”

It wasn’t a proper smile. It seemed artificial, as if he’d taught himself how to do it, a mask he could slip on for social situations.

You’d seen his real smile, the one that showed off the little gap in his teeth and made his eyes wrinkle until he seemed to almost squint at you. This was practiced politeness.

You felt your excitement deflate just a little. Perhaps you really did bother him.

Your waning confidence caught your tongue for a moment but you recovered just as quickly as he had.

“How’s school?”

“Good, how’s things here?”

With an easy grin, you found your footing again.

“Better now.”

At last, there it was. John huffed a little laugh and bashfully looked down at the table. As he shook his head, his pretty hair moved about his shoulders, and when he looked up at you again, his smile finally reached his eyes.

You felt your body relax. He really did have a lovely smile. It bunched up his cheeks, softening the sharper angles of his face.

It had taken a while but John did seem a little more relaxed at work this than he used to be. The average person might not have been able to tell the difference, but you had been watching him with curiosity from day one and had been quietly monitoring his progress.

He still only spoke when spoken to and held himself so rigidly, you’d think someone was pulling his strings too tight, but John was smilier now and his personality was beginning to eke through. The bakery’s routine seemed to help, and it was hard not to fall in love with the place and its people.

He seemed most at ease around Mickey, which was to be expected. The boys were bound to gravitate towards each other, they both liked football and cars, but Mickey also seemed to be a comforting figure. He may have been built like a brick outhouse but he was sweet and gentle, and you often found him and John chatting quietly by the back door of the kitchen, sharing stories and slices of fresh buttered bread.

You couldn’t help noticing he wasn’t quite so relaxed around you, something you were determined to change.

John opened his mouth to speak but words seemed to fail him. There was that face again, like he wanted to tell you something but couldn’t quite get there.

John looked pained for a moment, and you weren’t sure whether to give him time or to try and help him. Before you could make up your mind, he seemed to change tack, and asked,

“Are you at..?”

John gestured to the book lying open in front of him.

The pages were full of calculations, shapes and squiggles that wouldn’t have meant anything to you even if the textbook had been facing the right way up.

“Ohh, I’ve got this place to look after, dun’ I.” You smiled and shook your head. “Too busy for all that.”

You watched, perhaps too closely, as John’s mouth twisted apologetically.

“Gladys isn’t around much, is she.”

“Oh, well, you know,” You matched his wry smile. “She’s allowed some fun.”

John nodded, half-heartedly agreeing with you.

The bakery was quiet. After lunch, there was always a lull, and it would only be the odd customer until the next rush in a few hours.

Sensing you hadn’t yet outstayed your welcome, you pulled out the chair across from him and sat down.

Keeping your eyes on John, you carefully placed your feet so that they wouldn’t accidentally bump against his. He was still so nervous, you could practically feel his muscles aching from how tense he was.

As you settled down, you noticed him straighten up so that he wouldn’t be leaning towards you over the table. He was so tightly wound, you thought if your knee accidentally bumped his, he might jump as if electrocuted.

To your delight, John closed his book. You had his full attention.

“So, how long have you worked here?”

“Three years. It was supposed to be something part-time while I figured out what I was gonna do.”

“I better be careful then.”

John tucked his feet behind his chair legs, keeping out of your way. He could feel your warmth even from here. It was deliciously distracting.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Mm, or you’ll be stuck here too, you mean?”

“No!” John shook his head. “I was only-”

“I know, John. It’s alright.”

You raised your arm, realising too late that he might not be comfortable with you placing your hand over his as you had planned.

You faltered, your hand freezing in mid-air for a moment before you pulled back. Embarrassed, you tucked some of the hair that had escaped your ponytail behind your ear, as if that had been your intention the whole time. 

Very smooth.

“But, yeah, you should be careful,” You went on, shuffling awkwardly in your seat. “Gladys loves you. You’ll be helping us in the kitchen before too long.”

John shrugged, smiling as he sipped his tea.

“Doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

“How’re your focaccia skills?”

“My what?”

You laughed. 

Pleasantly bewildered, John sipped his tea again. 

You contemplated fetching your own cup but you were far too comfortable. The bakery’s chairs were squashy and wide, almost like small armchairs. It was always difficult to drag yourself out of them, especially when the weather outside was so dismal, which is exactly why Gladys bought them. 

You glanced over at the counter. There were still no customers but Gladys was bustling around, making herself look busy by fiddling with the coffee machine and snapping the pastry tongs together. If you got up, she’d most likely try and rope you into cleaning too. 

No, better to stay put. Tea would be lovely but here you could rest your aching feet, you could try and winkle more information out of John, and perhaps most importantly, you could get out of work for a couple of minutes.

In any case, if you did get up, you might accidentally bump into John, and you were sure that would make him fall right out of his chair. 

“What did you say you were studyin’ again?” 

“Electrical engineering.”

You had to laugh. The poor boy. He had no idea what he was getting himself in for when he walked in off the street. 

“Don’t let Glad hear you. You’ll be up a ladder in a heartbeat. This place is so ancient, we’re all held together with sticky tape and hope. I’m sure we’ll find lots to keep you busy if you’re not too careful.”

John snorted.

“As if I don’t have enough on.”

He gave you a little smile to make sure you knew he was only kidding. 

You tried not to look too thrilled.

“Busy with the band? That’s good, isn’t it? You must be doing alright.”

John’s expression grew serious again. 

“Mm.”

His thin lips twitched, and you cursed yourself for broaching what was clearly a sore topic.

John didn’t talk much about his band. You knew their name was Queen and that it was a bunch of boys who were either finishing uni, like John, or had already graduated. They seemed to cause him all sorts of worry. Perhaps you shouldn’t have laughed when John griped about having a lot on his plate right now. 

You desperately wanted to see him perform. The thought was certainly intriguing. You thought John might finally look in his element. The bass was the steady heartbeat of any band and that seemed to suit him perfectly. You could only imagine how his long, nimble fingers looked tugging at those thick strings. 

Under the table, you crossed your legs. 

“I can just see you bopping about onstage,” You said, smiling. “Not in the spotlight but having the most fun.”

John snorted. 

