#//we’ll look over the fact that she’s wearing something warm looking while on a tropical holiday lol

[mollymaehague]

mollymae: 22 💙❤️

[random-imaginess]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! I hope it was perfect!

Can I request a Bucky x reader where she is feeling scared to go out in the world post covid and Bucky is just cute and supportive?

Thank you! It was a fairly good day! I read this request yesterday and thought how fitting it was because I have spent a lot of time thinking about situations like this! A LOT of time..

This gif, to me, makes it seem like this is going to be more angsty than it actually will be, but it's gonna be cute and fluffy and it's gonna be ok! I didn't want to go too much into some stuff, even though having anxiety and concerns and doubts and a bunch of thoughts about a world post covid is VERY REAL, I just wanted to try and make this light-hearted and cute. I hope I was able to do that!

The past year and a half had been a wild one, to say the least. There was anxieties about the virus outbreak, anxieties about the lock down that was only supposed to last a couple weeks, then six weeks, then a couple months... You were used to wearing masks when you absolutely needed to go out for food and supplies, talking about how great it was going to be when life would go back to normal.

What was normal, though? It hadn't felt normal in so long that you weren't sure what normal was anymore. You were fortunate enough to have Bucky at your side through all of it. Keeping you company, keeping you sane. Talking about what you were going to do first when things opened back up again, wondering what it was going to be like when it was all over. "What about the beach?!" You explained excitedly. "The smell of the ocean, the wind in our hair, the seagulls flying overhead, the warm sand! Oh, it'll be so incredible! We should go there first!." Bucky just grimaced. "The beach? The sticky, salty feeling you get on your skin, the sand, seagulls shitting on your towel, dive bombing you for your food, the SAND getting in places you didn't know it could get into, and you're washing that shit out for weeks after... I don't know."

You groaned playfully, thought you really didn't care where you went. "Fine, you big baby, no beach." You smiled as you rolled over to your stomach to look at him, propping your elbows up on the mattress. It was a lazy afternoon, the millionth lazy afternoon so far since you've been stuck inside. You couldn't complain too much, though, being with Bucky, no matter what you did, was always your favorite thing to do. He stared up at the ceiling as his flesh hand found a spot to rest on your back, a smirk forming across his face as he thought of other places you could go when it was all over. "What about museums? Art galleries? We could go to that space one in Los Angeles," he offered, and your face lighting up with more excitement. "Ooh, yeah! That would be so fun! Look through the giant telescopes and see how much you would weight on mars!" He laughed at made eye contact with you, thinking how adorable it was that you got excited about the smallest things. "Or we could go to the grand canyon, or Hawaii! Or... the movies! How long as it been since you've been to a movie theater? Eating buttery popcorn and chocolate candy while watching a funny movie that makes you laugh so hard your sides hurt? Or one so sad it makes you cry?" Now Bucky readjusted himself and turned to his side, propping himself on him elbow, a light smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "We've been watching movies every day for the past six weeks, I don't think there's anything left we haven't already seen." "I know, but the experience is so different when you watch it on a giant screen." Your hands subconsciously ran patterns against his soft skin, reminiscing about everything there was to do before the whole world closed up. "We'll do it all, baby," Bucky smiled and leaned forward to place a kiss on your forehead. "We'll do the beach, we'll do museums, movies, theme parks, tropical paradises, we'll go anywhere around the world you wanna go." You grinned at his words. "Even Norway?" "Even Norway," he smiled, looking lovingly at you. Now the time was here, when things were opening back up again, and rules were less strict, and every plan you had talked about doing together was becoming more and more accessible. It should have been exciting. You were finally able to see more than just every nook and cranny in your house and the inside of grocery stores, but you were scared. Breaking out of the bubble that you had built for yourself to keep you and those around you safe, it was now a weird feeling to try and break out of it. To get back into the routine of every day life that you gave no second thought to before everything changed. You and Bucky had finally agreed on starting your adventures with a simple day out. Getting lunch, now that more restaurants were open for dine in, maybe some window shopping, a leisurely walk through the park, or whatever else you felt like doing. But you were hesitant to go through with it. The anxiety of being around more people was getting to you. In the back of your mind you knew you were going to be OK, but it was the fact of not knowing that made you second-guess your decision to leave the house. It was been a weighing thought for the past few weeks leading up to you going out. Now that it was finally here, it was all too real. Bucky had picked up on your hesitancy, but didn't want to push you until you were ready to bring it up yourself. And you wanted to tell him about it, you just didn't know how to properly form it. It felt a little silly to be so scared. The unknown always got the better of you, made you doubt, and added more anxiety than was necessary, but it's just how you were.

The closer it got to you leaving, the heavier your chest became. "I think maybe we should wait for a different day to go out.." You blurted out, picking at the skin on your thumb. Bucky looked at you and grabbed your hand to get you to stop, knowing if he didn't, you'd just do it until it bled. "You don't want to go anymore?" "I do, I just think maybe it's still too early to be around crowds, you know? There's going to be more people without masks, or if they'll get aggressive for being asked to wear one... we won't know if they're vaccinated yet or whatever... I think we should wait. Just a little longer. Is that Okay?" "Of course it is. You know I'd never want to you in a situation that makes you uncomfortable." You nodded. "I do know that, I just... I feel silly, like I'm making this a bigger deal than it actually is, but I can't bring myself to go out there and pretend like everything is normal when it's not." He placed a gentle hand on the side of your face. "Well, I don't think we have to pretend anything is normal. We know it's not. But I think we need to be open to the idea of a new normal. It's not going to be something we can be ok with over night, though, but gradually." He rubbed his hands gently up and down your arms. "There's nothing wrong with your feelings about it, okay? Please don't feel like you're being irrational about wanting to wait. It's perfectly OK to wait. We can do something here, or go to our spot, have a little picnic.. we can do anything you want." You looked up at him and smiled, grateful that you had such an incredible, understanding man in your life. "A picnic sounds perfect. Fresh air would be perfect." "Alright," he smiled. "Let's have a picnic." You wrapped your arms around him for a hug, being engulfed in his secure embrace, and gave him a kiss on the lips, taking a moment to really appreciate how much it meant to you to have Bucky in your life. In a time of uncertainly, he always made you feel safe and heard, and you couldn't ask for anything better than that.

[griefpersevering]

sometimes you bend, sometimes you stand

the lokius beach fix-it fic nobody asked for

[Read on AO3] [Buy me a coffee?]

“Who are you?”

Loki stares at him for a long moment, his heart sinking in his chest. First Sylvie, now Mobius… maybe Lokis are destined to lose.

“What?” he asks, still breathing heavily.

The last few days have all melded into one; an indecipherable blur of racing for survival and not much else. With so much happening in quick succession since his failure in New York, it’s impossible to tell whether it has been days or weeks or months since he first arrived at the TVA.

Mobius doesn’t answer, just raising an eyebrow at him.

Loki allows his eyes to wander, assessing the situation and resigning himself to a fight. If Mobius doesn’t know who he is… well, there’s a chance he could get pruned again, and he would like to avoid that situation. Currently, the only people he can see are B-15 - who shouldn’t be too much of a problem - and Mobius, who he would prefer not to hurt, but if he doesn’t recognise him then-

Mobius bursts out laughing, B-15 snickering behind him. She claps him on the shoulder before waving goodbye and wandering off, still laughing to herself as she leaves.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Mobius says between breaths, his confusion replaced with a smile. “That was mean. I just couldn’t help myself.”

“Mobius?” Loki ventures, still wary.

“Look, all that stuff about the Multiverse or whatever?” he replies, waving a hand dismissively. “Not our problem. I’ve officially retired, and I’ve got an excellent retirement plan. Fancy joining me?”

Loki crosses his arms, frowning. “You tricked me.”

Mobius shrugs. “Seems only fair.”

He tries not to smile. “You’re sure the TVA can deal with the Multiverse?”

“Yep, B-15’s taking care of it. Now, come on, there’s a beach waiting for us.”

Mobius fiddles with his TemPad for a moment, a doorway opening up in front of them. He takes a few confident strides towards it before hesitating, looking around the library one last time.

“You don’t have to come with me, you know,” he says, not meeting Loki’s eyes. “I know… I know a quieter life doesn’t really agree with Lokis. You can stay for the fight, if you want, or for Sylvie.”

Loki’s chest constricts at the mention of her, but he forces a small, sad smile onto his face. “You can’t get rid of me that easily,” he answers, and Mobius smiles.

“For all time, then,” he says, extending his hand to Loki.

“Always,” he finishes, taking it as they step through the doorway together.

keep reading under the cut!

1991

The other side of the portal is exactly what Mobius promised: a beach. But what he failed to mention is the beauty of said beach - it isn’t just any old strip of sand, but one of the most breathtaking places Loki has ever had the honour of visiting.

They take a few steps into this new world, their shoes filling up with sand and their hands still entwined as they let their eyes adjust to the bright light. Loki pauses to slip off his socks and shoes, the sand warm and soft between his toes. Mobius follows suit, leaning on Loki for balance, a huge smile on his face.

“It should only be a few minutes walk from here,” Mobius announces, grinning.

“What is?” Loki asks, but he doesn’t get an answer. For once in his life, he isn’t sure he needs one, happy to go along with whatever adventure Mobius has planned.

They walk in comfortable silence, their feet sinking into the sand as they take in the tropical sights. To their left is a bay filled with sparking water which disappears past the land out to the horizon. In the distance, Loki can see a much busier beach by what appears to be a town. If he listens carefully enough, and the wind is blowing in the right direction, he can hear a hundred conversations carrying across the bay at once, a pleasant white noise that mixes with the sound of lapping waves.

To their right is a row of secluded houses, all enveloped in lush greenery that grows from the forest behind them, seeming to lean forwards and envelop them. Their front doors are all painted a variety of bright colours - red, yellow, purple, orange, pink - apart from the one at the end, which is just the default brown.

Mobius pulls a set of keys out of his pocket, a tiny fish keyring hanging from them. “This one is ours,” he declares, and he tugs Loki towards the little cottage at the end of the row.

It takes him a moment to find the right key to unlock the door before it swings open, a neutral brown and white hallway greeting them. He leaves his shoes on the mat outside the front door, Loki following suit, before venturing inside their new house.

Loki can’t say he is surprised by the decor - it isn’t exactly reminiscent of the TVA, but everything is decorated to look almost like a show home. There are no bright colours, no personal touches, nothing to indicate that anyone has ever lived there before them.

Just as Loki opens his mouth to say something, Mobius wrinkles his nose and beats him to it.

“Would it kill someone to pick up a paintbrush?” he complains, but he’s still smiling. “That’s what you get for a company retirement plan that’s only been in place for six hours, I guess… we’ll have to do it all ourselves.”

Loki raises an eyebrow. “Company retirement plan?”

Mobius grins. “We have a lot to catch up on. Come on, why don’t you get cleaned up, and I’ll get us something to drink.”

As soon as he leaves the room, Loki rolls his eyes and waves his hand, using his magic to clean the blood and the dirt off of him and to change into a pair of shorts and a bright green haiwaiian t-shirt. And, now that he thinks about it… he frowns and uses what little magic he has left in him to spruce up the place a bit, before collapsing onto the (admittedly, very comfy) couch.

Mobius returns only a few minutes later, raising his eyebrows at the way Loki is sprawled across the sofa, his eyes closed. He looks around the room, taking in the few things that Loki has added - a blanket draped across the back of the couch, a wooden coffee table with a golden bowl of fruit placed neatly on top, and a framed poster of a jet ski on the far wall.

Oh, Mobius thinks with a snicker, you’re gonna love what I have planned for tomorrow.

“Did you get us a drink or are you just going to stand there for all eternity?” Loki asks without opening his eyes, swinging his legs so that there’s room to sit next to him.

“Sorry if I wasn’t moving fast enough, your highness,” Mobius teases as he plops onto the couch, passing a cold beer bottle into Loki’s waiting hands. “The new outfit slowed me down a bit.”

Loki smirks, cracking open one eye to see the outfit that he’d swapped for Mobius’ old clothes. “I thought you’d appreciate something more comfortable. Besides, we match.”

He swings his legs back up onto Mobius’ lap, taking a swig of his drink. They are quiet for a moment, listening to the distant crashing of waves and enjoying the lack of need to do… well, anything.

“Do you mind if I turn the television on?” Mobius eventually asks, and Loki hums an affirmative. He grabs the remote, trying to avoid jostling the legs on his lap as much as possible, before pressing the on button.

As an afterthought, he tugs the soft blanket from the back of the sofa and drapes it over the both of them, firmly focusing his attention on the screen in front of them rather than the sleepy god next to him.

{o0o}

Since he isn’t exactly human, Loki doesn’t need nearly as much sleep as humans. Usually, about eight hours is enough to get him through the week. However, with all the crazy stuff and time hopping and running for his life that he has done in the last however long, he’s asleep within minutes of making contact with the sofa.

When he wakes, however, it is to light streaming through a thin beige curtain. He sits up, running a hand through his hair, as he sleepily takes in his surroundings.

Somehow, he has ended up on top of a bed that he has never seen before. Given the boring decor, he assumes it must be the upstairs of the cottage… so, presumably, Mobius had moved him upstairs in his sleep.

Loki waits for that statement to sink in, for him to feel that usual sense of panic at someone being there and moving him while he was vulnerable, but it never comes.

(If he is being honest with himself, he knows exactly why Mobius is the exception, but he isn’t ready to admit that, not yet.)

He wanders over to the window, yanking open the curtain. There, outside, is the same paradise they had arrived in only last night. And, if the digital clock on the bedside table is enough to go by, it’s 10am on the twenty-fourth of September, 1991.

The view is even more beautiful when he is more awake to admire it, Loki decides. The bay sparkles like a rare jewel, and he finds himself cracking the window open to let some fresh air in.

He sighs, a long breath that mists the glass in front of him. He’ll miss this place, when he inevitably has to leave. Because there’s no way he can stay here for the rest of his life; he’s a Loki, after all, and Lokis are destined to lose. This - a paradise beyond time with someone who knows who he is and accepts him for who he is? He could scoff at the idea. When has the Universe (or the Multiverse, he supposes) ever been that kind to him?

Loki stares blankly out of the window for a few minutes until he is broken from his trance when he spots a familiar figure struggling down the beach, attempting to balance much more shopping than one man can manage.

He blinks a few times, making sure that it is, in fact, Mobius, before barking out a laugh and rushing downstairs and out the front door to lend him a hand. After all, what kind of guest would he be if he let his host embarrass himself publicly within 24 hours of moving in?

When he catches up to him - wearing the same garish, bright orange haiwaiian shirt that Loki had conjured up for him yesterday, he notes - Mobius doesn’t even notice he’s there until several of the bags are lifted from him.

“Hey! Oh, it’s just you,” he exclaims, adjusting a box under his arm. “Thank you,” he adds.

“What did you get?” Loki asks, tucking some of the smaller items into a pocket dimension so he had free hands to carry the rest of it.

“Oh, just a couple of things to spruce the place up. I got a bit carried away, actually,” Mobius admits as they start off back down the beach. “How did you sleep?”

Loki rolls his eyes. “Like the dead, apparently. Did you move me while I was asleep?”

Mobius doesn’t meet his eyes as he responds. “Yep. You looked uncomfortable, and I didn’t want to wake you.”

There’s a pang in Loki’s chest; another reminder that leaving this place will get more and more painful the longer he stays. He can’t get used to these common gestures of affection - he can’t think of another person who would have cared enough about his comfort to go to the effort of carrying him up the stairs.

“Is something wrong?” Mobius asks, interrupting Loki’s train of thought. He’s staring at him, a curious expression on his face, and it’s only then that Loki realises they have stopped.

“It’s nothing,” Loki replies quickly, giving Mobius one of his most charming smiles as he starts walking again.

Mobius stays rooted to the spot. “Bullshit.”

Loki stops, his back turned to Mobius, and sighs. A range of lies are on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t quite find it in himself to bother trying to keep up a facade that they both know Mobius can see straight through.

“I’m having a nice time,” he states, after a minute of debate.

Mobius starts walking again, juggling his shopping as he catches up to Loki. “And that is a problem… why?”

“Because good things don’t last!” he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “Lokis are destined to lose.”

Mobius raises an eyebrow. “You think this will be taken away from you,” he says. It isn’t a question. “Well, I have a present for you, then. Two, actually.”

They reach the front door of their cottage, Loki’s eyes trained on the ground as he scuffs his sandals on the sand. Mobius rummages through his bags, trying to find something specific.

“May I have the red striped carrier bag, please?” he asks, when his search comes up fruitless. Loki conjures it for him, passing it over. He doesn’t know what’s in any of the bags (although, now, he’s thinking he should probably have checked), he had only picked it because it is one of the heaviest ones.

