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sugarmaplewings-fics · 3 years

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Kissing / Making Out HC’s

Pairing: Kaminari x reader

Warnings: Just a ton of kissing, making out, and mentions of groping (I talk about boobs, uh oh). Still gender/sex neutral

Author’s Note:

Almost didn't have anything ready for this week, but this one only took me a few hours to write up, so here you go! This may end up being my Valentines Day fic. Idk, we’ll see. I haven’t been feeling well lately :/

Enjoy

-Sugar

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● I think this goes without saying, but

● Denki is an absolute s u c k e r for kisses

● As soon as you get together, he wants them constantly

● And who are you to deny him?

● He really doesn't mind PDA (he kinda likes it, actually, getting to show off that he has an s/o)

● So, unless you're uncomfortable with it, he'll kiss you no matter where you are or who you're with (especially around his friends)

● But as I said, if you're not interested, he'll respect that

● It just means he gets to love on you more when you're finally alone together!

● Kaminari loves your lips. Big or small, soft or dry, he's staring at them from across the room, just thinking about when he can kiss them again

● Boy is devoted to you, you don't leave his mind

● After he started dating you, Denki applies lip balm religiously

● He usually goes with vanilla flavors, but he also likes fruity ones

● And he makes special note of what you like. If he knows you'll be kissing soon, he'll pull out your favorite chapstick of his just to make sure he's extra tasty for you

● His 👏 lips 👏 are 👏 so 👏 soft 👏

● Every now and then they'll get a little chapped, but he's pretty good about exfoliating them when they do

● He wants to make sure you have the best kissing experience with him at all times, so he stays on top of things

● Not only does Denki like receiving kisses, he likes giving them as well

● Cheek kisses are his go-to. If you were to keep track, I'd say he'd give you a cheek kiss at least fifteen times a day, if he's around you that much

● Morning kisses, hello kisses, goodbye kisses—a lot of them end up on your cheeks

● But he also loves kissing your nose! He sees those as more intimate kisses, so usually he saves them for when you're cuddling together

● He just loves the way your face scrunches up in a grin when he does it >w<

● He loves to smother your face with little pecks, and he especially likes to tease you by kissing anywhere but your mouth until you get frustrated

● But he doesn't have that much self-control, so he may just kiss your lips soon enough anyway, if you're patient

● You can expect him to prelude a ton of kisses with either a joke or a pick up line. He thinks he’s being smooth (he’s really not), but he loves seeing you happy and giggling

● He also likes to zap you jus a teeny bit here and there. Never enough to hurt (he'd cry if he ever hurt you), but just enough to surprise you

● Sometimes he accidentally static-shocks you when you kiss, especially right after he used his quirk, so that can sting a bit. He always apologizes when it happens and offers you more kisses

● He likes sweet kisses, especially the ones during or right after dates, where he just gets to close his eyes and let the world fall away into nothing but your warm lips. He likes wrapping his hands around your waist to pull you close, and tilt your chin so he can get the perfect angle on your mouth

● Sometimes he smiles and giggles while you're kissing, and that can make it a little difficult to stay on his lips. But it's so darn cute, you have no intentions of ever telling him to stop

● He loves making out with you. So much

● He likes to “set the scene” if he has time, but it’s usually just dimming the lights a little (he's not above making out to music tho, so if you're interested, he'll be happy to deliver)

● But just having you in your or his room with him, on the bed with you on his lap, kissing you slow for all you're worth—

● Fantastic, easily one of his favorite parts of the relationship

● And he likes the hungry kisses too, where he pins you to the mattress (or you pin him; he's into both 👀) and it's all just sloppy tongue and teeth

● 😞👌

● If you allow it, his hands will be all over your body

● If you possess boobs (no matter the size), he's touching them

● With permission ofc

● I headcanon him to be a boob/chest guy (I mean, he loves all of you, but come on. Boobs. Need I say more?)

● Buuuut, he's also touching your butt. Homeboy's a groper

● He likes to grab handfuls of you wherever they may wander, squeezing your warm flesh around his fingers

● You may have to tell him at first not to do it so hard

● He's a hornee boi, so he likes to make out with you a few times a week. If you have to miss a couple of sessions, he'll get grumpy and you'll have to make it up to him (with extra kissies, ofc)

● If you were to pin him to the wall and passionately kiss him, he'd probably die from how hot he found it. Or he’d just short-circuit

● Any time you kiss him, he'll melt

● He loves kissing you, but there's something a little extra special about when it’s you initiating

● It makes him feel so loved, even if you just walk up to him and peck his forehead

● It's important to him not only that he loves you, but that you love him back just as much. That's what makes him go 🥺🥺

● He simps for one person and one person only now, and it's you

● Extra: He draws fanart of you and him kissing in his free time 👀 just little doodles in the margins of his notebooks. Aizawa always makes a face whenever Denki accidentally leaves one on his homework but otherwise doesn’t say anything

The overhead light is turned off, a screensaver on his monitor providing a soft glow to the bed opposite in the room. You're seated comfortably on his lap, his hands lightly resting on your ass.

He starts with simple pecks on your lips, each one lingering longer against your skin, heavier in pressure. He's soft but moist, warm underneath where his saliva had cooled in the temperature of the room. An electricity seems to dance between you, and you're not sure if it's just your imagination or if he really is using his quirk.

Finally his tongue swipes against your bottom lip, and you grant him access. Your fingers lace through his hair, displacing the black lightning bolt that had been shaped so perfectly among the golden-blond strands. His tongue comes into contact with yours, touching and licking before securing itself behind your teeth. You're drawn even closer to him, locked in a wet embrace as his hands squeeze.

He could never get enough of you, enough of this feeling. He was obsessed with the way his heart still pounded in his chest, obsessed with the way fireworks went off in his stomach no matter how many times he'd done this before. All it took was a touch, a kiss, a squeeze, and he was gone. In moments like these, you were the only thing that mattered. Not his failures, not his inadequacies, not the stress of school. Just you, and only you.

One of his hands moved to cup your cheek, keeping you close while the other slid down your thigh. He released your lips, only to come back for more more more, desperate to show you how much he loved you, how badly he needed you. A whimper escaped him, swallowed by the kiss but present nonetheless. You answered in your own pretty little moan, fingers alighting on the base of his skull to pull him ever forward into you.

He could stay here forever, drowning in your taste, your touch, your scent. What harm would it be?

Kaminari picked you up, turning you over and laying you down softly onto his bed. He quickly loomed over you, supported by an arm on either side of your head as he dove in for another kiss.

Forever was a long time, so maybe he'd start with tonight.

His thumb traced along your cheekbone, lips still pushing and pulling against yours. He loved the way you caged his hips in with your thighs, keeping him in place. Loved how your hands softly rested by your head on his pillow.

He paused, suddenly realizing just how lightheaded he was. Reluctantly, he pulled back for air, chest expanding and contracting with each soft breath.

You were under him. He was so thankful it was you. He'd never witnessed a person so beautiful—never experienced lips so addictive, so kissable. You were intoxicating, the way your shining eyes locked with his as your own hand came up to trace his face.

Even in the low light, he could make out every feature he loved—from your nose to your cheeks to your chin, nothing escaped his gaze.

"I love you," you whispered to him, and just like every other time you said it, he knew it was true.

"I love you too," he whispered back, because that was also true. How couldn't it be?

He kissed you once more before shifting to his side, pulling you into his arms where he knew you'd be safe and warm.

'I love you' hummed through his every nerve as he showered your skin with his love—your forehead, your nose, your cheeks. All of it perfection in his eyes, and he wished nothing would change.

You nestled into his neck, your hot skin brushing over his own.

"Sleepy?" he asked, rubbing your back.

He felt you nod, and he couldn't help but smile. Burying his nose in your hair, he inhaled your scent. It was nights like these when he truly knew what the word 'comfort' meant, since he felt it to the very marrow of his bones.

Absolutely nothing could compare to the way it felt to have you fall asleep in his arms. Your breaths began to even out as his hands continued to wander, intent on caressing you and worshiping every inch of skin he was able to touch.

Even before he pulled the blanket over your shoulders, you were warm. Drifting off to sleep in his arms, his lips still lazily pressing kisses to your hair, you felt content.

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Taglist: @aahilovetheatre @basicaegyo @hyunmin-1404 @iiminibattlehero @katsugay @nabo39 @pyrofanatic @rainy-skys-and-bright-stars @sendhelpimstupid @sxngwoos-ash-box @xoxopam4

#denki kaminari #kaminari denki #kaminari headcanons #denki headcanons #kaminari imagine #denki imagine #denki kaminari imagine #denki x reader #kaminari x reader #denki kaminari x reader #kaminari denki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #reader insert #request fulfilled!#sugar fics #sugar hcs

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bokutosworld · 3 years

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made it with you | bokuto k.

pairing: bokuto koutarou x gn!reader

wc: 967 words, fluff.

warnings: subtle mentions of anxiety

summary: it’s new year’s eve. a night of gratitudes and goodbyes to the year that was. bokuto makes a promising proposal.

a/n: wrote this as a comfort fic of sorts. i know 2020 has been tough for everyone and personally i hadn’t had the best time this year but i’m looking forward to what 2021 has in store. i hope we all experience good things. wishing everyone a happy new year celebration!

“How long have you been standing out here?”

The deep voice startled you out from your thoughts and you turned around to see your lover leaning on the sliding door that led to the balcony. He’s smiling, relief evident in his eyes, as he’s just spent the last fifteen minutes wandering around the house and looking for you.

Bokuto takes your silence as an opportunity to walk towards you, sneaking his arms around your waist to capture you in an embrace. You relish in the warmth he emits and snuggle closer to his body. He chuckles at the way you sink deep in his affection, gently stroking your hair because he knows you like it.

“You haven’t answered my question, babe.” He lifts your chin up with one hand, moving his thumb to caress your cheek that has gotten cold from the winter breeze.

“I was just thinking about how lucky I am to have you.”

Now, it wasn’t uncommon for you to openly express your feelings to Bokuto. Every day, the two of you would have little competitions over who loves who more. He’s gotten used to your random I love yous and I miss yous in the middle of the day, these messages instantly giving him an energy boost whenever he opens them during his practices and training.

However, tonight was different. He feels as if it was more special, more intimate than the other times that you’ve said the exact same words to him.

You avert your gaze to the full moon shining in the dark skies. And Bokuto couldn’t help but admire how soft you look under the twilight.

Taking his hand that was holding your face, you give its knuckles a chaste kiss and continue your confession. “The past year was rough. I had been so close to giving up so many times. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t there.”

Memories of the earlier months flash back to both your minds. The night Bokuto found you curled up in bed, shaking as you sobbed silently. His heart broke at the sight and all he felt that he could do was join you under the covers and let you cry in his arms. It was also the same night, when you were trapped in his tender embrace, that you felt yourself succumb to a peaceful slumber.

You remember the day when you were stressing out over preparing for an important presentation, forgetting to eat properly and drowning in caffeine. It was that day when Bokuto rushed out of training early, drove to your favorite fast-food and brought home your comfort food. You’ll never forget how surprised you were to see him at home so early, but you’ll also never forget how he helped you through your nerves and stayed up all night with you as you rehearsed your speech over and over.

And oh, the little things. Like packing your favorite chocolate in your bag. Returning home earlier than you to warm up a bath. Forehead kisses before leaving for work. Picking you up whenever you do overtime. It was those little things that he did that saved and pulled you through a difficult year.

"Thank you for being by my side. I love you.” You brought your lips to his, conveying what emotion you couldn’t express in words through the kiss.

When he pulls away, you see his signature bright smile and his eyes gleaming in excitement. “Then, will you let me take care of you for the rest of our lives?”

At this point, the people in the house started going wild, loud voices coming from the ground could be heard in the rooftop as the last minutes countdown to the new year has started. And along with that ticking of the clock, you could feel your heart beating fast as Bokuto pulls out a red velvet box from his pocket.

“I was actually looking for you because I wanted to do this.” He opens it, revealing a delicate ring with its center decorated with jewels that sparkled under the moonlight. It was an item full of promise, a symbol of the lasting love that he feels for you.

You held your breath as he took the ring from the box and reached for your left hand. “I don’t think you know just how much being with you also means to me. You’re the source of my happiness, my joy in every day. You’re the reason that I look forward to waking up in the mornings and coming home in the evenings.”

Bokuto slowly slides the ring on your fourth finger and you marvel at how it perfectly fits you. “I’m glad Akaashi accidentally pushed me on you.” He makes a remark about your first meeting back in high school and you laugh, already feeling the tears coming out.

He leans his forehead on yours and whispers, “I think loving you and taking care of you is what I’m meant to do. I mean, aside from play volleyball of course.”

Downstairs, the countdown has reached the final minute. Fireworks are starting to go off in the streets, deafening cheers are erupting, and lovers are finding their way to each other. Everyone has gathered to say goodbye to the year that has been.

But the two of you are in your own world. Counting down to welcome a year that signals the start of forever with one another. He wipes the tears that have made its way down to your cheeks. “Will you marry me?”

You happily say yes as the clock strikes twelve, jumping in joy and Bokuto sweeps you off your feet and captures your lips so sweetly. It’s a new year’s kiss that you are sure to remember for the rest of your life.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu one shot #bokuto x reader #haikyuucreations #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu drabbles #bokuto fluff #bokuto scenarios #hq x reader #hq x you #hq fics #haikyuu!!#omg this is like the shortest fic i've written #also not me projecting the way i want to be proposed to pls this is really self-indulgent

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youllneverknowrac · 4 years

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Oscar Diaz- I love you

For @jeyramarie

Leave a request

You sing along to the music that played softly as you got ready for your first official date with Oscar. You guys have been ‘dating’ for a while and did everything a normal couple would do since he claimed you, but it always bothered you that you two never shared a traditional first date or took the step of saying ‘I love you.’ You just didn’t want to be the one to say if first even though you did have those feelings for him. That’s why it had taken you by surprise when he asked you out earlier this week. Sure you guys hang out all the time and do other things together but you were excited to go somewhere and be with just him. Not Oscar and one his homeboys or Oscar and Cesar, just you two, all alone with no interruptions.

After styling your hair to your liking and getting your lashes to finally stick to the corner of your eye you head to the closet to try to find something decent to wear. You didn’t know where Oscar was bringing you but you guessed it couldn’t be something to fancy, that not being either of your guy’s idea of fun. You pull on a fitted white floral romper with a pair of lace up sandals to match before responding to Oscar’s text that he would be outside to pick you up in a matter of minutes. You hurry up and lotion your entire body, spraying a few spritz of perfume along your neck, as well as applying more of your signature lipstick. You grab the small crossbody bag and shove what you would need in it for the night before heading off down the stairs and outside to wait, home alone for the weekend so you made sure to lock up. You stand at the end of the driveway anxiously, wanting everything to go perfect tonight.

Oscar pulls to a stop in front of you and leans over to unlock the car door and push it open. You climb in and buckle up leaning over to kiss him in greeting,”Hey.” You grin and pull away.

“You look good mamas.” Oscar says, letting his eyes roam your body, never really seeing you dress up before.

“Thank you.” You blush, letting your own eyes look over him as well, Oscar in his usual attire so of course he looked good,”So can you tell me what we’re doing?” You ask giddily, your leg bouncing up and down in anticipation as Oscar begins to drive.

“Nah, it’s a surprise. You’re just going to have to wait.” He smirks, reaching over to grab your hand with his free one.

“It was worth a shot.” You sigh happily and interlock your fingers with his, looking out the window as he speeds down the roads. It all looked familiar so you had an idea of where he was taking you. Your guess correct when he parked on the side of the road next to the sea wall a few minutes later. You unbuckle your self and hop out of the car with your bag, the smell of salt water mixed with different kinds of street food instantly hitting you.

”We gotta look for the truck. He likes to move it around.” Oscar says as he walks around and approaches you, sliding his hand back into yours and now wearing a backpack. He leads you through the small crowds of people formed around each food stand, the vibe chill as music blasted from each section. You guys walk for a few minutes before Oscar points out the dark blue truck,”There it is. Best burgers in Cali baby.”You giggle at his excitement as he tugs you along,”Yo Pablo!” He shouts, banging on the side of the truck.

A older heavyset guy with tattoos covering his whole face emerges from the window,”What up Spooky?!” He grins reaching out to dap him up,”Who’s the lucky girl?” He ask, looking over at you and extending his hand once more.

“Hi. I’m Y/N.” You smile and reach up to shake it.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Pablo the owner of this wonderful establishment as I like to call it. What do you say I whip you guys up two of my most famous burgers?!”

You laugh and nod eagerly,”Sounds good to me.”

“Extra onion on mine oh and throw in a bottle of coke too.” Spooky adds.

“You got it.” Pablo says, slamming the window shut as you move to stand off to the side with Oscar in case anybody else wanted to order.

“This better be good.” You warn playfully as you reach up to fiddle with the cross that hung around his neck.

“I know good food and this is better than that.” Oscar smirks, his hands finding your waist and pulling you flush against him.

“Is it better than me?” You say flirtation dripping with each word.

“Nothing’s as good as you.” He says, his voice dropping as well as his hands, you let him get a good feel of your butt before you grab them and move them back up to your waist, not wanting to be seen getting felt up next to a food truck.

“No exploring hands...save that for later.” You tell him, leaning up to press your lips to his.

“I definitely will.” He promises, keeping a hold on you until the truck window is being slid open and his name is being called. The two of you walk back up, Oscar paying Pablo and saying bye before picking up the two burgers to go. You reach for the coke and let Oscar lead you further down the sea wall and to a path that led to the beach. You guys walk out a bit further and stop a few feet away from the shore. You help Oscar and take the food so he can pull a blanket out from the back pack and lay it on the sand. You can’t help but smile at his actions, loving the fact that he actually seemed to think this little date through.

You place the items down before taking a seat, Oscar sitting himself next to you,”Thank you for taking me out today.” You say and hand him his wrapped burger with extra onions.

“I should have done it earlier.” He says, beginning to unwrap it, as do you.

“No, things play out how they are suppose to, so this was the perfect time to take me out.” You say, not wanting him to feel bad,”I love that you brought me here...and the food does smell delicious. Now I just gotta try it.” Oscar nodding and not pressing the date subject any further.

“You gotta take a big bite, get all the flavors and shit.” He instructs

“Okay, okay.” You say and bring the burger to your mouth, taking the biggest bite you could.

“Whatcha think?”

Delicious was a understatement but you couldn’t exactly say that so you hold your hand up, chewing the food up as much as you could so you won’t choke from how much of it was in your mouth,”We’re definitely coming back, it’s so good.” You laugh as you wipe your mouth not caring that your lipstick was probably a mess.

“I told you.” He laughs and proceeds to eat his own burger, the two of you sharing the coke as you eat in comfortable silence, looking out at the waves.

“I can’t finish it.” You say, the midsection on your romper feeling like it’s going to bust open,”Here.” You say and let Oscar grab the last few bites that remained, eating it quickly.

You groan, feeling so full as you lay back against the blanket, the stars shining bright. When you notice he’s done eating you shimmy over and put your head in his lap, now looking up at him,”Hi.” You say softly

“Hi.” He chuckles in response, his hand caressing your face,”Up for a walk?”

“Sure.” You smile and sit up. Oscar gathers the trash and heads to a nearby bin to toss it away as you get the blanket and shove it in the back pack once again, deciding to throw your sandals in there as well.

“I’ll take that.” Oscar says when he walks back, grabbing the bag from you and placing it on his back. You hold onto his arm as you guys walk to the shore, the water barley reaching as you walk along it.

You let go of him a few minutes in and walk a bit ahead, letting your feet get soaked,”It’s still so cold.” You squeal before running back up to Oscar who had stopped walking and insisted on just watching you.

“You really do look beautiful tonight mami.” Oscar says suddenly as you reach him,”I don’t know how someone like you could fall for someone like me.” He tells you truthfully.