“I don’t know about that, you haven’t met Freddie.”

“Is he your drummer?”

“The singer. Roger’s the drummer. They’re all a bit mad, really.” 

He looked down at the table. The empty cup he’d been spinning between his hands was finally still. 

You wondered if John had given away more than he’d intended.

It was something you saw in him often. He so rarely gave out his opinion, only speaking when he felt it was necessary, a nice change from the other men in your life. Sometimes he seemed to forget himself. He would visibly relax, his slim shoulders lowering, his clever grey-green eyes softening. It was lovely to see, and although you couldn’t be sure, you hoped it was because of you. 

But then John would say something that seemed to make his own heart trip, or you’d ask a question that made him clam up again.

It had gotten better. After all the time John had spent with you, and Mickey and Gladys, he’d relaxed considerably. That didn’t mean his little quiet moments and pregnant pauses no longer made you falter, but you were getting used to them, just as, you supposed, John was getting used to you. 

You waited, patiently and quietly, for John to raise his head again. It was agony, but when he did finally look up, that honest, open softness in his eyes had returned, and it almost took your breath away. 

“You should come and see us sometime,” he said, then nodded once or twice, sure of his invitation.

You felt your heart flutter in your chest. 

“I’m not sure if Mickey will be up for any gigs at the moment.”

You had only heard the news last week. Mickey’s wife, Rita, was pregnant. She was only a few months along but Mickey was already fussing and planning, and would be unavailable for nights out for the foreseeable future.

John shrugged.

“Well, that’s alright. I wasn’t inviting him.”

Stunned, you blinked at him. 

His confidence retreated a little.

“I mean, he’s welcome to come if he likes but I wanted to ask- You, I was asking you. I want you to come.” John blushed. “To the show,” he added quickly. 

It was like someone had lit a box of fireworks in your chest. You tried to keep your face straight but you could feel your cheeks aching from the width of your smile.

“I’d love that. I’d really love that.”

John smiled bashfully, then looked down at the table again. 

You watched him spin his empty mug around his hands against for a second, then asked, 

“Do you play any ABBA?”

John laughed, long and loud, and didn’t seem embarrassed about it. 

You beamed, thrilled and endeared and oh, so infatuated. 

The spell was broken when the front door opened behind you, letting in a customer and a gust of frigid air. The cold shot down the back of your shirt, sending goosebumps across your skin and making you shudder. That was your cue.

You stood and placed your fingertips on the page open in front of John. You could feel the weight of his gaze as you turned the book around to face you. Your eyes flicked over the numbers, letters and symbols for all of three seconds before you gave in with a laugh.

Gladys was seeing to the man at the counter, so you had time to ask, 

“Can I get you something to eat? Another drink?”

John’s smile was knowing but gentle.

“You’re determined aren’t you.”

“I worry about you! All that cycling.” You nodded towards the counter. “And you know what they say, you can’t trust a skinny baker. You’re bad for business, new boy.”

John looked unconvinced.  

“You’re just trying to fatten me up.”

You didn’t mean to, it shouldn’t have made you stall, but you flinched slightly. You just hadn’t been expecting that word - especially from John, someone you were starting to really like - and what would usually have glanced off you slipped through the plates of your armour. 

“Oi, where are my meringues?”

You felt Mickey looming over you before you turned to face him. 

“The whisk overheated again!” You gently pushed his broad chest. He didn’t move an inch. “I’m waiting for it to cool down so I can start!”

“My nan says ‘‘tis a bad workman what blames his tools’,” Mickey grumbled.

“Your nan’s from Spitalfields, no she bloody doesn’t.” 

“I could take a look at it for you?” John piped up. “If you like?”

You and Mickey shared a look.

It was very sweet of John to offer but all your kitchen equipment was older than you cared to think about. If someone started meddling with it all, it could only spell disaster.

“Oh, I think it’s well past help.” You smiled. “Thanks anyway, new boy.”

You thought you had let him down gently but John sank back in his chair as if scolded. He looked almost wounded, and it was only then that you realised he was trying to make up for what had just happened between you.

Huffily, Mickey went back into the kitchen, his mind on his meringues.

As soon as he was out of sight, John reached out and brushed the very tips of his index and middle fingers against your wrist.

You told yourself it was just to get your attention but you couldn’t ignore the electricity that shot up your arm, or how with just the smallest of touches, John had drawn you closer to him. His skin was cold, you could still feel him against your wrist.

It was the first time he’d touched you.

“I didn’t mean to- I hope I didn’t…”

He was trying to apologise without even being sure that he’d done anything wrong. You wanted to smile and tease him about it but John’s worried expression garnered pity in you.

Heart pounding, you squeezed his narrow shoulder. For once, he didn’t tense up.

“I’ll find you something to eat,” you said.

Realising you weren’t upset with him, John grinned, and you saw his confidence grow before your eyes again.

“You’re so bossy.”

You weren’t sure why you said it, perhaps you were still on a high from John touching you, tiny as it was, but you were so pleased, your mouth decided to speak without consulting your head first.

“And you bend over for me so easily.”

John’s usually impassive expression slipped. His eyes widened, his mouth falling open for just a second before he caught himself.

Dignity in tatters, you decided to make a quick exit. Your face hot with embarrassment, you wrapped your fingers around his empty mug and lifted it from his hands.

“I’ll get you that tea.”

You turned away before he had a chance to say anything, so you missed John looking down to hide his own burning cheeks.

When you came back a few minutes later, with a cuppa and two hot cross buns in your hands, John appeared to have recovered. That made one of you.

To your delight, he pushed your chair out from under the table with the toe of his battered trainer, inviting you to sit down.

“Gladys was telling me about her date,” John said, once you were seated again.

You rolled your eyes.

“Mm, me too. And Mickey. And the milkman this morning. Half the bloody market’s heard.”

“She was very excited.” John glanced in Glady’s direction. “You don’t think much of him?”

“I try not to think about him at all.”

You pulled a face. Alastair was a sore topic, but you’d push through if it meant getting to talk to John more.

“If he makes her happy then that’s nice but I don’t have to like him. She’s not my mum, much as she likes to think so, and he’s not mine and Mickey’s new step-dad. Just wish she didn’t spend so much time away from the bakery.”