Mobius opens the bag from him with a word of thanks, peering in to check it’s the right one. Then, he sticks a hand in his pocket, pulling out his fist closed around something.

“Here,” he says, offering his closed fist to Loki. “This is yours to keep, forever.”

Loki cautiously holds out a hand, and Mobius drops the item into his palm. Loki stares at the little piece of metal, wondering how it could mean so much.

“...Is this?”

“The key to our house, yeah,” Mobius confirms, smiling. “And a crocodile keyring, since I’m apparently never going to get over meeting that version of you.”

Loki smiles, just slightly, cupping the key carefully in his hands as he admires the keyring.

“And that bag is also for you. Well, the contents are, I don’t know if you want the bag as well-”

It’s not hard to tell that Mobius is nervous, so Loki can’t begin to imagine what is in the bag. He picks it up, sand pouring out the bottom of the bag, raising his eyebrows at what he finds.

“Green paint?”

Mobius grins, scratching the back of his head. “We’re the only ones with a boring front door. I figured we should probably fix that, add some of your flare.”

Loki gives him a shit-eating grin, sliding the keys into his pocket.

“What?” Mobius asks, sensing something is up. “What did I say?”

With a wave of a hand and without the paint can ever being opened, the front door is suddenly the colour of Peppermint Fresh.

“You seem to be forgetting you live with a god,” Loki declares, waggling his eyebrows.

“Oh, come on.”

They spend the rest of their day renovating their new house, Loki’s powers speeding up the process immensely. Other than paint and wallpaper, Mobius had also bought them both some clothes, as well as a range of random items to make the place look a little more personal, and two whole bags of groceries.

“I’ve never cooked anything before,” he admits, just as the sun starts to dip below the horizon. “We never had to, at the TVA. We always just went to the canteen.”

Loki hums to the radio playing in the corner, standing back to check if the strip of wallpaper he had just hung looked straight. “We always had people cook for us, back on Asgard,” he replies. “My mother tried to teach me, but I found pestering my brother much more interesting.”

“Do you miss your family?” Mobius asks, collecting the paintbrushes from around the room so he can wash them in the kitchen sink.

“They weren’t my family,” he responds immediately, before wincing. “Well, not biologically. But I’m starting to think that maybe family is more than just DNA.”

Mobius nods, shoving the paintbrushes into a carrier bag. When he’s sure Loki has nothing else to say, he gestures to the door. “Want to make sure I don’t set fire to the kitchen?”

Loki smiles. He has found himself doing that more and more since he has met Mobius; the man always seems to know what to say and do. “I’m pretty sure you know that I have quite the history of arson, but sure.”

So, they go downstairs, Loki waving his hands and cleaning the stray blotches of paint off their clothes.

“Let’s start with something simple,” Mobius suggests, opening the fridge. “Fish fingers?”

Loki nods. “Surely even you can’t mess that up.”

Oh, how he was wrong. An hour later, they’re sitting next to each other on the couch (upright, this time) eating burnt fish fingers and scoffing at the programme they’re watching.

“Do humans really believe in these things?” Loki asks incredulously, squirting more ketchup on his plate in an attempt to overpower the burnt taste.

Mobius scoffs. “I think it’s for entertainment, Loki. But yeah, ‘aliens’ don’t act like this. At least, not as far as I know.”

“There’s a multiverse now,” Loki muses. “Maybe there weren’t any before, but there are now.”

Mobius shrugs. “Who knows. It’s not our problem, either way.”

Loki doesn’t answer, instead opting to scoop the fishfinger into his mouth. Mobius frowns at his lack of response, grabbing the remote and muting Mulder and Scully’s investigation.

“You do know… this whole multiverse business, it’s not your fault, right? And, as far as we know, nothing catastrophic has happened yet.”

Loki swallows, refusing to take his eyes off the silent TV. “That’s the thing, Mobius. It is my fault - partly, at the very least. And what if something bad does happen? Any suffering or pain caused by this is on my shoulders.”

Mobius puts his plate down on the coffee table, nudging him with his shoulder. “That statement is so incorrect, it’s unbelievable. I thought you were supposed to be smart?”

Loki doesn’t say anything, and he sighs.

“Look - first of all, it isn’t your fault. This is all on Sylvie. I don’t know what happened there, but from what I gather, you tried to stop her, and that’s all that matters. I’ve met a hundred different Lokis, and every single one of them would have done what benefits them the most, not fought to try and do something to help other people.”

“She kissed me,” Loki says, out of nowhere. “Sylvie, I mean. And then she just… tossed me away.”

Mobius frowns. “Did you like her?”

“I thought I did,” he admits. “But I think - I don’t think I liked her like that. I think I mistook wanting her to be safe and happy for love.”

“It’s a kind of love, just perhaps not the one you assumed it was.”

Loki nods. “I loved her like a sister, I suppose.”

“And she betrayed you,” Mobius continues. “When you were finally allowing yourself to trust others again.”

Loki puts his plate on top of Mobius’, suddenly not hungry. He tries to turn his attention back to the muted television, but he’s missed too much of the exposition to properly understand what is happening.

“Loki, look at me,” Mobius says softly. “Loki.”

He turns, praying that he doesn’t notice the tears welling in his eyes.

“Experiencing two conflicting emotions is perfectly normal,” Mobius continues, reaching for Loki’s hand and squeezing it. “You can care about Sylvie, and be upset about what she did at the same time.”

“I just-” he tries, his voice cracking. “I just wonder whether she ever cared about me, or whether she was just using me the entire time. I mean, it’s the kind of thing I would do, isn’t it?”

Mobius stares him dead in the eye, his voice firm. “Maybe once, but not now. You know what makes you different from every other Loki?”

“The fact I stole the Tesseract, escaped to the desert, and then helped to take down the man in charge of the universe?”

“No.” Mobius sighs. “Well, yes, I suppose. But what I was trying to say is that you’re different to every Loki because you care. You recognised your faults, and then you tried to change them.

“You said, earlier, ‘Lokis are destined to lose’, and yet here you are. I would count this as a win, wouldn’t you?”

Loki is uncharacteristically silent after that. They sit like that for a few minutes, neither of them speaking, before Loki stands up and disappears into the kitchen, taking the plates with him. Mobius sighs, reaching for the TV remote and turning the channel to some random movie.

When Loki returns a few minutes later, he sits straight down next to Mobius. They watch the movie - something about little fluffy monsters - together, not finding the need to speak.

It’s only by the time Loki’s head has drooped onto Mobius’ shoulder that the silence is broken. He drags the blanket over the sleepy Loki that’s attached itself to him, grinning at how adorable he finds the ferocious god.

“Thank you,” Loki mumbles, only half-conscious, and they both know he isn’t only talking about the blanket.

{o0o}

This time, when Loki wakes up, he knows the bed he lies in is his own. He frowns, not remembering getting into bed, before realising that Mobius must have carried him upstairs again.

If anyone asked him, he would say that he had fallen asleep because of all the magic he had used to renovate during the day, but that wouldn’t be the truth. No, he’d be a little more hesitant to admit that their little cottage by the beach feels like the safest place he has ever stayed. Besides, emotions are exhausting.

He sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and checking the little clock by his bedside. 9:24, it reads, which isn’t too-

“Loki?” a sleepy voice says from beside him, and he has to stop himself from leaping out of the bed in surprise.

Because somehow, in the few minutes he has been awake, he has failed to notice that he is not alone in the room. Next to him, tucked neatly under the covers, is Mobius, Captain America pajamas and all.

Loki wrinkles his nose at the choice of outfit, but doesn’t voice his opinion. “What - did I fall asleep again?”

“Mmm,” Mobius hums, eyes sliding shut again. “‘S too early, go back to sleep.”

Okay, Loki’s pretty sure his heart just melted slightly. “I don’t need as much sleep as you,” he replies gently. “But you should lie in.”

“Fine,” Mobius complains, rolling over. “But I’m stealing your pillows.”

Loki can’t help but grin at the ridiculous sight - Mobius M. Mobius, formerly one of the most prestigious members of an elite organisation, spread starfish-style across their bed in his Avengers pajamas.

(Although, Loki supposes, the actual Avengers won’t exist for another twenty or so years, thanks to their time travel shenanigans.)

He slips into the hallway, leaving the door ajar behind him, before rummaging around in the bags they had shoved in the study yesterday without bothering to unpack. It only takes a few minutes to find the item he’s looking for, and it takes even less time to sneak back into their bedroom, his footsteps entirely silent.

Click! Loki smirks from behind the disposable camera and sneaks back out of the room, hoping that Mobius doesn’t wake up. Just because he doesn’t want a throne anymore doesn’t mean that he isn’t the God of Mischief- surely, Mobius should be expecting at least a few harmless pranks.

It’s a nice morning - cool, but in that way that suggests it might get much warmer later in the day - so Loki decides to go for a walk. He has barely made it past the second house in their row when a familiar face pops up from behind a hedge, waving wildly.

“Hey! I know you - blue box guy!”

Loki blinks a few times, trying to place the man in front of him. “Casey?”

“Yeah!” he exclaims, hurrying out of his front gate. “You stole my drink.”

“Sorry,” Loki replies automatically, before shaking his head. “Wait, what are you doing here?”

“Oh, you would not believe the week I have had,” Casey begins, waving his arm dramatically. “So I’ve been behind a desk my entire life, right? And then Mobius comes along, and he’s all like ‘Everyone who works for the TVA is a variant and the Timekeepers aren’t real!’ So there’s a bit of a fight - not everyone believes him, you see, and I had no idea what to think - and then a load of people come back from a field mission saying they saw Judge Renslayer as a high school principal!”

“Really,” Loki says drily, trying to keep up with the man’s incessant babbling.

“Yeah! So then Mobius takes over, just for a while, and he says that there are two Loki variants who are gonna take down whoever is behind the TVA, and he comes up with a plan - the people who still want to work there answer to B-15 and do whatever they want to, or you can retire to a few different locations in a few different times! And I figured, ‘Gosh, I nearly died twice in the span of ten minutes and that was scary so I should probably make sure my life has meant something,’ and also a multiverse sounds like a lot of paperwork, so. Here I am!”

Loki is silent for a few seconds, still trying to process all the information that Casey managed to spit out at an alarmingly fast rate. “Wait. So, everyone who lives here used to work for the TVA?”

Casey nods. “This row of houses, yeah. ‘1991 Beach’ was the most popular retirement option - I was pretty lucky to get one of these spots.”

“Huh,” is just about all Loki can manage.

“And guess what, criminal whose name I don’t know!” Casey exclaims excitedly. “I met a fish the other day.”

Loki raises an eyebrow, amused. “Did you, now?”

“Yep! Which, uh, makes your threat much more vivid.” Casey shudders.

“Don’t worry, I don’t kill people anymore,” Loki says, and realises that that is probably the truth. “Sorry about that, and for stealing your drink.”

Casey shrugs. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”

“I should head back, but it was nice to see you again, Casey.” Loki turns back to their house, his feet slipping slightly in the sand. “Oh, and, by the way - my name is Loki.”

He turns his back and walks away before he can see the look on Casey’s face, but if the sharp intake of breath he hears is anything to go by, he has certainly succeeded in surprising his new neighbour.

When he gets back, Mobius is awake, shuffling around the kitchen in his pajamas. “Morning, sunshine,” he greets as Loki appears in the doorway, sniffing the air.

“Breakfast?” he asks hopefully, and Mobius laughs.

“Yup. Full English, I thought. Did you have a nice walk?”

Loki perches on the edge of the table, smiling. “I didn’t get particularly far. I had an… interesting conversation with Casey, though.”

“Oh, I remember him. Bit weird, if memory serves,” Mobius responds, scrunching his nose as he cracks two eggs into the frying pan. “Wait, how do you know him?”

Loki scratches the back of his head. “I may, uh - I may have threatened to ‘gut him like a fish’. And then I stole his drink and poured it into your salad.”

Mobius raises an eyebrow. “Wow, okay.”

“In my defense, he didn’t know what a fish was until he moved here. And, I was part of the reason he retired, so.”

“How did he not know what a fish- You know what,” he replies, shaking his head as he turns back to the stove. “I don’t care.”

Loki turns the radio in the corner on with a flick of his wrist, and they are both content to sit and enjoy the quiet morning while Mobius cooks. In no time at all, they are sitting across from each other, two plates of food in front of them.

Picking a piece of eggshell out of his food, Loki warily takes a bite. “Did you have any plans for today?”

“As a matter of fact,” Mobius responds with an excited grin, “I do.”

It turns out, Mobius’ plans involve him packing a backpack and eagerly dragging Loki down the beach to a small jetty. There, waiting for them on the end of the small pier, is a jet ski.

Loki grins. “So that's why you chose the beach.”

Mobius grins, dumping the bag on the side and fishing his keys out of his pockets. “I have read about these things every day for almost the entirety of what I can remember, and I’m finally getting to go on one. Are you coming?”

“Of course,” Loki answers, and he clambers on behind Mobius.

“Hang on,” he shouts over the engine, and Loki wraps his arms around his waist. “You ready?”

“I’m starting to think this might be a bad- woah!”

Before Loki can even finish his statement, they’re off. Mobius soon gets the hang of it, zipping around the bay and whooping. Loki can’t help but smile - sure, he isn’t nearly as bothered about jet skis as Mobius is, but the man’s excitement is contagious. Besides, there is a certain freedom to it; he can feel the wind in his hair and taste the salt on his lips.

Suddenly, Mobius attempts to do a sharp turn, jolting them both with absolutely no warning. Loki tries to hang on, clinging tightly onto his chest, but the movement catches him by surprise and he ends up in the water.

Mobius turns the jet ski around, slowly pulling up next to (the now very wet) god. “Sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t sound very apologetic.

“Maybe I’ll stick to sunbathing,” Loki suggests as Mobius hauls him back onto the ski before dropping him off at the jetty.

“Are you sure?” he asks, clearly torn between having the time of his life and leaving Loki on his own.

“Of course I’m sure,” he answers. “I think I’ll survive an hour or two on my own. Besides, I don’t want to ruin your fun by vomiting all over you.”

Mobius pulls a face. “Maybe it’s for the best, then. I won’t go far, I promise.”

“Go!” Loki says, waving his arm at his friend as he picks up their bag. “Have some fun. You’ve earned it. I think we both have.”

Hours later, when the sun has started to set over the horizon, the two men find themselves lazing on the beach next to each other. Mobius slips a chocolate wrapper into the book he’s reading and places it down next to him, turning to his companion.

“Loki,” he begins, staring out at the sea. “Did you ever think you would settle down like this?”

“Never,” Loki answers, without any hesitation.

“Me neither.”

In the distance, there is the faint smell of cherry pie - perhaps one of their neighbours is cooking. A seagull swoops by overhead, landing on a fence a few feet behind them and bobbing about. If you look closely enough, you can see the ripples on the top of the water; the only clue that there are fish below the surface.

“We make a strange pair, don’t we?” Mobius muses, watching the sky turn from blue to orange to pink.

Loki hums. “That’s why we’re perfect for each other.”

There’s no argument to be made against that in Mobius’ mind, so they sit together, not at the end of the world, but at the beginning of one.

THE END.

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@tiredgayemoweeb / @idrilearfalas / @consulting-supernatural / @doomeccentric / @lyriumwolf / @peterspattersons / @inconceivablelife / @sunsetcurve123 / @i-am-the-trash-duchess / @hermes-creature / @alexmalikplays / @hisfishfingersandcustard

[dcforts]

[day 11: sharing is caring] 

That’s just what they need.

It’s not enough that they’ve been digging up graves in the snow and that they’re dirty and tired and aching – the weather had to play its part and send them a storm.

From where they’re stuck in the middle of nowhere in Wisconsin, home seems far, far away.

“Do we know anyone around here?” asks Cas from the passenger seat and Dean closes his eyes and sighs.

“Yeah,” he says  disheartened, “We know Garth.”

*

It’s not that Dean doesn’t like Garth. In fact, he likes him very much. And he’d be happy to see him. It’s been a while and his warm smile it’s never a bad sight.

It’s just that – he’s a lot. And he brings up some stuff.

He may pretend like it never happened but Dean remembers how he first reacted when he’d found out that he’d been bitten and how he acted around his family. And then there’s the fact that Dean doesn’t like bothering hunters who got out of the life. He feels that who he is and what he carries with him, it’s something that they’ve put behind them and don’t wish to see again.

Not to count the bitter feeling that surges in him everytime he’s reminded that Garth not only managed to retire and have a normal life, but he double did it. There are not many hunters, or werewolves, or hunter-werewolves for the matter, that can say that. Dean certainly can’t say that.