“I fell for you because you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met Oscar. That’s how.” You tell him quickly, not liking the fact that he thought he wasn’t good enough for you.

He sighs contently and rests his hand on your cheek, looking deep into your eyes,”I love you Y/N. I think I’ve know for a while but after tonight I can’t see myself with anybody but you. I want you and only you forever.”

You couldn’t help the smile that grew on your face as he said those words, jumping up and wrapping your arms around his neck,”Took you long enough.” You say before kissing him deeply,”I love you, Oscar.” You mutter against his mouth, not wanting to break the kiss. It’s like fireworks went off, this night couldn’t have gone any better. After tonight there was no question that you were completely his and he was completely yours.

#omb season 3 #spooky x reader #julio macias #netflix #relationship #netflix on my block #boyfriend #oscar diaz x reader #oscar diaz #spooky diaz #freeridge #on my block imagines #one shot

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lesbianlovelanguage · 4 years

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i want to feel something (i’m numb inside)

It’s another HfBLM Prompt for imperfectabstraction on AO3, who requested pining!Billy who’s bad at communication. Thank you endlessly for your donation!!

Also a huge ass thank you to @gideongrace for your patience and help in me writing this and basically betaing it. I love you so much.

Read it on AO3 here or below the cut

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1. Welcome to Hawkins.

Billy had been attending Hawkins High for two weeks when he realized what was happening.

It wasn’t anything special, no fireworks or butterflies, but instead a cold frustration frosting over him. Because he realized he had a crush. On the most popular and decidedly straight boy in the miserable town of Hawkins, Indiana. Neil’s beatings could never compare to the sinking feeling in Billy’s gut when Steve Harrington stood in front of their english class and gave a frankly terrible report on Moby-Dick .

It certainly wasn’t Harrington’s presentation that made Billy recognize his crush, but the way his soft hair shined and he stood tall and confident even as the words that poured from his mouth were utter bullshit .

Billy had always been a sucker for confidence and cockiness.

But once Harrington had sat down, and was thus out of Billy’s sightlines, the warmth that came with a new crush turned to the familiar iciness, and it felt as if a great gaping maw had opened below him.

Even after the bell rang and the classroom emptied out, Billy was stuck in his head.

It wasn’t fair, he thought. He was supposed to hate everyone and everything about this town, and be fucking thankful when he got to put everything in his rearview mirror. But here he was with a ridiculous crush.

It wouldn’t couldn’t change his plans. Billy was resolute to not act upon his feelings, to avoid Harrington at every turn.

That resolution to ignore Harrington stayed for the next 5 periods, until he got to basketball practice. Harrington was clearly in his element on the court, no math problems or english reports here. Just sheer athleticism and strategy. And it made Billy angry. Because he couldn’t do anything about Harrington’s breathless panting or the way he was clearly showing off. So Billy did what he always did when he was angry.

He played dirty.

He used every trick in the book to trip up Harrington, guarding him by pushing every body part up against Harrington, using even the tiniest of openings to steal the ball, and he rammed into Harrington to steal the ball. He showed off a little, bolstered by the knowledge that Harrington’s focus was entirely upon him, the anger replaced by the feeling of pride.

When he landed after dunking the ball, he turned and continued to use the excitement of being Harrington’s sole focus to bound over to the tangled heap of lanky limbs and pale, creamy skin. He even put out a hand to help him up before he came back to himself, violently.

What was he doing? This is the exact opposite of ignoring Harrington .

He tried to save face by growling some stupid one-liner about planting his feet, and then dropped him like a sack of potatoes.

When Harrington popped back up and ignored Billy completely to chase after the ice princess herself, he shook his head and continued to play. This time, his showing off and dirty moves turned vicious as he continued to foul right and left before the coach was forced to bench him. He tried to shrug off the anger and left to take a shower.

Thankfully the showers stayed empty, and Billy was able to escape. After the disaster that was basketball practice, he decided to firmly clamp down his feelings and avoid Steve Harrington at all costs.

2. Can’t Ignore Him Anymore

Billy was having a bad night, to say the least .

His plan to head off to Indianapolis and the nearest gay bar with a loose ID policy was ruined because his shitbird step-sister decided to fuck off with her weird ass friends, probably with Sinclair even though he tried to warn her that Neil wouldn’t be happy. He had proof of what happened when Neil wasn’t happy blooming on his back too. At least it wasn’t worse, he thought with a grimace. He wasn’t sure when walking away with bruises had become lucky but it was what it was.

And now he had to run all over Hawkins to find the little shitbird, and with every house that sent him somewhere else his admittedly small patience was dwindling. By the time he was pulling into the dark driveway of the Byer’s house, he was itching for a fight.

And then Steve fucking Harrington walked out of the house. Because God hated him.

Or at least, it felt like the Big Man hated him as Harrington sauntered towards him, dish towel casually tossed over one shoulder and hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

“Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington?” He felt himself call out before fully processing the words.

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t cream your pants.” Harrington sounded blase in his response, but a faint blush appeared on his cheeks as Billy took off his jacket. Interesting. As he walked towards Harrington, a familiar bush of bright red hair popped in and out of the window and shocked Billy back to reality. He stopped, leaving plenty of space between himself and Harrington, enough to hopefully let him keep a clear head.

“What are you doing here, amigo?” Billy taunted. Maybe he would finally see some action tonight, at least enough to wipe the bitter taste that flirting with Mrs. Wheeler left in his mouth.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Harrington retorted, sounding exactly like a fifth grader.

“Well, I would. ‘S why I asked, cause I don’t really like the picture that’s being painted here. Max goes missing all day, and then I find her here in some stranger’s house, with you of all people. See what I’m seeing, Pretty Boy?”

“What’s that supposed to mean, me of all people?” Of course Harrington would pick up on that.

“What does King Steve want with a thirteen-year-old girl? Not a great look man.” The adrenaline bubbled up in Billy’s stomach in anticipation of a fight, fists clenching and skin buzzing. But Harrington never reacted how Billy expected, and this was no exception.

“Yeah, but letting demon monsters kill a group of pre-teens isn’t so great either,” he said casually, as if his words would make a lick of sense. Billy gaped a little before shaking his head and laughing a bitter, mean laugh.

“You’re digging your own grave man. I just wanted my step-sister, but it looks like I’m gonna have to kick your ass.” That was the only warning he gave before closing the distance and swinging. Harrington went down like a sack of potatoes and Billy couldn’t help the smugness in his voice when he bent over and spit, “Told you to plant your fucking feet, Princess.” He then stepped over Harrington’s sprawled body and walked inside.

He noticed all of the usual brats that hang off of Harrington, but his gaze zeroed in on Lucas. All of the anger and frustration Billy had felt over the course of the night collided into one comprehensible thought.

He had warned her.

He wasn’t proud of what he did, but at least he had the ability to stop. He just wanted to scare the kid, hoping that if he couldn’t warn Max he could scare the kid off before Neil got involved.

If he got involved, he wouldn’t stop, not until Sinclair was really hurt. Or even dead.

Billy didn’t like himself while he was doing it, knew that his behavior was revolting and monstrous, but he was willing to play the bad guy if it kept the gremlins from the real bad guy. He was thankful when Harrington forced him around and clocked him in the face. Then he had something better to focus his rage and fear on.

They were in the middle of fighting when Billy thought he lost his mind. He had grabbed the fridge door, planning to use it to clock Harrington in the head, when a thing fell out. It didn’t move from it’s spot on the kitchen floor but it left a trail of something slimy and Billy went mental.

“What the actual fuck. Someone had ten seconds to explain what this is,” he growled, and was promptly educated about the Upside Down, demogorgons, and something the brats called The Mind Flayer. Apparently Hawkins was housing some horror movie level shit, and of course Harrington was involved. So much for ignoring him forever.

3. Summer Sweetness

Billy didn’t just enjoy summer. He thrived in the summer. The sun, the heat, the smell of the ocean and the sound of busy beaches filled him with a happiness even Neil couldn’t touch. There were no ocean waves that summer, but chlorine was a close substitute. Anything was better than the disgusting stench of cowshit that seemed to permeate Hawkins in the fall.

And even better was the silent agreement he had made with one Steve Harrington.

It started at Prom. Billy had agreed to go with some girl, he hadn’t bothered to remember her name, only to get the promposals to stop. It was a good ego boost at first, but after six in four class periods, it got exhausting to try and politely decline. So, the seventh girl who came up to him with a big home-made card practically dripping in glitter got a ‘Yes’ from the Billy Hargrove. Ridiculous.

He made the mistake of telling Max somewhere that Neil could overhear him, so he ended up having to rent a limo and buy a corsage and dress up in a full tux. All for a thing he didn’t want to go to with a girl he didn’t care about. To just get through the night, he ended up downing an entire bottle of tequila by himself.

The next morning he would definitely be blaming the tequila, but he would be lying to himself that it was the only reason he did what he did.

It had been building for a long time, but it wasn’t until he saw Steve in the bathroom furthest from the gym that he realized what it was.

He had stumbled down the darkened hallways of Hawkins High, desperate for the escape a cigarette would bring him. He knew the bathroom in the english hall had a busted fire alarm, so he made a beeline towards it. He was so focused on pulling the pack out and lighting up, he failed to notice there was someone else, not until they cleared their throat. His head shot up, ready to fight, only to be met with big brown eyes and pale creamy skin.

“Oh hey, Pretty Boy. What are you doing here?” He tried to play it casual, not letting on that blood was rushing in his ears and his heart was in his throat.

“Could ask you the same question. I’m pretty sure Colleen is asthmatic, won’t appreciate the nicotine smell,” he said, gesturing to the cigarette he had just lit up. It took him a minute to figure out who the fuck Colleen was, until he realized it was the date he had abandoned in the gym.

“Pretty sure she won’t care what I smell like, if you know what I mean.” Billy waggled his eyebrows and dragged his tongue along his bottom lip. He was caught off guard though, when Steve’s pupils dilated. Interesting.

“You’re nasty,” Steve tried to cover the few seconds of silence, but Billy was a shark who had smelt blood.

“Oh really, Stevie?” He asked before taking a long drag of his cigarette and blowing it towards Steve. “You don’t like the idea of Colleen and I getting freaky? What’s a little locker room talk between amigos after all?” He smirked before going in for what he hoped was the kill. “Unless… You’re jealous?” His smirk only grew as Steve stuttered, trying to form a rebuttal.

“I am not jealous of Colleen. I feel bad for her, going to one of the most special nights with you.” Steve’s words were meant to cut, but Billy could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“Never said you were jealous of Colleen, Stevie. But if you are, I think I have a solution.” That was the only warning he gave Steve before walking over to be right in front of him. They were so close their shoes were touching, and Billy could smell the smoke on Steve’s breath.

“Seems a little hypocritical to yell at me about smoking when you were doing the same thing.” Billy may have noticed that Steve wasn’t the best in school, but he would never say the boy was slow. He seemed to get with the picture pretty quickly.

“Oh yeah?” His voice was breathy and soft. “You gonna do something about it?”

“I think I have to. It wouldn’t be right if I just ignored it.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Do it,” Steve challenged. And Billy never backed down from a challenge. He lunged forward the few feet between them and smashed his lips against Steve’s.

The kiss wasn’t nice or gentle. It was a battle between two wild animals, only softened when Steve’s hands snuck up Billy’s back and tugged on the golden ringlets. Billy broke the kiss with a moan and Steve grinned.

“Like that, tiger?”

“Shut up and get back here,” was Billy’s only response before they collided again. Shaky hands unbuttoned shirts. As soon as Steve’s torso was exposed, Billy moved down to suck what was sure to be an impressive hickey along Steve’s collarbone, unable to resist marking the pale skin.

Steve’s moan was loud as Billy moved his hands from the small of his back to his thighs and picked him up. Like he was nothing. He was placed on the edge of a sink, and then Billy moved down Steve’s chest, kissing every mole he could find. After successfully making his way down to his knees, Billy unzipped Steve’s pants and proceeded to rock the boy’s damn world.

That was the only time they had sex during school, but it wasn’t the last time they had hooked up, far from it in fact. He was dropping Max off at the ice cream shop, Scoops Ahoy, when he saw Steve again. He was in a truly ridiculous parody of a sailor’s costume and Billy wanted to eat him alive.

He was surprised to find the feeling was mutual. He walked up to the counter to tease Steve about the uniform, and somehow ended up in the storage room getting his dick sucked this time.

The summer proceeded to pass like that, until some time in July when Steve said he couldn’t keep having sex at work and gave Billy his phone number with a wink. Then Billy started sneaking into Steve’s bedroom at ungodly hours and left before the sun had risen.

But all good things came to an end, and Billy was nothing if not a coward. As soon as August came around, and the pool closed, Billy took all of his savings and the four boxes it had taken to pack up everything he cared about, and left. Without a word, a text, or a note. He ran away from Hawkins, ran from his father, and from Steve, who had started talking about having movie nights and cooking dinner together and other domestic crap fuck buddies weren’t supposed to do together.

He ran.

4. Hey Pretty Boy, Long Time No See

Billy loved Chicago. He had moved there with plans of just saving up enough to fly back to Los Angeles, but a year into living there he had fallen in love. Sure there were things he hated, like the winters and the tourists, but there were so many more things to love.

Like the food, and the people he had met. Both of which he was enjoying on a perfect summer’s day. And to top it all off, he was finally going to get a tattoo.

Robin, a girl he had met through work and then started to hang out with after running into her at the annual Pride Parade, had convinced him to finally indulge in it, helped him work out what exactly he wanted, and even gave him a recommendation for a guy at her shop that specialized in the style of tattoos that Billy had decided he wanted.

So, on the day of his appointment, he met Robin during her lunch break where they grabbed some tacos from a street car and walked back to her shop. Billy was silent, nervous as hell, but luckily Robin was enough of a chatterbox to fill the silence and keep it from getting awkward.

“You will love Steve, Billy. Swear to God he’s one of the sweetest people I’ve met.” She let out a small huff. “Of course he’s a total dingus, but so are you. Boom. Match made in Heaven.” She waved her hand around, almost dropping her taco, and Billy couldn’t help but laugh at her antics.

That laughter died in his throat though, and he nearly choked on his own spit, as they walked through the door of The Mind Flayer Tattoos and Piercing because behind the desk was a face he never thought he would see again.

Steve Harrington.

Of course he had fantasized about this moment, had dreamed about those Bambi eyes and impish grin, even years later as it was. He had tried to distract himself, tried to move on, but he quickly realized it wasn’t working. Once he realized he had been silently comparing every other guy to Steve, he gave up, resigned himself to being alone, and had gotten a cat.

Just like in high school though, all of his resolve to move on disappeared when faced with Steve Harrington.

The years since high school had clearly been kind to him, and while Billy had always thought he was pretty, now he was downright gorgeous. His hair was still perfectly styled, but he had grown it out so that the ends just barely touched his shoulders. He was also wearing a pair of stylish glasses with thin golden frames that glinted softly in the warm lighting of the tattoo parlor. Most notably though, Billy could clearly see his left arm where it rested next to a book he bent over, and it was covered in a beautiful, intricate tattoo sleeve. All Billy wanted in that moment was to trail his fingertips over the black lines that formed shapes that resembled flowers. Looking closer though, he realized some of the flowers actually held rows and rows of teeth, and mixed in was the rough outline of a baseball bat with nails. It was a mural dedicated to his experiences that one fall day, a constant reminder of what he had been through.

Steve finally looked up at them as Robin led Billy to the counter, and he clearly recognized Billy, as his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened.

“Holy shit.”

Billy felt a small smile form as he lifted a hand and waved awkwardly at the boy he had left behind. “Hiay Pretty Boy. Long time, no see.” He had hoped that the nickname would lighten the mood, but instead Steve’s shock was replaced by hard lines and tense shoulders.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice was dripping in hostility, making Billy flinch slightly before tensing up as well. He knew he was the one in the wrong, but fuck if that had ever stopped him from being the weak one.

Robin beat Billy to a response however, letting out a small noise before looking quickly between the two boys.

“I think I’m missing something here, and that something is big,so I’m jist going to walk over here and let you two work it out. Please don’t kill each other.” Despite the lingering angst in the air, both boys couldn’t hold back a chuckle as Robin walked away from them and disappeared into the back room. As the door swung shut though, and they were alone in the shop, the tension could be cut with a knife.

“Let’s get this over with,” Steve said with a sigh, and all Billy could do was nod and follow him to a prepared work station in the back corner of the open-plan parlor.

He double checked where the tattoo was going, on his right shoulder, and then gently placed the stencil on and smoothing it over. He removed the plastic to reveal a purple version of the tattoo and then nodded to where a full length mirror had been hung on the wall.

Billy checked how it laid, and took in how the design had turned out once again. He had seen the draft in an email, but to see it on his body was an entirely different experience. It was a depiction of the beach, detailed with old school flowers and a setting sun, and a perfect symbol of Billy’s origins. He had decided that while he didn’t want to return to California, he wanted a reminder of the peace an evening on the beach brought him.

Having confirmed that it was perfectly placed, he returned to the workstation and settled into the chair. The tension remained as Steve silently placed his arm in the best position and loaded the gun with ink. He returned to Billy’s side and sighed.

“You need to relax if you want me to actually do this.”

“Sorry, Pretty Boy. Guess you just fill me with butterflies,” Billy shot back, trying to regain some of the bravado that had conveniently left him. Steve snorted before setting down the tattoo gun and muttering Jesus and rubbing at his temple.

“If we’re gonna do this, you gotta cut that shit out.”

“What shit?”

“The- the fucking flirting and the nicknames. That shit.”

“Sorry, Pretty Boy,” he emphasized the name with a cocky smirk. “It’s just part of the Hargrove charm.”

“Well if you want a good tattoo, you’ll dial back the Hargrove bullshit. Now take a deep breath and fucking relax.” Billy gave a sarcastic salute before deliberately taking a deep breath and dropping his shoulders. Steve rolled his eyes, but reserved all his smart comments in favor of starting the tattoo.

They sat in relative silence, only broken by the gentle whir of the tattoo gun and Steve occasionally reminding Billy to not hold his breath. It wasn’t until Steve muttered a soft, “Halfway there tiger,” that he found the courage to break the silence. Whether consciously or not, Steve had used one of his favorite pet names for Billy and that action alone gave him hope that he hadn’t ruined their relationship completely when he left.

“Nice tats Harrington,” he said casually, nodding at his left arm. Steve snorted.

“Thanks. Of course, you know the whole story behind it. Robin and everyone at the shop just think it’s some insane movie monster they’ve never heard of.”

“Yeah, not exactly the easiest thing to explain to people,” Billy agreed, nodding his head.

“As chill as Robs can be, I think if I tried to tell her I fought off intergalactic demon dogs with a nail bat and a group of four middle schoolers she would check me into the nearest institute.”

Billy faked an offended gasp. “It wasn’t all middle schoolers, I was there too. Saved your ass at one point too.”

“Bullshit you saved me. If I recall, you screamed like a little bitch until Max threatened you with my bat and then stole your keys. If she hadn’t threatened to drive your car I think you would never have come with.” There was a fire in Steve’s eyes now, a warmth Billy thought he would never be privy to again.

And then Steve looked up from his arm and his face shuttered back into stone. He wiped the excess ink and blood off of his arm and studiously ignored any more attempts Billy made at conversation, which ranged from commenting about the photos littering his workstation to commenting on the fucking weather. Eventually he got the message and shut his trap for the rest of the session.

Steve walked him through the after-care steps clinically, and he faintly picked up the “wash with antibacterial soap twice a day” and “apply scent-free lotion when it starts flaking”, but his brain was mostly stuck on “touch-ups are free up to six months after the first appointment.”

He still had a chance. Maybe the shock was too much, but if Steve was offering up the chance to meet again?

Billy wouldn’t let it slip past.