“It seems to be doing alright.” John picked at his hot cross bun thoughtfully. “Maybe you should take over.”

That surprised you.

“Run the bakery?”

John nodded. He slipped his long fingers around his mug of tea and you forced yourself to keep your eyes up.

“Isn’t that what you said yesterday? Or Mickey? That one day you wanted to run the bakery?”

Quiet but observant, you had been right about this boy from the start.

“It’s the dream. Gladys doesn’t have any kids so she’s always said one day, this place is mine.”

You paused.

Something about John made it very easy to talk to him, even though you weren’t always guaranteed to get a lot back. He had an open, friendly face (and the prettiest eyes you’d ever seen). You knew you could trust him. You knew he was safe.

“I love it so much, John. And I have so many ideas, I know I can keep us afloat.”

Times changed. Someday, the bakery would be gone, replaced by disgustingly overpriced flats or a chain restaurant. If 64 Oslo Square did manage to survive, in fifty years time, it would be some little oddity on the corner of the street, a relic. 

But you had plans, you had ideas, and you had love for this place. All the bakery needed was someone who cared. 

You knew John probably didn’t, which was understandable. This was just a job for him. You were surprised he was even listening, but you had never spoken the words out loud before. It felt good. Right. 

“Just gotta wait and see what happens, I suppose.” You laughed, hoping to dispel some of the tension from your tone. “My life is in the hands of a batty old lady.”

John’s gaze softened.

“I think you’d be brilliant.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes.”

The sincerity of his tone, his earnest gaze, you knew John wasn’t just being kind. For whatever reason, he really believed in you.

Despite every rational thought telling you to slow down, to not get ahead of yourself, you could feel the final tumblers of your heart clicking into place. 

You sipped your coffee, giving yourself a chance to collect yourself. John was still smiling at you and it was inconveniently diverting. 

“Ah, but all my free time would go out the window,” You smirked. “My sparklin’ social life would definitely suffer.”

“How’s that book coming along?”

“Fine, thanks. Almost finished.”

“What is it now?”

“The Great Gatsby.”

“Enjoying it?”

“God, no. Rich people and their problems. Couldn’t care less, honestly.”

John laughed softly, then set about halving and buttering his hot cross bun.

“I really do think you’d be good. You practically run the place already, don’t you?”

When you rolled your eyes, John grew more insistent.

“Oh, come on. You know how everything works, you bake, you handle the money, the customers know you… You might not be the boss but everyone does what you tell them.” He pointed at you with his knife. “You’re in charge here, Captain.”

A slow smile slipped across your face.

“What about you?” The words left your mouth before you could stop them. “Are you mine to command too?”

Your tone was playful but your eyes were steady and still, holding him in place. To your delight, John held your gaze. That was new. He really did have such lovely eyes, so clear and clever, and completely unreadable. 

John was the first to look away but only when he lowered his head to take a bite out of his hot cross bun.

“I think that’s fairly obvious,” he said quietly.

You just stared. What else could you do? John hadn’t just pulled the drawer open again, he’d yanked it so hard, all its contents had gone sprawling across the floor, and suddenly the urge to climb into his lap and kiss him senseless was overwhelming.

Instead, you bit back a pleased smile and asked,

“You finished for today?”

John looked down at his open textbook. He hadn’t got very far at all. The bakery, its smells and sounds, you, were all far too distracting.

You nodded your head towards the kitchen.

“You want another lesson?”

John beamed.

Though most of the food, such as the bread, croissants and other pastries, were baked early in the morning, ready for when the doors opened at eight, the kitchens were busy throughout the day. This meant you didn’t get a lot of downtime, apart from when you were waiting for things to finish baking. Like right now.

You lead John through the kitchens he was slowly becoming well-acquainted with, until you were both wrapped up in warm smells and the comforting heat of the ovens.

“You can try anythin’ you like. But maybe keep away from the bread slicer. Hard to play the bass without…”

You wiggled your fingers and John laughed.

As if on cue, one of the ancient ovens chirped for attention like a baby bird, and you hurried over to switch off the timer.

You could feel John’s eyes on your back as you carefully reached inside the oven and pulled out a series of round sponge cakes. Placing them on the cooling rack, you shook off your thick oven gloves and peered closer to inspect them.

“I was a bit worried about these when they went in,” You explained. “But they’ve risen well. We had big problems when we first started makin’ the Victoria Sponge. They were comin’ out so huge, we couldn’t fit the covers over them. Mickey wasn’t allowed to decorate them so you can only imagine the whining.”

“They look great.”

John leaned in close to inspect them, copying you, even though he had no idea what he was supposed to be look for.

“My mum makes Victoria Sponge all the time. I always had one for my birthday.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“19th August.”

“Mm,” You smiled. “We’re a li’le early but I’ll sing for you anyway if you like.”

“No thanks, I’ve heard your singing.”

You gasped and dug your elbow into his ribs.

“Cheeky git.”

Rubbing his side, smiling, John asked,

“Can I help?”

“It’s not the most excitin’ thing to make. All that’s left to do is the jam and the buttercream.”

“That’s pretty much my skill level, I’d say,” John said, then laughed.

The sound made your heart lift in your chest. How could you say no?

You found John a nice place to stand where he would have enough room to decorate but he wouldn’t be in anyone’s way, then found him the right ingredients. It was a very simple recipe but you were still slightly apprehensive as you watched him turn the jars over in his hands.

“Did you help your mum bake?”

John nodded faintly. As he rolled up the sleeves of his thin red jumper, his eyes seemed glazed, as if lost in memory.

“Sometimes. She would always shoo me and my sister away after a while, when we started making a mess.”

You had never heard him talk about his family before. You couldn't help wondering what they were like, what his sister’s name was, what his father did for a living, where he had grown up, but although you itched to press John further, you held back.

Another time. Right now, John just wanted to learn and be distracted from his classes, and you were going to help him as best you could.

“Like I said, it’s a very easy recipe. You just have to mix butter, icing sugar, and maybe a bit of milk. You wanna start weighing out the sugar? And then we sieve it into this bowl, here.”