Still, when they call him and Garth says he’ll be happy to have them, Dean feels relief flooding over him, if not for the prospect of a warm and dry place to rest for a few hours, just enough to wait for the storm to calm down.

He can manage.

Or at least that’s what he thinks until he and Cas are huddled together on Garth’s front porch and even above the wind Dean hears Christmas songs blasting from the inside.

His eyes find Cas, who’s looking back at him, alarmed, but the doorbell has already been rung and it’s too late to back out. Garth opens the door with his patented smile.

“Guys!” he shouts above the music, “You made it!” he hurries them in the tiny entrance and closes the door.

Dean finds himself enveloped in a cocoon of warmth and lovely aroma of pine wood and cinnamon. His cheeks and hands tingle and he lets out a sigh.

Garth comes back into his view; Dean opens his mouth to speak but he has already wrapped his arms around him. “It’s so good to see you,” he says in his usual cheerful tone. He moves on to squeeze Cas into a similar hug and Cas stiffens and tentatively pats his back. Garth gives out a little laugh, “That’s it, buddy,” he encourages.

“Hello, Garth.”

Alright, Dean thinks, maybe it’s gonna be a little funny. 

But then he notices the two-feet-tall inflatable Santa that’s bumping against his shins and when he looks up he’s stunned into silence. It actually takes his eyes a moment or two to register what’s surrounding them: the garlands on the doors, the tinsels around the banister, the baubles hanging from the ceiling all above them. Judging from the giant Christmas tree he can spot in the living room, he’s pretty sure the rest of the house isn’t in much better condition.

Garth himself is wearing an bulky red knitted cardigan with reindeers all over it. Seeing that, combined with the songs and the decorations, Dean feels the need to ask, “Uh – Garth? Are you guys celebrating something?”

Garth slaps him on the shoulder and laughs like he’s made a great joke. “It’s December, Dean-o! Every day is a celebration. The most magical time of the year, right?” he says beaming “You’ll have to wait for the carols but you’re right on time for hot cocoa!”

Dean feels dread creeping in. He takes a step back, “Wha- Garth, no – we don’t mean to -”

Apparently Cas is on the same page as him because he also starts saying, “This is your family time,” and steps back with him. “We don’t want to intrudr –“

Garth shakes his head vigorously, “Guys, guys, guys,” He holds up his hands to shut them up, “It makes Bess and I very happy to have you here to share it with us. Sharing is caring. And we happen to care a lot about you two,” he says making a silly voice and pointing a finger at them. 

Yeah, nevermind, this was a terrible idea.

Cas throws him another freaked out look Dean can’t help but reciprocate, but Garth pays no mind to their lack of enthusiasm and shepherds them cheerfully into the living room. Dean feels even more out of place among the pastel walls and the embroidered pillows, the toys and the dolls. He tries to make himself weight less so that he doesn’t leave traces of dirt on the carpet. Everything seems soft and cozy, which is a real change from the hard leather seats and the icy wind.

“So, how was the journey?” Garth is asking Cas, as if they’re coming back from a cruise. “It’s been so long, man. Just the other day I was thinking ‘When I’m ever going to see them again?’ and then - ”

Dean gets distracted as he feels something tugging at the duffel bag he’s carrying and when he lowers his gaze there’s a blond head and two little hands trying to hold on to the fabric. “H-hey,” he says, shifting back a little to get out of his reach. He doesn’t think it’s a good idea to have clean, innocent baby hands near a bag that was in a graveyard an hour ago. But the kid takes an unsteady step forward and grabs it anyway. “This is – no, no – uh, G-Garth?” he calls, horrified.

Garth stops drowning Cas in questions and shifts his attention to the ground. He laughs and picks up his kid, totally unbothered, “Sammy, these are not toys for you,” he shakes his head, “He’s such a curious kid.”

Bess comes down the stairs right in that moment, wearing a green cardigan that matches Garth’s. “I thought I heard you two!” she says, even if Dean is pretty sure they’ve barely said a word since they’ve come in. “Garth, why don’t you bring their bag in the guests’ room? I’ll be right out with the drinks.”

There’s another round or “No need -,” and “This is really not necessary -,” and “We don’t want -“ before Garth yanks the bag from Dean’s hold with one hand.

He always forgets how strong he is.

“Of course you’re gonna stay. There’s no way I’m letting you leave in the cold and the dark. Come on! You know me,” he disappears down the hallway shaking his head and saying, “We’re gonna have so much fun.”

Bess gives them an encouraging smile, “Relax guys, take off your jackets, sit on the couch.”

*

So they do. Sit on the couch.

They both let out a sigh when they sink into the cushions and Dean would call Cas “old” if he hadn’t made the exact same sound.

“This was a bad idea,” whispers Dean.

“You think?”

In the sudden emptiness of the room, with It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year in the background, and the giant Christmas tree twinkling in the corner, it’s weird to just - sit there.

Dean is dirty and smelly and feels marginally better only when he looks over at Cas who seems so much out of his comfort zone that he might as well be a tropical bird.

He takes a hopeful look out of the windows behind the couch but the weather seems to be even worse than it was five minutes ago.

“Are you still cold?” asks Cas.

“No.”

“Good.”

They look away from each other again.

In the last few weeks they’ve settled in a pretty hectic routine. Find the case, drive to the case, work the case, drive home, rinse and repeat.

It’s a well-oiled machine, but that doesn’t leave much time for – well, anything else. Definitely not sitting around and relaxing – and it’s just awkward all of the sudden to be alone in a place that is not a sticky diner, or a dusty motel, or a morgue.

It sounds depressing but that’s the hunter life for you. Without even noticing you become your job and it gets easier to just put your head down and work.

After three hunts in a row, Dean realizes this is the first time they’re actually taking a break. He looks over at Cas, his messy hair and the hands folded in his lap, and he feels the need to say something conversational.

What comes out is, “Last time I was here, Garth fixed my teeth.”

Cas’ face scrunches up in confusion but then Garth comes back.

“Have you seen Cas?”

Dean blinks at him and then slowly and dubiously points at his right.

“No, I mean,” Garth laughs, “The little one. I’m so excited for you to meet him,” he says, leaving the room again.

“How do you lose a kid?” Dean asks under his breath, looking around. His attention is drawn to a group of pictures on the little table beside the couch. There’s a bunch of the family on holidays, and then a bunch of the kids. One of the frames says Castiel and, on the bottom, Always our little boy.

“Hey, Cas,” he picks it up to show it to him, “Want me to get you one of these?”

Cas glares at him and doesn’t dignifies him with an answer.

Dean smirks and shrugs, “Fine, we’ll get the one that says Sammy. Can’t wait to see his face on Christmas morning.”

Cas doesn’t look at him again but Dean sees the corner of his mouth stretch a little so he calls it a victory.

*

Then Garth comes back and finally sits down in the armchair across from them. “He’s asleep. I forgot he was asleep!” he rolls his eyes at himself, “Cas,” he says, clicking his tongue, “he’s the best. He’s got this look, you know?”

“Wait, who are we talking about now?”

“Him. No, uh -” Garth laughs and bangs a hand on his forehead. “Sorry, I keep getting confused. Alright, alright, lets call our Cas 'Little Cas' and we’ll call you, 'Big Cas'.”

Dean stifles a laugh.

"I don’t think-" starts Cas, but it gets drown out by Bess coming back with a tray.

From the steaming mugs comes the rich smell of chocolate and on the surface Dean can see mini marshmallows shaped like little trees. He watches as Bess and Garth pick up their mugs and toast before taking a sip and notices with a smile that even their mugs are matching. Bess’ says “Mine” and Garth’s says “Yours”. He thinks it’s cute, whatever.

But then he looks down at his own mug and realizes that there’s something written across it too. It says “Perfect” and when he dares to look in Cas’ way his whole body blushes when he reads “Together” on his.

He takes a sip of chocolate and tries very hard to avoid Cas’ eyes and stop blushing. He fails on both fronts and burns his tongue.

At least it tastes great and the sugar warms him up and makes him feel much more comfortable.

Cas drinks it too without making a fuss over molecules and Dean wonders if it’s because he’s very polite or if he’s a pain in the ass just when they’re alone.

 *

Finally Cas meets Little Cas and Garth keeps telling them how smart he is, because apparently he’s learned how to use the remote.

Dean snorts, “That’s already more than Big Cas can do,” and Cas shoots him a deadly “Stop calling me that,” that shuts him up for five minutes. Dean agrees it was a bad idea anyway.

Kids love Cas, for some reason. Little Cas stretches his arms towards him the whole time he’s in the room and Cas just pretends he can’t see him, as if avoiding eye contact is enough to make him stop. It amuses Dean greatly.

Even Gertie, when she comes in with a gingerbread cookie, looks between them and chooses to give it to Cas.

“I only have one,” she tells Dean, who is totally not offended.

But then Cas says, “It’s okay,” with his soft voice, “We’ll share it.”

And for some reason that makes Dean’s heart flutter. It’s something in the way he casually snaps the cookie in half and hands him a piece.

Somehow it’s different than sharing a car, a motel room, a bed, all kinds of weapons and bags and just space, in general.

Dean doesn’t know what it is, but somehow there’s a difference.

*

Garth is fairly disappointed when he finds out that angels don’t know Christmas carol by heart just because they’re angels.

At some point he just starts playing the piano and expects Cas to start singing along.

Dean says it was a hard blow for him as well, knowing that he couldn’t play the harp, just to enjoy the way Cas rolls his eyes with his whole head.

“What about Holy Night?”

“I- I don’t know that one,” says Cas, for the thirteen time in a row and Dean would love to stay on the couch and watch him awkwardly handle the situation if he wasn’t afraid Garth would eventually try and bring him into it.

So he jumps up at the first occasion to follow Bess into the kitchen right under Cas’ betrayed look.

“What songs do you know?” Garth’s voice carries through the walls.

“Uh, I know Led Zeppelin?” says Cas and Dean almost drops the mugs as his heart expands.

Now he kind of regrets having left the room but then Garth is saying, “Oh no, silly, I mean Christmas songs,” and Bess is asking him, “Do you play any instrument?” so he focuses back on her.

Dean puts down the mugs in the sink and opens up the tab, “Uh - just the guitar – a little bit. Never had much chance to practise.”

“Oh, you should. Then you can bring it up here sometime and play for us at the church.”

Dean scoffs, “You sure they’d want to see me again, after last time?” he asks and can’t hide the genuine uncertainty from his voice.

Bess rests a hand on his arm, reassuring, “Well, it’ll be different. Last time we said, ‘This is Dean, he’s a hunter’. This time, we’ll be saying, ‘This is Dean, he plays the guitar’.”

It’s such a simple concept but it hits him like a brick. He needs a moment to try and see himself from another point of view and he really doesn’t know what to say. Bess doesn’t seem to mind. They dry the mugs in silence and when Dean looks up to smile at her, she smiles back.

Dean, he plays the guitar. It could work.

They go back to the living room and Bess and Garth duet over Silent Night and it’s only a little embarrassing.

*

It gets dark pretty soon after that.

Before they bring their kids upstairs they all take part in the traditional – apparently daily – lightning of the tree. They turn off the lights and when Garth says  “Ready?”, Gertie says “Yes!” and he lights it up.

Only, in the dark Cas gets really close to him and when Garth says “Ready?” Dean can hear him too say “Yes,” and so he turns towards him just as Garth plugs it in and his breath catches in his throat as he sees his face light up with the colours dancing on his skin.

Bess turns on the lights again and Garth puts a hand on Dean’s shoulder and it startles him.

“Amazing, right?” he says, “Gets me everytime,” and only then Dean realizes that he’s missed the whole thing.

“Yeah,” he says.

*

Watching them at the table is always a jarring experience.

But just a "How’s the – dental practice going?" is enough to kick off the longest most absurd recount of Garth’s last few years and Dean finds himself laughing heartily with a hand on his chest, having forgotten all about the raw cow hearts on their plates.

They talk about things to do in Winsconsin and Dean tells them about that one time when he was a kid and got sick on cream puffs at a fair. Even Cas talks about Claire non-stop for a solid minute an a half, which is honestly impressive.

Bess and Garth want to know all about Sam and Eileen. When Dean says they’re splitting up more these days, Bess nods and says, “Yeah, I imagine you all enjoy a bit of privacy.”

Dean hears loud and clear the implication that him and Cas are like Sam and Eileen but doesn’t really know how to correct her, so he doesn’t. 

He knows he can’t blame her. He’s not totally oblivious to the way they look from the outside. Working together, living together - just that would be enough to assume. But Dean hasn’t looked at anyone else in years either so – yeah. He knows how it looks.

Cas doesn’t say anything either, and doesn’t show any signs as to whether he’s picked up the implication but Dean can never really be sure with him.

That’s about around the time Dean realizes he’s shifted towards him and has an arm draped on the back of his chair.

Cas hasn’t said anything about that either. Dean doesn’t remove it.

Garth proposes a toast to Bobby and Dean loves him a little bit more and then Bess asks them what they’re doing for the holidays and looks shocked when he says that they haven’t really thought about it yet. 

“But Christmas is in two weeks!”

Dean is about to say that they never really did holidays and they’re always on the road anyway, so it doesn’t matter and they don’t care, but for some reasons he settles for, “I guess – if we’re not working – then we’ll get Sam and Eileen and just -”

He doesn’t know what they’ll do.

Garth makes that face he makes when he finds him adorable.

It makes his skin crawl.

“What would you like to do?” he says and Dean feels hot all of the sudden as Cas looks his way as well.

“Nothing,” he blurts out, feeling his face reddening, “I mean, just stay at home, relax. That’d be great.”

Bess smiles, “That doesn’t sound like such an impossible plan now, does it?”

Cas softly says, “No, it doesn’t,” and Dean’s heart starts pounding.

“Next year we could get the families together,” jumps in Garth and that makes him laugh again.

From the fact that he doesn’t think right away that it’s the most horrible idea that Garth could possibly have, he realizes he’s having a good night.

And even later when he brings to the kitchen the last of the plates and sees Garth and Bess share a kiss and a laugh over the sink, he smiles. He’s careful not to make any sounds as he puts the plates down on the counter and tiptoes back to the dark living room.

Cas is standing near the tree, looking at the decorations and Dean silently joins him.

They smile at each other briefly and go back to watch the tree.

Considering how they’ve started the day, Dean thinks it’s not a bad way to end it.

*

The guest room is – well, like the rest of the house, colourful wallpaper, soft carpets, floral-scented bedsheets. And a Santa on the nightstands with cheeks that light up. Dean puts it under the bed first thing cause it creeps him out.

Garth says, “Are you gonna be alright in here?”

“I don’t sleep,” reassures him Cas and Dean wants to retort that for someone who claims he “just lays down” he sure knows how to steal the covers.

“Yeah, Garth,” he says instead, “We’ll be up early and leave through the backdoor.”

“Well, guys,” Garth says on the door, his eyes swelling up, “It’s been so good to have you here.”

“Yeah, thank you for everything, Garth,” Dean says and he really means it. “We had a good time.”

Garth shakes his head. “You guys make me cry.”

He pulls him into a hug and then moves to do the same with Cas. 

“Come back, whenever you want. And have a very merry Christmas.”

Dean closes the door behind him and leans his back against it with a deep sigh. “If I’d walked home instead of coming here I’d be less tired, I think.”

Cas huffs a laugh as he unties his shoes.

They undress in silence and slips under the covers.

Dean turns off the lights and looks up at the ceiling.

"It’s nice,” Cas says unexpectedly in the dark, “what they have."

A weight drops on Dean’s chest.

"Yeah,” he agrees in the end, “it's nice."

After a moment, Cas speaks again.

“Dean?”

“Mh?”

“We don’t have to – go home straight away,” there’s a pause. The familiar shape of Cas shifts next to him, “We could find some cream puffs for you to get sick on.”

“That’s sweet,” Dean huffs a laugh. “I appreciate it, Cas.”

He settles more comfortably against his pillow.

“I mean it,” Cas keeps going, and his whisper is a lullaby, “We don’t have to find another case. We could just go meet Sam and Eileen in Illinois. Drive home together.”

Dean likes the idea very much.

“Yeah, we could do that.”

He feels his eyes falling shut.

“We could make it home in time for Christmas,” Cas’ voice is saying.

Dean’s lips stretch into a smile.

“Yeah, let’s do that, Cas.”

He falls asleep. 

joining @bend-me-shape-me in doing this!

[perfectpaperbluebirds]

@sicktember Prompt # 9: I’m Not Sick

Title: First Date Fever

Fandom: Jurassic World

Claire arrives at Owen's bungalow for their first date, and finds him sick. He convinces her to stay and spend time with him anyway.