5. Let’s Try This Again

Billy loved his tattoo. He made sure to take meticulous care of it, applying lotion religiously and steadfastly ignoring the urge to pick at the peeling skin. Luckily, the amount of sunburns he got back in California prepared him for it pretty well.

Even if it was healing perfectly, and he was ecstatic about the final result after it had finished peeling, he still decided to talk to Robin about scheduling a touch-up. She had looked it over when he asked while they were grabbing burritos, and told him that he definitely didn’t need a touch up, but when he continued to insist that he wanted another appointment she looked at him skeptically and agreed.

He had it scheduled for a month after his initial appointment, and the weeks seemed to drag by as he eagerly awaited his second- well, technically third- chance with Steve.The day of, he and Robin agreed to the same schedule of grabbing lunch and then walking over to the shop together, but instead of Robin filling the silence, Billy instead prattled on about a couple cases he was looking over and how well they were going. As much as he could without breaking the NASW Code of Ethics of course.

Robin nodded along agreeable and made all the right noises in the right places, but she was overall quieter than usual, until the shop got into view.

A block away from the neon sign, she stopped them both and turned to Billy. “I’ve been pretty patient, but I have to know before we walk in there. What is the deal between you and Steve?”

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about, Brat. There’s no story there,” Billy tried to brush it off and keep walking, but Robin was surprisingly strong for her slender frame. She grabbed his arm and forced him to stop.

“That’s a blatant lie, and I can’t let you in there if you’re on some sort of weird revenge quest or something. He was seriously shaken up after your session, and I love you, but I love the dingus too.” She paired the serious tone of her voice with stern eye contact and a slight tightening of her hand on his bicep.

“Jesus Robin,” Billy said, shrugging off her vice-like grip, “It’s nothing like that, I swear. If anything, I’m trying to fucking apologize.” She just raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with his explanation. “Fine. We went to high school together and I fucked up in a big way, alright? I regret it, and I want to try and make it up to him.”

“Yeah, well. You seem to have forgotten that this-” she emphasized with a sharp point at the parlor “-is his work. His job. He doesn’t deserve you pestering him here of all places. Just do what everyone else does and fucking ask him out to coffee.”

Feeling slightly chastised as only Robin could do, he looked down at the scuffs on his work boots and muttered, “Yeah, whatever.”

Finally satisfied, she continued their walk to The Mind Flayer Tattoo and Piercings Shop, Billy trailing two steps behind her.

The little bell tinkled again as the door opened, but this time Steve wasn’t at the front desk. Instead a tan woman with long, curly, dark hair was popping bubble gum and casually scrolling through her iPhone. All of the frustration seemed to seep out of Robin at once as she squealed, “Heather!” and launched herself at the girl behind the desk.

Letting Robin and Heather do their thing, Billy wandered over to where he could see the top of Steve’s head peeking over the low wall of his work station. He could see that all of his focus was on a drawing pad, where he was carefully sketching out something in pencil. He was so in the zone that the tip of his tongue was poking through his teeth. Cute.

Loath as he was to break the peace on Steve’s face, he cleared his throat and called out, “Hey Harrington.”

Steve, predictably, shot up out of his chair and whirled around to face Billy. “Jesus Christ Billy. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry, amigo. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What, no Pretty Boy?” Steve spit out as he tried to recoup from being startled. The tone brought back the sense of shame Robin had made him feel earlier, and he held up his hands in surrender.

“No, um,” he tried to start. “Actually, I’m here to ask if we could get a cup of joe? Talk some shit out?” Steve seemed startled by the proposal, but masked it with a suspicious glare.

“Is this some kind of joke? You want to get coffee?”

“Yeah. I want to- want to explain I guess.” Steve continued to glare at him, but after finding or not finding something, he nodded his head and sighed.

“Fine. Fuck it. You were my last appointment, so why the hell not.” Billy blinked, surprised that it had somehow been that easy to get Steve to agree. Maybe they could work it out, at least enough to be friends again.

He decided to wait in the front area while Steve packed up his station and grabbed his bag from the back room, nodding at Heather and Robin when they left.

They mutually agreed to walk the block down to a local coffee shop, called Joe’s Joe. Billy got a black iced coffee while Steve got a complexe medley of coffee, oat milk, and sugar. After they got their drinks, they sat at a table by the window.

“Do you want to start?” Steve asked.

“I mean, I guess. That’s kind of why we’re here or whatever.” Billy hadn’t wanted to start out hostile, but his nerves were starting to get the best of him. He took a swig of his coffee, letting the scalding heat coat his tongue. “Just, I’m sorry I guess.”

“You’re sorry?” Steve asked indignantly, “For what? Fucking with me for an entire summer? Leaving without a single fucking word? Or just being an all around asshole?”

“Technically, I was fucking you, not fucking with you,” Billy corrected absentmindedly, before wincing as Steve’s expression grew even more hostile. “Shit, I’m sorry. For- for everything alright? I was a dickhead, I shouldn’t have left but you have to underst-”

“I don’t have to do shit, Hargrove,” Steve interrupted.

“No, you have to understand that I didn’t have a choice. I packed up and left in the span of like four hours. There wasn’t time to tell you.”

“There wasn’t time to send a fucking text? Call? Something? I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere. I had to find out from Max that you just pissed off to who knows where in the middle of the goddamn night. And you couldn’t bother to send anything? It’s been eight fucking years jackass.” Steve was almost yelling by the end of his rant, panting and visibly trying to calm himself down.

“It didn’t seem like something to send over text, I just figured it was better to do a clean break. Let you move on.”

“Let me- Fucking hell, you let me move on?” Steve was borderline hysterical at this point. Billy wasn’t sure when he had lost control of the conversation so drastically, but he felt the chances of him and Steve rekindling some sort of friendship slipping away. This wasn’t how he wanted to do this at all. Fuck.

“Yeah, because you shouldn’t be stuck with someone like me, Pretty Boy. I’m sorry I hurt you but I was stupid and young and I didn’t see any better way to do it.”

“You fucking broke my heart Billy. You’re gonna have to do a lot better than that,” Steve said, and walked out of the coffee shop.

6. Billy Does Better

After the disastrous coffee date, Billy steered clear of everything to do with The Mind Flayer, including Robin. He buried himself in his work, doubled his gym hours, and let the weekends pass by in a haze of cheap whiskey.

It took Robin a week to decide she was over him avoiding her. She stormed into his apartment on Sunday morning and forced him to take a shower, put on clean clothes and go with her to her apartment.

Once there, she sat him down on the couch and told him in the sternest voice she had to stay, and then left him to go let in someone else. He really shouldn’t have been surprised at who it was, but he still blinked rapidly when Steve appeared in the doorway.

“Am I dreaming, or is that you Harrington?” Billy asked, his voice hoarse from the lack of water he had drank in the past 48 hours.

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t cream your pants.” If Billy sounded hungover, Steve sounded wrecked. He looked like it too, eyes rimmed red and puffy, lips chapped and bitten within an inch of their soft, plush life, and skin even paler than it usually was. Robin dragged him by the back of his shirt over to the couch, next to Billy, and pushed him down.

“Alright. I tried to give you two assholes space to work it out yourselves, but I am officially over it, so you’re going to figure it out here and now. I’m going to go in the kitchen to make lunch and when I get back, I expect you both to at least stop moping like fucking widows.” She turned on her heel and marched into the kitchen, where she could give them some semblance of privacy, but would still be within ear shot if they decided to kill each other or something.

Once she disappeared through the doorway, Billy turned hesitantly to face Steve, but when they made eye contact, any words he may have managed to string together left him and he was left there gaping like a fish. Steve saved him the trouble of starting though.

“You were moping?” He asked, voice quiet and defeated.

“Yeah, Bambi. Pretty heavily too if Robin had to step in.”

“What were you so upset about? You broke my heart after all.”

“Because I never meant to. I only meant to break my own damn heart, but not yours. Never yours Pretty Boy,” Billy’s voice was dripping in honesty and vulnerability, the dredges of alcohol still in his system making this entire situation exhausting. He just wanted to go back home and sleep until tomorrow.

“You- you loved me too?” Steve sounded so damn unsure, it hurt Billy to hear.

“Yeah, of course I loved you. That’s why I had to leave. I couldn’t love you and be under Neil’s roof. He would kill me. He would kill you. So I had to leave.”

“A clean break,” Steve finished for him. He didn’t sound as angry as he had at the coffee shop, more defeated.

“Exactly.”

They sat in silence for a few moments that seemed to stretch on for eternity before Steve finally broke it.

“So, where does that leave us?”

“Can we, can we try friends?” Billy asked hesitantly, eager for any opportunity but scared to push his luck.

“Yeah. I think that could work,” he said with a faint smile. As if on cue, Robin burst through the kitchen door armed with a plate of sandwiches and snacks and declared it a movie night.

7. Steve Takes A Leap

It had been two months since Robin’s forced intervention, and Steve couldn’t have been more thankful towards her. He had been scared that having Billy back in his life would drag up the memories he tried so hard to hide from, but it was actually refreshing to have someone to call when the memories came back, someone who understood what he was going through.

He also realized how much he genuinely missed Billy himself. He had grown and changed for sure, but it was only in that he was far less angry all the damn time. Steve had really come to realize just how intense the hold Neil Hargrove had over his son in high school. Now the sharp wit Billy had wielded as a weapon in high school was more playful than hurtful, and his more self-destructive tendencies of driving recklessly and chain-smoking had been replaced by a gym membership and therapy. Apparently, Billy had gone through a lot of therapy.

With all of the changes, he realized that it was just that much easier to find the Billy he had fallen in love with all those years ago. He had started recognizing the feelings a month into their rekindled friendship, but he waited for another month to make sure the spark was still there, that it wasn’t just him romanticising the past. They had added each other on snapchat and had even started a streak. It was at a solid 55 days that Steve finally made his move.

It was a simple snap of his work station with the caption What are you doing Saturday night?

Not even two minutes later he got a response. The picture was of Billy’s coffee mug he kept at his desk and said Nothing, wbu?

He snapped another hasty shot of his station, replied, Thinking about going out. Wanna join?

Another notification, another shot of his mug. “ Sure. What’s the plan?”

He was in the middle of prepping his station for an appointment in twenty minutes, so it was a quick shot of sterile packaging. Dinner and then hit up a club I know in Boystown?

This time the response was immediate. Sounds good.

Cool, I’ll make a reservation for six? Then club at like 8?

Why do we need a reservation? Want to spoil little old me, Pretty Boy?

The old nickname gave Steve the courage he needed to finally take a selfie and stop beating around the bush. He gave the camera an impish grin and raised eyebrows. I just want to make our first date memorable.

There was no response to that. Steve waited with bated breath, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously as the minutes ticked by. His appointment had shown up, and he finished the 45 minute session. Still no response.

Anxiety coursed through him, swirling around in his head. He could see that Billy had opened the picture as soon as he had sent it, a whole hour ago. But no response. No notifications. Nothing.

Steve tried to reason with himself that maybe he had a meeting or a lot of paperwork or something, but that didn’t stop him from bouncing his leg and fidgeting around until Robin finished her final appointment.

She only needed to look at him once to know something was up. She decided they were going to dinner together, and they walked to the diner three blocks down in silence.

It wasn’t until they had sent in their orders that Robin finally broke.

“Okay, what’s going on? I haven’t seen you this nervous since your first date with Julian,” she stated.

“I might have fucked up Robin. Like big time.” She sighed, used to Steve’s dramatic tendencies, and sipped at her strawberry milkshake.

“I doubt that, but I need more information. So spill.”

“I asked Billy on a date,” he blurted out, knowing there was no use in bullshitting Robin.

“And? Seems like a logical move, Dingus. I was getting sick of the intense pinning like ten days ago.”

“But, he left me on read Robin. We were talking about going out on Saturday and then I mentioned it was a date and boom. Radio silence.”

“Okay, chill out. He was probably busy at work. You know how seriously he takes that shit.”

“Yeah, but no response for three hours?” He said, voice raising in pitch on the last words.

“I’m sure there’s some explanation. Have you reached out again?” Robin’s patient and even tone calmed Steve down a little, but his leg still bounced up and down rapidly as he thought over what she said.

“No. I didn’t want to pressure him.”

“Just send something unrelated to the date. Like your milkshake. You’ve done it a million times, it’s safe.”

“Yeah. Okay. I can do that.” He nodded to himself before pulling out his phone, only to see a single snapchat notification amongst the barrage of emails and other random updates. It was from Billy.

He immediately felt his heart leap into his throat, and Robin reached over to grab his hand that was still resting on the table.

“Is it from him?” She questioned, deliberately neutral.

“Yep,” he choked out. His finger shook as he opened up his phone, and he felt paralized by the little blue box letting him know it was a text response. He took a deep breath before clicking on it.

Sorry I was MIA, Pretty Boy. Got busy with work, but I’d love to see where you want to take me. He included a winking and smirking emoji. Steve let out a startled laugh as the anxiety slowly dissipated.

“Code red officially over. I have a date on Saturday,” he informed Robin, and they finished up dinner with casual conversation about their various appointments throughout the day. They paid and eventually parted ways towards their respective apartments.

He trudged up the stairs because the elevator in his building was perpetually broken, but stopped in his tracks when his door got within view. There, resting innocently on his doormat, was a simple bouquet of sunflowers and baby’s breath. He gently picked them up and noticed a small piece of cardstock. In simple black scratch it read I am sorry for the no response. I got nervous. Bill.

Steve smiled gently at the note and pulled the flowers close to smell the soft fragrance they held. He felt another wave of confidence swell and push him to walk into the apartment and pick up his phone. He called Billy and waited in excited anticipation for him to pick up.

“I love them,” he said, and smiled a little more when Billy chuckled.

“I’m glad. They made me think of you.”

“Can’t wait for Saturday,” Steve confessed and Billy finally smiled back.

“Me too, Pretty Boy. Feels like it’s been years in the making.”

That it had been, but man had it been worth the wait.

----

tag team: @lostnoise @gideongrace @stevefuckingharrington @a-magey @trashmouth-hargrove @catharrington (lmk if you would like to be added/removed from the list!)

#harringrove for blm #harringrove #a dash of #bucklway #angst #fluff #hurt/comfort #pining!billy hargrove #billy hargrove centric #billy hargrove #steve harrington #tay writes #holy shit #i think this is the longest thing I've ever written #minus lost boys

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sabraeal · 4 years

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Happiness Is Just Around the Corner

The Wide Florida Bay | Previous

Written for @bubblesthemonsterartist for her birthday! This was...not the fic I thought I’d be writing, but this is where this subplot needed to start >:3c

There is an improbable amount of fireworks on the lawn.

“Oh, I’m pretty sure none of it’s legal,” Kiki assures him, taking a long drag of her Sam’s Summer. “Shiira took his ducklings up to New Hampshire yesterday, and they came back with two coolers worth of...something.”

Zen coughs on the dregs of his Magic Hat. “What? Should we even--?”

Kiki’s flat stare is more effective than a hand over his mouth. “You really think we’ll get in trouble.”

His gut instinct is yes, because there’s not a day in his life where his brother hasn’t caught him with his pants down just to prove a point. It would be just like him to send a cruiser around so that he could experience the heart-stopping terror of being on the other side of a two-way mirror. Sure, Haruka would be down at the station before he could even ask for a phone call, and all of this would slide off his permanent record like water off a duck’s back, but still-- trouble.

But he doesn’t say that. He takes a deep breath, thinks. It’s quiet here on campus. They’re rowdy, sure, but it’s just the frat there, not some rager with Omega Delta Nu. The campus cops are probably bored out of their skulls, but they’re not going to nail the honor’s frat for a light show.

“No,” he admits, begrudgingly. “Not unless they light something on fire.”

Her mouth twitches, following the spark in her eyes. “Well, there’s a non-zero chance of that.”

Ugh, of course Kiki would be excited by the prospect. “Well, as long as we don’t get--” Obi crosses the lawn, aviators looming over a wide smile, and hovers just at Shiira’s shoulder, perusing the goods. “UH.”

“Fuck.” Kiki hops off the porch, straight down into the landscaping. “I’ll handle this.”

Zen settles back against the porch swing and sighs, taking another swig of Magic Hat. “Yeah, please do.”

Kiki’s already halfway across the lawn by the time he’s finished talking, so quick that when Obi picks up a particularly patriotic package of pyrotechnics, she’s there to snatch it out of his hands. Even from here, Zen can see the jut of his pout, hear the faint whine of Ms Kiki on the air.

Mitsuhide’s lighting up the grill, surrounded by a crowd convinced cooking works by consensus. He takes a handkerchief out of his back pocket-- stars and stripes, stuffed there early this morning as Obi solemnly announced, you are America’s hat today, big guy-- and wipes the sweat beading on his forehead. Zen can’t tell whether it’s from the heat or from the effort needed to withstand six guys offering advice on proper grilling technique.

A cool breeze tumbles through the porch, carrying the muted voices of a dozen conversations. Zen closes his eyes, letting the smell of smoke and the heat of the day wash over him, the swing rocking gently on its chains.

It’s nice, having all this. People he can anticipate. People he can depend on. Friends. The real kind, not just kids whose parents went to the same prep school as his.

This isn’t where he’s supposed to be.

A year ago that would have sent him scrambling-- last minute tickets and crumpled up itineraries paired with the crushing guilt of never being enough. But now--

Now he knows this is where he wants to be. And there’s only one person to thank for that.

“Hey.” His eyes slit open, and there she is, brilliant smile and bright hair, peeping around the post. “Enjoying yourself?”

Zen drops his legs from the rail to make room. “I am now.”

Shirayuki’s mouth slants, playfully wry, and his heart strains against his sternum like a dog testing its leash. “It looked like you were before too.”

“Well, sure.” He wishes he had Obi’s obnoxious aviators right now, if only so she couldn’t see the eager way he watches her as she comes up, tucking herself neatly onto the opposite end of the swing. “But even more now that you’re around.”

Freckles disappear behind a bloom of pink, settling in on either cheek. “Ah, w-well,” she stammers, staring at her bare toes. “It’s good to know you don’t regret staying here.”

“Instead of being with my family?” He laughs, incredulous, draping his arm over the back of the swing. His fingers just barely brush the freckles on her shoulder. “More like I’m thankful for the excuse.”

Her smile dims. “Oh, um, right. You and Izana...”

She hesitates. There’s a wealth of ways she could end that thought, but instead she says, “It must be nice. I mean, the place your family has, not...”

The fraught relationship you have with your brother. She doesn’t have to say it for him to know exactly what she means.

“It’s all right, I guess,” he allows, wishing she’d sit closer, that she’d give him a good reason to put his arm around her for real, and not just let him awkwardly hang here. “I mean, it’s just a house. The beach is nice though. Private, of course.”

That doesn’t stop his mother from inviting the paparazzi if she thinks it will make a good photo op. Last year he’d made the cover of the Inquirer, face scrunched and unattractive as Izana has splashed sea water in his face, with the words Final Frolic for World’s Most Eligible Bachelor? There had been a two-page spread inside, dedicated entirely to the relationship rumors Izana had accrued since Valentine’s Day.

Well, he didn’t have to worry about that this year. No paparazzo was going to stake out a college frat to take pictures of an illegal fireworks show. Now Haki could deal with having her picture slapped across the tabloids because mother thought candid shots made for better family photos.

“Ah, right...” Her laugh stutters out, awkward and endearing. “That sounds...good?”

Shirayuki’s still next to him, the heat from her skin humid against his fingertips, but she’s never felt so far. He grunts, frustrated, shifting closer.

“There’s an old carousel on the island too,” he offers, haltingly. He’s not sure why the impulse takes him to tell her; why he thinks she, specifically, might like it, save that when he looks at her it’s the same as when he saw those hand-carved horses the first time, well-loved and shining beneath antique lights.

“Oh!” She blinks. “My grandparents took me to one of those, once! Back when we visited...”