John was not a natural baker. Although measurements and recipes appealed to his nature, he was also prone to getting boyishly messy in a way that was almost painfully endearing.

When you teased him about it, he ducked and hid his pink cheeks behind his long hair. He was already covered in icing sugar and he’d only been sieving for a few moments.

You went to grab him an apron. Before you handed it to him, John pulled off his thin jumper to reveal an equally threadbare yellow shirt. You wondered if all his clothes were like this, worn until they were falling to pieces, and whether John was economic, sentimental, or a mix of the two.

To your great delight, instead of taking the apron from you, John bowed down so that you could slip it over his head, just as you had a few weeks ago.

Trying not to look too pleased with yourself, as Mickey was sat reading the newspaper not too far away, you looped the apron over John’s head. Your hand instinctively fell to his waist, pressing in with just enough pressure that he knew to turn around.

You hardly breathed as you stepped closer and reached around his waist to grab the strings hanging by his hips.

Your gaze was heavy as led, too heavy for you to resist dragging your eyes down his spine, to the small of his back, then finally to his backside.

Guilt made your face burn as you dragged your eyes up again and you quickly finished tying him up.

Tying up his apron.

Jesus Christ.

You managed to give him a quick walk-through of the instructions before you were called back to the front of the shop.

When you returned, John had made surprising progress. He was sat down now - Mickey must have offered up his stool while he went to see to his croissants - and leaning very close to the cake.

John’s lips were parted. You could see his tongue pressing against the gap in his teeth as he concentrated.

“Oh, that’s lovely, John.”

He looked up at you, smiling sheepishly.

“It’s a little wonky.”

Your chest warmed.

The cake was a little lopsided. John had slathered a good wedge of buttercream over the base of the sponge, just as instructed, but perhaps with more exuberance than necessary, then a layer of fresh strawberry jam.

“Not bad for your first try.”

You handed him the icing sugar and a sieve, and showed him how to pat his hand against its side.

His clever eyes fixed intently on the cake, John showered icing sugar over his creation, then sat back to admire his work.

“It doesn’t look too bad does it,” he said, his chest puffed out with pride.

John looked up at you again, and you laughed when you saw he had a dab of jam at the corner of his mouth.

“It’s nice isn’t it,” You tapped your own mouth. “The lady who makes it only lives round the corner.”

You grinned when John wryly brushed at his lips, caught red-mouthed.

“Quality control,” he mumbled, embarrassed.

You just laughed.

“She says she wanders into her garden and just picks whatever’s ripe, and makes jam from it. How lovely is that?“

“Do you have a garden?”

“I wish. Maybe one day, hey? What about you, what are your digs like?”

John pulled a face.

“Not exactly a palace?”

“Why do you think I like it here so much?”

“The sparklin’ company,” You grinned. “And the lessons. Let’s see, so that's cinnamon whirls and now Victoria Sponge. What do you want to learn next?”

“You know, when I started here, I didn’t expect to get a free crash course.”

“You’re right, I should be chargin’ you.”

John laughed at that, smiling so wide that his eyes squeezed shut. It was so painfully adorable you almost stopped breathing.

Today was lovely. Getting to know John a little more, spending time with him, hearing his lovely voice and seeing his lovely eyes light up whenever he looked at you.

But that nagging feeling, of being a bother, of forcing John into conversations and situations that he wasn’t comfortable with, it had yet to leave you. He didn’t seem unhappy. In fact, John was still smiling to himself as he happily hooked more jam out of the jar.

“Mickey told me to stop bothering you,” you said, unable to help yourself.

John looked at you for a moment, his index finger still in his mouth. It was more than a little distracting, especially when he pulled it back again to speak with a slight ‘pop’.

“You don’t bother me?”

“I mean,” You sighed, wishing you hadn't said anything. “He told me to stop trying to get you to talk.”

To your relief, John only smiled.

“I didn’t realise that’s what you were doing.”

“Ah, well, I’m very sneaky.”

You leaned your hip against the worktop and folded your arms, trying to appear more relaxed than you felt.

“Sorry if I’ve ever been too much.”

John firmly shook his head.

“You haven’t. You’re lovely. I just don’t always feel like talking.”

“That’s fine by me,” you said, barely recovering from being called ‘lovely’ before you spoke again. “I just like talking to you.”

You paused a moment, weighing your options carefully, while John noisily snaffled some more jam. Decision made, you gave him a slow, somewhat pointed smile.

“Easy to get addicted to things you like.”

John seemed surprised by your forwardness. To your relief, he mirrored your smile, then lost his nerve and looked down at the tabletop.

“I like talking to you too,” John said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

When he looked back up, his cheeks were tinged pink.

“You’re a bit weird but I like you.”

You scoffed.

“I’m a bit weird?”

“In a nice way!”

“I think you’ll find people find me very humorous.”

“Is that what they say? Or do they say ‘a bit funny’.”

“Oh, look who feels like talking now!”

“Like I said, I like talking to you,” John said, and now the pink had spread to his ears. “Even if you are a bit weird.”

Smiling, you poked his chest gently with the tip of your index finger.

“Even if you are a bit weird, Captain.”

John swayed backwards a little, then forwards again, grinning so prettily, it almost made you sigh when he said,

“Aye, Captain.”

John went back to his books after that; he’d procrastinated enough.

You let him go, trying not to pout. Although it had been fun to distract him for a little while, there was a nervousness behind his pretty eyes, like his mind was somewhere else. He had exams in just a few weeks, you didn’t want to be the reason John failed at something for the first time in his life.

Feeling moony, you gazed at the cake he’d decorated, spinning it slowly around on its turntable.

It was, admittedly, a little skew-whiff, but you couldn’t get John’s proud smile out of your mind.

He really did seem to like it here. Maybe he really liked you too.

“I could ice that for you, if you like.”

You weren’t sure how long Mickey had been watching you but when you shot him a dark look, he seemed very pleased with himself.

“Could write ‘Mrs. Deacon’ in nice swirly letters? Pipe a couple of roses? Hearts?”

“You and I both know he’d take my name.”

“Amongst other things.”

“Haven’t you got madeleines to make, Michael?”