(Author’s note: Not a very popular fandom I know, but it’s one I’m very familiar with, and I have a soft spot for these characters. Set before the events of the first Jurassic World movie--my version of Claire and Owen's first date. You don’t need to know anything about the movie for this fic.)

Claire Dearing was not the type of girl to meet men at their homes before a date. That was far too personal and risky. First dates were always in safe, public locations. However, she had decided to make an exception for Owen, since his bungalow was actually on the grounds of the park, and she knew many of his neighbors, the locals who ran the park behind the scenes. Owen had insisted she meet him here when she had called him earlier in the day to confirm the date, and wouldn't be persuaded otherwise. Since this seemed to be a safer place to meet than the average guy's house, and since military-man Owen was cuter and more desirable than the average guy, she had agreed.

She parked her Mercedes to the side of his bungalow, smoothing her new sun dress and checking her hair one last time as she stepped out. She knew this dress highlighted her best features perfectly, and she was excited to wear it on an actual date rather than a work outing. However, her excitement faded slightly upon seeing the state of the shabby, almost derelict yard. She hoped he intended to make her trip out here worth it. She picked her way carefully to the door of the house, sidestepping odds and ends and being mindful of the mud, making a face as she did so. She knocked sharply, arranging her face once more in a smile, trying to recover her eagerness.

Owen took his time answering the door. When he finally appeared, yawning, Claire's face fell again. He was disheveled and haggard, dressed in a ratty tee shirt, with bags under his eyes and a flush across his cheeks. His hair wasn't even combed.

"Hey, you're here! You look beautiful," Owen croaked. "Just give me a minute and I'll be ready to go," he said with a sleepy sniffle.

"Are you… hungover or something? You really don't look good. You haven't even showered."

"Not hungover, not at all. Haven't had anything to drink all week," he said, clearing his throat roughly. "I guess I accidentally fell asleep after work, so I'm still kinda out of it. I'm really sorry...  I just need a few minutes. You can come in if you want."

"I'm fine out here… thanks. I'll just… wait."

"I'll be quick." He ducked out of sight again, closing the door. 

Claire sighed, flopping onto the porch swing to wait. She really hoped this date was going to get better fast.

Owen reappeared in record time, looking much better in a button-down shirt and chinos, though still very rundown and tired. "All set?" he croaked, shutting the door behind him. Before Claire could reply, he hunched over to sneeze twice into his elbow, directing the spray away from her.

"Sorry, dust," he muttered, swiping his nose with his shirt cuff.

Claire backed away from him, wrinkling her nose. "Are you ok, Owen? You sound like you're coming down with something. Or already came down with something."

"Nah, I'm not sick. Like I said, just dust. C'mon, let's get going."

He held out a hand to help her down the porch steps like a gentleman, and she almost took his hand to let him, attempting to forget the strange start to the date. That is, until he sneezed again unexpectedly, directly onto her outstretched hand. She drew it back in disgust, immediately applying hand sanitizer from her bag as he apologized, then blew his nose, which turned into a cough.

"Owen Grady, you are sick! Don't lie to me. Why the heck are you trying to take me out when you're contagious? Are you trying to get me sick too?"

Owen shuffled to the porch swing and sank down onto it, looking defeated. "So maybe I did come down with something. It came on strong yesterday, but I didn't want to believe it. Feel like crap now. But… I  didn't want to cancel our date. I've been looking forward to it for weeks. Had it all planned out and everything." He coughed wetly into his shirt sleeve.

 Claire leaned against the porch railing with a sigh. "Well I was looking forward to it too. But we can't very well go out while you're sneezing and running a fever."

"I'm not running a fever."

She scoffed. "Whatever you say. Have you even checked?"

He reached up and touched his palm to his own forehead. "Feels fine to me."

"Well of course it feels fine to you. You can't check your own fever that way," she sighed, exasperated. "Do you even own a thermometer?"

"Nope."

"Ugh," she huffed again. Against her better judgement, she moved to his side and pressed the back of her hand to his forehead for a moment before quickly stepping away again. "You're definitely too warm."

"We can still go out. I'm fine." 

"No you're not." 

He almost certainly didn't hear her statement, since he sneezed several times right in the middle of it. 

"Case in point," she said as he wiped his nose, looking miserable. "We can't go out tonight." Try as she might, she couldn't keep a note of regret from her voice. "We'll try again another night. I should go… but I hope you feel better. Make sure you get rest and fluids and all that."

"Or you could stay for a while," he croaked hopefully. "I was really looking forward to spending time with you. I know I'm gross, but we can still hang out."

Claire smiled in spite of herself, leaning against the railing once more. "And why would I want to do that?"

"I mean, I shouldn't be left alone if I'm so sick. I can't be trusted to take care of myself. Pretty sure I took Nyquil instead of Dayquil earlier which is why I passed out. I need supervision."

Claire chuckled as she made her way back to his side. He was adorably pitiful and she couldn't help but humor him, especially since he was indeed looking very sleepy. "I suppose since you have a fever, I should keep you company for a while. Just to be safe."

He grinned happily as she sat down beside him on the porch swing. The swing was small enough that their arms brushed together as they rocked. Owen played the part of host well, getting them both snacks and drinks (and medicine for himself, at Claire's insistence), then keeping the conversation flowing, asking about her work and life and sharing about his, congested and hoarse though he was. Claire was happy to contribute, and they chatted comfortably for a while, but he clearly wasn't feeling well and wasn't up for much conversation, pretend as he would otherwise. Eventually the conversation faded, until the pair was rocking in silence, enjoying the tropical evening. 

Claire had taken over rocking the swing, letting Owen relax. In fact, he was so relaxed he began to doze off beside her. Claire simply kept rocking, even as he slowly shifted to the side, until he fell asleep against her, his head pillowed against her shoulder.

She found she didn't mind him lying there. In fact, his limp weight and hot, feverish cheek against her were somehow comforting as the evening cooled and quieted. She would make him move to bed soon, but she wanted to rock for a while longer. She had never had a first date quite like this, but she found she didn't mind that either.

[buckyownsmyheart]

Sorry To Drop In [2/2]

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Words: 1.8k (sorry, it’s a short one)

Summary: After ignoring the handsome super-soldier that fell into your life, you run into him again and have to answer for your avoiding behaviours.

Warnings: Maybe a little bit of PDA and implications of sex, but just holiday fluff from me

A/N: I’m just feeling the Christmas spirit already, sorry not sorry… this is for @bitchassbucky​ ‘s #abitchassholiday challenge! thanks for letting me take part (and congrats!) my prompt was: “Truth or dare?” // “Dare.” // “I dare you to sit on Santa’s lap” I know it’s right at the end but it inspired this little piece!! 

******************************************************************************

Previous part

It wasn’t that you hadn’t called Bucky on purpose, you just hadn’t quite gotten around to it. You were busy, you kept telling yourself, busy and had no time for a relationship. The truth was, you would often stare at his loopy scrawl, his number dialled in your phone and finger hovering over the call button, before locking your phone and throwing it across the room. It turns out you lack the confidence needed to call a super-soldier.

The other nurses had long since forgotten about the mystery intruder in your life, even if he persisted in your mind. That was until Rachel wrenched open the curtain in the A&E room and gave you a meaningful look, she needed to talk to you ASAP. Finishing up your sutures and apologising profusely to the lady for the disruption, you hurried out to try and meet Rachel and see what she wanted, fearing it was something bad. When you reached her at the nurses’ station, she pointed over to one of the beds on the other side of the room and squealed with excitement.

He was sitting in his bed, playing peek-a-boo with a baby in the bed next door. His hair was a little shorter than last time, a slight scruff on his neck but his eyes as bright as they had ever been. You watched him for a while, as entranced as the baby as he wiggled his fingers towards the child’s outstretched hands. He must have felt both you and Rachel’s eyes on him as he turned around, sending you a little wave and a small smile, before turning his attention back to the babbling baby.

“What’s he in for? I thought the Avengers have all the facilities anyone could ever want?”

“Complaining of a stomach ache, think it might be tropical diseases but I think you should do an examination.”

“Have you paged the consultant? Or another doctor available?”

“Didn’t want to bother them when I know you’re so capable.”

You gave her a look over your shoulder and breathed, “twat,” before turning to the bed, taking a deep breath, and walking over to his cubicle.

He gave you another smile as you approached, before awkwardly sitting further onto the couch. You drew the curtains around him to give a bit of privacy, and you give your hands something to do to try and stop them shaking. 

“Um…” Bucky started, but before he could continue you cut him off, not wanting to prolong the awkwardness any longer. It didn’t help that he looked even better than the last time you saw him a few months ago. I guess nearly bleeding out wasn’t always a good look.

“Please can you take off your shirt for me?” You tried to ignore the heat rising in your cheeks. You were a professional! “When did the pain start?”

“This morning, it woke me up. It’s worse when I move.”

You pressed on his abdomen, but it was difficult trying to find your landmarks when the man was pure muscle.

“Okay, so here’s the thing…” He began again, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. When you looked up at him inquiringly, he cast his eyes down and worried his lip. “I may have made it up.”

“What?!” 

“I, uh, well the thing is I wanted to see you, but I didn’t want to show up at your door unannounced, because I thought that would be weird, so I asked Tony to look into your shift times and, well, now I realise that it’s really creepy and saying it out loud really stupid so I’d like to apologise and I’m just going to leave. I’m sorry, I really didn’t think this through and I probably should have taken the hint when you didn’t call me.” He pulled on his shirt and leapt for the exit so quickly you almost missed him.

“Wait, I get off in half an hour, I think I at least owe you an explanation.”

--

The rest of your shift was a blur, and all the while you racked your brains for what on earth you could say to Bucky that would make things better. You didn’t have an excuse and couldn’t think of one for the life of you. 

As you walked out the sliding doors, snowflakes settled on your coat and melted on your exposed face. You weren’t more than two steps out of the hospital before you were met with the sight of Bucky holding two steaming cups and wearing a nervous smile.

“Do you want hot chocolate? I was going to get coffee but I wasn’t sure if you liked it, and well everyone likes hot chocolate, unless you don’t which is absolutely fine, I can have both of these no problem!”

“Thank you, Bucky, that was really sweet of you.” You took the cup from him and inhaled, the sweet smell warming you without having taken a sip. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, I just got caught up in things and I know that’s not a very good excuse, but maybe I could make it up to you?”

“Really? You want to?”

“Yes! I most definitely I do, promise. How do you feel like Christmas shopping?”

“On Christmas eve?”

“Yeah,”

“In the mall?”

“Yeah,”

“Where it’s absolutely packed full of people and you don’t have an inch of room to move around in?”

You winced, “yeah…”

“Pretty terribly, I’ll be honest. But I guess there could be worse things?”

“I’m sorry I need to get one thing and we’ll be straight out of there, I’m useless and forward planning isn’t on my list of expertise.”

“Let’s go, they do great cookies there and I’ve been craving them for ages.”

“Really? Oh, thank you so much, you’re a lifesaver!”

“It is in the job description,” he laughed and fell in step beside you, close enough that you could smell the peppermint in his hot chocolate. “What is on your list of expertise then?”

“I’ve never lost a game of truth or dare,” you shrugged.

“That seems like a challenge.” Bucky wiggled his eyebrows at you, and took a lengthy sip of his hot chocolate.

“You’re going to regret this," you laughed, shoving his shoulder playfully, "truth or dare?”

“We’re doing this? Okay, I’ll start easy, truth.”

You pondered which question to ask him. You didn’t know him, so you thought you couldn’t go all out yet. You deliberated a few, and as the warmth of the mall hit you, you spoke over the hum of people. “If you could sleep with any of the Avengers, which one would you choose?”

He scoffed, “Easy, Steve. I’ve known him the longest and I mean he’s also a super-soldier, so would certainly go for a round or two.”

You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach and laughing at his complete lack of hesitancy. Maybe, just maybe, he would be a worthy opponent of truth and dare.

“Okay, okay, I’ll give you that one,” you said to him, still laughing, “give me a truth then if that was so easy.”

“Hmm,” he pondered, grabbing your hand and pulling you into the queue for ‘World Famous Christmas Cookies’, and putting on a fake thinking face. “What was the real reason you didn’t call me?”

“Oh, straight in there, huh!” You turned to him and squeezed his hand, not wanting him to let go just yet, “I didn’t have the balls, thought you were too good for me.” You shrugged, trying to play it off as nothing and looked down at your cup as you took another sip.

“Really?” His eyebrows were raised and his eyes wide, “you thought you weren’t good enough for me? You know the game’s called Truth or dare right?”

“That is the truth!” You paused whilst Bucky chose some cookies for you both, giving you time for the redness in your cheeks to fade. “Come on, it’s your turn, truth or dare?”

“Dare, let’s up this game.”

At that point, the bustle of people seemed to surge, whether it was a sale or just people being people, they shoved you into Bucky, who caught you, pulling you into safety along the wall. This did, however, mean you were pressed against each other, one of his hands was placed on your hips and the other trying to protect you from the swarm of incessant shoppers. His eyes locked with yours, and all you could focus on was the feel of him pressed against you, and the fact that your faces were inches from each other. Your chocolate breath mixed with his, and his cinnamon smell encircling you, making you feel as if you were in your own little world. Looking down at his lips, his tongue darted out to wet them, and you couldn’t help yourself.

“I dare you to kiss me,” 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

And his lips were on yours, one hand keeping you close and the other tipping your head up to him so he could get a better angle. He tasted of peppermint, chocolate and warmth. You were absolutely lost to the outside world, in a moment of bliss. This was prematurely disrupted by another shove from a delightful passer-by, and you broke away, feeling a little abashed by your slightly public display of affection, but a little giddy as Bucky rested his forehead on yours.

“This is why people suck,” he mumbled to you.

“Why on earth did you take me here on Christmas Eve? Honestly, have some forward planning!”

He looked at you, astounded, before shaking his head and pulling you under his arm. “Come on, let’s get your present quickly, it seems these people haven’t got the memo about Christmas spirit.” He suddenly stopped, and looked down at you, “Hey, (Y/n), truth or dare?”

“Dare,” you answered without thinking, hoping it might end in a kiss again.

“I dare you to sit on Santa’s lap.”

“You want me on Santa’s lap? You can’t think of a better persons lap where I should be?”

Bucky flushed a deep shade of red, and his arm tightened around your shoulder’s. “Well, I mean, I, uh-” He stuttered out, before giving a cough and swallowing thickly, “don’t you have a present to get?”

“Nope! I was just trying to suss you out. Come on, let’s get out of this dreadful place.” And you tugged him away, leaving the craze of people behind you for somewhere a little more private.

[glmfic]

~ pairing: Ayako x Bou-san ~ word count: 4,434k ~ genre: holiday!fic

~ summary:  ❝Alls Ayako & Bou-san want to do is warm up…hey is that a contest to win a free vacation? It’s for couples only? Oh. <3 ❞

~ warnings: candy cane sweet fluff!…also, maybe some typos I didn’t catch ;) ~ note: the second in a series of 4 one-shots dedicated to my dear readers (happy holidays!)– enjoy! <3

Christmas Vacation

“That one,” Ayako spoke decisively.

“Finally...” Bou-san murmured under his breath as the Nissin employee marked the selected pine tree.

They were standing in a sea of them, a virtual forest miraculously populating an asphalt parking lot in the heart of Tokyo. Ayako had bet the monk she could find a living tree for the SPR office, and the monk had took that bet...and lost. He was thoroughly paying for it after spending forty-five minutes in 29 degree weather while the bet's victor selected the perfect one.

Following her selection, Ayako was given a ticket (there were people in line ahead of them), and was told that when their number was up, their tree would be wrapped and attached to the roof of her car.

Ayako accepted the ticket, satisfied with her purchase, but feeling the effects. She was cold. How many people were ahead of her? How long exactly were they going to have to wait? Glancing at the monk next to her, she could tell he wasn't doing a whole lot better. His shoulders hunched up, he shot her a look.

“What's the number on the ticket? I'm half frozen over here.”

“66,” Ayako answered, rubbing her arms and stomping her feet for warmth. The clouds overhead were thick and gray, it felt as if it could snow any second.

“Customer 35, your tree is ready! Customer 35!” a voice shouted from the wrapping station near the parked cards.

35?

Bou-san raised his eyebrows at Ayako in disbelief,

“That many idiots decided to spend their Saturday morning standing out in the freezing cold for a tree?”

Ayako grit her chattering teeth, not happy either.

“I told you we should have gotten here earlier.”

“Hey, I had a gig last night--”

Ayako waved an irritated hand, her eyes locking onto something,

“Oh never mind-- let's at least get something warm to drink while we wait.”