Her mouth works silently for a moment before pulling tight, the bittersweet twist making her smile more grimace than grin.

“Well, you’d love this one,” he assures her, sweat pricking at his palms. “It’s the oldest in the US. But it’s still really nice! I’ll take you next--”

His words slam to a stop, running headlong into the barrier of his teeth. She’s staring at him now, eyes wide and mouth parted, and-- and what can he say? I’ll take you next year, when my brother suddenly approves of you.

Yeah, he knows better than to hold his breath for that.

“I’m glad, anyway.” She folds her legs up on the swing, one arm hooked around her knees, and tilts her head back. “It’s nice for all of us to be here, together.”

Her eyes are closed, face serene in the evening light, like she could just sit here forever, breathing into the twilight. His heart flutters just looking at her, at the way she relaxes next to him, content with the slow rock he eases them into. No one can just be the way Shirayuki can.

“It is,” he agrees softly, because anything but a whisper might break this moment, might let the rest of the world in. “It’s going to be weird when you...”

He tries to stop himself, but her eyes fly open before he can. Of course, the one moment he’s gotten her to himself, and he’s gone and ruined it by bringing that up.

“I just mean...” He laughs, tipping his head back on scroll of wood behind his head. “It’s going to be strange when you and Obi are gone next year.”

A month from now, really. It looms over him, a ticking clock that chimes every evening, telling him he’s wasted another day if it wasn’t with her.

“Oh!” Her head snaps upright, cheeks flushed. “I-- I guess. I didn’t really think...” She bites her lip; he wants to kiss it. “Mitsuhide won’t be here either!”

He blinks. It’s true, but he’s never actually thought about that. Mitsuhide has always been in the house, it seems, never the president but a calming influence just to the side of him, and now--

Well, it’ll just be him and Kiki next year. And the rest of the frat, of course, plus all the new pledges.

Still, the future is distinctly more lonely than he’d like.

“He’ll be close, though,” he says, if only to hear the words out loud. “Harvard is a bit of a drive from here, but now that him and Kiki are, you know...”

Banging. That’s what he means to say at least, what he would say if he didn’t, last minute, remember who he was talking to. The last thing he needs is to get a scolding about taking feelings seriously and supporting their friends. Especially when he’d rather be talking about another relationship entirely.

“...Together,” he settles on, and she hums, approving.

“I’m glad that happened.” She rests her chin on her knees, surveying the lawn. Kiki’s abandoned the fireworks committee, instead shooing away the flock of fraters that have congregated around the grill. “They’re good for each other.”

“Made for each other,” he agrees, tickling her shoulder with his thumb. She squirms, a giggle bubbling out from her lips. “Just like...”

Us. He wants to say it, so bad it’s almost an ache, but-- it’s not fair. Not when they’re not really anything, when they can’t be anything, because--

I don’t know if being with me like…like that will be…good for you. I don’t think either of us are ready for that sort of…of attention.

-- Because everything about his life makes things complicated.

“I’m...happy for them,” he says, because he is, because there’s no two people in the world who deserve every bit of goodness they can wring from life more than they do. Even if that leaves him on the outside, again.

“Me too.” Shirayuki smiles, soft and fond, and it’s impossible to believe it’s barely been ten months since he met her, that she isn’t someone he’s known his whole life, not when she just slips seamlessly into every part.

Her hand reaches out, taking his, cool in the evening breeze. “I’ll miss you too.”

His breath catches in his chest, painful. Maybe she feels so familiar because he’s been waiting for her his whole life, too.

“I-I mean, all of you, of course,” she stammers, pink flooding her cheeks, and oh, he wishes he could just lean over now and kiss her, like he was some normal boy with a normal crush and normal expectations of privacy. “I’m excited to go, but...it won’t be the same without everyone.”

Good. He smothers a grin. This whole trip is a great opportunity for her, he knows that-- how could he not, when Izana keeps reminding him about the connections she’ll make-- but--

Two years seems excessive. After a year, she’ll realize that too. And then she can come back for senior year, live in the frat, graduate, spend the summer with him in the Vineyard, and--

“We should do something together,” she says, fingers knotted around his, shoulders rounded shyly.

“Yes!” he blurts out, squeezing way too hard. “Definitely”

“All of us!”

“Ah...” That wasn’t what he thought she was going for. “I mean...”

“One last big adventure.” Her lips spread giddily. “Just the five of us. For now, of course,” she adds, “we’ll be coming back.”

“Oh, ah...” He blinks, staring down at where her hands are tangled with his. She has little over a month left here, and what he really wants is to be doing this, this whole...being together thing, but--

But it’s not like this is going anywhere either. Two years is a long time, but they’ll be sitting here just like this when she gets back. Well-- with more kissing, he hopes.

He can wait. He’s not the only one who will miss her. “Yeah, that sounds...nice.”

His eyes flick up, catching her just as she sinks teeth into the soft pillow of her lip, leaving a dent that begs to be soothed. Zen swallows, hard.

Well, a friendly getaway will have its opportunities for some, ah, private time too. He just has to create them.

“I was thinking,” he starts, lifting a hand to ruffle his hair, trying to be, you know, casual. “What if we--?”

“Hey.” Kiki perches herself across from them with a deftness that says she’s been hanging out with Obi too much. “Burgers are off the grill.”

“Great,” Zen grits out with a glare. “We’ll be down in a minute.”

Kiki hums, brow raising dubiously. “What are you two up to out here?”

“Nothing.” He glowers at her, wishing she would just take a hint. “Just talking.”

“Ah.” Her mouth twitches. “I see.”

“We were just talking about taking a trip!” Shirayuki blurts out excitedly, red-faced and glowing. “All of us! One last adventure before me and Obi go to Lyrias.”

Kiki blinks at that, cocking her head. “What were you thinking?”

“Oh, um, I don’t know.” A giggle burst nervously from her as she smooths the hem of her shorts over her thighs. “We hadn’t really gotten that far.”

All right, it’s time to drag this conversation back on track. Zen clears his throat. “Kiki, doesn’t your dad have that house in the Berkshires? We could go for a weekend, maybe take in the--”

“Why? We’re already in western Mass. What will a forty minute drive get us?” She wrinkles her nose. “It isn’t even peak foliage season.”

Privacy, he wants to say, but he knows how poorly that idea would fly with her. For someone who always seems to find time to be alone with her boytoy, Kiki’s awfully invested in seeing that he never has any with his girl...thing.

“Hm, I wasn’t really think a trip-trip either,” Shirayuki admits, crushing his dreams of a nice afternoon alone in a hammock, just the two of them and their bathing suits. “But something like an, ah...activity. Like an amusement park.” She perks. “Do you have something like that out here?”

“Six Flags!” he blurts out before he can even consider what he’s saying. “It’s only a half hour away, and the coasters are supposed to be some of the best. I mean, if you, ah, like that sort of thing.”

Which he doesn’t, but there’s really no need to mention that. Not when she lights up like she does, hands clapping together over her heart.

“That sounds perfect! I’ve never been to one of those.” She leans in, conspiratorial. “Opa always got vertigo on the Turkish Twist.”

He may not know what that thing is, but it sounds gut-wrenching enough to keep in head in the trash for a good ten minutes. Zen plasters a smile on his face, steadfastly ignoring the arch look Kiki gives him-- god, that’s the last thing he needs, Kiki deciding it would be funny to tell the story of when they rode the Tower of Terror in middle school-- and says, “I’ll go on any ride you want.”

Kiki makes an unearthly noise, somewhere between a cough and a choke, and he braces for it, for the you know, Zen can tell you the location of every trashcan in Hollywood Studios--

“When were you thinking?” she says instead, mouth just barely twitching at the corner. “It’s going to be busy this weekend.”

“Oh!” Shirayuki’s eyes round, matching the curve of her mouth. “I didn’t think of that. It doesn’t have to be right now. Maybe in another...week? Or so?”

Kiki whips out her phone, flicking through with one finger. “How about...the seventeenth?”

“Ah...” Shirayuki squints, eyes rolling upward like her brain is an open book she can skim for answers. “Y-yes. I think that’s all right.”

Zen stares. “Did you just...pick a random date?”

“No.” Kiki clicks her screen off, slipping it back into her pocket. “This weekend will still have traffic from the fourth. Next week we’re supposed to submit our paperwork to the student affairs office for this semester, and I know you haven’t started. I don’t want to go during a weekend rush, and Thursday is far into the week where if we have any last second problems with student affairs, we won’t have to reschedule.” She holds out a hand, ta-da. “The seventeenth.”

It’s not fair how she can just...do all that. “W-well, all right. But we still have to make sure that Obi and Mitsuhide--”

“Hey, Obi,” Kiki calls out, catching his attention as he cuts across the lawn toward them. “What are you doing on July seventeenth?”

In full sunlight, in the view of every member of the frat, Obi stumbles over absolutely nothing. “W-what?”

“July seventeenth.” she repeats archly as he slinks up beside her, arms resting on the rail. “Are you doing anything.”

When he thinks of Obi at rest, he thinks of languid limbs, of a frustratingly canted smile and glittering eyes, but--

He’s not any of that now. His troublesome mouth lays in a tense line, the corners of his eyes creased and wary. “Why?”

“We want to go somewhere, all five of us,” Shirayuki informs him giddily, mouth stretching from ear to hear. “And Zen suggested Six Flags--”

“Oh no.” He holds up his hands, shaking his head. “No way. Hard pass. I don’t do amusement parks.”

Kiki arches a brow, unimpressed. “Is that so.”

“Yeah.” He tosses his head, mouth straining towards casual derision and falling short. “Not my scene.”

“Oh really.” The mild look Kiki levels at him had leveled lesser men, but Obi only flinches. “Too cool for them, huh?”

His shoulders twitch. “Sure, we’ll go with that.”

“Ohh,” Zen grins, enjoying the way Obi squirms like a cat with his head caught in a fence. “So you mean that’s not really the reason? You have some other secret, terrible Bugs Bunny trauma in your past, maybe?”

“Well, I have to tell you,” Obi says loftily, “I’ve never really cared for Yosemite Sam.”

Shirayuki frowns. “We really don’t have to--”

“I think we all know this is just to obscure your Lola Bunny fetish,” Kiki deadpans.

“Excuse me?” Obi presses a hand to his chest, aghast. “Space Jam is a formative experience. To say any of us don’t owe Lola Bunny--”

“Hey.” Mitsuhide hops up the steps, wiping the sweat pouring down his neck. Zen valiantly doesn’t notice how Kiki stares. “The burgers have been done for a bit. What’s keeping all of you?”

“Obi is allergic to fun,” Kiki informs him, earning a shocked gasp from Obi.

“That’s not it!” he protests. “You just want to go to Six Flags--”

“Oh, Six Flags!” Mitsuhide’s mouth break into a guileless grin. “I love amusement parks.”

Obi stares, jaw slack. “Big Guy, don’t do this to me...”

Zen grins. “I dunno, Obi. Looks like you’re outvoted.”

Shirayuki shifts beside him, wringing her hands. “Oh no, I don’t think-- if Obi doesn’t want to go, we can just pick--”

“Nah.” Obi waves her off, one hand clasping at his shoulder. “You guys can do what you want. I’ll just sit this one out.”

“Obi--”

“I better check in on Shiira,” he says, stilted. “Don’t want them blowing up the front forty by accident.”

Shirayuki half stands, but it’s too late, he’s already sauntering away, laughing at he calls out to the brothers on the lawn.

“Don’t worry, Shirayuki.” Mitsuhide assures her with a clap on her shoulder. “He’ll come around.”

“I...” Zen watches the way her mouth sets, too knowing, a grim white line cutting through the flush of her face. “I don’t know about that.”

#akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #slightly obiyuki #slightly zenyuki #The Wide Florida Bay #my fic #modern au #college au #this was honestly supposed to cover both convincing obi #and their trip to the amusement part #but that was a little too ambitious #especially right after bingo #so instead here is the set up #for a minor subplot to come

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docholligay · 4 years

Text

Pigeons and Parks and The Weight of Love

This is PRIME “excuse me sir, that’s my emotional support angst” and thank you so much to @shavedjudomonkey for giving me the prompt of Tracer/Winston: "Bright Sided Character Keeping Up Cheer and Breaking Down The Second the Group’s Out of Sight" I AM HERE FOR THIS. 2,200 words, and all of my OW universe is here

She grinned at Pharah as she popped out the door, patting her on the shoulder. “See you later, love!” and scrambled out the front door of their apartment. She had been to see Mercy, and get the normal updates on everything, as she did every six weeks, and so Pharah wouldn’t have thought twice about her popping down the stairs and out the door, smile on her face.

The damp, cool air of London hit her as she left, and she closed her eyes, drinking it in deep. She loved this city, every creaking, wet, miserable, amazing, and wonderful corner of it. It beat deep inside her, part of her own heart, and had even when she had been apart from it, felt the tight stretch of distance like an ache in her chest. She would always belong to London, wouldn’t she? No matter what. She’d come up in the little flowers the peeked through the grass in the parks, and be beneath the flutter of every pigeon, laughing in the high whine of every train pulling into the Underground, in the scent of grease from the chip shops.. She was London, and London stood forever, and so there was nothing to worry over. She would always be here.

She would walk today. No need to take the Underground, Winston’s place wasn’t so far from Pharah and Mercy’s, really, and a bit of a walk through East London would serve her well. The park was lovely this time of year, wasn’t it? That would clear her head a bit from the force of the meeting.

Tracer pulled up the collar of her leather jacket, the worn and well-loved sherpa nuzzling against her affectionately. It really was a wonderful day, despite the cloud cover, and frankly, she liked the cloud cover. It gave a chance for her brightness to shine, didn’t it? Any fool can be happy when the sun is shining, but there was something special about those grey and drizzling London days that she loved best. She loved to complain about them, also, of course but that was her right as a Londoner. London would somehow know she meant it with nothing but the deepest love.

She and Winston should go to the park today. He didn’t get out enough, really, he was too nervous about what people would think of him, but anyone in Hackney Wick who cared to pay any attention at all knew he was a sweet and kind sort, who had a hard time raising his voice, not to mention his hand, and if only he would let himself be around more, more people would see that. Tracer could teach them, she knew, that he was to be loved and never feared. She’d take more of a hard-line stance on trying, she’d been far too lenient on this issue with Winston.

Tracer could, of course, provide all the love he could ever need, and of course if she couldn’t be there her family would care for him, but Winston deserved more people.

She could hear the children shouting on the playground as she cut across the park. The bit of drizzle wouldn’t keep them away, oh no, because they were proper little Londoners too, and she smiled brightly as she saw them scamper on the equipment, holding their laughter in her heart like a candle. She nearly exploded across the green and went to play with them herself, eager to feel the joy of her body beneath her, but she had a job to do today, didn’t she?

Focus, Lena. Hold it in your mind, right? You can do this, love.

She wasn’t unkind to herself, in this matter--it was perfectly reasonable that she would feel a bit distracted by everything going on--but gently brought herself back to attention, back to what it was she was meant to be doing.

And sometimes, an idea sprung across your mind that was so grand there was no reason not to follow it.

It lit up her mind in the firework colors of her joy, and she ran across the little road near the playground, nearly being struck by a romantic date taking place in a horse drawn carriage. But Tracer did not hear the things being flung at her by the driver, her mind racing much too loudly and quickly with the spark and whistle of her idea.

Beside all that, it felt wonderful to run.

She raced into the pub (Lena had always rather questioned it billing itself as a pub, being so clean and well-lit and serving a grilled vegetable serving board, but now was not the time to quibble over the details) and put her hands on the maitre’d's podium, eyes wide with delight.

“I know you don’t reserve tables in the garden--”

“We don’t reserve tables in the garden.”

“Right, I’ve just said that, and normally I wouldn’t ask, ‘ave never asked, in me entire life,” she studiously ignored the man’s stare as she committed her breach of manners, “but me friend, Winston, ‘e can’t rightly fit inside, and it’s a dreary day, even under the awning, not many people will want to sit, but we’re warm-blooded, so we are, and--”

He shook his head. “I don’t even have a spot to do it in, love.”

His accent was quite received, but becoming less so by the minute in the presence of Tracer’s reminder that he was truly a part of the blue-collar set, after all.

Tracer unzipped her jacket and exposed her CA. “‘ello, I’ve saved London at least twice by any measure, never asked for nothing, and I would like to take me friend, who also ‘as saved London, to ‘ave a nice meal.”

“Tracer?” He seemed a little startled, though she figuring she’d been on the news enough it shouldn’t be that surprising. “Thought you were taller.”

Tracer giggled. “I do come off a bit bigger. It’s the personality, love, always ‘as been,” She leaned in toward him, hardly taking a breath, gripping the podium, “ can I please ‘ave the bloody table, sign your kids an autograph, take a picture, make you a lovely chicken salad, whatever love, just please, for me. Never ask you again, promise.”

He sighed, but like so many, was hardly immune to Tracer’s whirlwind charm.

“Be here at 12:45.”

Tracer looked quickly at her watch. “Absolutely, will do, thanks love, and I won’t forget it.”

He shifted from foot to foot. “Leave a message for Mum, when you come back? She loves you.”

Tracer nodded vigorously, filled with excitement. “Love to, of course, and thank you!”

She raced out as quickly as she’d come. See? Today would be a wonderful day, she would just have to work hard to make it so. Winston would be so happy. Nervous, of course, but she would soothe him and say that they’d love to do it, Winston being a great hero of London and all, and it was her treat, of course, and she would only order for him if he didn’t order enough. It was no trouble, she was happy to treat her friend, and she had the day off work, and Emily was working, so really he was doing her the favor.

Tracer ran all of this over in her head as she bounced across the park, pushing the darkness from her mind. Darkness was nothing against the things she carried inside her. She wasn’t going to let anything claim her before its time, wasn’t going to waste a single solitary moment of this beautiful and remarkable world. There were couples on the lake, rowing poorly but happily, and she smiled to see them and the joy they felt with each other. The English Garden still had blooms hanging on, despite fall’s early fingers, bright dots of color in all the lush green that screamed of England to her eyes.

And so, what could conquer her, when the park was so alive? How could she feel sorry for herself, when a flower stood against the frost? No, she would be that flower. Nothing was certain in life anyway, not even bad news, and that was the truth. Mercy hadn’t given up, and neither would she.

Winston’s house, nestled among the warehouses, came into view, and she took a deep breath, puffed her chest out, and grinned brightly as she skipped up to the door. She knocked, and hollered that it was her, even as she heard Athena call out her name. WInston would rather hear her voice anyhow, she figured.

The door swung open, and Trace bounced into the room.

“Guess what, Win?” She bowed a little, almost like a puppy at play, as she said it.

He smiled softly. “I’m not going to guess, Lena.”

She jumped up onto his shoulder, hugging him tightly across the back of his neck. “Oh come on then, WIn, ‘ave a bit of fun.”

He smelled so warm, and so safe, always a little lightly of hot cocoa and cozy fires and love, and her mind, tickster that it always was, flashed the image of him across her mind, sitting alone at Christmas dinner, a simple ham in front of him and no one near him at all, wearing a Christmas jumper, the room dark and silent. It was silly to imagine such a thing could ever happen while an Oxton drew breath in this world, but it hit Tracer like a sledgehammer to the heart, and she began to tear up as she hugged him.

He sighed. “I have a lot of work to--”

“I love you so much, Win,” She sniffled, “I love you so much.”

“Lena,” he said softly, reaching his hand up to rub the back of her head, “I didn’t mean to--of course I’m excited, whatever you’ve planned--are we going to the zoo? Are we--”

Tracer jumped off of his back, wiped away her tear, and jumped in front of him, laughing at herself.

”Oh it isn’t that--I get emotional sometimes, when I get too excited, remember as I’ve told you the story of the time me mum and dad took me to disneyland, was so excited I burst into tears, it’s only that, Win, only that.”