“Haven’t you got meringues to whisk?”

That shut you up. You’d completely forgotten about the stupid meringues. The egg whites you’d separated earlier would be completely ruined, you’d have to start all over again.

“Shit,” You muttered. “Sorry, got distracted.”

“I can see that.”

You rolled your eyes, huffed, and went to grab some more eggs from the fridge, but Mickey held out an enormous arm to block your way.

“Leave it now. That whisk is definitely kaput and I think Gladys needs help out front.”

That made you pause.

You and Mickey shared management of the kitchen. Neither of you was the boss of the other, though your… Imperious personality tended to overpower Mickey’s more casual approach to life. It wasn’t like him to tell you what to do.

“What are you up to, Caine?”

“Up to? Me?”

“Mickey…”

He sighed, exasperated, but Mickey was smiling.

“I just thought you might like to stare at lover boy some more.”

You flushed, tripping over your words.

“Since when did- I don’t stare.”

“You definitely do. But it’s okay, so does John.”

That made your heart stumble in your chest.

“No, he doesn’t.”

“He does.”

“He doesn’t!”

“Yes, he bloody does. You don’t see him when he comes in, all smiley and stupid cos he’s spotted you. And you don’t have to listen to the endless bloody questions. How long has she worked here? Does she like going to the pictures? Does she get much time off? It’d be annoying if it wasn’t so cute.”

Words failed you again. You thought you’d been able to keep your cards fairly close to your chest. It wasn’t like you to get flustered over a boy but John was so different, so sweet and sincere and new, you could hardly think around him sometimes.

Mickey had been teasing you about it for weeks, but this was the first time he’d mentioned John showing any interest in you too.

You tried to be cool, tried to take a deep breath and nonchalantly change the subject, but self-restraint slipped through your fingers and before you knew it, you asked,

“Has he… Said anything… About me?“

Mickey levelled you with a weary look that almost made you tell him to forget about it, but then he said,

“He asked if you were seeing anyone.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Shut up.”

“I wish I had.”

You bit your lip, trying not to look too pleased.

“That’s…” You forced down your smile but it was like stuffing a sleeping bag back into its sack. “That’s very interesting.”

Mickey sighed again and went to start preparing tomorrow’s batch of lemon madeleines.

“Just don’t come on too strong. He’s good at his job, don’t wanna scare him off.”

You tutted and told him to shut up again, but Mickey was already across the kitchen, loudly singing along to the radio to drown you out.

The electric whisk still sat abandoned on the side. It would probably have cooled down enough now for you to make some last minute meringues before things started to wind down.

Your mind drifted to John’s long fingers, and the way his hair fell around his shoulders as he leaned over his textbooks, his brow furrowed in concentration.

You went to join Gladys behind the counter where you did, in fact, stare at John for the rest of the afternoon.

Funnily enough, it turns out Mickey was right. John did stare back.

You caught him, just once, but you thought about it for the rest of the day.

It happened by chance.

The bakery door swung open as someone else sought shelter from the rain, dragging your attention away from the tea you were making for a different customer. Sluggish with exhaustion after a long day, you let your gaze drift across the shop until you locked eyes with John’s.

He had propped his chin up on the heel of his palm, his long fingers cupping his cheek in such a way that, for a moment, you felt a stab of jealousy. His position pushed his lips together into a tempting pout, snagged in one corner by a soft, quiet smile.

When you smiled back, John quickly straightened his back. Disappointed, you watched as he gave you a faint smile in response then forced his attention back to his textbook, hiding behind his long hair.

Dismay turned to delight. He was blushing.

The rest of the day passed considerably better after that. You sliced bread, wiped down tables, swept pastries into little paper bags, and watched the rain fall.

It seemed endless. There were no little grey clouds, no shining pavement. Instead, the sky was dark and purple like a mottled bruise, and the rain fell straight down as if each droplet weighed a ton. It was the kind of rain that seeped through your clothes and your skin, right to the marrow.

As you watched the roads turn into streams and the sky roll and split, you felt a shiver trickle over your skin. You were very glad you were inside looking out.

When the clock finally struck six and all the customers had braved the rain to head home, you wandered over to John’s table with one of the bakery’s signature white bags in hand.

“That’s closing,” you said, though you hated to say goodbye to him. “Might wanna scarper before you get roped into helping.”

John closed his textbook with a look of relief, as if he couldn't be more pleased you’d interrupted him. His face was drawn, his eyes heavy with exhaustion. You could practically see all the calculations and equations he’d been memorising swirling around his head like a cloud, so it surprised you when he asked,

“Can I help?”

You laughed softly, shaking your head.

“It’s not much fun. There’s a lot to do and it’s not exactly glamorous.” You smirked. “Not very befitting of a rock star.”

John was too tired to argue. He just gave you a sleepy smile that almost had you reaching out to cup his face.

You thought about running your thumb across his cheek until John was leaning into your hand, humming happily.

Instead, you did the only thing you could do to express your affection for the moment, and placed the bag on the table beside John’s books.

He immediately shook his head.

“I can’t.”

“It’s yesterday’s bread and a couple of pastries. It’ll just get chucked, John.”

“Don’t you have a..? A place you can donate to?”

“Most of it goes to the neighbours and the restaurants on the high street. I take some, so does Mickey. Most shelters don’t take fresh food so we just try and give it away where we can.”

Finally, John smiled.

“So I’m a charity case?”

You grinned.

“You’re a special case.”

He exhaled sharply through his nose, shaking his head. But he was still smiling.

You watched him curiously reach into the bag. You might have lied a little. There were actually two loaves of bread and at least three bags of pastries, but in your defence, it had been a slow day because of the rain.

“I’m not gonna fit into my jeans,” John grumbled, though he seemed pleased with his haul.

“My cunning plan. Softening you up.”

It wasn’t just that John seemed a little on the thin side. Times were hard, not least for a student far from home, trying to juggle studying, a band, and a part-time job. If you could help John out, even a little, how could you resist?

John looked at you like he wanted to say something. It actually made you a little flustered as you watched his mind whirr behind his pretty eyes, but then he seemed to either lose his nerve or think better of it and he turned to pack his things away.