With the promise of something warm, Bou-san followed Ayako's lead, which brought them to the main street that ran past Nissin World Delicatessen. A Starbucks, in all it's glory, sat on the corner.

But Ayako let out a groan as they approached it. Apparently they weren't the only ones looking to take the chill off with a nice hot coffee. There was a line, which stretched down the sidewalk. The cold fueling her impatience, Ayako crossed her arms and made to turn back, but Bou-san caught her elbow before she could, hauling her a few feet along, placing them in line.

“At least we aren't thirty people behind,” the monk pointed out. Ayako yanked her elbow free, but grudgingly remained, grumbling about how busy Tokyo gets during the holiday season. Five minutes later, they had moved up by six people. The door to Starbucks was in sight. Happy customers exited with amazing smelling drinks in hand. Full delirium was kicking in for Ayako.

“It's seventy and sunny,” she chanted, her eyes squeezed shut against an icy wind that whipped down the street, “It's seventy and sunny.”

“Sure...in another six months,” Bou-san answered. Tenderly he touched at the tips of his ears, which were starting to go numb.

Not appreciating the reality check, Ayako opened her eyes and directed a glare at the monk.

“I can't wait another six months, I want the beach now.”

“Ah, the beach,” Bou-san mused with a touch of longing, “white sands between your toes, the smell of the salt air...”

“See, you can't wait either,” Ayako remarked, elbowing him. She didn't bother stepping back, deciding to hang close and leech whatever heat she could from him, “Just think of the blue waters and the warm rays on your skin...I could be laying out somewhere on the Mediterranean right now.”  

“Or the Caribbean,” Bou-san added, as Ayako hummed in approval, “Or heck, even Okinawa.”

“I'd kill to be drinking something tropical on Miyako island.” Ayako stood smiling at the thought.

“Yeah, but with what money?” Bou-san spoke, delivering a second dose of reality.

The wind blew colder. Ayako's smile dimmed. Spitefully (even though it did her no favors...) she stepped away from the monk, gazing out over the busy street. Noticing this, Bou-san slid up even closer to her than before, pressing against her side. When he spoke, his voice was in her ear,

“It may not be tropical, but I'll buy your drink. Look, we're nearly to the door now.”

But Ayako did not look.

“Hey,” he prodded, poking her at shoulder.

Ayako suddenly grabbed the offending hand and yanked.

“Oy,” Bou-san protested as he found himself being dragged out of line.

Ayako didn't pay him any attention, even as he was loudly demanding to know what she was doing (we were almost there!), his legs stumbling along as she pulled him to the nearest crosswalk. There they finally stopped and the monk tugged his hand free from hers with a frown.

“What has gotten into you?”

Ayako reached up and took Bou-san's face in her hands. Without explanation she, turned his head in the direction of the shop on the other side of the crosswalk. A large red banner hung out front that read: Want to get away? Enter for your chance to win a beach vacation! Contest today ONLY.

Bou-san looked back to Ayako with a grin,

“It's like Santa heard our whining.”

Ayako's eyes were bright, gleaming with possibility of sunshine and swimsuits,“Let's enter.”

“Yeah, let's-- but, ah, wait,” Bou-san objected, grabbing Ayako's wrists and holding her hands in place, “your hands are warmish and I'm finally starting to kind of feel my cheeks...”

The crosswalk sign changed, and rolling her eyes Ayako freed herself from the monk.

“You won't have to worry about that on a beach, come on.”

The sidewalk space outside the clothing store was crammed with people when Ayako and Bou-san approached a table set up with balloons.

A young woman looked up at them from behind the table, “Hi, can I help you?”

“We'd like to enter the contest,” Ayako announced, peeking at the forms laid out.

“Wonderful! So, it will be you two then?”

“Uh,” Ayako faltered, her eyes trailing down the form.

Printed there were the contest rules, and at the bottom scrawled inside a cute red heart, was the key component of the contest: just for couples!

Ayako cleared her throat, and moved to step back-- but found she had nowhere to go. Bou-san, reading over her shoulder, was standing right behind her. In Ayako's flustered silence, the monk answered the young woman,

“Of course! It says here we just have to be voted the cutest couple? I think we've got this in the bag, don't you?”

The woman running table gave an appeasing smile and handed over a set of clipboards, “Read and sign these. The top prize is a trip for two to Hawaii. Second and third runner up gets merchandise and gift card prizes. We'll begin soon, good luck!”

Ayako swiftly grabbed at the monk's coat and lead him a few steps away from the table. Her eyes were narrowed.

“What are you doing?”

Bou-san shrugged.

“Winning us a beach vacation.”

“You're serious?”

“What? You don't think we can?”

“It's not about that.”

“Oh, you mean the couple part?”

Here Bou-san took a step closer to the miko, lowering his voice surreptitiously,

“Just channel your inner Masako, and nobody will know we're not the real deal.”

Ayako slowly relaxed her grip on Bou-san's coat, chewing her lip, contemplating...

Reading the nerves on her face, the monk gave her a little room, his gaze softening.

“If you don't want to...”

Just then something whizzed past Ayako's head, catching at her hair. Startled, Ayako ducked and whipped around to see what had happened. Bou-san came forward at the same time, reaching out a hand to cover Ayako's head,

“Hey, what the..?”

The assailant turned out to be a selfie-stick, held by a woman wearing a skirt short enough to even make Ayako balk, especially in the arctic temperature. She was clinging onto the arm of a man, and seemingly hadn't noticed the fact that she had nearly clobbered someone.

“Hello everybody! It's Yoko and Ken, live streaming-- from downtown Tokyo!”

The woman giggled and waved into her cellphone, as the man next to her began speaking,

“Yes, and today's the day! It's the couple's contest we told you about on Twitter. Remember, if you're in the area, stop on by and vote for Yoko and I!”

“Not that we necessarily need it,” Yoko chimed in in a loud whisper, “I mean, what competition?”

Bou-san suddenly felt something pressed against his chest. It was Ayako's clipboard. The miko stared up at him with a honey-eyed look.

“Hey babe, will you turn these in? We don't want to miss the deadline.”

Recognizing the competitive fire lit beneath Ayako's demure facade, Bou-san smirked.

“Whatever you say, sweetheart.”

Officially entered into the contest, Bou-san and Ayako were gathered, along with the other couples, to wait for their turn, the necessity of having to link arms and appear “couple-ish” the least of their worries, as they were both still freezing and wouldn't be competing until the last round.

Huddled close, they watched the couples ahead of them, with a judgy and critical eye, as they passed through the stages of the contest, which consisted of having pictures taken of them modeling clothes from the store, enacting poses suggested by a photographer.

Fifteen minutes, and six couples later...it was finally Bou-san and Ayako's turn. They were going up in a head to head with none other than-- the YouTube couple. The four of them exchanged tight insincere smiles as they were lead inside the store. They were brought to a set of dressing rooms, and a quick and cramped change ensued, during which they were each handed various articles of winter clothing. Ayako stepped out in a white down jacket, brown boots, and matching earmuffs and a scarf. And of course, because this was a couple's contest...Bou-san walked out wearing exactly the same.

Reunited with the miko, Bou-san met her with a smirk,

“You look like a marshmallow.”

Ayako mirrored his smirk,

“Thanks, Frosty.”

But standing outside again, all teasing died away.

Recalling all of the photographer's suggestions for the other couples, Ayako began to second guess her decision play along with this facade.

What if he had them pose like the cover of some romance novel...?

But just then YouTube couple passed by, on their way to stand in front of their photographer, at their station. Yoko was grinning, holding her phone up.

“Just three photos away from our dream beach vacation!” she told her viewers with a confident wink.

Ayako set her jaw firmly. Potentially mortifying romantic scenarios, be damned. She was determined to give YouTube couple a run for their money. She hadn't froze head to toe for an hour and half for nothing. That beach vacation was theirs.

The crowd on the sidewalk swelled with onlookers as the contest entered it's final round. Bou-san and Ayako were directed to stand in the center of the background hanging behind them and face the camera, but as they did so, Bou-san was distracted by a shout from the crowd.

“Norio?”

The monk perked up, hearing his stage name, and looked around until he settled his gaze on a teenage girl beaming at him.

“Oh, it is you! I'm Suki. I was at your show last night.”

Bou-san waved and smiled back, “Hi there! I hope you liked it, it was really cold for you guys.”

Another teenage girl beside Suki shook her head, “No, not at all! Hey, what are you doing here? Are you apart of this contest?”

Before the miko could protest, Bou-san linked fingers with Ayako and raised their joined hand into the air,

“Yup, trying to win a vacation.”

The girls squealed and waved at a baffled Ayako,

“Norio's got a girlfriend!”

“See, I told you he was out your league-- look at how gorgeous his girlfriend is!”

“Well I guess you're right, anyways they're cute.”

Listening to the girls prattle and enjoying the gorgeous remark, Ayako managed a friendly smile and nod at both of them.

“Norio, you have to win-- we'll vote for you!” Suki declared brightly.

“Yeah, here I'll text the rest of the girls and tell them to come vote too-- they're close by.”

“Really? Wow, I really owe you...how about we talk after the contest? Maybe I can score you some free tickets to the next show?” the monk offered with a grateful thumbs up.

The girls squealed again and happily agreed.

“Ah, what nice kids,” Bou-san murmured, still turned towards the crowd.

“Hey, Norio.”

“Hm?”

“You're supposed to pick me up.”

“Huh?” Bou-san blinked, and looked to Ayako, attention snapping back to the situation at hand, “What? Pick you up? Why?”

“Because the photographer said so. Now hurry up, we're a step behind YouTube,” Ayako hissed out of the corner of her mouth.

Bou-san glanced over at the competition in time to see Ken scoop Yoko up, bridal style. Ayako hurriedly placed her hands on the monk's shoulders, readying herself, her disgruntled expression hidden from the photographer and the crowd-- when Bou-san surprised her by suddenly crouching down.

“What are you--” Ayako had to bite her tongue to stem the fiery words that wanted to come out, which would quickly demolish the sweet image they wanted to create.

Bou-san reached an arm back, bodily nudging her behind him, “We can't just copy them, that's too boring-- here, get on my back instead.”

“You're going to piggy back me—?” Ayako manage to sputter, but-- desperate to save face, she did as she was told, and threw herself on his back.

Bou-san grunted as he stood, and Ayako squeezed her arms around his neck a little tighter in revenge...but otherwise, from an outsider’s perspective-- they looked like a charming couple.

Snap. Snap. Snap.

The photographer took a series of photos. Bou-san and Ayako grinned frozen smiles. They were asked to give more variety and Ayako took perverse delight in messing with the monk's hair, and poking at his “adorable” cheeks.

In response to her antics, the miko was unceremoniously “dropped” by the monk when the photographer gave the signal to change poses. Privately, Ayako shot him a dirty look, but the next suggestion was being thrown out and they were mixed up in the charade again.

Holiday proposal.

In the next instant one of the photographer's assistants was suddenly handing Bou-san a bouquet of fake poinsettias and a velvet box with a ring inside. It was all Ayako could do not to blanch in horror.  

There were giddy cries from the crowd and it became apparent that at least some of YouTube couple's “fans” had come out to see them, and they were all tickled at the idea of a proposal. A quick look at Ken's unsteady hands as he got down on one knee in front of Yoko though, showed that he wasn't a big fan of the photographer's suggestion.

“We got 'em on the ropes with this one,” Bou-san murmured, following Ayako's gaze. The ice broken, and the big prize hanging over head-- Ayako closed her mouth and nodded,

“You're right, so make it count.”

Bou-san did. In a cheesy and dramatic fashion, he instigated a series of poses-- professing heartfelt love, handing Ayako the flowers, and even sliding on the ring...Ayako's red cheeks in the last few shots were chalked up the cold. She was not blushing.

Once relieved of the ring and flowers, the two couples waited anxiously for the final pose. And waited. The assistants had disappeared into the store. Bou-san and Ayako exchanged wondering looks with a frown, what was taking them so long...?

Finally the assistants emerged, each pushing a large prop. Wooden door frames on wheels. And hanging from them...mistletoe.

Ayako found herself suddenly wishing for the romance novel cover suggestion.

“Okay, it's the final act! Your theme will be: mistletoe kiss,” the photographer announced with a cheeky wink.

Like they had the last two times...Ayako and Bou-san stole quick glances at their competition, holding on to a frail hope that they wouldn't be comfortable with this suggestion either, but...

They were a real couple, and a YouTube couple at that. PDA was in their DNA. By the time their photographer was raising his camera ,Yoko and Ken were already going in for it...

Ayako wondered if the monk could hear her silent cursing as they looked back at each other. He didn't seem more any more confident, but clearing his throat-- he shrugged and his eyes seemed to say: we've come this far...

And they had. That had come this far. In the cold. Only three photos separated Ayako from her dream vacation. Why did it have to be mistletoe?

For the sake of keeping up appearances, Bou-san put his arm around Ayako's waist, pulling her close.

“How about this,” he whispered, stalling while pretending to fix her hair for the picture, “we do it just like the movies...the right angle-- and presto, it looks like we're kissing.”

Ayako's eyebrows lifted. The idea was so brilliant she could kiss him. Chiding herself, she pressed her hands to his icy cheeks, loudly thanking him for being such a doting boyfriend. Bou-san caught the hidden message: yes, let's do that.

And she planned on doing just that, right up through the monk adjusting their position, pulling her impossibly closer-- right through his large hand coming up to cup the back of her head, guiding her to tilt it just so...

It was the plan as they drew in, towards each other, their breaths mixing in puffy white clouds. It was the plan as she grew so near she could count the freckles across the bridge of Bou-san's nose, as-- to sell it better, his eyes fluttered shut...

It was what she planned to do right until she heard the shouts and wolf whistles. YouTube couple. Just a few feet away they were causing a real stir, their fans going crazy. A familiar fire was lit in Ayako's gut.

This was a contest. And she was going to win.

Ayako tossed the plan out the window as her lips connected with Bou-san's. It was an electric moment. She felt the monk's lips part in a surprised gasp, which she reacted to by only pressing harder, not wanting him to break the kiss and ruin everything.

Just follow my lead she telepathically tried to communicate. Bou-san must have understood, because his hand at the back of her head took up a better hold, he was suddenly returning the pressure of her kiss.

All thoughts of Ayako's suddenly narrowed to just the man against her. It was annoying, but she found his lips were actually soft (that barbarian actually has a winter skin care routine??), and the scent of sandalwood that always accompanied him, instead of being overwhelming, was strangely a comfort in this surreal moment (it's okay, it's just Bou-san...).

Most frustrating of all though, was the thought that she could do this all day long. Ayako was chilled to the bone...and the monk was warm, soft, and comfortable-- why stop?

Mentally, Ayako berated herself for even entertaining such an idea, and began to count herself down for pulling out of the kiss (just a few more seconds...she really was so cozy...), but before she could do it-- Bou-san broke it first.

Ayako stubbornly ignored the wave of disappointment that washed over her as a gulf of cold air came between herself and the monk.

“Not bad for a miko,” he murmured, as they both caught their breath.

Ayako gave him a shove and he grinned, stepping back. It was then that Ayako heard the clapping and cheering.

The competition was over.

Thank god.

The crowd filling the sidewalk formed lines to vote for their favorite couple. As Ayako and Bou-san were being brought back to the dressing rooms, Suki caught their attention-- waving with a group of girls behind her.

“We're going to vote for you Norio!”

“That was some kiss, you're going to win for sure!” another girl shouted.

Ayako ducked her head and slipped past the monk, hiding her red face.

Once outside, having (against her will) shed her coat, boots, ear muffs and scarf-- Ayako was more miserable than ever. The wind that blew through her thin clothes, carried light flakes of snow. She crossed her arms and stood shivering. Next to her, having also shed his winter gear, the monk's teeth were chattering. Absently, they leaned towards each other, searching for some kind of warmth as they waited for the results of the voting.

Finally, the young woman they had met at the registration table, came to stand in front of the store, holding a microphone.

“Attention, shoppers and contestants! It's what you've all been waiting for. We will announce our contest winners!”

“Ugh, none of this consolation prize crap for me. There's only one winner, and that person gets to sit on a beach,” Ayako muttered.

“Two winners actually, remember honey?” Bou-san quipped.

“How could I forget, dear.”

“In third place...” registration lady began, “earning ten percent of the vote was...”

“That kiss was not a ten percent kiss,” Bou-san asserted, frowning at even the possibility of third place.

“...Han-san and his wife, Keiko!”

There was polite applause. Across from them, Ayako spotted the YouTube couple mixing with their fans in the crowd, selfie-stick out again.

They think they've won.