The quickness of her speech, and the bounce of her body, made it all seem so plausible, and so he nodded.

“So, what are we doing today? I do have to finish something, but--”

Tracer bounced up and put both of her hands in one of his, nodding earnestly. “Oh that’s all right, but you must take a bit of a break, in a moment. I’ve gotten us a table at the Royal Inn on the Park, you’ve always wanted to go and I managed to talk them into saving a table for us at the garden.”

Winston looked down nervously. “I don’t know.”

“Don’t be like that, Win,” She tucked her face under his, so he was forced to look at her bright smile, “They was ever so ‘appy to do it, being as you’ve protected London, right, you’re a son of the city now. And I can’t ‘ardly go meself, waitstaff never could leave the table, who would I ‘ave to chatter at? Just you, I’m afraid.”

Winston looked up, and then sighed, but smiled at her, nodding. “Okay. Let me finish this bit of soldering, and then we’ll go. It’ll take me about, I don’t know, half an hour.”

“Lovely.”

The scent of him was still in her mind, the fears of his loneliness gnawing at the edges. And what of the rest of them? Pharah had come so far as to get herself a sense of humor. Mercy trusted that people were here to stay. D.va was even seeing someone, had learned that she could be more than an idol or a recluse, but could combine all those things together. Everything was wonderful, and what if she somehow hurt them?

“Lena?” The concern in his voice told her she was doing a poor job.

“Oh,” she shook her head, snapping herself back to reality, “‘orribly out of focus today, Win, sorry, sorry, you know love, I’ll go run around a bit in the park, meet you at the alcoves in forty minutes? You can finish your work, and I’ll get a bit of the wiggles out.”

Winston looked at her for a moment, but then nodded. “Okay.” He allowed himself a warm smile, “We’ll have a great lunch today.”

“Absolutely we will,” she gave him a quick but strong hug, “you’ll remember it for ages, I bet. Skipping off now,” she quickly moved to the door, “so as not to distract you.”

He said something that signaled agreement, and Tracer bounded out the door, back toward the park, to a quiet place among the green and trees where no one sat. She walked slowly, too slowly, not keeping ahead of the thing Mercy had said, the thing at the back of her mind. There was so much to love here. She was only just turned thirty-four. She was getting married. Overwatch was doing so well. The pigeons in London were so fat and charming. The grass was so green and fresh. She loved her life so much. Her family loved her so.

But for one moment, Lena OXtron faltered in keeping her face to the sun, fell to her knees in the wet grass, and began to cry, just one small sentence creeping out of her mouth, whimpered to the world she adored.

“I don’t want to die.”

#HON HON HON

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chaoskirin · 4 years

Text

The Seven Seas--Final Chapter

Fandom: Queen Genre: Sci-fi/Gen Rating: PG Chapter 4 Word Count: 2003 TOTAL WORD COUNT: 8073

A couple notes: I originally outlined this for the inclusion in a zine. When that didn’t happen, I sort of set the project aside for a while... But after The Seven Seas of Rhye came up on my playlist recently, I decided to expand it a bit and write it. My original target for zine printing was 4 pages or 4,000 words, so I’ve expanded it a little. I hope you enjoy the end. Thank you for reading.

---

The magnitude of a concert can be outlined by several things.

First, the talent. In the case of Queen, this was largely a non-issue, as they were four of the most talented people on the planet. To be fair, this was Roger's assessment, and Roger possessed an ego roughly the size of a stack of thirty blue whales. For the purposes of comparing size, it might have been more logical to select something land-based, such as school buses or football fields. However, in dealing with an ego so large, one must delve into the outright ridiculous or downright strange--sometimes both at the same time. Therefore, whales.

Roger's ego was only surpassed by Freddie's, which no scientist has ever been able to measure.

Second, pizazz. No concert performed by Queen could ever be any less than a spectacular free-for-all of pyrotechnics. A smorgasbord of sparkles... Each properly calibrated to draw the most admiration from the crowd. Professionalism demanded a panel of lights so bright and hot that it could melt the cheese right off a hamburger from a whole kilometer away. If the entirety of the fire brigade wasn't on standby, the show just wasn't worth anyone's time. On the other hand, if the venue burned to the ground in the middle of the concert, it made for particularly bad press. It was a very fine line.

(There are other, more mundane things that go into making a concert a huge success, but this is not a bedtime story, and boring the readers to sleep would be far from ideal.)

But most of all, a crowd defined the magnitude of the concert. Without a crowd, nothing else mattered. That was Roger's expert opinion, at any rate. Which meant on the day of Queen's impromptu, unplanned, desperate, world-saving, hail-Mary concert, Roger Taylor delivered.

Though the fallow field stretched for acres in every direction, it was full to capacity, with people pressing in shoulder to shoulder, eliminating any space between them. Queen's stagehands--those they'd been able to rouse from their vacations--struggled to keep the crowd away from the makeshift stage. This task was hampered by a rather massive electronics rig that jutted out into every opportune space... much like an exploding flan.

John and Brian bent over it, whispering to each other as if they were the best of friends. If one could hear their words, though, one would understand that these were not the hushed intonations of friends--barbs abounded; when Brian called John an incompetent buffoon, John retorted by telling Brian in no uncertain terms that he was a technologically inept upside-down tortoise who couldn't wire his way out of a paper bag. When Brian noted that no one would need to wire their way out of a paper bag and that only an uncivilized rutting salmon wouldn't just tear through it to escape, John insinuated something terribly rude about Brian's dear mother.

In other words, they weren't friends at all. They were brothers.

"Five minutes," Freddie said for the thirteenth time. Delays, as always, remained a trick of the trade. "Is this thing gonna work or not?"

"The aliens are in place?" John asked. One of the lighting scaffolds dimmed, casting the shadows under his eyes into positively evil relief.

"Yes. All of them. Leader, Glasses, Arsehole, and their entire crew." Freddie gestured up onto the far corner of the stage, where they'd built a tiny set of bleachers for the occasion--so tiny that Roger had to squint to see them. The slug-like creatures undulated over them like... Well, like an exploding flan. One must never fail to re-purpose a simile where appropriate, after all. Their shining silver ship lay just behind them, reflecting the light of the setting sun.

John looked at Brian. Brian looked at John. Neither of them trusted each other, and yet they both trusted each other implicitly, with their very lives. They were and would always remain a true paradox in every sense of the word.

"You guys can make out later," Freddie said. "Is the thing ready?"

Brian rolled his eyes. "I can say with absolute certainty... That is, with nearly every resource available to us... Ah, there's a VERY strong likelyhood--and a very TINY possibility that... I guess what I mean is that were I a betting man, which I'm not. Well, I am occasionally, but there's a time and place for it, and it's probably not here. Let me put it this way. I believe, with every fiber of my being--"

As Roger wondered if Brian had an off switch, John interceded: "We're as ready as we'll ever be."

"Good enough," Freddie said.

Brian thanked John for his ability to summarize. John patted Brian on the shoulder. They all climbed onto the rickety stage as the crowd cheered.

The aliens also cheered. Probably. Never easy to tell when you were sitting behind a drum kit several meters away from something approximately the size of guitar pick. Freddie acknowledged the would-be invaders with a nod, put his hand over the mic, and turned to the others.

It was never a good idea when Freddie put his hand over the mic on stage.

"I've changed some of the lyrics, darlings, for this special occasion."

Roger, who would be singing backup, paled enough for Freddie to see, even in the shadows. Freddie smiled and flicked a dismissive hand. "Don't worry, dear. Everything still rhymes."

"But... rehearsals!" Brian argued. "Our chance at--!"

But Freddie had already turned back to the crowd, his microphone live. "We've got something special for you tonight I think you're going to love. A new song!"

He waited, as all great showmen did, for the crowd to both cheer uproariously and fall to silence. As they were taking just a bit too long to get to the silence part, Roger smashed one of his floor toms as close to his own mic as he could get, creating the wiggle of noise juuuuust prior to a sound system emitting feedback. It had the desired effect.

With a devious grin, Freddie sat at the piano and stared daggers at the aliens. In the few seconds between the stage hand whisking away the standing mic and the sound crew activating the mic at the piano, he said, "This is what you wanted. This is what you're gonna get."

Ominous.

Even from the opening piano riff, the crowd was hooked. On their feet. Cheering. And Freddie sang the Seven Seas of Rhye for the first time in public, with some modifications which would never be heard again:

"Fear me, you lords and lady creatures. I descend upon your earth from the skies. I command your very souls, you unbelievers. Leave me what is mine--The Seven Seas of Rhye." Not bad so far, Roger thought as he eyed the special red button just to the side of his bass pedal. Out of all of them, he alone could be trusted with the proper timing, and it had to be perfect. If it wasn't perfect--

Well, it would probably still be okay. But Freddie thrived on perfection, so perfection it was.

The second verse got a little weirder.

"Can you hear me, you slugs and sluggy counsellors? I stand before you naked to the eyes! I will destroy any snail who dares abuse my trust-- You'll leave me what is mine--The Seven Seas of Rhye."

Roger, whose eyesight was very bad to the point where sometimes he couldn't even be sure whether he was staring at his own drums or a series of giant, empty bowls, glanced over at the alien bleachers. He thought--he hoped--they were no longer cheering.

He eyed the red button again. Not yet. First, he had to try to keep up with Freddie's lyric alterations; at the last minute, he decided maybe it would be better to loudly hum into his mic instead, then--either out of charity or mischief--Freddie kept the lyrics exactly the same as he'd written them.

"Sister... I live and lie for you. Mister... Do and I die. You are mine, I possess you. I belong to you forever."

Roger didn't hear the next verse. At all. Brian took over singing along, and Roger played on shoddy muscle memory--After all, he'd only just learned the song, so no one could blame him for missing a strike or two on a cymbal.

If Roger knew anything, though, he knew timing so implicitly, so instinctually... and he knew exactly when...

"I'll come out alive," Freddie sang. His arm blazed with hidden pyrotechnics as he pointed directly to the aliens' home planet of Denmark.

And Roger smashed the button next to his bass pedal.

Freddie sang, "Be gone with you, you small and shady conquerors," and the sky exploded with the most precise of direct hits. As Brian had calculated, Denmark lay at an amazingly fortunate and perfect angle to explode from earth's northern hemisphere. At least, that's what Freddie wanted them to think--for a Queen explosion, this one was rather small, but it had to look real.

Despite their tiny size, Roger could hear the aliens' audible gasp even over his drumming.

Unwilling to break his stride, Freddie continued.

"Give out the good, leave out the bad evil cries. I've challenged the mighty Leader and his arsehole-- And taken what is mine. The Seven Seas of Rhye!"

Although everyone had doubts that the ploy would work given its absolute simplicity, the aliens still piled back into their ship, their slimy backsides squirming over each other like maggots in roadkill. As the ship lifted off to retreat, the stage crew covered their escape with a helpful volley of fireworks that exploded just a bit too close.

Roger turned his eyes to the sky just in time to see the silver saucer streak away into the sunset.

---

"Am I going to wake up at some point?" John queried hours later. Long after the concert ended and the crowds had filed out, Queen still sat on the stage as their crew cleaned up around them. "I feel like that should have been a dream. Was it?"

"I was thinking maybe we were dead," Brian answered, after which the two of them shared a private chuckle.

"No, we're not dreaming and we're not dead," Freddie said. "We've single-handedly saved the planet from annihilation, all thanks to yours truly."

Roger sighed. He knew this whole thing would go right to Freddie's head. Any attempt science made at measuring his ego now would backfire tremendously. People would die if they ever tried to figure out Queen's prodigy of a singer, and they would have been asking for it. No one could pin down Freddie Mercury and hope to survive.

"They'll be back," Brian said, after which John applauded him and handed him a certificate printed on expensive parchment. It was already framed.

Bran scowled. "This says, 'award for the most obvious statement ever,' and it's sealed by the prime minister and the queen."

"I've had that in my suitcase for the past year," John said. "Figured tonight you'd say something stupid enough for me to give it to you."

"But the queen," Brian stammered. John shrugged.

"Be that as it may," Freddie said, "Captain Obvious is correct. They'll be back, but I suppose that's a problem for the future."

Roger very much thought that was the right way to look at things. After all, the future wasn't real. It couldn't hurt them. And with every day that passed, the future technically got farther and farther away. By right of its very existence, the future could never be the present, and Roger preferred to live in reality.

As a dubious corollary, Roger also believed the past didn't exist, insofar as he couldn't get drunk in it. So maybe he wasn't the right person to ask.

"So now what?" Brian asked. "What do we do?"

With a smile and a flourish, Freddie said, "We play, darling. We play."

#queen #queen band #fanfic #freddie mercury #roger taylor #john deacon #brian may #ck writes #not bestiary

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 4 years

Text

Magic and Miracles and BEYOND Chapter 13

ok, I didn’t mean to take...(doesn’t bother to look at how long since it’s been since I’ve posted anything for this story because the guilt will kill me) however long (feels longer than forever) to update this story. I literally had it all planned out in my head. And then when I went to write it my brain went “fuck you, I am on fumes, I need a break, I’m done.” and it didn’t matter how much I tried to restart or jump it- no go. So I moved on. I went back to school, I’m getting my licence to be a massage therapist, I’ll be doing that until July of next year which I’m currently on break with until Tuesday. But GOOD NEWS. I was going through my tumblr and I still find all these RaeLena pictures and when I went back to this- I found, lo and behold, FUEL. So I started this back up and this baby is running! Wooo! @the-immortal-marshal and @warnjai-17 hopefully you’re still here to enjoy this

AO3

Magic and Miracles and BEYOND

Chapter 13

The morning of Crowe’s wedding day was bright and brisk and the trees around the farm seemed to have come into spectacular color just for her. The sunrise was especially beatuiful and Prompto and the photographer got some outstanding pictures of it.

The horses had been washed the day before and kept in their squeaky clean stalls so they didn’t get dirty right before the ceremony. Crowe woke up feeling so happy and excited because today was the day her and her best friend were getting married and Chelsea had worked overtime in making sure every detail was perfect and to make sure Crowe only had decisions to make in a timely manner but no actual work to do through the whole process so it had been a breeze. The girls had all stayed at Sylva’s house and she had had another caterer come in and make everyone breakfast and a team of hair and makeup artists to make sure each girl shined like the jewel she was as Luca and Lilly and all the other little sisters of the those in the wedding party got to get glammed up too.

Meanwhile Libertus woke up with the worst hangover and felt like death warmed over. He had stayed up half the night, him and his friends around a campfire on Craig’s farm and drank and just talked, some of it was casual, most of it was deep though while Tredd did manage to keep his mouth shut about Ada being pregnant. But he sure did hint at it to Luche which Ravus and Nyx picked up on as Ravus was suspecting that the reason his mother favored Tredd as much as she did was because he had the gift too.

Craig Sr. and his wife Charla were already hard at work making a mountain of food for the boys and they chuckled to themselves as they watched all of them wake up to the smell of food and come in, each one’s hair crazier than the last as they all did the zombie shuffle to get the food before sitting down at the table as the guys downed pot after pot of coffee and ate in relative silence as bottles of Tylenol, Advil and Aleve were passed around.

“You boys alive over there?” Craig asked before there was a chorus of groans as an answer which cracked Craig Sr. and Charla up.

Meanwhile Hazel was sleeping blissfully away in Titus’ bed before the smell of her own breakfast woke her up only moments before Titus came in with their breakfast on a tray.

“Good morning Beautiful.” Titus cooed to her as her eyes fluttered open before she smiled adoringly at him as she stretched.

“Good morning, what do you got there?” She asked as she sat up, keeping the blankets up to cover her nakedness but moved the pillows to the headboard so she could sit up comfortably.

“Breakfast.” Titus beamed.

“Aww,” Hazel fawned as he gave her the tray and then got back into bed before they cuddled together with the extra large tray over Hazel’s lap.

“This is really sweet,” Hazel gushed as she started to dig in to the bowl of berries before she pulled the lid off of the plate to see an engagement ring sitting on top of some french toast and gasped as Titus’ heart beat so hard in his chest he thought it was going to break his ribs as his mouth felt like it was full of cotton all of a sudden.

“So, I was thinking, I know you really like your apartment and I really like the peace and quiet and space of the country, but I thought we could find a happy medium if we built a house together, Oak Creek Estates still has a bunch of lots available and if…” Titus was cut off by Hazel quickly attaching her mouth to his and kissing him as deeply as she could from her spot under his arm as his arm curled around her before his other hand went up to gently caress her gorgeous face, hoping she could understand what he was trying to say because words were failing him but actions never would.

“Yes, that’ll be perfect, a fresh new start for both of us.” Hazel beamed happily as she had already slipped the ring on before Titus moved the tray over to the floor before he really got to enjoy his fiance for breakfast which is what he really wanted.

As the clock ticked down Libertus went from hungover to happy to nervous and by a surprise, Luche was too.

“Cut it out, they’re all gonna think you’re playing with yourself.” Tredd teased as he sat down next to Luche after he came back into the house from helping the firework guys set up all the fireworks for the night before he sat down on the couch as Luche frowned over at him.

“Cut what out?” Luche tried to deflect.

“You keep fingering that engagement ring thing in your pocket, it looks like you’re trying to jack off.” Tredd chuckled as Luche frowned.

“How…” Luche began as Tredd gave him an unimpressed look.

“Really? You really wanna play dumb? Come on, let me seee.” Tredd questioned as Luche humphed before he pulled it out and handed it to Tredd.

“I do, I will marry you.” Tredd gushed in an overly feminine way.

“Oh my God, stop.” Luche rolled his eyes as Tredd opened the fancy slim ring box to see a paper flower fold out holding the ring.

“Aww, this was one of Victor’s rings for Ravus wasn’t it?” Tredd asked as Luche sighed deeply.

“Yes, I bought it off of him.” Luche admitted.

“Of course you did, you spent what? A whole dollar?” Tredd teased.

“Ravus gave me a price and I paid it, no negotiations needed.” Luche defended.

“A whole five dollars because you don’t cary singles anymore blue blood.” Tredd grinned triumphantly.

“I hate this about you.” Luche sarcastically quipped as he tried to take the ring back but Tredd pulled it out of his reach.

“Hey, hey, don’t get all huffy. I think it’s nice- a whole 20 carats just on the center diamond and that has to be...another 5 carats in the bezels and blue diamonds are coming back into fashion again, platinum?” Tredd appraised as Luche just frowned deeper and deeper.

“Since when do you know anything about jewelry?” Luche asked.

“Since mom adopted me too and has been taking me under her wing and teaching me the same shit she’s teaching you but I get the super fun hands on versions, and she is paying me in stock options now and recognizes that I have a good eye and can spot a fake a mile away.” Tredd answered casually as he gave it back.

“Wait paying you? Paying you for what?” Luche demanded.

“You didn’t think you were her only eyes and ears did you?” Tredd grinned smugly.

“How much is she paying you?” Luche pressed.

“Eh, it started off as 5k here, 10k there, now it’s stock options and percentages and 401ks and trust funds and all that which I find I like much better, especially since I’ve been reinvesting that money in said stocks. Project Recovery alone has quadrupled my money in just the last couple of months alone and Sylva says I have the same gift she has in that oracle shit. I see things with my special eyes that you don’t.” Tredd teased as he poked his finger near Luche’s ear as he batted his eyes suggestively at Luche.

“Stop,” Luche batted Tredd’s hand away. “What do you see that I don’t?” Luche questioned.

“I knew before anyone else did that Crowe was pregnant.” Tredd grinned.

“You got lucky.” Luche countered.

“Did I? Did I also get really super lucky when I knew Ada was pregnant over the summer on the cruises?” Tredd revealed.

“What?” Luche blinked.

“Yeah, I saw that before Sylva did, And that fifteen grand? That was to keep you two from fucking so you wouldn’t lose your mind when she lost that pregnancy. Which sucked by the way, but hopefully it doesn’t happen again.” Tredd revealed.