“See you tomorrow,” he said, once all his books were back in his bag and he’d slung his thin jacket on.

You watched him nervously, wondering if you should suggest he stay until the rain slowed some more, but it was getting late and John had been hard at work all day.

“Don’t forget your bread.”

You grinned as you handed him the bag.

John laughed softly, but when he took it from you, his fingers got all tangled with yours. Blushing, he managed to shuffle the handles up his wrist and then wrapped his long fingers around yours in the most painfully awkward handshake either of you had ever been a part of.

John had flustered himself into silence, you could see he wanted to just disappear, so you let him go, trying hard not to laugh.

He gave you one last wave then turned to leave.

You glanced down. You couldn’t help it, it was second nature by now. You were only human.

For some reason, the backside of his jeans was completely covered in icing sugar. There must have been some on the stool he’d perched on while decorating.

“Oh, John you’ve got-”

You reached forward without thinking, aiming to brush it off for him, but a much larger hand came down on top of yours, slapping you away.

“Steady,” Mickey said, then tutted and pretended to smack your arm. “Bloody animal.”

/

John sat cross-legged on his bed. His digs were unusually quiet that evening. Everyone was trying to get their heads down and study, he thought. At last.

He reached for the plate by his feet and picked up one of the slices of toast he’d made for his tea. The rest of the loaf you’d given him was on his desk, along with a couple of brownies and some vanilla slices. The rest had been spread out in the kitchen in the hopes that the other borders would make good use of it.

Munching happily, John plucked out a few notes on his guitar. It had travelled all the way down from Leicester with him but had been rather neglected over the last few weeks. His friends were always encouraging him to write something, and John was feeling good tonight, safe and warm and happy.

He wondered how he might tell you that it was all because of you.

John’s fingers still tingled from where your hands had touched. It was stupid, really. He didn’t think he’d ever been so giddy over a girl before, but here you were, occupying his thoughts, as always.

It had been a long time since anyone touched him. Well, he supposed, that wasn’t exactly true. Roger often squeezed his shoulder and Freddie was always clapping him on the back encouragingly. Mickey, too, was friendly and always shook John’s hand vigorously when he came into the kitchen in the morning.

Handshakes, brief hugs, brushing shoulders, these touches always left him feeling tensed up, like a snail trying to squeeze back into its shell. John could feel their hands on him long after they’d gone. It was almost painful.

But you. When you touched him, it felt like his heart would beat out of his chest, but he was smiling. The difference, John thought, was that he wanted you to touch him, an entirely new and completely terrifying prospect. One he would consider at greater length tomorrow.

John drifted off that night, his thoughts then his dreams heavy with thoughts of you, your soft smile, and your fingers as they danced across his shoulder, his waist, his hip, down his back, until you were pulling him into your arms, that smile still shining as you wrapped those lovely fingers around the front of his shirt, and he fell into a breath-taking kiss.

//

Next Chapter

Master List

#john deacon #john deacon reader #john deacon x reader #john deacon imagine #queen imagine #queen fic

[slasher-male-wife]

Hitch hiking: Doomhead x male reader

So Doomhead is the current character in my washing machine of brain rot and I thought I would write a little something about him right now. Idk how I got this idea I just was kinda thinking about the ending of 31 and the scene when they pick up Nubbins in Texas chainsaw and I got this. I know he isn't like the most popular slasher but hey it's my brain rot and I can write fics about him if I want to.

Warnings: reader smoking, strong language, drug mentions

You don't know what state you're in at this point. You've been walking for so long you can hardly remember anything. You remember getting dropped off at a gas station last night and spending some money on a cheap room before waking up today and walking to wherever you are now. You started in upper California a few days ago and you've been bumming rides since. You overheard that today is Halloween. Sweet memories of getting dressed up and going trick or treating flow through your head as you try to make it as far away as you can from your now ex who kicked you out. Good ridence too. They were always an asshole. Ruined every Halloween you two spent together.

You turn around when you hear the distant sound of a car running. You see a green van make its way down the road and you hold out your thumb, praying to get a ride and escape this damn heat. Thankfully for you whoever's in the car stops and you walk over to the passenger door with the window rolled down. You find a man who looks to be somewhere in his late 40's looking back at you. Despite how dirty he looks you can't help but feel a little charmed by him.

"Ya need a ride darling?" He asks. You nod.

"I'd really appriciate one."

"Well get in then. I don't mind." You smile and open the door. You fling your bag at your feet and shut the door and the man goes back to driving.

"Do you know where we are by chance?" You ask opening your bag and looking for your pack of cigarettes.

"We're in California. Southern California specifically. What're you doing out here in the middle of nowhere?" He asks. You open your pack and pull out a cigarette.

"I'm trying to get as far away from California as I can," You dig through your bag trying to find your lighter, "You can drop me off in the nearest town or whatever town is closest to where you're going," You wipe sweat from your forehead and push away clothes and other belongings you brought with you, "Shit man can I borrow a light?" You ask sitting back up and pushing your hair out of your face.

"Of course," He digs into his pocket and pulls out a zippo lighter. You take it and light your smoke, "I prefer to smoke cigars myself. I find smoking from a pipe would make me look pretenious and cigarettes don't last nearly long enough for me. Of course I don't smoke nearly as much as I did before. However I still find the need to smoke something every once and awhile." You nod as you blow smoke out the window.

"Have you tried grass? I know someone up north who makes real quality shit." He lets out a quiet laugh.

"I'm not one of them hippie, peace lovers. I don't think you'd be one either by the looks of you." You take another puff and shake your head.

"I'm not a hippie at all. I just found that smoking grass a little here and there helped me through some shit," You shift in your seat as some unpleasent memories come back to you, "You have any plans for Halloween?" You ask.

"Well I finally got off work this year. Been too damn long since I've had Halloween off," You nod and he looks over at you, "What's your name darling?"

"Y/n. What's your name?"

"Well people call me Doomhead," You look over at the man with slightly widened eyes and a curious smile, "Now I don't call myself Doomhead but well a names a name. I like the ring of it too, sounds nice when people call me that. And Y/n," He looks over at you too, a smile on his face, "Y/n is a real nice name to say."