“The Hans will win two gift cards to our store, enjoy! Now...on to the runner up!”

Ayako and Bou-san locked eyes with the YouTube couple. Bou-san grabbed Ayako's arm and wrapped it around his.

“This is it. Two hours in the cold traded for two weeks in the sun.”

“In second place, earning over forty perfect of the vote is...”

Ayako squeezed the monk's arm, “That was more than a forty percent kiss...”

“...Takigawa-san and Matsuzaki-san! You two will win merchandise, courtesy of our store! Enjoy!”

There was more polite applause, mixed with some booing. Suki and her group, disagreeing with the results.

“Which means...our winners are Yoko and Ken! Congratulations, you're going to Hawaii!”

The crowd erupted. The YouTube couple shouted in victory and threw themselves at each other.

Ayako pulled herself free of the monk, rubbing her arms-- she glanced around her.

“I wonder who is supposed to give us our prize...?” she asked.

Bou-san tilted his head at her, surprised at her demeanor. He was half expecting the miko to demand a recount of the votes. Somehow, her calm was...worse.

“Well, anyway-- I can't feel my fingers. Will you pick up our merchandise after you talk to the girls? I'm going to head back.”

And before the monk could protest, she traded places with Bou-san's fans who had just walked up.

“See, here they are. I'll meet you at the car.”

Ayako closed the car door with a slam. She had spent an extra five minutes standing in the cold explaining to a Nissin employee who had just gotten on shift that her ticket for order 66 had never been filled, even though they were now on order 70.

“I didn't get my coffee and we missed our turn. Stupid contest,” she grumbled sourly, adjusting the heat settings to full blast and turning on her seat warmer.

A few moments later the passenger car door opened and with it came a rush or arctic air.

“I see you got the tree attached,” Bou-san remarked, settling in, a light dusting of snow in his hair, “Hey, why isn't warmer in here? Don't you have the heat on?”

Ayako's eyes fixed on his hands in which a cup of Starbucks sat,

“You took the girls for coffee? You should be warm enough. Of course, the heat's on. Not that I can feel it. I must be frozen from the inside out. Only the heat of Hawaii can thaw me at this point...”

A small smile tugged at the corner of the monk's lips, but he was careful not to let the miko see it in her sensitive state, instead he held out the coffee towards her.

“How about the heat of this drink for starters, hm?”

Ayako accept the coffee from the monk with a wondering look, “It's for me..?”

“I said I'd treat you to Starbucks. I'm a man of my word. Drink up.”

More pleased than she let on, Ayako took a satisfying sip, feeling the warmth of the latte spread through her.

“And if that's not enough,” the monk continued reaching into a bag at his feet. It had the contest store's name on it, “try this out.”

Ayako nearly choked on her coffee as Bou-san leaned over the center console to wrap the scarf she wore in the photo shoot around her neck.

“When did you get this...?” she asked, bewildered, but grudgingly, she was feeling warmer...

“They were our prizes, I got the same one.”

“Oh.” Ayako took another sip of coffee, her eyes flashing with the bitterness of their loss.

Relieved to see her temper make an appearance, Bou-san smiled more freely and reached into the bag and pulled out a white envelope which he opened.

“And they also gave us these...”

Ayako peered over at what the monk was pulling out, and nearly choked again. Polaroids. Of their poses.

“They said the assistants took these, as a kind of souvenir for the contestants. Ah look, that one turned out cute...”

The miko watched as the monk cycled through the pictures, half mortified and half interested...until--

There they were. The two of them. Wrapped in each other's arms, their faces pressed together...

“Actually,” Bou-san spoke into the charged silence as they both stared down at the photographic evidence of their kiss, “if the coffee and the scarf aren't warm enough, I just got an idea for another way I can warm you up...”

Bou-san was staring up at her now, his eyes locked with hers. Suddenly the car was very warm for Ayako.

“What...what's that?” she spoke and was embarrassed to find she had glanced at his lips.

The monk grinned. Ayako stiffened, had he caught her looking...?!

“I'll take you to the bathhouse,” he finally answered, “No better way to get warm, hm?”

Ayako grinned back, despite herself.

“No better way I can think of...”

“Perfect, let's go.”

“Let's. We just have to deliver this tree first. Mai will kill me if I keep her waiting any longer.”

[junkpoetic]

Eight

It turned out I smashed my phone amid my drunken stupor. Elliot had taken it from me so I wouldn’t call her and say something I would regret. By the time I could find the nearest shop and get a new phone, I had three missed calls from Juno Rafferty. I didn’t quite know how to react. Part of me wanted to call her, the angel on my shoulder told me to let it be, it’s only been a few days, leave it at what it was… a good memory. Naturally, I listened to the devil in me and called her. I decided to play dumb, like I didn’t remember the night, which wasn’t a total lie.  

“I am sorry I should have told you.” She said.

“Told me what?” I replied.

There was a pause… “That I am married. I don’t want to be if it’s any consolation.”

There was a longer pause. “Oh.” Was all I could muster.

“You good?” She asked.

“Yeah, ha, sorry, I just don’t know what to say.”

“I understand.” She said softly.

“Listen, I don’t want to be the green grass on the other side of the fence. That grass is green because its painted, not because its real. I can’t be plastic.”

“I need you to breathe for a moment.” She said.

I took a breath and then a few more.

“I like you.” She said.

“Okay.” I replied still not quite sure what to say.

“I am supposed to listen to that voice in my head. But I don’t want to.” She explained.

“Which voice is that?” I asked, curiouser.

“The one that says I am supposed to be good.”

“Oh, your super ego?” I laughed.

“Yeah that, I am more a fan of the Id.”

“Aren’t we all?”

“I don’t want to be good.” Juno whispered.

“I don’t want to be good either.” I whispered back.

“Good.” She said.  

I gulped. “Do you want to meet up?”

“I am in the parking lot… don’t judge.” She laughed.

“Are you coming up, or do you want me to come down?”

“Does it matter as long as we’re both coming?” She guffawed.

“Wow.”

“Come down.” She said.

“Got it.” I laughed.

I chose not to wait for the elevator and instead practically sprinted down the several flights of stairs through the lobby into the parking lot.

Oh my God, your poor face!” She said caressing my cheek lightly.

“It’s not as bad as it looks.” I laughed.

“Did you hear me say bring your wet suit?” She said laughing.

“No, I hung up too quick.” I replied, out of breath.

“It’s fine… we’ll stop at Motion Surf.”

“We’re surfing?”

“No, I’m just wearing this.” She said sarcastically pointing out the fact that she was wearing a wet suit.

“Right…” I laughed.

“So how much time does your friend have?” She asked.

“What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.”

“How do you know?”

“He doesn’t look all that well… the marathon… I put two and two together.”

“Oh… yeah, he won’t tell me.”

“You’re a good friend. I won’t speak of it. I was just curious. Let’s have fun now.”

“Yeah, okay, let’s have fun now.”

She parked her car in the parking lot behind motion surf. “Can I kiss you?” She asked.

“That’s incredibly nice of you to ask but I”

She kissed me hard, and I kissed her back. After a moment she stopped and looked me up and down before jumping out of the car. “Be right back.”

I sat in the passenger seat smiling like a fool. If anything, Elliot’s circumstance has taught me not to worry so much about the future. So we’re staying in the moment letting one fall into another like dominos.

“I still can’t believe you can surf in October…” I said to her when she got back into the driver’s seat.

“Why’s that?”

“Don’t get me wrong, I don’t have any issue with it. It’s just like sunflowers in a snowstorm or something.”

“Sunflowers in a snowstorm?” She laughed.

“Yeah… Eskimos in El Paso? Should I keep going?”

“Ha! Yes please.” She replied.

“Hemingway in Hollywood?”

    There was a pause “…Nah, you ruined it.” She laughed.

    “Damn.” I laughed.

    The beach was much more populated than the day before. The tropical storm was greasing the ocean with incredible surf, so most of the diehards were catching it. I sat on the hard wet sand watching Juno surf. I didn’t really have the ambition to try it myself, but it felt good to be a part of it. Juno thought otherwise, when she finished a few runs, she hollered for me to swim out. I reluctantly tiptoed into the ice-cold ocean slowly at first and then I tripped on a wave and fell in the shallow fully submersing myself to the wetness. It was much easier to understand the stages of waves when I could see the pregnant lumps lurking on the horizon rising higher as they rolled toward us like a train with never ending foamy black boxcars. I centered myself on her board and followed her instructions of when to paddle and to keep my head down. Before I realized what was happening, I heard her yell POP UP! I made a hypnotic jerk like burpee motion and thrusted to my feet and for a moment I was weightless. It was such a high. I looked back and saw her in the water behind me smiling, which was a mistake, because when you look back, you’re not looking forward, and when you’re on a surfboard… I fell off and the wave came crashing down overtop of me. I resurfaced to the most beautiful laughter I had ever heard in my entire life. I tried a few more times and failed a few more times before we took a break. I sat on the beach next to her watching the birds and other surfers thinking about beautiful designs as we mindlessly dug our toes into the cold wet sand. I was cold in my wet suit and the salt stung in my wounds. It was a good sting, cleansing. I almost felt new again.

    Lorelei invited us over that night, Elliot invited Madeline to tag along with us. It was a casual dinner, Lorelei put out an array of food, Rami worked on getting a fire started in their courtyard. There was a pocket without rain so we were going to try and take advantage of it. The smell of their wealth wafted in the purified air. They were successful but not the least bit superior. Elliot picked her and Rami’s brains apart about surfing and other things as the Red Sox and Yankees played against one another on the muted television. I was lost in my own head about the day that was behind me feeling warm and clean from all the laughter and saline.

    After dinner we sat around the fire. Madeline sang along as Rami played Tom Petty’s Wildflowers on his acoustic guitar. I watched the way Elliot looked at her and wondered what thoughts might be going through his mind. His smile looked much different that night than I had ever seen. I wondered if it had always been that way and I just hadn’t notice but that wasn’t the case. I had known him for the duration of our lives, and I don’t know that I had ever seen that particular look on his face. He looked relax and accomplished. He looked happy.

    The wind picked up lightly and chimes in the near distance dangled slowly like angelic marionettes grazing just enough to sound heavenly. I tried not to let my mind slip any further than the tiny space of the alluring moment we all shared together right then. Juno sat across from me while the fire roared and danced between us. I gazed through the thin orange flames into her eyes, and she looked into mine. She spoke to me.

    “Paulie, another glass of Pinot?” Elliot said audibly, startling the electricity between us.

    “Yeah… yeah. Sure.” I said and handed him my warm empty wine glass.

    He disappeared inside and was gone for quite a while, long enough for me to get up and go check on him. Rami distracted the party with a montage of Led Zeppelin songs. He was drunk enough to think he could sing like Robert Plant, though he could not even come close. I walked into the kitchen and noticed our wine glasses were half-filled sitting on the granite countertop. I could hear the faint sound of coughing, so I followed it through rooms and rooms until I came to origin of the sound. I was standing in a dark room in front of a white door with gleams of light shooting out from underneath it. I stood and listened to what sounded like death on the other side of the door. His inhaling and exhaling played cat and mouse chasing one another between coughs until breathing became nearly impossible. Water was running and I envisioned he might have his head beneath attempting to drink to soothe the cough but when you can’t breathe, you can’t breathe… you choke. The sound of a gulp swallowing hard and then being rejected back up his esophagus and out of his mouth was the straw that broke the camels back for me. I knew he’d be embarrassed to be seen in such way by anyone including me, but I surrendered to the sound of suffering and barged into the bathroom. His face was dripping with water, sweat, and blood. The white porcelain was spattered red as if a bludgeoning occurred. I put my hand on his back and he looked at me and that’s when I saw it for the first time. Death. He looked at me breathing heavily still trying to muzzle his lungs from the rampant barking, relentless like a dog when then mail arrives.  

    “I’m good.” He muttered.

    “Fuck.” I replied. “You’re not good. It’s okay. You’re not good.”

    “I will be though. I’m good.” He said again.

    He turned the water back on and splashed several cups on his face with his hands until the blood thinned and disappeared. He wiped the residue off his face with the white hand towel that hung on a large brass tooth like hook next to the vanity. He threw the towel in the garbage underneath the sink and found a new one in the bottom drawer to hang on the hook so no one would notice the towel missing. He walked out of the bathroom ahead of me without saying anything. I stood for a moment looking at the drops of water that painted the mirror running all the way down to the porcelain in a path of their own reflection. There was a solitary drop of blood on the floor that he had not scene. I unraveled a few sheets of toilet tissue and wiped it up. I don’t know why but I crumpled it and put it in my pocket rather than flushing it. I turned the light out and retraced my steps back through the dark rooms and into the kitchen where my glass of wine still sat, now alone, half-filled. I then returned to the fire where Elliot sat sipping wine and smiling again as he watched Madeline dance and sing along with Juno, Lorelei, and Rami as he played a bouncy acoustic rendition of George Michael’s Faith.

    It felt like we were gone a lot longer than we were although it appeared our absence went unnoticed. I wanted to forget that moment ever happened, but it was branded in my brain. Elliot was now joining in the singing a dancing as rain began to fall lightly on the fire that illuminated all of us. I did not feel like dancing, I felt more like dying. I sipped wine and waited for the night to conclude. Tomorrow will be a better day, I said to myself as the rain began to fall a little harder.

[takaraphoenix]

Phoe’s Advent Calendar: Day 22

So short before the holidays, today’s my last day of classes before break and I hope you guys are enjoying that too! This one was prompted by @rokutsubasa61​, I hope you enjoy it. ;3

Title: Advent Calendar Project – Roommate-Shenanigans

Fandom: Disney/DreamWorks

Disclaimer: All rights concerning the movies reserved to DreamWorks/Disney respectively. 'Guardians of Childhood' is property of William Joyce. 'How To Train Your Dragon' is property of Cressida Cowell. This fanfiction on the other hand is entirely mine. No money is made with this, though reviews are more than welcomed.

Warnings: shounen-ai, fluff, cuddles, dorks in love, matchmaking, shoujo-ai

Main Pairing: Hiccup/Jack

Side Pairing: Merida/Moana

DreamWorks Characters: Jackson Overland | Jack Frost, Hiccup Horrendous Haddock III

Disney Characters: Merida DunBroch, Moana Waialiki

Summary: Merida and Moana are a happy couple and they're determined to give their respective best friends a push into the right direction.

Links: FFNet | AO3

Roommate-Shenanigans

Moana Waialiki was happy. She had never been as happy as she was since she started college. Classes were engaging, she was finally out of home – no more overbearing father trying to protect her from the dangers of the world and also a chance to get away from the place filled with happy memories about her passed grandmother. Then, Moana made her first by now best friend; Jack Overland. The best thing however was her beautiful, cunning and free-spirited girlfriend – Merida DunBroch. Merida was a force to be reckoned and the two girls instantly hit it off after they met. They had actually met through Jack, because Jack's roommate was Merida's best friend.

"They would be so cute together", whispered Merida into Moana's ear.

The two of them were walking back toward the dorms with their respective best friends. While Merida and Moana were holding hands, Jack and Hiccup were bickering and joking around. Moana had to agree with her girlfriend; Jack and Hiccup looked good together. And Moana knew for a fact that Jack had the hugest crush on Hiccup, thinking the tinkering dork was adorable (it was totally obvious from the heart-eyed expression Jack offered every time Hiccup started geek-rambling).

"Okay. How about a little push?", whispered Moana mischievously.

"Always down for your plans, Mo", grinned Merida eagerly.

Moana pressed a finger to her lips as she grinned and ducked down to gather up snow. Merida caught on and copied her girlfriend, both of them forming snowballs. The next second, Jack and Hiccup were hit in the heads by snowballs. The two boys yelped and whirled around, staring at the girls in utter betrayal. They turned to exchange a quick look and then, as one, retaliated. A full-blown snowball-war broke out between the boys and the girls until they were all soaking wet and exhausted. Jack was laughing, a ringing and carefree sound, as he collapsed on the ground. Nothing got the white-haired boy as happy as playing in the snow. It was weird, he was the total opposite of Moana in that aspect, because Moana was a full-on summer girl and she had already made Merida, Jack and Hiccup promise they'd take a trip to the beach once spring rolled around fully.

"...What the hell are you doing, Jack?", asked Moana doubtfully.

He was swinging his arms and legs up and down on the ground. "Snow angels, Mo. Don't tell me you've never made snow-angels before! It's fun."

"I'm from a tropical island, brah. We don't have snow", snorted Moana amused.

But she obeyed and copied Jack and so did Hiccup and Merida. The four of them must have made for an odd picture, laying sprawled out in the snow and flapping their arms and legs like that. But once they got up, Moana saw what Jack had been getting at. It looked pretty cool.