“You…” Luche didn’t know if he should laugh, cry or just go bang his head against a wall. “How? How did you know?” Luche demanded.

“There’s just a lot of subtle changes that most miss but to me they just all add up for some reason.” Tredd shrugged. “But looking back, aren’t you happy you didn’t fuck her senseless on the cruise?” Tredd asked.

“...yeah.” Luche ducked his head with a sigh.

“Well I knew the moment those two got together that it was gonna crash and burn in a matter of months. She’s always been your girl, she was just the last one to realize it.” Tredd offered which made Luche and Tredd both grin lopsidedly at each other.

“Thanks.” Luche thanked him.

“You’re welcome. By the way, I want to be a groomsman.” Tredd insisted which made Luche snicker a laugh.

“Oh do you?” Luche returned.

“Hell yeah, am I or am I not the Bro who was purposefully a douche to save you from that clusterfuck?” Tredd prodded.

“You are that douche.” Luche laughed.

“So I’m a groomsman?” Tredd prodded.

“You are the douchiest of my groomsman.” Luche chuckled.

“Good,” Tredd grinned victoriously as Ravus and Nyx came up.

“Oh is that Ada’s ring?” Nyx asked.

“Yeah, I was thinking I was gonna pull a Rae.” Luche admitted as he handed it to Nyx as Ravus smiled proudly. Happy that the ring was going to go to a “brother”. Besides that still left a few to save for his children to use when they would get engaged.

“Awesome,” Nyx smiled happily before he gave it back.

“Shower is clear.” Craig called out after he got out of his since every shower was being used on the property to get all the boys ready as Luche got the ring back as he got up and claimed the empty shower.

“So what else do you see with your special eyes?” Ravus asked Tredd once Luche was well out of earshot.

“Jesus, you have the ears of a rodent Beavus.” Tredd rolled his eyes.

“Ada’s pregnant again isn’t she?” Ravus grinned.

“Sssshhhh!” Tredd shushed him as he quickly looked around to see if anyone else had heard that.

“See? Told you.” Ravus put to Nyx who gave him an unimpressed look.

“Does he know?” Nyx gestured to where Luche went.

“No, absolutely not, and none of us can tell him either, we gotta let Ada find out on her own and have her be the one to tell him, we can’t spoil this for him. I mean you know me, I’m all for spoiling shit but that’s the special shit you don’t spoil.” Tredd urged them.

“So what do you think it’s gonna be?” Ravus put to Tredd curiously.

“Pppfff, boy.” Tredd snickered. “Watch they’ll name him something super British, like London or Oxford or something so English the Royal Family will be like ‘calm it down now’. “ Tredd predicted.

“London.” Nyx and Ravus grinned.

“Any other girl preggers?” Nyx asked Tredd.

“Right now? No. About to be? Oh yeah,” Tredd laughed.

“Who?” Ravus and Nyx asked as Tredd looked at them unimpressed before he looked over to Gladio pointedly before turning back to them.

“No way,” Nyx shook his head.

“A hundred bucks, they’re going to be expecting in the next say...four months?” Tredd offered as he offered his hand for a shake.

“Deal.” Nyx agreed as he shook Tredd’s hand as Ravus just shook his head, knowing Tredd was right and knew that Tredd had the same gift he had. Which instead of denying it or downplaying it or getting jealous, he felt a sense of relief that he wasn’t the only one with it.

Once all the girls arrived the boys got the horses saddled and ready to go as the guests started to arrive and take their seats. The weather couldn’t be more perfect, small, almost cartoonish puffy clouds rolling in the sky, it was warm enough to be comfortable but not chilled enough to be cold but that message didn’t seem to get to Libertus who was sweating buckets so much so that everyone thought he was going to lose 10lbs in sweat alone and Chelsea was grateful she had extra shirts for Libertus to change into and basically bathed him in deodorant and antiperspirant and loaded him up with anti-nausea meds as his own mother and Crowe’s mothers gave him the pep-talk of the century as Chelsea was copying that down for future use.

When it finally came time for the actual ceremony, the horses suddenly decided to shit where they stood at the back of the aisle before Chelsea and her team tried to hurriedly clean it up, the horses then tried munching on the flowers on the sides of the aisle, there was practically a whole hive of bees there to collect the nectar from all the flowers even though Sylva had a case of Epipens which thankfully didn’t need to get used but thankfully, at least- there were no mosquitoes and Libertus was thankfully laughing too hard at the horses being horses to cry too much because the sight of Crowe in a wedding dress coming down the aisle to him was overwhelming to him.

Because Crowe’s smile shamed the sun. She was radiant and beautiful and practically glowing and Libertus had never seen her look so beautiful in his life. It was perfect and after the vows, Libertus finally seemed to ease up and become himself again.

At the reception Sylva went ahead and practically glued herself to Linda, Luche’s mother as Luche was slow dancing with Ada because she had caught the bouquet in the bouquet toss, thanks to Sylva organizing her girls to guarantee it and thanks to Sylva also organizing her boys- Luche caught the garter belt and now they were dancing together, the rest of the world falling away.

“I really like the fairy lights.” Ada noted at all the twinkle lights around them.

“Would you want fairy lights at our wedding?” Luche asked and Ada didn’t give a second thought to his choice of words before she began telling him all about what she would want for their wedding.

Meanwhile on the sidelines-

“Linda, you better get used to the idea of them being together.” Sylva urged as Linda gave her a side eye.

“Look, it’s very simple, it’s either Ada or this cum guzzling gutter trash.” Sylva continued as she pulled up a video of Beth on a porn site that had Linda choking on her winecooler and looking particularly aghast. “That could have been your daughter in law who by the way flirted and eye fucked before she actually did fuck Chinese billionaires trying to get the best deal possible while Luche was sitting right next to her and would have been way more unfaithful to him than Ada ever will be again, Ada is allowed to sow a wild oat or two in her youth, and now that she’s done that and seen that the grass is indeed not anywhere near as green as it is with Luche and I can tell you that she won’t be making that mistake again.” Sylva assured Linda. “Now, count your blessings as you read this.” Sylva furthered before she pulled out a prenup and it had Linda grinning from ear to ear as she read it.

“You see the line we have to walk as mothers is to let our children enjoy life and live it how they want to, but that doesn’t mean we can’t put them in some safety gear, I’ll have Ada sign this before we go wedding dress shopping but here’s the deal-” Sylva lowered her voice. “You and Luke will be nothing but nice, happy and supportive of Luche and Ada from here on out. I have already talked with Luche and he’s ok with me paying for a bulk of the wedding expenses, all I’m asking you and Luke to pay for are the invitations and Ada’s parents will be buying Ada’s veil, fair enough?” Sylva put to her.

“That’s more than fair.” Linda nodded in agreement with a thankful smile to Sylva.

“Good, now, watch your son propose and be happy about it.” Sylva nodded to the dancefloor where Luche had gotten down on one knee and proposed to Ada as Sylva was smiling brightly while Linda plastered on a smile, happy that her son was at least protected and grateful that Sylva had adopted him and cared for him as her own because the Lord knew she wasn’t willing or ready to pay for much of anything else as Sylva offered her own winecooler over to Linda to clink with a knowing smile when Ada said yes.

After that, that’s when the party seemed to get into full gear, the moment the sun began to set they lit the fires in the fire pits inside the bale circles so people could sit on the bales and make smores since the wedding had been catered by a competition BBQ joint that had all the BBQ and steaks anyone could ask for. There was a mountain of throw blankets to keep the guests warm as they did this and then at the finale- that’s when Tredd- being a fireman and pyromaniac- set the fireworks off which everyone fully enjoyed before the party sent Crowe and Libertus off on their honeymoon which Sylva got them a cabin and a hunting excursion out in the northwest.

Luche and Ada barely made it home and in the door before they were on each other and removing the remainder of their clothes and made it to the bottom of the stairs before Luche had pinned her to the wall and started fucking her hard up against it, Ada’s engagement ring nearly getting snagged in his hair as Ada scratched his scalp roughly as the loudest and longest pleasured moan left her throat.

“Oh Luche!” Ada keened as the back of her head hit the wall behind her, knocking the picture of them hanging next to her head slightly askew as Luche’s hips pounded into hers.

Luche proposing to Ada after she caught the bouquet came as a surprise to Ada but not really to anyone else, but that was all that mattered to Luche. Ada was completely wrapped up in wedding fever and the joy and excitement of the moment to notice anyone outside of Luche. Their relationship was better than it had ever been since she came back to him and together they both worked exceptionally hard to make the other happy.

Ada was blown away by the drop dead gorgeous ring Luche proposed with.

Luche had wanted his proposal to be more eloquent but in the end, he just went for simple and straight to the point.

When Ada had said that she liked something about the decorations for the wedding, Luche found himself asking her what she would like for their wedding and Ada had answered it without a second thought and before Ada realized it she revealed what she had always wanted and fantasized about as a little girl and Luche was grinning ear to ear and when she was done Luche didn’t hesitate to just get down on one knee and offer to give her everything she had just said and pleaded for the chance to make all her dreams come true as everyone quickly gathered around them with eager eyes and ears to hear her answer and Ada didn’t even get to see the ring before she said yes and when she did see the ring, her eyes nearly popped out of her head and her jaw fell and rolled away on the floor. But she readily had him put it on her finger.

From there, it was like they were velcroed to each other and receiving all the congratulatory wishes before Chelsea made a point to make sure they had her business card and to give her a call when they wanted to set a date and get things in motion before Luche repeated, almost verbatim what Ada had just said to her as Chelsea quickly made notes, using up the last half of her notebook since the first half was already full of notes for Hazel and Titus’ wedding plans that she had gotten earlier before she left Luche and Ada to enjoy more congratulations since Ada was the last to be engaged and didn't notice how Chelsea had then gone to Sylva, Linda and Luke as well as Ada's parents who Sylva had gathered together to force a congratulatory toast between them all before Sylva informed them that she would be paying for the bulk of it if Luche's parents were willing to buy the invitations and if Ada's parents would pay for Ada's veil since wedding dresses could be so expensive, that she would take care of the rest since Luche was like another son to her and brother to Ravus which she received very little argument to.

Luche felt he smiled more that night than he had in the previous year combined. But he was so happy. Finally things were coming together. He had the dream job, had fantastic friends, supportive family and the girl of his dreams and everything was perfect and he couldn’t ask for more.

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absentauthor · 5 years

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Something to Behold

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Based on a post by @sebstanwassup and sent to me by the wonderful @chipilerendi . Based off the song Georgia by Vance Joy.

Warnings: Angst. Fluff. Mild smuttish activity/implied smut. Implied PTSD.

Words: 1400+

He hid things.

He didn't mean to, it was never his intention. He never meant for his soul to be something he stowed away from you, pieces scattered behind his eyes, well-hidden beneath his stoic and often brooding facade.

He hid them in the morning, when he'd trek into your tiny apartment kitchen to find you dancing around inn his shirt to some soft, Sunday morning kind of tune.

He hid them at night, when he'd carry you to bed and spend hours kissing every inch of you, quietly hoping that if you're crying out his name, you won't ask why there's a crinkle in his forehead, a tell-tale sign that he's thinking too hard and has been for too long.

He kept the hiding places close, retreated to them when he would retreat into himself, drowning in post-nightmare panic or the unmistakable jolt he sometimes had when there was a loud pop; like fireworks or even a champagne cork.

You'd always been one to extend those little arms wide at those times, ask him if he wanted to talk about it. Never pushed hard enough to make him say anything, giving him the respect he wasn't sure he deserved. Because you cared and he knew it, but he wasn't sure if he was wearing down your sunshiny resolve, slowly making you lose the sparkle behind your eyes.

You waited for him anyway. And waited. You seemed perpetually prepared to wait for him. He was afraid the day would come when you would finally give up on him and leave for good.

It made him question the hiding places, why he always felt the need to choose them over you. Kind, warm, generous you. Maybe he didn't want those hiding places, could never be bound to them. Had never reconciled their existence, accepted their place in his heart as he had yours.

Because you are a part of his heart. He feels you with every breath he takes, has you on his mind with every racing thought, memorized to the best extent his memory will allow. The sound of your voice in the morning, when you'd coax him back into bed with your wicked yet innocent eyes; the dimple in your cheek you get when you're thinking; your brash and bold laugh; the way you make him laugh so easily (sometimes it only took a glance); the way you kissed him and he'd promptly forget everything save for his own name.

They were things he held onto, the things he would choose over the warm and worrying you that was often right in front of him, begging him to tell him what was wrong.

He knew it was better this way. He never wanted to burden you. He didn't want you to worry, didn't want him to become a prescient source of anxiety to you.

You're the good things, Bucky's decided. The smell that comes after a thunderstorm. The feel of the sun on his face. The warm feeling of laughing too hard. The safety of his journal pages, the only place he could ever seem to tell you the things he wants to without feeling the guilt of dampening your shine.

Because it's not like he didn't want to tell you when he came home all those nights, bloodied and bruised, only to find you waiting up on the Commons couch, wearing your adorable reading glasses with your nose buried in a book. Sat beside a pile of his clean clothes you'd put together for him and a first aid kit, ready to be there for whatever ailed him.

He wanted to accept your help, live in it, but he never could. He always flinched when you went to touch him, went to nurse the wounds he'd garnered in fighting things he never really wanted to.

He always wanted to keep you separate from this life.

From HYDRA, the Avengers. Part of him always had to wrestle the urge to amend that list with a third item: James Buchanan Barnes.

But he couldn't. He could only hold his problems close and urge you in the opposite direction. Because his demons were persistent; had walked beside him for decades. They'd taken up residence in his bones, ached every time he pulled a trigger or threw a punch.

He was a man with a talent for violence, for better or worse. You were a woman with an innate kindness and generosity, an elegance others would tremble to behold. One he felt privileged to touch, to feel.

Neverthless, he'd always been pushing you away, not that he truly wanted it.

He was biting at times, mean. He'd snap and yell or go silent altogether when all you would ask is how he was. He would see the way your smile would fall and the light would dim in your eyes. He'd chastise himself silently, watch from afar. Stop that! Don't treat her like that! Don't take her for granted!

He could never listen. God, he could never listen.

You were bold and bright, a jolt that had taken his life and lit it up. If he lost you -- had a hand in losing you -- his life would dull forever and he may never recover.

It was a powerful hold to have over someone and he couldn't bring himself to tell you that you had it over him. He knew you'd never take advantage of it, manipulate him like he had been for almost a century, but he was wary.

He couldn't tell you. He had to work it out. . .somehow.

So, he wrote it down.

He put it all into words. What he felt for you, the nature of his demons, your hold on his heart. It took up pages and pages in his journal, ensuring you'd have to read it straight from the book. He’d kept it forever and was finally ready for you to see it.

He wrote it all down, despite the voices in his head screaming.

Don't tell her. She's too good. You're going to ruin her, but with this, it'll be sooner rather than later.

And when he was finished, he sprinted from his bedroom and down into the garage.

He hopped on his bike with the note in his back pocket for safe keeping. Your apartment awaited.

___

He had a key. You'd given it to him with a timid little smile, making a joke about how he was much better security than the old field hockey stick you kept beneath your bed. He'd smiled back, kissing your forehead and attaching the keys to his others with a flourish, just to make you giggle.

He'd been better at hiding the demons back then. Could summon his former self at will; the shameless flirt, the boyish charm. Part of him was convinced that was the part you loved, but he'd always known better.

In his darkness, he was always inconsistent. Your response? Steadfast.

He heard your sobs from the moment he crossed the threshold of your place. He could've collapsed. The sound was too much for him, a prescient reminder of every way he'd done wrong by you.

He entered your room and there you were. Puffy eyes, messy hair. Your eyes met his and he wanted to go back. He wanted to revisit every moment you had every tried to get to know him, to memorize him and what made him tick, the way he'd been able to do for you.

You curled into yourself, hiccuping softly as he fell to his knees in front of you.

"Bucky, why won't you let me in? What am I doing wrong?"

He could tell you. He could push aside the demons, emerge from his hiding places and bolt them up forever. Because you were the love of his life. You were it for him.

And he'd always been right, without even knowing it; if he'd lost you -- had a hand in losing you -- his life would dull and he would never recover.

"Doll, read this." He wiped the tears from your soft cheeks. "Read this and I swear. . . I'll do better."

You took the letter from his hands, eyes remaining on it. You wiped them with your hand, reaching over to your nightstand for those big reading glasses. His chuckle was watery, half fond and half crying.

I hide things. I don't mean to, it was never my intention.

But there are demons I have that I want to keep you safe from. Things that sometimes are simply just. . .me. I go about it the wrong way, somehow find a thousand different ways to tell you to let it be. And I hope you can forgive me for it.

Because your are all the good things in my life, darling. My bold, elegant, brilliant girl.

I could easily lose my mind without you. I'm not easy, I have no illusions that I am. But I am trying. Struggling, but trying.

I love you and I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me and continue to be ever-so patient with me. I'll do better and I'll tell you the truth.

Forever yours no matter where you go (and if you stay),

Your James

He watched as you read, hoping and hurting, convinced he’d been complicit in breaking your heart and turning you off to him forever.

Until you looked up, those teary and beautiful eyes finding his as you crawled into his lap, pressing a deep kiss to his lips. Warm, wanting. He felt scorched, a man on fire.

You were his. Thank god.

___

A/N: My first request! Super fun. Thanks to @chipilerendi for sending it to me. I enjoyed putting little breadcrumbs from the song in the prompt into this piece. I’m working on part 3 of Too Attached, which I’m going to do my best to put out tomorrow. Hope you all enjoyed this piece, you should totally give the song a listen, and my requests are still OPEN. Feedback is always appreciated!

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters from Marvel or the MCU. Nor do I own the lyrics to the song Georgia by Vance Joy.

Permanent Tags: @lovely-geek

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes #littleredwrites

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sergiole-blog · 5 years

Text

Happy Diwali Messages

Happy Diwali SMS in English to celebrate the pageant lightweight|of sunshine}s that signifies the ending of sunshine over darkness and good over evil. Let your loved ones apprehend you are thinking of them on the big day of Deepavali by sharing these original and creative Diwali SMS desires in English. Through these joyous Happy, Deepawali SMS texts let everyone apprehend the importance of Diwali pageant, the quality ways in which during which of celebrating Diwali by giving prayers to immortal Lakshmi through Diya and lighting, home decoration, shopping, fireworks, gifts, feast sweets and therefore the manner Diwali SMS can bring joy and goodwill.

https://bestdiwalismsinenglish.blogspot.com/

May this Diwali light new dreams, recent hopes, undiscovered avenues, totally different views, everything bright and fill your days with pleasant surprises and moments.

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With lights dazzling, amorously flushing around by your precious ones with many fun and joy, and with our fond desires.

May this Deepawali bring you all a cracker with Joys, pyrotechnic blithely and Prosperity and Subh Laabh from Ganesa Islamic Community...

May the deity Laxmi bless you with prosperity and smart luck. Happy Dhanteras and DEEPAWALI to you and your FAMILY!

it's time to feel smart, time for reunion, time to share happiness, time to feel being precious, time to indicate your love, time to measure for others and time to want for peace.

0 days twelve hours 720 minutes 3200 seconds square measure left. I feel I'm the primary person to want you content Diwali.

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May a lot of lamps illuminate your life with endless joy, prosperity, health and wealth forever… want you and your family a really Happy Diwali

Happy Diwali Messages 2019

May This Diwali be as bright as ever. could this Diwali bring joy, health and wealth to you? could the competition of lights brighten up your life? Happy Diwali.

O Ram! the sunshine of lights,

the self-luminous ethics of the Self is ever shining steadily within the chamber of your heart. Happy Diwali.

On this nice day, I want you terribly marvelous happy Diwali and should god assist you each time in your life...