"I like Doomhead too. It's really something else ya know?" You take another puff, "So Doomhead how'd you get that name?" He chuckles a little.

"I got it from some old friends of mine. Real nice people too," You nod and look out your window, "Ya know I wouldn't mind if ya stuck around with me for awhile. I've got plenty of room back home if ya need a place to stay for awhile." You look back to him with a smile.

"I'd like that. Thank you Doomhead."

"No problem at all sweetheart."

#doomhead #doomhead my beloved #doomhead x reader #doomhead x male reader #slasher x y/n #slasher x reader

[onlylostphysics]

@ofmdjanuaury Day 11: Trains, Planes, & Automobiles

Some kind of Wacky Races/Around the World in 80 Days AU?

---

The train starts to move. Steam is billowing down the tracks and it's this unscheduled, unknown train or be stuck in the middle of nowhere for the next twenty two hours and hope he can make up the difference somewhere else along the line.

Why not, Ed thinks, and grabs hold of the handrail, swinging himself on his bad leg and grunting as he lands, hard, in the corridor.

The carriage is empty when he peers through the window, just bunkbeds with the curtains pulled back, no sign of any luggage. This is the last carriage in a chain of three, the steam engine up ahead, and maybe this is just a maintenance run, or stock being moved around, or —

"Oh, hello!" says a bright and cheery voice when Ed opens the door to the second carriage, the rattle of the couplings still loud despite the wall between him and the whistling wind. "I fear you might be on the wrong train."

"Shit, maybe," says Ed, frozen in the doorway. There's a man sitting in an armchair by the window — because this is the sort of train with armchairs, apparently — who looks like an explosion in a candy factory, all pastel neons and shiny lines. He's smiling, eyebrows high and interested, and he's the only person Ed can see.

I could take him, Ed thinks, and really hopes he won't have to. He'd probably have to jump off the train afterward, in case anyone else came through from the first car, and his knee is already complaining.

Ed eases himself into his loosest stance, his arm resting high on the doorframe, and tilts his head like he has every right to be here. "Where's this one going?" Ed asks, his voice casual in every way his heart isn't.

"We're non-stop to the next coast, I'm afraid, but I may be able to ask the driver to stop somewhere. Where are you headed?" the man says, getting to his feet with an easy smile on his face, all of him bright and open and friendly, and Ed thinks, Ah. Rich, then.

"Next coast sounds good," Ed says, and tilts a smile at this mad person who thinks you can just ask the train driver to stop wherever you like. Which Ed has done, of course, but not without a lot of flirting or bribery or threats beforehand.

"Oh," the man says, his wide eyes suddenly going, somehow, wider. "You're one of my competitors! How exciting!"

"One of your — you're doing Race Around the World?" Ed says, as one thing makes sense and a lot of things suddenly make less sense, like dominos tumbling.

"Yes! Goodness, this really is a pleasure. I've seen some of our fellow competitors in passing, but everyone's in such a rush, you know, even when we're all stuck on the same ferry for several hours. It's not as though we could cheat just by having a chat, is it?"

"Yeah," Ed says, blinking, and then, "How'd you know about this train?"

The man grins, like he's been waiting for someone to ask that. "I wrote ahead and made some special arrangements for this leg of the trip. There's nothing in the rules which says you can't commission a whole train!" says the lunatic who commissioned a whole train.

Ed can feel himself smiling. Fuck, he didn't think anything could surprise him anymore. "How much did this even cost, man?"

"Oh, that's not important."

"Mate, the prize money's only twenty grand."

"Well, that's not the point, is it? It's about taking part! It's about the adventure!"

"Is it?" Ed says, grinning despite himself. The people who do this usually talk big about the chance to see the world and then fuck it all by sprinting stupid across the shortest routes, killing themselves with two dozen changes in as many hours and usually stumbling across the finish line half-dead with exhaustion. Ed's smarter, better at finding the long routes which get him there quicker, but this leg was going to be a long and dusty slog on a packed train. The long stretch across this country suddenly feels like a sun-drenched opportunity.

"You alone?" Ed asks, glancing around the train. There's an open book on the table by the armchair, an empty cup with a saucer beside it, and literally nothing else. Not even a bag. Not even a wallet.

"At the moment, yes," the man says, and sighs. "It's rather annoying, actually — I did have my secretary with me, someone to jot down my adventures, my thoughts, my philosophies, that kind of thing, but I seem to have misplaced him somewhere along the way."

"That… sucks," Ed says, carefully.

"It does! I still have the journal, thank goodness — Oh, would you like to sit down? Please, do make yourself comfortable — but I can't be expected to experience the wonders of the world and find time to write it all down, can I?"

"Nah," Ed agrees, sitting down in the opposite armchair.

"I do hope he's not dead," Stede says, frowning out at the passing view. "That would really put a downer on the whole adventure."

"Maybe you'll never know. Maybe it'll be a mystery you have to come back and investigate."

"Oh, do you think so?" he says, his eyes lighting up. "That could be fun! This is my first time exploring the world, you know, it hadn't even occurred to me I could maybe do it twice."

"This your first time in India?"

"First time getting out of my home town, really!" he says. "I've always wanted to travel, but, well, things happened."

"And you decided to do the Race Around The World?" Ed says, fascinated.

"Of course! No better way to start, I thought!"

"Of course," Ed echoes, grinning. Fuck, this might even be fun. The man looks him over, a thoughtful wander of assessment as he wets his lips in a quick, unconscious gesture. It makes Ed want to stretch, maybe show off a little skin, because the warmth of being wanted is flickering pleasantly over his belly — but then the guy catches Ed's eye again with a complete lack of heat, nothing but innocent curiosity in his gaze, and Ed tries not to feel disappointed.

"What made you sign up to this wild enterprise, then?"

"Oh, you know. The money," Ed says, laying out half the truth like a blanket, covering what's underneath.

"Ah," the man says, and then he looks at Ed out of the corner of his eye, sly and dramatic like he learnt how to be a person from the movies. "You wouldn't be looking for a partner, would you?"