"Okay, enough playing in the cold. I need a hot shower and warm clothes", declared Moana.

"I'll come with you", chimed Merida, grabbing Moana's arm. "So we can get hot chocolate after."

"You just wanna steal my warmest, most comfortable sweater", accused Moana with a deadpan.

"Well, yes. That too. But you love me, so there's that", grinned Merida, kissing Moana's cheek.

Jack chuckled fondly as he watched the girls leave before making his way back with Hiccup to their own dorm-room. Shedding and dumping his wet jacket, Jack started kicking off his soaked pants and peeling off his wet shirt. He yelped as suddenly, warm arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him close against a broad chest. He smiled a little when Hiccup kissed his neck.

"I'm about ninety percent sure that Meridana are trying to set us up", whispered Hiccup.

"First: Stop calling them Meridana. I swear, Rapunzel is not a good influence on you", snorted Jack. "Second: They've been trying to set us up for three weeks now, dork."

"...Really?", asked Hiccup surprised, kissing along Jack's shoulders.

Jack reached out for the fluffy towels, handing one to Hiccup and trying to dry himself off as best as he could. "You're so oblivious, Hics. I love that about you, but if I hadn't asked you out, you would still be staring at me like a love-sick puppy from across the room."

"Not true, Jackson", chided Hiccup, biting Jack's neck. "I still look at you like a love-sick puppy from across the room because you're adorable and I love looking at you."

"Sap", laughed Jack. "Now let me get dressed. I'm freezing."

Hiccup huffed and grabbed Jack's favorite hoodie to pull it over his boyfriend's head. Jack grinned pleased as he poked his head out of the blue hoodie. He leaned up onto his tip-toes to kiss Hiccup, wrapping his arms around Hiccup's neck. Hiccup in return wrapped his arms around Jack's waist.

"...So, you guys want to get hot chocolate with us, or are you okay with what you got?"

Jack and Hiccup bolted apart and stared wide-eyed at their very unimpressed best friends. Merida was wearing Moana's rose sweater that was about two sizes too large on the redhead and clashed with her fiery curls. Moana raised one eyebrow in a judgmental way.

"Boys. There something you wanna tell us?", asked Moana pointedly.

"We've been kind of dating for the past... uh... two months?", offered Hiccup sheepishly.

"Why wouldn't you tell me? I'm your best friend!", exclaimed Merida offended.

"At first, we were kind of just... fooling around. We ended up in bed drunk after a party", offered Jack. "We conveniently started hooking up. And then I asked Hiccup out a month ago. We... We weren't really sure if it'll work out. But by then the two of you were already really invested in us getting together – yeah, I noticed that. And I kind of didn't want to... disappoint you guys in case this failed. So. Yeah. We're kinda... dating."

"Wait. We didn't tell them because you don't think we'll work?", asked Hiccup stunned.

"I've never been in a proper relationship before", shrugged Jack red-cheeked. "I..."

"Oh. You think you... No. No, Jack, I love you, we're going to work out, babe", assured Hiccup gently, cupping Jack's cheek and making the white-haired boy look up at him. "We're going to work out. You're amazing and I love you and I love being with you."

Jack's blush darkened beautifully as he leaned in to kiss him. For a long moment, they got lost in each other, until the cooing around them got too loud to ignore and they remembered that they were in fact not alone in their room. Both their cheeks were dark-red as they turned once again toward the girls. Though this time Moana and Merida didn't look angry anymore. They looked happy.

"So we can finally go on double-dates, yes?", asked Merida excitedly.

Hiccup laughed as the girls got comfortable on Hiccup's bed to hear 'all the details'.

~*~ The End ~*~

[dustin-parrish-blog]

Sea Exploration - Part 1 | Dustin & Quinn

Date: July 24th, 2017

Quinn and Dustin decide to get out of town for a day. Dustin has something he needs to get off his chest, but he’s not the only one with news.

Quinn stretched as he stood out of the car, reaching up and grinning. The beach had definitely been the right idea today. It was far too nice out to stay stuck indoors all day. Which was something he didn't really do much before dating Dustin. Now though, he really enjoyed spending time out with him that wasn't focused on watching TV or on the computer. He glanced over to Dustin as he got out of the car and grinned. "Ready for the beach?" he asked with a big grin. "I'll grab some of the stuff," Quinn said with a nod and opened up the trunk, grabbing the towels and the other stuff they got. "You remembered everything right?" he asked, walking over to Dustin with a smile. After everything that's been going on, it'd be nice to do something normal.

It felt a little strange to take a trip to the beach with his boyfriend with everything else going on. Like spending time outside in the sun was just a little too odd while the town was going crazy. But maybe this was a good thing. Because Dustin got to be with Quinn, and that was the most important thing. The last time they were at the beach together, it was at the bonfire, and back then he had introduced Quinn as his "friend". And later, the evening had sort of derailed when someone literally stepped into the bonfire. Now, there was no more pretending. He was very, very likely gay, and that was good. "Well, I remembered to bring you, do I need anything else today?" Dustin shot back and smiled at the boy approaching him.

Despite the fact that everything was going to shit, Quinn was very glad to be getting away from everything. Hopefully out here the weird shit would elude them. Quinn couldn't help but laugh at the comment. "You're so cheesy you know that?" he asked, rolling his yes. Still, he leaned in and kissed him quickly, before pulling back. "You're lucky I like you," Quinn grinned, looking over towards the beach. It didn't look particularly crowded today, which was a good thing, but it was still early in the day, and despite being a week day, it would probably fill up by mid-afternoon. "C'mon," he said, taking Dustin's hand and making his way towards the beach. Quinn had become much more comfortable with the public displays of affection. Well, he had with holding hands and light kissing. They still got stares occasionally, they were in Maine after all, but other than occasionally blushing, Quinn thought he was handling it well. "How close to the water do you want to be?"

"Indeed I am," Dustin replied, closing his eyes for a second as he accepted the kiss. As much as he liked their long, drawn-out kisses in private, theses small, quick kisses wherever they were felt special. More than special. "But you also know - since you are everything I need - I am also counting on you to provide me with protection against sunburns and cancer and also to dry me off like a towel would." He made his way towards the beach, linking his fingers with Quinn's. "Maybe a bit more back?" he suggested. "I mean, not so far that we have to walk miles to the water but I don't wanna lie directly next to it, you know?" At least that way they were going to be protected from any stray waves.

Quinn chuckled as Dustin rattled of the relatively short list of things that Quinn apparently needed to do. Apparently his age wasn't the only reason he was the adult in the relationship at times. "Well," he said, reaching up to poke Dustin's cheek playfully, "You are pretty pale. So I don't want you to get burned." Quinn nodded, feeling the sand start to drag his flip-flops down as he walked towards an empty spot. "Here good?" he asked, kicking off his flip-flops and actually feeling the sand between his toes. Without bothering to wait for an answer, he set his bag down and pulled out some towels to lay down. "Karen packed for us," he said, glancing up at Dustin. "So I'm pretty sure we'll have everything we need. She tends to worry a lot," he grinned. Once the towels were laid out, he tugged off his shirt and tossed it onto the bag.

Dustin gave him a look. "You say that like it's a bad thing! That's just how my skin looks. It's, like, literally impossible for me to tan without burning to death first," he replied. That, and he hated the feeling of sunscreen on his skin and how it smelled. "Perfect," he said once they reached the spot, taking off his shoes and socks. Unlike Quinn, he didn't even own flip flops. "Your mum's really nice," he said with a smile, looking down at the bag. And then he looked back up just in time to see Quinn pull off his shirt. And really, it should not be a big deal. He'd seen him without a shirt before, multiple times. But that didn't change the fact that one of those times things had gotten a little heated before they were interrupted by Quail and this was just another reminder of that time. And Quinn looked really good like this. "Um," he said. He didn't want to look like he was staring, so he better say something. Except he had no idea what to say. "Well," he started again. "Did your- did your mum pack us anything to drink?"

Quinn just laughed. "I like how your skin looks," he said. "I just don't want you to bet burned or something. That'd suck a lot," Quinn replied with a shrug. "Yeah, she wanted to make sure everything was good. Because I'd prolly forget something stupid. Like the towels," he admitted, looking up at Dustin just in time to see him staring a bit. Despite the fact that Dustin had seen him shirtless before, hell he'd seen him soaking wet in just his underwear before, he still flushed slightly red. "Yeah, I think so," he mumbled, sitting down on the towel and rummaging through the bag. He tossed sunblock over to Dustin, though he doubted he'd use it. Quinn didn't like it either, and he generally didn't burn much anyway. "We have water," he said tossing a bottle to his boyfriend. "I think she wanted us to be healthy," he mumbled.

Dustin caught the sunblock, but just put it down on the towel next to him. He'd use it once he felt himself burning slightly. And after all, this was the East Coast, not a tropical island. It wouldn't be too bad in the sun. "Thanks," he said, smiling, as he opened the water and took a couple of sips. He'd already gotten thirsty during the ride in the hot car. "You mean, healthy as in she packed water instead of, like, soda, or healthy as in there's no beer?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. A couple of boys and girls walked by their spot, and Dustin noted that all the men weren't wearing a shirt. He felt slightly ridiculous sitting on top of his towel fully clothed, and so he finally tugged off his shirt, putting it down on the towel so that later he could use it as a makeshift pillow. He crossed his arms in front of his bare chest. "But as long as she didn't pack us salad I'm good."

Quinn rummaged through the bag. She had packed some snacks, mostly pretzels and chips. "Well I meant like water instead of soda," he laughed, finally looking up and settling down on the towel. "I didn't expect her to pack any beer for us," he grinned. "She won't actually buy that for me. I might be able to convince Quail but...," he shrugged. "Besides, we don't exactly look over 21 to be drinking in public do we?" Quinn asked, not that it had stopped them at the bonfire. Quinn watched as Dustin tugged his shirt off, realizing he was staring only when Dustin crossed his arms. Flushing again, he looked away for a moment. "Uh, nope. Good snacks, no salad," he said. Quinn really needed to get used to seeing Dustin shirtless so that he wasn't just openly staring. "Um... right. So. What do you want to do?" he asked, trying to keep his eyes trained on Dustin's face. "I don't usually come to the beach much except with my family, and then I just read or go in the water with Quail a bit," he offered, biting his lower lip slightly.

"What can I say, obviously your mum's not perfect," Dustin replied with a small smile. "And speak for yourself, obviously I look like I'm in my twenties. That's why my beer got stolen the last time I tried to drink at the beach." At least, no policeman had interfered, but it had been annoying anyway. "I'm good with good snacks." Turning his head towards the water, he tried to ignore the feeling of Quinn's eyes on his torso. Thinking about that wouldn't lead anywhere good... "Um, I don't know?" he replied, although he would be very happy just relaxing for a little while. He turned his head back. "I remember driving to the beach with my parents, I think I actually brought my laptop." He reached out to grab a handful of warm, dry sand, letting it pour out through his fingers over Quinn's foot.

"Apparently," Quinn chuckled, with a slight shrug. "Oh yeah, totally 25 years old," Quinn grinned, sticking his tongue out at him. Quinn hummed softly, watching as people did stuff on the beach. Most people their age were just sitting around talking, a few had brought those beach games, none of which Quinn had, and others were in the water. That seemed about it. "Wait seriously?" he asked, arching an eyebrow. "And I thought I was obsessed with computers. You couldn't leave it for a little bit?" he teased. As the sand flowed over his foot, he twitched it a bit, watching it move and grinning slightly. He liked the feel of sand, oddly enough, except when he was wet and it started to get everywhere. "Okay... um... we could go to the water? Or for a walk? Or just sort of relax here?" he suggested. "I just like spending time with you so...," Quinn admitted softly, flushing just a little bit. Hopefully Dustin would think it was just the sun.

"If not almost 30," Dustin retorted, grinning. When his eyes followed the other people on the beach, he had to shield his eyes from the sun in order to not get blinded. "I don't know, I was in the middle of this game on there! But then my parents found it and made me bring it back to the car." He pouted a little. As soon as he had poured a small layer of sand over Quinn's foot, he started drawing shapes and symbols on it with his index finger, before pouring new sand and starting all over again. Looking up at Quinn, he smiled. "Oh really? And here I thought you hated being with me." He drew a little heart onto his foot, biting his lip. There were things he needed to talk about, things he needed to tell. And he couldn't see how Quinn would be thrilled about them. And he didn't want to ruin today yet. "Maybe we should go into the sea? I mean, that's kinda the whole purpose of the beach. Like, if you wanna get sand everywhere, you can always just chill in the sandpit at the nearest playground."

"Right, totally 30," Quinn laughed out loud, shaking his head. There was no way anyone thought them over 20. "I'm pretty sure, even if it were after I had just been adopted, that Karen and Jared would make me put it away too," he teased, reaching out to take Dustin's free hand in his. "Yeah, you're pretty okay," he shrugged, watching as Dustin drew on his foot with the sand. "At least the sand doesn't have babies peeing and shit in it," he wrinkled his nose. "The water probably does though," he mumbled, and then grinned. "On that note," Quinn laughed, standing up and reaching out to help Dustin. "Yeah, the beach sounds great," he said. It would be a good way to distract himself from both staring at Dustin and everything else racing through his head right now. "You can swim right?" he teased, stretching as he stood and making his way down the beach.

"I'm almost growing gray hair," Dustin replied. "And oh no, that sounds mean. If I have kids one day, they're so allowed to take their laptop anywhere they want." He smiled as Quinn took his hand. By this point, everyone near them probably saw that they weren't just two friends going to the beach together, but if anyone was outright staring at them, he hadn't noticed it yet. "I think you're pretty adequate, too." He made a face at his boyfriend's next words. "Urgh, I suddenly don't wanna go into the water any longer," he complaining, but got up anyway, entwining his fingers with Quinn's. "Yes, I can swim." Not well, though. "I'm not a little kid."

"I wouldn't let mine go anywhere with it," Quinn replied with a shrug. "Like, not out to a restaurant or the beach or anything. What if it got wet?" he pointed out, trying to ignore the words in his head saying what if these hypothetical kids were also Dustin's. Grinning, Quinn gave Dustin's hand a squeeze and tugged him along towards the water. "I don't think a lot of people really can," he pointed out. "I mean, maybe they do but...," he shrugged. "I had to get lessons and stuff when I was a kid. We don't have a pool or anything and a lot of people don't," Quinn rambled a bit, trying his best to ignore any people that might be staring at they. They were just like any other couple holding hands on the beach, and there were a few. Except for the whole both of them being guys thing. He paused at the edge of the water, shivering slightly when is pushed up past his feet. "Okay, that's a little colder than I thought," he said with a small smile at Dustin. Either way, he pushed forward a bit into the water until it came to his knees.

"Well, that would make you a super uncool parent," Dustin told him and rolled his eyes. A laptop could get wet anywhere. "If it did get wet I'd just buy them a new laptop, obviously. This is just a possible future, and I've decided in that future I'm going to be a millionaire." He followed his boyfriend to the shoreline, letting out a small yelp as the cold water hit his feet. This was way too cold, and for a moment he was tempted to ask Quinn to get back to their towels. "Fuck, it's icy," he complained, taking a tentative further step, and then another. Soon, the water was coming up just a little below his knees. "You don't have a pool at home? Tell me more, I never knew that about your family," he said, sticking out his tongue. Grinning, he reached down with one hand and splashed a little water into Quinn's general direction.

"I think it makes me a responsible one," Quinn countered with a smirk. "Well, money does help with that," he mused. Assuming he continued his work as Q he'd have more than enough money to do well... anything he wanted. He had that right now. Quinn chuckled at Dustin's reaction. He paused for a second, actually unsure if Dustin was serious. Was he talking about his actual family or birth family? "Hey!" he squeaked, not ready for the cold water that Dustin splashed at him. He squirmed away a little bit, before splashing his boyfriend back with a laugh. "Don't be mean! I took you to the beach and you just splash me," he pouted, sticking his tongue out at Dustin. "Don't make me tackle you into the water,"

"Responsible parents are lame," Dustin replied. "Seriously, I'd know, I'm living with them. They are super overrated." He had to laugh as soon as he heard Quinn squeak at the cold water, before pulling a face as Quinn retaliated. The water was still only reaching his knees, and the splashes of ice water were hitting the skin which was warmed up by the sun, so it felt incredibly cold. He turned to face Quinn, a smirk on his face. "Oh yeah? That is like, my worst nightmare, being tackled by you..."

"Your parents aren't that bad," Quinn offered. Which was kind of true. Maybe they were a little over protective with the curfew and the closed door thing, but they weren't horrible. Quinn flushed and rolled his eyes. "Okay, but being tackled into cold water probably isn't great," he replied, looking around for a moment. When he hoped that Dustin had let his guard down a little, he bent down and sent a large splash of water towards him, grinning brightly.