With lights dazzling, amorously flushing around by your precious ones with many fun and joy, and with our fond desires

Is diwali letter of the alphabet humari dua hai ki apka har sapnna pura Ho duniya ke unche mukam apke Ho shoharat ki bulandiyon par naam apka Ho want u a really Happy Diwali

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May the sunshine that we have a tendency to celebrate at Diwali show the U.S.A. the manner and lead the U.S.A. along on the trail of peace and social harmony.

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This Diwali I want you to get heaps of loco however you don’t get a box to lit them. Save the surroundings, therefore no to crackers…

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but to not envy. smart desires for a joyous

Diwali and a contented New Year with

plenty of Peace and Prosperity

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way and the lead U.S.A. along on the trail of peace and social harmony

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As the light flame,

Ur life could forever be happiness’ claim;

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U move while not a sigh;

like the white linen aptitude,

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the fragrance fills years as Flory;

with the stainless eternal smile,

attached to u mile when mile;

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lumiereswig · 6 years

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Forgotten

What if the Enchantress came one day late? What if the staff weren’t nearby when the curse was cast? What if Adam found himself alone when turned into a Beast? “The prince [was] forgotten by the world, for the enchantress had erased all memory of them from the minds of the people they loved….” Inspired by this savagely sad post of @batbobsession‘s. (Repost, and slightly rewritten from last time.)

Part I: Not A Care in the World

The ball was flawless. In the garden, the roses continued to reach to the sky, and the storm brushed away; the lights shut off in the palace, one by one, and the music faded to silence. The prince went to bed with one or two or three pretty women he wouldn’t care for by the next day. Up in his room, Lumiere popped open a bottle of champagne.

Plumette, lighting the candles by the bed, grinned at him over the flames. He laughed and raised his glass.

“Another sublime night, ça va, mon amour?” The door creaks and in come Mrs. Potts, Cogsworth, Chapeau, the visiting musicians. The word has quickly spread that Lumiere and Plumette are serving leftover croquembouche in their room; the staff find places to sit, glasses to drink from, hands to join and caress. Mrs. Potts, in a rocking chair, smiles and holds a sleeping Chip.

“How many parties has it been now?”

Cogsworth is counting on his fingers. “Thirty years’ worth at least…..no, forty. Lord, I can’t keep track of the time.”

“He’s turning just like his father—the prince’s father was like this, too,” Mrs. Potts explains to the musicians, who know nothing about the palace or its politics. They nod and move closer to each other on the bed. “We don’t know what he’d do without us. He’ll be fine, though; we try not to intervene. D’you only have wine up here, Lumiere? I could use a cup of tea.”

“If you cannot take a little sparkling wine, get yourself to bed, grandmother,” laughs Lumiere, and she swipes at his arms and makes him laugh. He eases into a seat between Cogsworth and Plumette and throws his arms around them.

“Think how long it has been!” he says. “Forty years for you, Cogsworth, but most of my life for mine. Why, I came here as a teenager—imagine me, only a little older than Chip! Fresh out of Paris and still reeking of the apothecary shop.” He grimaces, thinking of his father’s dusty store in a side-street of the city. He had fled, then, looking for the glamor his missed; in his room in Paris he had practiced dance steps, reveled in fashion, adopted the graceful movements of the court as rebellion against the bourgeois facts of an ordinary existence. He had come to this palace, and he had lit into life; dancing and feasting and glowing like gold made Lumiere’s heart sing.

“We met in this palace, do you remember, mon trésor?” Plumette is close in his arms; her scent—fresh and light, like candy and macarons—right beside him. “I was only fourteen, and I loved you right away.”

“I loved you before I met you,” murmurs Lumiere. “I could never forget.”

“Well, that’s quite enough of that,” says Cogsworth, perhaps a bit too loudly. The two lovers had forgotten how close he was to their embrace. “To bed, to bed! Tomorrow we have another morning—and so many mornings after that, to care for the prince and these grounds. We can save affection for another day.”

Lumiere sighs loudly, but the staff agree to part for the night. They hug and kiss and wave goodnight—Cogsworth studiously looking the other way as Plumette makes no indication of moving back to her own room—and the lights go out. The humans of the castle sleep.

Part II: Selfish and Unkind

The next day is their day off. It is their one day off in the year. Adam would frequently wish to deny them of it; it is too much for him to imagine coping alone for one day, though he never puts it in such vulnerable terms. Instead, he just has a foul temper about it.

“And you’ll be back tonight, seven sharp.”

“Oui, maître.”

“And the kitchens have been stocked? Or have you forgotten that, too, in your delight to run away?”

“Non, maître.”

“You know, this is an incredible liberty. Most princes wouldn’t let their staff go prancing off to—I don’t know, what do you do in the village, drink beer and talk about swine? Pfft. I would just stay, if I were you.”

“….non, maître.”

“Fine. Get out.”

They are gone all too quickly. Adam stands in the lonely, empty halls. If he stands in the tower, he can see them weaving their way through the forest and down to the village, to spend their day in the company of each other, in Lumiere and Plumette’s case, or with loved ones, in the case of Mrs. Potts. No matter what, all the servants have each other. And Adam has nobody.

He adjusts his wig, tosses a curl. He doesn’t care. They’re all uncaring fools. He debates his options for the day: spending it in the library sounds the best, but he could also search around the palace, try to find some mistake in its keeping to yell at them about when they got back….after all, at least when he yelled they looked at him.

Searching for the mistake it was, then. Adam trotted off, his heels slick against the polished floors, the sun shining bright.

Part III: All Those Precious Days

In the village, Lumiere kisses Plumette, his lips as warm on hers as the sun is right behind their heads. She is feather-light beside him; watching her dance to a tune of her own making, Lumiere is hot with twenty years of memories. Remember her smile when he set the table for the first time, and made the knives and forks flip like acrobats? Remember when he helped her with her hair, after it rained, and she was his best friend and so fair beside him, while he untied the knots and tried to coax out a curl? His life is beautiful with Plumette—and Plumette, smiling back at him, is more beautiful than his life.

Chip runs ahead of Mrs. Potts, calling for his papa. Jean Potts, emerging from his home, waves joyously at the staff now flooding the village. Really, Villeneuve is not big enough to support so huge a gathering—but it is only one day, after all, as the staff step out of the palace and spend a day in the sun. They stretch their limbs and visit the shops, and sit on the stoops and talk. Lumiere is dazzling in his yellow palace coat against the dingy brown of the steps. Plumette is the loveliest girl in the village. Cogsworth checks the clocktower’s time against his own. And at 6:45, by his watch, they prepare to go back to the palace.

In Adam’s tower, he hears the knock. Angry at having been left alone—angry at being abandoned—angry at everything, Adam slams open the door and sees an old crone.

6:55. Lumiere is running late, as usual. He was regaling Tom and Dick with a lavish description of the ball he is planning. Cogsworth groans at the delay.

The crone offers a rose. Payment for a night’s rest; there is an oncoming storm. Rain coming in.

“Fireworks! And flowers on every table! And dancers from Vienna—the glories of a courtly life, gentlemen, you must come join us—”

“Lumiere! The night grows old.”

The crone grows young.

6:59. “We were meant to be there minutes ago! The Prince is all alone in the palace, now, and it’s our fault. We must get back, or there will be hell to pay—”

The Enchantress sets her curse. The piper must be paid. There must be punishment—

7:00. The curse strikes; a fleeting darkness on the village, a lasting one on the palace. The palace, the palace…the palace…..

………..the palace?

What palace? The villagers do not remember. And the staff, caught among them, do not either. There is silence, and darkness, and sleep.

Part IV: Little Town

Belle wakes up to a jolt in the road, and the rough wool blanket on her face, and the smell of cheese and paint and horse and wind clinging to her skin. She rubs her eyes and tries to wipe away the sleep. They’re in the wagon, again, and Maurice is hunched up in the bench, encouraging Philippe to trot faster. The contents of Belle’s entire life are jammed in around her, a moving nest of drawings and gear-boxes and packets of cabbage-seed.

“That town didn’t work out, either?”

“Plague,” says Maurice, and his eyes shadow, and he watches the road more closely. Of course. How many times has Belle woken up this way, the town she thought they’d live in forever far behind, her father just in front, the wagon rattling beneath her as Maurice fled the city sickness from one town to another. Lilles, Reims, Amiens: each one tainted by plague, each one not safe enough for Maurice and his daughter. No home lasted long enough.

“And where does this road go?” Belle’s eyes adjust to the dawn—they are passing a forest, and coming through a field, now, and fields lead to country villages, and villages mean homes, at least for a while. Perhaps this one would be small enough and safe enough to hide them for a while.

“Villeneuve,” says Maurice. “I chose it by chance. I hope they have room for an inventor.”

“Two inventors,” says Belle, and Maurice smiles.

“Yes, two, always two.”

They get to the town just after market-time, and Maurice busies himself finding the local priest to inquire after empty houses. Belle, tucked in the wagon, looks out on a quiet village going through the endless routine of a Saturday market: the milliner batting a sheet out the window, the potter’s wife brushing off her stoop, the sound of an untuned violin drifting from the open tavern doors. People haggle and argue and, somewhere, something breaks.

And Belle’s eyes flicker through the crowd, a puzzle cutting across her heart.

“Why are there so many people?” Belle asks, when Maurice comes back with happy news of an empty house, recently abandoned, just at the edge of the village.

“Mm?”

“People. Why are there so many of them? I know it was just market-time, but there are enough people in these streets to account for a city—let alone this little town!”

“I expect the city is just off on winter holiday,” says Maurice, absent-mindedly, trying to work out the details of keys and locks. “So they’re all just living in this one for now. Come give me a hand with these boxes—thank you.”

Belle’s heart won’t stop wondering, even as she unpacks music-boxes and arranges her father’s paints by the window. She saw all the people in that market. And she sees them now—watching her and her father, peeking on the edges of the streets and peeping through windows. But no one comes to help. With the market done, the town is quiet, and a little gloomy in the afternoon light.

By mid day, Belle and her father are halfway done unpacking. Maurice sits on a box and wipes his forehead.

“Do you know what I forgot to pack?” he says. “Beef. And bread. And….well, anything edible, really. You wouldn’t have remembered, would you?”

“Papa, I was asleep. I couldn’t remember anything.”

“True, true.” Her father’s hands brush in front of his sad, blue eyes. “Might you go out and find some, Belle? There must be someone selling bread. And butter. And possibly jam?”

Belle is already at the door with her basket. “You rest your eyes, papa. I’ll be right back.”

Part V: Every Day Like the One Before

Now that she is out, Belle takes the chance to look around. She takes her time going through the streets. On her left, the clock tower chimes. On her right, houses line the streets like soldiers. A cluster of girls giggle across the market square. Somewhere, a tea kettle screams. Belle stops to form her opinion of her new hometown.

Villeneuve is ordinary, in the extreme. Dusty to a fault. Dull, and cross, and tired—and absolutely not the start of any great adventure, like she’s always wished for. Just an overcrowded little place stuck in some meadow-grass that everyone has forgotten about.

Nothing of note will ever happen in Villeneuve. As far as anyone can remember, nothing ever has.

And as she thinks that, a puff of smoke blows into her face and sends her thoughts flying.

“Pardon my intrusion, mademoiselle,” says a voice to her right. Belle looks, and sees nothing, and then looks down and sees a peasant sitting on the stoop of the potter’s house. He is smoking a pipe, and puffing the smoke, and his eyes are closed, and his limbs lie around him as if lifeless.

“You are Parisian,” she says. She caught it in his voice.

“Oui, mademoiselle,” he says. A tiny, delicate gesture from his long fingers; it is a surprisingly sophisticated movement for a man in a yellow peasant’s vest, with candle wax creased in the dirt between his fingernails. “Or at least, once I was. Now I live in Villeneuve.”

It is an oddly empty statement, thinks Belle, and his colorless tone doesn’t help. She can’t see his face, here in the shadows, and can’t tell quite if he’s joking.

“I was an apothecary’s son,” adds the man.

“And are you still an apothecary?”

“I am nothing now,” says the man, in a flash of vehemence so sharp it is like seeing a flame in the middle of the forest. He looks up to her—his face broad, and white; and it is an empty face, and beyond the fire in his words there is nothing there at all. It is as if someone washed out all his color, and left him only with his yellow vest.

“I am Lumiere,” he says, and sadness rests inside his eyes.

Part VI: Full of Little People

He welcomes her to the stoop with the flick of a wrist and a tiny nod with the pipe, though he doesn’t seem to really care if she stays or goes. He is still curling smoke, and for one quick moment Belle wonders if it might be foolish to share a stoop with the village’s homeless philosopher. And yet…there’s a kind of warmth, there, buried beneath the village dirt and the lifeless limbs.

She sits. He offers her the pipe. She refuses. He smokes in silence.

They are silent for a long, long time.

“So what brings you to Villeneuve?” the man asks, at last, as he refills his pipe.

“My father,” she says. “We were fleeing plague. And I need to buy some bread, and maybe a little venison—we only had time to pack our books, so we don’t have anything to eat, yet.”

Beside her, Lumiere laughs. It sounds as if he hasn’t laughed for quite some time.

“I knew someone once who treasured books that way as well,” he says, and a smile drifts across his face, homeless. Something in him is sparking up at the story: dim, and faint, but laughing. “He once made me read the whole Odyssey—”

“You’ve read the Odyssey?!” Belle has never gotten the chance. It hasn’t been translated out of the Greek.

“Non, non, mademoiselle, it was read to me. Sorceresses turning people to pigs, and the lily-eaters forgetting their homes, and Penelope undoing the days until her husband returns—such nonsense.” The spark goes out abruptly, and he returns to his smoke and shadow. “I do not remember the rest of the story.”

How on earth did he get someone to read him the Odyssey, translating it fresh out of the Greek as he goes? In no apothecary’s street has Belle ever seen a sight such as that. The book is too rare to have come to Villeneuve. And yet….

“How did you come to Villeneuve?” she asks.

“I suppose I thought I’d find employment,” he says, and suddenly Belle is frightened.

Deeply, deeply frightened. Not of the man on the stoop—she has never seen anyone more harmless, to be quite honest; he is such an empty man, with such silent, lifeless limbs—but of the thing inside his eyes when he speaks of his past. It is Other—a thing not rooted in a Parisian background, or the empty face, or the subdued soul. It is a large streak of gray inside the man’s blue eyes, a gray empty and unnatural and as hollow as cold ice. Staring at his eyes, Belle finds herself clutching her arms with fear.

“Ah! Mon ami!” yells Lumiere, waving into the village, and the feeling passes. Yet his eyes remain so empty, even as he smiles at the man in the brown coat who just came out of the clock tower.

“Shh, shh, she doesn’t know I’m out,” says the man, and he reaches into his coat and pulls out a bottle of dandelion wine, already uncorked. He passes it to Lumiere in a swift gesture. It is obvious to Belle that this is a practiced ritual, the sharing of the secret wine. She makes room for the clocktower-keeper, and he sits on her other side.

“Mademoiselle, my venerable friend, Monsieur Cogsworth. You will find him delightful company, as well as an excellent source for half-bad wine.”

“Better than a source of all-bad whining, like some of us,” grumps the man. His nose is red, and his coat is plain and unadorned besides his golden pocketwatch. “You must pardon Lumiere, Miss—”

“Belle! I am Belle. You are English?”

“Mm, yes—suppose you still hear it—never gotten the grasp of the damned accent.”

“Oh là là, he acts as if the French accent is difficult,” says Lumiere, puffing smoke, and Belle laughs between the two of them. She is happy that at least there are two friendly souls in this village—grumpy ones, yes, ones with little to recommend them; a drunkard and a smoker, crouched on a village stoop—but friendly ones, at least, with something kind between them.

“And you keep the clocktower?”

“Tic toc,” says Cogsworth. He drinks the wine a bit too fast. “Used to have a career as a diplomat, don’t you know—but I suppose that...that I wanted to settle down, or some such thing.” He looks at Belle, vaguely, and a chill snakes down her spine. His eyes are gray-streaked too.

“Cogsworth,” screams someone, across the square, and he is up and moving faster than Belle would have believed. He mutters one word—“Clothilde,” as if that is explanation enough—and disappears back to his clocks.

Lumiere holds the wine bottle he left behind, weighing it carelessly with one hand, his movements listless. He has not taken one more sip before the shutters over the stoop bang open.

“Lumiere! What are you doing there?” calls a woman from the window. Beside Belle, Lumiere rolls his eyes and looks, shamefaced, up to the sound.

“Get off my stoop!” yells the woman. “D’you have wine down there, Lumiere?“

“If you cannot take a little cheap wine, get yourself to bed, grandmother,” calls Lumiere.

“Off with you, now—not on my stoop—begging your pardon, miss—town drunkards, the both of them. Welcome to Villeneueve,” and the woman slams the window.

“Who was that?” The woman’s face was sharp as a shard.

“Mrs. Potts, the crockery-man’s wife,” says Lumiere, and takes a large gulp of the wine. “I barely know her. Thank God.”

Part VII: In The Midst of All This Sorrow

While Lumiere drinks and smokes, Belle watches him and watches this village. There is something very strange, here—gaps in memory, gaps in the storyteller’s story. Lumiere spoke brilliantly, eloquently, about a Greek translation he could not remember—and yet his own life is unknown, an impossible one of an apothecary’s son, with no knowledge of the apothecary himself, coming to a distant village and then doing nothing for twenty years. And Cogsworth, too, a diplomat—

“Surely you do something here?” It’s rude, but she can’t help it.

“What could I do, mademoiselle? I have no skills for Villeneuve. I cannot herd sheep. I cannot shoot cows. I am useless.” His beautiful hands gesture again, pointlessly, to the swine and chickens and village dust surrounding them.

“You must have something that Villeneuve needs. Why, my father is an artist! And an inventor! If this village can have that, it can have…whatever you do.”

“I do nothing, mademoiselle,” he says, again, and his foot traces a dance step against the dirt, and then is quiet again. “Nothing on nothing, everyday, mademoiselle. Forevermore.”

“Then why do you stay here?”

He doesn’t answer. His eyes are following nothing across the square.

“Why do you stay, Lumiere?”

His hand on her arm is sudden and swift and shocks her. If she thought she saw a flicker before, it is nothing to the blaze that has shot up in his eyes now—almost dimming the gray, almost catching it out in a sudden sparkle.

“She is why, mademoiselle.”

He was not looking at nothing before. Turning, Belle sees what he was following: the entrance of a flock of ladies into the square, a giggling squadron of petticoats and primped hair. Three of the girls are dressed almost identically in pink, and they are pretty enough—but the fourth one, dressed all in white, covered in stray feathers from the gaggle of geese she tends, is beautiful. Even plucking feathers from her hair, and leaning against her goose-girl’s staff, she is the most beautiful woman Belle has ever seen.

“I have never dared to speak to her,” whispers Lumiere, and she is drawn back to his face. It was so empty, before, but now it is flickering fast—with hope, and love, and despair. “She would never love a hopeless idiot. But Plumette makes me so weak, I could never be strong….”

“You’ve never spoken?”

“Non! How could I dare? She is flawless.”

“Twenty years you’ve lived here, and you’ve never even spoken?!”

“C’est la vie,” says Lumiere, and the light goes out as he stares hopelessly after her. “She would never look at me. She probably loves the same one as the rest of them…”

There is a sound of hoof-beats approaching the square. “What one as the rest of them?”

Lumiere cannot sink into the steps any further. “If you want venison, mademoiselle, that is who to get it from.”

It feels like an explosion into the square. The minute the man in red rides in, there is a crow of praise from every window— “he returns!” “Ey, ey! Gaston! Bonjour!”—a sweep of giggling from the girls across the square. The iron-shod hooves slam against the cobblestones, and the quiet of Villeneuve falls apart. The conquering hero comes.