Yes, screams every part of Ed that wants to be fucking comfortable for once. "I dunno," Ed says, leaning back in the armchair. Oh fuck, that's soft. He stretches out his leg as far as it can go, absolutely nothing in the way to stop it, and his knee aches deep and satisfying. "Depends what's in it for me."

"Well, I could use a guide! I have all the maps but I was rather relying on my secretary for the fiddly changes and so on. I can pay our way if you can plot it for us and, hmm, we'll split the prize money?"

"Hmm. You don't need it," Ed points out. This could work -- he'll ride along until they're close to the end and ditch him, obviously.

"Or I could stop the train and kick you off in the middle of nowhere?" the man says, sweet in the same way as candied citrus is sweet, all sugar wrapped around something dry and bitter. Ed laughs, delighted.

"Split the prize money," Ed agrees, and reaches out a hand. The man takes it, grinning.

"To a wonderful partnership!"

"To the start of something great. I'm Ed, by the way," he says, still holding his hand, warm fingers soft against his palm.

"Stede," Ed's meal ticket says, and Ed grins.

---

the rest of my JanuAUry fics can be found on tumblr or AO3!

#ofmd fic #ofmdjanuaury #our flag means death #this might be my favourite AU so far #i have so many ideas around it #but here's the meet cute

[pluvio-pluto]

July 2 2023

19

My high school bedroom, that's all it is now. a bed in a room. laying there at midnight, the blue sheets reflecting the once-covered-in-art-and-flowers-and-ticket-stubs yellow walls and the silence echoing inside my chest. Home feels like home a million miles away, the tree outside my window calls my name, but it's not mine anymore. It's hers, from last year. June turns to July and my chest is heavy as my friends keep carrying on as if nothing has changed, and maybe I'm the only one who has.

The smoky haze of the sky at 3pm in the middle of nowhere leads to more haunting thoughts than the clear black and white of 3am as my memories are adjusted. Their memories altered for the sake of time, confuses my own.

"This doesn't really work with five people does it" are the words told to a girl who already feels out of place in her own hometown. Why do the smallest hometowns feel like the biggest city you'll ever be in when you step away for half a year?

I try to keep carrying on, be happy they're living life without me. But visiting feels heavy now. Repetitive, awkward. "How have you been" bad, wherever I go, I so desperately want to answer. Instead I tell them I've been carrying on, as always. Quit my job. Pros and cons to the city and the small town, but I wish I was somewhere else entirely.

New inside jokes that I'll never be a part of. New experiences they try to insert me in, but it doesn't really work with five people does it. How pathetic this must be to so desperately crave the life I used to live and god I feel insane but I cant help feeling like a stranger now. We don't pick up where we left off anymore, it's an uphill battle trying to put myself back in our story. I don't know if they realize it too but my god it's hard trying to live in a ghost of myself to try and hold on to something I thought I could never fucking lose.

My eyes are swollen from crying. I managed to only cry once while I was there, and I'll never admit to where I did it. It's a cursed, private thing, almost like i killed someone. I'm not on trial, but sometimes I'm testifying against myself. I did not cry, I am who I was, everything will be fine.

I am not a compass, I have no direction in my life. No prospects, no home. 19 sucks. My last summer of being a teenager. And all that happens is an ache, throughout all of my bones. Maybe 20 will bring me out West.

My high school bedroom stays untouched by my father. By my friends. A place of comfort, sadness, anger, love. A place of conversation and memories and those walls hold the ghosts of 18 year old me, 17 year old me, 16 year old me. 3 different people and the woman I am today wishes she could bring those girls back into her eyes and live the way she did, but she can't. My high school bedroom is a ghost of itself now, too. Months of decorations and memories taped to walls and strung along shelves taken down in 30 minutes at 3pm on a thursday in July.

The ghosts of my past haunt me through my dresser mirror, but the dresser mirror isn't there anymore.

#i am not well. #tumblr #homesick

[morning-channel-static]

OK, since a handful of people are interested in the IBVS versions of gradient and paperjam I created I’m gonna info dump on them!!

Let’s clarify one thing before we continue. I don’t see Govoni and PJ as Edwards and Isaac’s kids. They’re simply just characters. I would also like to mention that I believe that they are siblings.

Let’s start with Gradient/Govoni!

For starters, Govoni uses he/it pronouns.

He was born deaf, but occasionally use his hearing aids.

He has agoraphobia, and has been dealing with it ever since he found out he had it around the age of seven.

He lives out in the middle of nowhere in California on a small, (previously abandoned,) ranch/farmhouse. He passes the time by rescuing wounded animals from the wild, and wandering around nature. He also rescues animals from abusive homes/farms, especially if they have abnormal mutations.

- For example, it owns a two headed snake- that goes by the name of Gummy/Tang. It’s a nod to those sweet and sour snake gummy’s. he also has a large collection of lizards, frogs, turtles, and bugs (that live within his home.) outside at the farmhouse there’s several horses, sheep, and a few cows. 

It’s supernatural powers include electricity control, strings (that have sticky ends to them), and teleportation.

He’s become sort of an urban legend around the area that he lives in, seeing as he’s a recovering agoraphobe. People often report strange lights off in the woods, and their power suddenly cutting off, followed by a green flash.

Now onto paperjam!

Paperjam uses she/they/zey/it/he pronouns!

PJ is a very theatrical person, but also very emotional. Her emotions are bright and vivid, much like her appearance.

they live somewhere close by to their brother. Their house is decorated floor to ceiling with original paintings, and other such craftsmanship.

PJs goal in life is to make friends wherever they go and just create art really. They do music in their spare time, mostly based around every day experiences. Zey don’t really perform for anyone. (yet.)

PJ is very energetic, and really loves being around people. He is extremely playful in nature, even in serious situations.

He’s very agile. She is an extremely fast runner. You can always count on seeing her and her brother running around the woods at top speed.

It’s powers include code corruption, inhuman reaction time,  extremely fast healing, and regeneration (regeneration meaning entire limbs, and pieces of skin)

That’s all for now! If you have any questions for me, please ask.

#ibvs #ibvs au #To the person creating fanart thank you so much I happy cried for 10 minutes #gradient sans #gradient #paperjam sans #paperjam