“Make a lane! Make a lane!” Somebody rides beside Gaston. There is no need to make a lane—there is nobody in the square—yet the fanfare goes on. The man in red throws a fresh-dead deer onto the cobblestones; the town applauds.

“He’s just a man. I don’t see what they’re on about,” says Belle.

Lumiere puffs his pipe. “Don’t tell the other girls you said that,” he says. “As a matter of fact, don’t tell me either. I don’t need his attention today—”

“Ah, the village idiot!” Gaston is already on them. His lackey is right behind him. “Drunk, again, old friend?”

“You are not my friend,” says Lumiere, but low. His eyes don’t meet Gaston’s. He has drawn further into the shadow.

“Oh, I am not your ‘mohnaaahmii’?” Gaston is mocking Lumiere’s Parisian accent; the whole square laughs beside him.

“It’s two words, not one,” Lumiere says, lower still. “If you cannot charm with rapier wit, do not hit me with your dull bullets.”

The blow is swift and immediate, and Belle draws back as Lumiere’s jaw hits against the wall. His hand is slow in reaching up to the wound. Even in pain, his eyes don’t quite focus. Like the wine, it is evident this is a practiced ritual.

“He was right about ‘mon ami,’” says the lackey, faintly. “We’ll work on the grammar.”

“Who needs it?! It certainly hasn’t gotten this prancing fool anywhere,” says Gaston. “Dancing and manners! In Villeneuve! Coward. Storyteller. Lily liver.”

“Leave him alone,” says Belle. Storyteller. Lily liver. Like the lily-eaters in the Odyssey. Lumiere knows the Odyssey, Lumiere welcomed her to the stoop; Lumiere is the village idiot, and an empty soul, and a useless one, and still: “Even if he is nothing—and he isn’t—he’s my friend. Leave him alone. Whoever you are, he’s better than you!”

The square is instantly silent. Beside her, Lumiere murmurs “foolish, foolish” into his hands.

“You’re…new,” says Gaston.

“Leave him alone.” Belle is fearless.

“Of course, mademoiselle,” and Gaston is so instantly full of smiles it is like a coin flipped. “I look forward to seeing more of you.”

Belle just looks at him. He is the first man in Villeneuve without a streak of gray inside his eyes.

“Mark my words, though—this man has no one in this town.” Lumiere, dark in the shadows, cringes beside her as Gaston speaks. “Only a lonely dreamer. Nothing more than a village punching-bag, is he, LeFou? He only lives to serve!” He is mocking the accent again.

“He doesn’t serve you,” says Belle. “And he’s not alone.”

No one in the village backs her up. Across the square, the girls in pink frown. The one in white has let her eyes drop: in shyness, or shame, or second-hand embarrassment, Belle can’t tell.

Gaston rides off, the village cheering. (though a little less proudly than before.) Lumiere’s jaw is fine—a black bruise against the cleft chin, one of many she did not see before—and he waves her away.

“Please tell me he does not do that every day,” she says.

“I don’t remember,” says Lumiere, “but if he did it every day, I think I might be dead. It has only been a decade or two, eh? Go home, mademoiselle. Don’t come back for dreamers.”

The Other thing inside his eyes has deepened. There is almost no blue at all. The apothecary’s son, with nothing in his days besides shame and smoke, leans back up on his stoop. A cold wind blows through the square, black and blue, and Belle’s hands clench from the cold.

There is something wrong in Villeneuve. And how she longs to find it out.

Part VIII: Not Whole Without A Soul

It’s a week later, and Belle is off to see Lumiere again. He does, in fact, live somewhere besides other people’s stoops—a rundown shed, apparently, tucked behind the meadow, though she’s not gotten to visit it. He says, with a small, quiet joke, that it’s not fit for company until he can hang a chandelier.

She’s almost reached his usual stoop when the rain hits. She puts her apron over her head, but it’s no good; there are sheets of tattered rain across the village, and her hair is soaked in moments.

“Come in, girl, come in! Out of the cold, and the wet—oh, aren’t you a vision—of damp—”

Outlined by the light of an open door, she sees the potter’s wife. Mrs. Potts’ rough hands take Belle and pull her into the kitchen before she can think.

“Th-thank you. That was kind of you.” She is dripping all over the floor. Mrs. Potts sees her and slides a tea-tray beneath her feet, to catch the wet.

“Come on, dear, let’s sit you by the fire—we’ll get you a cup of tea—there, dear. By the chair.”

Belle curls gratefully onto the bench by the fire, and Mrs. Potts turns to her table to prepare the drinks. And something moves in the soot of the dark fire place, almost like it’s alive—

“Sorry! I shouldn’t have moved…I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“There, now, Chip, move on,” says Mrs. Potts, and the soot-covered thing turns into a little boy, cheeky and smiling. He waves at Belle before running away. His clothes smell of tea: chamomile, lavender, earl gray.

“My boy,” the woman explains, and hands Belle a cup. “His father’s out, now, but he’ll be back soon. We’ve lived here together in this house for twenty years.” She laughs at some joke that isn’t there. “He made these cups, and he sells the porcelain—you’ve seen him in the market?”

Belle nods. She likes Jean Potts well enough. He does not belittle the village’s drunks and nobodies, though he does seem frightened of them. He has never mocked her for visiting Lumiere and Cogsworth on their stoop in the sun.

“I don’t know why you choose to speak with those tramps,” says Mrs. Potts, as if she reads her thoughts as easy as tea-leaves. “You seem a nice enough young lady to be with the other girls, not with those two…..though Mr. Cogsworth is fine, in his way—but I’d stay away from that one, young lady.”

“Why?” Belle watches her as she prepares the tea. Mrs. Potts keeps bumping into the table; for all her twenty years inside this kitchen, she has to think twice before she moves. Her hands flick between jars of raisins and flour, and she sidesteps around nothing. It as if she expects a different kitchen, thinks Belle, a kitchen quite different from this small country stove—but twenty years sit there, solid as truth, on the table that has never moved.

“What’s he been telling you out there?” Crunch: Mrs. Potts reached for almonds, not sugar. She puts the tin back hurriedly, cringing, and grabs for the other jar. Her eyes watch her hands, as if checking her own habit.s

“That he came to Villeneuve many years ago, and hasn’t worked much since,” says Belle. “Small jobs, the occasional village fete—but he doesn’t know how to do anything too useful to the village. So he sits in the sun.” She doesn’t mention the beautiful goose-girl he waits for. She doesn’t mention that she can’t find out what he waits for, nor Cogsworth either, in this lonely village beside the empty woods.

Mrs. Potts nods, judgement for Lumiere clear on her face. Belle finds the blood rushing to her face.

“But he’s so much more than just—just a stoop-dweller! He comes from Paris. He tells stories! He is warm,” says Belle, and she stares defiantly into Mrs. Potts’ eyes.

Gasps, and draws back. Mrs. Potts’ eyes are two different shades of gray.

Mrs. Potts blinks, and the gray ripples, and the older woman sighs and smooths Belle’s hands.

“I know, dear. I am sure he might be. I’ve never spoken to him much, myself. But you have to understand—he doesn’t belong in this village. He doesn’t belong.”

She moves around to sit by Belle, but she runs into the table first.

“There are stories about him—stories he doesn’t like to tell. Oh, I know, I seem like an outsider here too, with my English accent and—” She laughs and waves hands around her frazzled hair, and loses the path of the sentence. “But young one, you’ve got to look out—we don’t know who his father is, we don’t know—”

“How long have you lived here?” Belle tries not to phrase it as a challenge. Mrs. Potts means well—she lets soaked artists’ daughters out of the rain, after all—but the sharp shards in her voice have no place with her soft hands, and her boy, and the tea now boiling over on a stove she’s forgotten the place of.

“Twenty years, dear, just here in this house.” Mrs. Potts sits back and smiles at her. “Do you know, I used to look kindly on those Parisian types myself, before I came to Villeneuve; I’d never met one, but I thought I might work for—there, now, you don’t care about that. I’m not a working woman, ear. I’m all cooped up,” and she laughs, again, in a faded voice, like there’s a joke she’s just forgotten.

The swirl of gray steeps in the woman’s eyes.

Part IX: Here’s a Thought, Perhaps

“I don’t understand.” Belle slams her books down on the kitchen table. Maurice looks up from a new trinket—a music box molded off the design of a ballroom; it sounds charming, though he hasn’t put in any dancers yet—and catches how tan she’s gotten from sitting on sunny stoops. They’ve lived here in Villeneuve for several weeks, now; he’s happy she’s settling in.

“More books from Pere Robert, I see,” he says mildly. Belle fidgets with Sleeping Beauty like its pages are a problem to be solved, opening and closing the story of the sleeping palace that stood for a hundred years.

“Yes, they’re lovely, but....Papa, this town makes no sense.”

“Very few things do.” He smiles and puts aside his music box. “What’s enchanting you now, my darling?”

“Papa, this is a little village, isn’t it?”

“That’s why I chose it. Does that trouble you, my dear?”

“No. I like the people, I’m making friends with some of them, I never thought I would....” She trails off. Most people in most towns think she’s odd; that’s why she turned to books, because they had people in them that didn’t laugh at her—well, that and the books had worlds she was longing to explore, far out of the realm of her little towns and cities and gossiping market squares. But here in Villeneuve, in this town just like any other, she’d somehow managed to find a few souls who didn’t mind her oddness—who loved her for it, in fact; who seemed to find in her something they found familiar, something that reminded them of someone they had all loved once. Why, just today, Cogsworth had been talking of this young man he knew, whose golden hair always got loose from his ribbon and fell all over his shoulder, just like hers did....but then he’d forgotten about it, and when she asked him about where she could find him in the village, he’d blinked and asked her if she meant Gaston.

Of course she didn’t mean Gaston. She meant Cogsworth’s young man with the golden hair, and Lumiere’s old friend who quoted Shakespeare in the bath, and the boy Mrs. Potts had watched before she had Chip, the boy who had wanted to wear blue every day for a year. Everyone had a story that came and went and that they never told again: even the silent milliner’s son, playing his violin in the tavern for a few coins, would play a tune about someone no one could name. But Belle could never find all these missing people, no matter where she looked.

“For a little village, there are spots missing,” she says. “And I’ve been talking to people left and right, and there are some things that just seem so odd. Did you know that Madame de Garderobe and Maestro Cadenza came here, a few years ago? World-famous musicians! What were they doing here? They said they got lost on the way to Edinburgh, but they were coming from London. How could they get so lost?”

“That is strange.”

“They played a concert for the villagers, apparently, but no one really remembers it, or they won’t talk about it. It’s as if they’re all hiding something, or realy afraid of something.”

“They might be afraid of that big red galoot, whatever his name is,” suggests Maurice. “You know the one, stepped on our cabbages the other day.”

“Ugh.” Belle hisses out a breath. “He treats them so badly—though they treat each other badly, too. Mrs. Potts doesn’t trust Lumiere, but will never tell me why. They could be friends, if they tried to know each other.”

“You think so well of the world,” says Maurice, softening as he looks at his daughter. “You would believe a rose could lose its thorns if you tried hard enough.”

“It’s not that I believe in change. I believe in...in whatever this is.” Belle throws her hands in the air. “Helping people, fixing what’s broken. There’s something broken here, papa.”

“Mm.” Maurice looks back to his trinket—its melody tinkering out, slow and charming, across his wooden desk. “Do you know, dear, I find the gears of this little castle don’t work right when you have them all apart.”

Belle raises an eyebrow. “Papa?”

“This bit here, it will just sit useless unless I fasten it to another—and I need wire, here, and you know how I’m always losing my screws. Now, if I just rest all the pieces here on the table, like so many soundless, useless objects, we’d never hear that music-box chime, would we?”

“Is this...is this a lesson?” A smile cracks over Belle’s face, slow and steady. “You haven’t instructed me on making music boxes in years, papa.”

“Well, no, not since you got the hang of it...but it still makes me happy to see those gears turn in your head, my girl.”

She’s out the door before he’s finished speaking, eyes alight with a new idea, and she lets it slam behind her, a cold wind blowing through the house as she goes. Maurice’s sketches and drawings and parts tumble over the tabletop, and he turns back to his music-box, paintbrush in hand, ready to work.

Now, if he can just think what sorts of people belong in a ballroom.

Part X: And Almost Kind

“Lumiere! Lumiere.” Belle scatters to a stop, her hair already all undone from its braid. Her friend is leaning up against the clocktower, half in its shadow, his brown and yellow peasants’ garb too big for his lanky frame. He barely looks up to see her; his eyes are caught in the white feathers drifting across the square, and the girl trying to pull them from her curly hair.

“Lumiere, please focus. Look, I have an idea.”

“Mm?” One hand is trailing out a dance melody across the clocktower’s stone. Only the sound of the hunting horn—far away, now, but promising a violent return in short order from the local hero—rallies him out of his trance. “Mademoiselle. You were saying?”

“Can I come visit your shed?”

“Pardonez-moi?” Alarm knocks out the last vestiges of dreaming in his blue eyes. The grey streaks pulse to a rhythm of their own, frightened and jumpy in contrast to the waltz his fingers still trace. “Mademoiselle! You—you cannot, it is no home for....”

“I’ll bring food. And we’ll sing, all right? We’ll have a party. A dinner party!”

“A...dinner party?” He’s still hesitant, but Belle catches that spark of excitement before he can snuff it out.

“What is dinner without a little music?” She grins at him. “Come on, Lumiere, you must have thrown a party at least once in your life.”

“I.........” He’s somehow gone even whiter from the premise.

“And I know just who to invite. Hop along, tout-de-suite—” she slaughters the accent, but it gets him smiling, a little, under those sad blue eyes. “We’re going to be needing extra chairs.”

He bows to her, his yellow vest flapping around him, and just for a second Belle imagines that auburn hair and those elegant white hands somewhere far, far away from Villeneuve. And then he’s up, and off, and before he trips over a sheep he looks almost debonair.

“Right.” Belle straightens her apron, touches the copy of The Knights of The Round Table she’s slipped into her pocket for luck. She has quite a few people to talk to before sundown, and she wants to be brave.

Part XI: Prepare and Serve With Flair

“Is this it?” The shed in front of them is tiny, and mouldering, and right on the edge of the meadow. The only signs it’s lived in are the cracks of candelight seeping out the boarded-up windows and the rusty door.

“It’s shabby enough.” Cogsworth hoists the picnic basket higher. “I still say this is a bad idea.”

“Twenty years you’ve lived here, and you’ve never had dinner with your best friend?”

“And rightly, too,” says Mrs. Potts. “Belle, if I stay here an hour we’ll all be shocked. I don’t like the man, I’ve told you so.”

“Just try it, please? I spent all day cooking this. Or trying to, anyway,” Belle adds, staring down at the burnt contents of her basket with a grimace. Before the others can say anything else, she runs up to the door and knocks.

It falls over, rust winning over old metal.

“Mr. Chapeau, come along, this is dreadful,” says Mrs. Potts, nearly turning back to the village.

“No, no, wait! Lumiere? Lumiere, we’re here.” Belle steps through. Cautiously, the others follow.

Every surface of the tiny shed glows with candelight. In his eagerness to pull off an effect, Lumiere has decked every corner with wax and wicks and glowing golden light; candles drip down chair backs, off iron sconces, across the bare wood of the little table he’s laid. It’s ghastly, but warm, and Belle notices that every table setting—chipped and mismatched though the cups and plates are—is laid out exactly as a courtly table, multiple forks and all.

“We’ve brought food! If it’s edible, which is as yet in doubt. And you know Cogsworth, of course, and Mrs. Potts.”

“Welcome,” says Lumiere flatly. Mrs. Potts rolls her eyes and conspicuously wipes the spots off the silverware with her skirt.

“And this is Chapeau.” Belle shows in the silent violin player. “He’s friends with Pere Robert. Oh, and—”

Lumiere almost drops the wine Cogsworth brought. He’s staring just past Belle, where the dark, starry sky outlines the girl still standing in his doorway.

Lumiere chokes out a string of wordless syllables. His hands don’t quite know what to do. Plumette, for her part, looks like shyness brought to life. She tries a clumsy curtsy and nearly falls; Lumiere catches her, just in time, and they stare for far too long at their own hands on each other’s shoulders.

Belle pretends not to notice them as she lays out all she’s brought: a simple barley soup, a badly sunken cheese souffle, a cream tart that now just looks like gray stuff. Chapeau helps her serve, holding the plates like he’s done this a thousand times before—though he assures her he hasn’t; that his whole life is Villeneuve and his mother’s loud and lonely hatshop.

Slowly, everyone sips their drinks (poor Lumiere—he’d set out two glasses for each place, as if they had white wine as well as red—poor village idiot, out of place as ever); slowly, they start to talk, breaking bread and sharing plates of butter. Their host is useless for most of the meal, staring blankly at Plumette as she stares back at him; they sit uncomfortably close, for strangers, and Belle sees how jumpy all the hands and feet at this table are: all longing to get out, to twitch away from this strange warmth and company. Lumiere’s hands are shaking near Plumete’s.

But food and wine and after-hours chatting has its charms, and slowly people unfurl like flowers after winter: Mrs. Potts going rosy-cheeked as she tells of Chip’s latest antics, Chapeau miming the schoolmaster’s upturned snout for a delighted Cogsworth, Belle sharing her latest book and finding people somehow interested. Conversation flows out, golden in the waning night, and midnight passes with no notice.

“What of you, Plumette? Where do you come from?” Belle leans over Cogsworth, and tries to act as though she doesn’t see Lumiere’s hands shaking as he timidly puts a roll on the goosegirl’s plate.

“Paris,” says Plumette, and Lumiere’s hands waver like a flame in a storm, “I traveled here, mademoiselle, when I was very young—years and years ago. And I stayed here, oh, I can’t imagine why....”

There’s a stroke of gray in the big brown eyes. Belle tries to hide her fear.

“And this is all I’m good at,” and Plumette sighs, and brushes another feather from her hair. “I once dreamed of great romance, of fairytales—but how could it be otherwise? I am a goosegirl in a village. No great love will ever come to me.” And she stares bitterly downward, not seeing the place setting arranged with so much love.

But then Cogsworth drops his watch in the wine, and Mrs. Potts is laughing so hard she almost cries, and Chapeau fiddles and Lumiere and Plumette clap along (although they refuse to dance).

They part cheerfully, just as the first rays of the sun start stepping gently over the valley. Lumiere, white as a sheet, plucks up his guttering courage and kisses Plumette’s hand; she blushes as vivid as a robin’s chest, and runs so fast back to her cottage she practically flies. (Lumiere, blushing too, nearly sets himself on fire as he reels into his bed.) Cogsworth stretches and yawns, remarking on the time; Mrs. Potts helps to pack the baskets, and follows Belle out the door.

“You see?” says Belle, leading the way back to the sleeping village. “That wasn’t so bad, Mrs. Potts.”

“No, well....” Her face, so softened and happy just a moment ago, seizes up into harsh lines as if she’s been caught doing wrong. “And I wouldn’t turn down the sight of doing it again, and perhaps bringing Chip along too. You have a good heart, poppet.”

“But...?” They still stand in darkness, here where their paths part. Belle holds her basket close, her books still resting on top.

“We’ve been set in our ways for twenty years, luv. It would take a miracle, or twenty years back that we will never have, to make us into what you dream of. I’ll try for your sake, dear, really I will, but I would never hold that lot of them dear to my heart.”

She trudges back to the village, and Belle watches her go. She hugs her books and basket to her chest, planning and puzzling away at the village with no hope.

“Keep putting the pieces together,” she whispers to herself. “Keep putting the pieces together.”

#CAN I GET ANY MORE ON THE FUCKING NOSE WITH THESE METAPHORS #also to be continued [[obviously]]#batb fanfic #hey we got some plumiere action in this one!! fuckin FINALLY #lumiere #plumette #mrs. potts #cogsworth #batb #beauty and the beast #batb 2017 #beauty and the beast 2017 #belle #maurice

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