"Still kinda wish I could trade with you," Dustin said. Okay, technically that wasn't true. He knew that he was lucky to get to grow up with both of them... and that not all Dustin Parrish's in all universes were that lucky. "Well, I wouldn't know what that's like, because you're not going to do that..." For a moment, nothing happened, and so he turned his head towards the beach, trying to see if he could make out their stuff from where they were standing. Which was when a large splash of water hit his chest. "You're such a dick!" he protested, stepping forward and reaching for Quinn's arm to try and push him down into the water.

Quinn shrugged. "Maybe I am, maybe I won't," he countered back, though he probably wouldn't. That would be kind of mean without any real provocation. Quinn laughed as the water splashed over Dustin, grinning widely and then letting out a light gasp as he was grabbed. "Hey!," he grinned, struggling a bit to keep himself up. The water wasn't making it easier. He grabbed at Dustin as well, grunting a little as a waver decided it was the right time to splash across them. The force knocked his legs out from underneath him and he found himself falling with a splash into the water with a yelp.

Dustin sputtered as the wave hit the both of them. Fucking sea. But it seemed like it was on his side for now, because just as it hit them he finally managed to push his boyfriend down into the water. "Ha!" Dustin exclaimed triumphantly. "I win." He smiled down at his boyfriend, holding a hand out to him. "I'm sorry... I had to." This was way more fun than expected, and for now he was just going to ignore the part of the brain that told him he really, really needed to have a conversation with Quinn.

Quinn pouted up at Dustin. This totally wasn't fair. Dustin was taller than him, that gave him way more of an advantage. Well, in his mind it did at least. "No you don't," he said, quickly, grabbing Dustin's hand and pulling him down into the water with him in a splash. He grinned at Dustin, laughing and shivering a little bit. They were still in the shallow water, but now that he was underneath it the water wasn't terribly cold. Cold, but not freezing.

"Fuck!" Dustin should have seen this coming. He really should have seen this coming. "Or rather, fuck you! Was just trying to help you up..." The water wasn't that deep, but now that he was no longer standing, he was very, very wet. He used one hand to brush his hair - which had turned a bit darker now that it was wet - out of his face, before putting his hands on Quinn's shoulder and trying to push him further down. It was moments like these where he wished he was more muscular.

"Hey!" Quinn gasped, as he was almost pushed under the water. But he managed to get his arms underneath him in time to keep him up. He held them behind his back, fingers digging into the sand and grinning up at his boyfriend. "Don't be pouty. You deserved it," he teased, glad that at least this way Dustin couldn't overpower him. Quinn looked up at his boyfriend and smiled. Was it bad he thought that Dustin looked really good with his hair wet like this? He should probably focus on not getting dunked underwater. Unfortunately, that was just when another wave decided to crash over them.

Fuck! Why did there have to be waves in the ocean? If only he could turn them off, like in a whirlpool. Dustin spluttered after he got a load of seawater thrown into his face. It tasted horribly salty, even saltier than him after Quinn decided to betray his trust and helping hand and pulled him into the water. “In what way did I deserve that?” Dustin asked. His hands were still resting on Quinn’s shoulder, but he didn’t do anything to push him down. “I’m a really good boyfriend. I even decided to spend the day with you at the beach instead of in my room where I can keep an eye on my cat.”

Quinn managed to close his mouth in time for the water to splash over him. Fortunately it moved fairly quickly and when the water receded he let out a gasp. He shook his head to get the water out of his eyes, his arms still holding himself up, and looked at Dustin with a grin. "You splashed me, and then decided to try and push me into the water," he replied with a grin. "I'm a really good boyfriend too I think," he grinned, before leaning forward a bit. Without Dustin pushing against his shoulders, it was easy to press his lips against Dustin's. Quinn immediately tasted the salt from the water, but didn't pull back until a moment later. "You came because you get kisses and love spending time with me," he grinned.

“You are,” Dustin replied softly, closing his eyes as he felt Quinn press a kiss to his lips, which tasted incredibly salty. He sort of missed Quinn’s normal taste – he suspected the saltiness would go away if they kissed for a while, but Quinn pulled back far too early to really tell. Dustin let his fingertips brush across his shoulders carefully before letting his hands travel down over his back to his sides. It felt so good to touch his skin underneath the water. “But I can kisses from Aria, too," he protested. "And I love spending time with her, too."

Quinn licked his lips slightly, everything tasting like salt at this point. Maybe they should get out of the water if they were going to kiss more. This was kind of a nice position though, he wasn't going to lie. Quinn shivered slightly as Dustin's hands moved across his back to his sides and grinned again. Dustin was far warmer than the water, and the contrast was very pleasant. Quinn pouted slightly. "Okay, but I'm so much better than the cat," he replied. "I mean, my kisses are definitely better at the very least. She can't play video games either," he said. Aria wasn't terrible, but she was a cat still. She was better than Quail's at least. "C'mon, admit you like me better,"

Dustin let out a loud huff. “I’m not going to say that I like you better than her because that’s not true,” he told his boyfriend, his thumb stroking across the wet skin of his side, fingers moving towards his stomach. “Don’t make me choose between you two, because the cat will always win.” He shot Quinn a grin, which then transformed into a small, soft smile. “I really do like you, though,” he said, looking into his eyes, and then there was the guilt again. Because he’d been kissed by someone else. How the hell was he supposed to tell him?

"No fair," Quinn mock pouted again, hoping that Dustin was actually kidding about that. Quinn squirmed again. Maybe Dustin's hands were a little too enticing for them just to be sitting in the ocean like this with people around. Quinn smiled as his eyes caught Dustin's. "Yeah I l-like you too," he smiled, catching himself. He didn't want to say that just yet, not while it wasn't even a slightly romantic moment. Well, maybe it sort of was. With everything going on and him seeing his alternate self for real... Everything they did was accidental with their relationship. Quinn wanted that to actually mean something. So instead he just leaned in and kissed Dustin again, slowly, and hoping another wave wouldn't crash over them.

As soon as the words left Quinn’s mouth, Dustin could feel the corners of his mouth pull upwards into a smile. Well, of course he knew that Quinn liked him, but it always felt so good to hear it. Except now… Now it also felt bad, in a way. Because he was kind of lying to him by not telling him about certain things. Dustin let out a small gasp as Quinn kissed him slowly, and he kissed him back, one hand coming up to the back of his neck, holding him closer. It didn’t matter that people from the beach could probably see them. Right now, he didn’t give a fuck. Heart beating faster, Dustin pulled back. “I kissed someone,” he blurted out, before even thinking about it. “Or rather, someone kissed me,” he quickly clarified. If they weren’t in the water, he probably could have felt his hands becoming wet. “But I should have stopped him.”

Quinn smiled into the kiss, letting out a little hum. With Dustin no longer pushing on his shoulders, he was able to use one hand to trail up his back, resting just below his neck. People were almost definitely watching, they were in fairly shallow water and kissing. It didn't really matter though, because right now he was just focused on Dustin. He paused when Dustin pulled back, the words not really registering with him. "Wh-what?" he asked, voice cracking and eyes filled with hurt. "Wh-who? Why? I-," he began, not sure where to even begin. His heart was racing now for an entirely different reason. There had to be some explanation right? Dustin wouldn't just kiss someone else would he?

Dustin was unsure about where to begin. He looked back at Quinn, and seeing how hurt he looked he felt awful. But what had he expected? He'd essentially just told his boyfriend that he'd cheated on him. Of course he would be hurt. "Dustin's boyfriend from Ashford River," he started, voice quiet. "I have no clue how he got over here or why I met him but he just - he came up to me and he kissed me," he told him. "And I should've put a stop to it sooner, I should have pushed him away the second he got close to me, but I was just so- I was so fucking taken aback and, just, for a moment it was like I was in one of those memories. But I swear, I pulled away the second I realised- and I'm so fucking sorry, Quinn."

Quinn listened for a moment, before pulling away slightly. He pulled his legs up against his chest, wrapping his arms around them and looked at Dustin for a moment, before turning to the water in front of him. Quinn didn't know how to respond. It hurt still, a lot, despite the fact that his brain was telling him this made sense. He had gotten his explanation. It wasn't Dustin's fault that the guy thought he was someone else. Despite the logic though, it still hurt. "I-," he began, before closing his mouth again and swallowing thickly. "I get it, sort of," he mumbled, glancing up at Dustin again. He could see how sorry Dustin was, and that helped. "I saw... I saw the Quinn from Ashford... so I believe you," he mumbled again, nodding and trying to push down the hurt. "Would you rather be dating him?"

Dustin bit his lip as he felt Quinn pull away and then look back towards the sea. How'd he react? He'd get it if Quinn wanted space now. It would suck, but he'd understand. "No!" he exclaimed at Quinn's words. "No, of course not. I wanna date you! Only you." He buried his face in his hands, it didn't matter that they were wet and cold. "It's just so fucking confusing. I'm not gonna lie to you, am I attracted to him? Yeah, I am, but it's like- I remember having sex with him. I can see what Dustin's seeing and what he's feeling and I wish I couldn't." He looked up from his hands, glancing at Quinn's profile, his lip hurting from where he was biting it. "They've known each other for so long and I remember waking up next to him in the mornings and sleeping with him and it makes me really, really curious, but the thing is, I'd rather be trying those things with you." Suddenly, a frown appeared on his forehead. "Wait a second, you saw Quinn?!"

Quinn was pretty sure that although Dustin was trying to make him feel better, it actually wasn't helping all that much. He didn't want to hear about Dustin waking up next to some other guy, even if it was just memories. But... Quinn sighed. He had to think of it like he thought of the other Quinn. It wasn't him doing any of that stuff, it was the other Quinn. So that meant it was all the other Dustin, not his Dustin. And Dustin wanted to do that stuff with him right? Taking another breath, he reached out and carefully took Dustin's hand in his. "I just... It's not great hearing you getting all those visions and stuff and the mix-up with the kiss and...," he was rambling and not really making much sense. "I want all of that with you," Quinn said finally, looking up at Dustin. "And it sucks that you just... have those memories of that stuff with someone else," he finished lamely. "Yeah, I sort of... I was walking and just, there was his house and he was coming out of it...," Quinn shuddered, not really wanting to remember that.

Dustin couldn't help but let go of a small relieved breath when Quinn took his hand in his. This meant that he wasn't too angry, right? That he didn't hate him, that he still wanted to be with him? "I'm sorry," he said again, holding onto his hand tightly. "I just need to be honest with you, you know? I don't wanna lie to you, and it felt awful keeping this from you. And I swear, I wanna find something that gets rid of the memories. And, like, while I see that the other Dustin is really lucky having Jordan, I'm much luckier 'cause I got you. And my family. And I wouldn't wanna switch, even if I could," he explained. "Wait, did he see you? And if he did, what did he say? Where did he go? Did he also just... disappear?" He was feeling much colder all of the sudden, but it was probably just the ice cold water.

"Yeah, honesty is good," Quinn said with a nod. At least he did tell him, and it wasn't coming out as some secret later on. It sucked, but he imagined it would suck more later on. "I want to get rid of the memories too," he mumbled, wishing he'd found a way when he'd hacked the Scribes. Maybe he'd hack them again, they had to have more information now right? Quinn looked up at Dustin as he spoke more about being lucky, and he scooted towards him, leaning against him slightly. "Yeah he did. It was... weird. Just... he recognized me and shit, from the mirror thing when that happened," he scratched his head slightly, not really wanting to talk about the specifics with Dustin. "He was pretty much the same as I told you about him," he shrugged finally. "Yeah, he did, it was weird," he mused softly. Should he tell him now? After what he'd just said? If both of them were seeing people from the other world what if Ashford Quinn decided to try and hurt Dustin? He'd all but threatened to hurt everyone he cared about. He took a deep breath, looking sideways at Dustin. "I love you,"

Dustin frowned. Why Jordan had given him the impression that him and the other Dustin were quite similar as a person because technically they were the same person, or at least genetically they were, this seemed to be exactly the opposite for Quinn. He wanted to say that he would love any version of Quinn, the way that Jordan had said about Dustin, but in light of what he’d been told about Quinn from Ashford River, he didn’t think he could. “Thanks for telling me,” he said quietly. “You can tell me more about him, tell me if you meet him again. I’m not scared.” Okay, maybe there was a lie. But he was mostly scared for Quinn, not for himself. As far as he knew, he didn’t even know that Dustin existed and he trusted his boyfriend to be smart enough not to mention him. “And I don’t want you to have to be scared of him.” Dustin completely froze at the last part. Had he heard this right? Did Quinn really say this just now? In the recent past, there had been a couple of times where Dustin had thought to himself ‘I love you’, when he spotted Quinn at school, when he said goodbye before going home, when he was lying in bed cuddled up to him. But he’d never said it out loud. “I love you too.” The words came out easier than expected. After all, they were just four words, and they were true. A small smile on his face, Dustin wrapped his arms around Quinn and pulled him closer.

Quinn wanted to say that he should be scared. His doppelganger was not a nice or good person in any way. But he didn't. He just hoped that Dustin would stay away from him, far away, if he ever did see him. "I know I can," he said softly, hand playing in the sand underneath the water. It was a nice distraction. "But, just stay away from him okay? Promise me that? I don't want him to hurt you," he said, looking directly at Dustin. The silence after he admitted his feelings was torturous. Sure, there were still the sounds of the beach and people playing in the water, but Quinn didn't hear any of that. He was too focused on Dustin's response. It was a bad time to say that. He should have waited until a better time, when they were actually doing something romantic. He was opening his mouth when Dustin spoke again. Suddenly his mind was clear again, and his heart, which had been racing, was now filled with only a bright warmth. "Really?" he asked, as he was pulled closer, and immediately wrapped his arms around Dustin. A smile broke out onto his face and he was practically humming with excitement. "Shit," he swore and laughed, pulling away to look at Dustin for a moment before kissing him again, smiling throughout. "I love you," he mumbled into the kiss.

“I promise I won’t,” Dustin said, and he meant it. Even though he was curious he had no real desire to seek out serial killer Quinn - he very much valued his own life, thank you very much. This would be such an awful time in his life to die. He hadn’t even made it out of high school yet. And he certainly wasn’t going to die a virgin. “I’ve got the better Quinn all to myself, anyway.” Another truth. “But you have to promise that you will try to stay away from him, too. Who knows what he would do to you.” He didn’t want to think about the other Quinn right now, or any other person in a parallel universe. The only place he gave a crap about right now was right here. “No, I only said it because of the social expectation of me having to say it back,” Dustin said in a teasing voice and rolled his eyes. “Yes, really. And I’ve thought the words before, I was just too much of a coward to say them first.” He closed his eyes as he was kissed, happily pressing his lips against his boyfriend’s as he closed his eyes. Another wave hit them, and Dustin clung to Quinn’s shoulders to keep steady in the shallow waters. His body was getting quite cold, but that didn’t matter. “Ugh, I wish you didn’t taste like seawater right now,” Dustin complained, pretty much mumbling against the other boy’s lips.

Quinn looked over at Dustin and nodded again. He was glad that Dustin promised he wouldn't go after his alternate reality serial killer self. It was better to keep him safe and away from him. "At least I don't kill people. That's something," he teased, nudging his boyfriend lightly. He cocked his head to the side and gave Dustin an odd look, laughing slightly. "Yeah, don't worry I have no desire to go back and see him in any way. And as soon as I can get rid of these memories the better," he added."Don't be a dick," Quinn replied, though he was smiling either way. Dustin loved him. It was hard to be mad at him for anything. "You're not a coward," he said, "I just... I was scared too." Quinn let an arm drape around Dustin's hip, pulling him in a little closer. He shivered against Dustin as the wave crashed over them again, laughing softly against his lips when the water receded. "Yeah, you taste pretty salty too," he replied, but he didn't pull away. He was lost in this moment, not caring that there were people around. "We could probably move out of the water," he said after a moment, finally pulling away. It didn't take him long to lean back in to kiss Dustin again quickly though.

[brywrites]

Love Looks Not With the Eyes

Requested: the Reader is dared to ask Reid on a date, but upon realizing that she’s genuinely interested in him, decides to comes clean.

It was supposed to be a dare. Two years of working as the counter-terrorism team’s technical analyst had led to some close workplace friendships. One of which is Penelope Garcia, the analyst for the BAU. And by proxy, since he spends so much time around her, Derek Morgan. Y/N keeps Penelope company when her team is out in the field, and her colorful counterpart returns the favor when counterterrorism is gone. When there’s no case, she’ll occasionally go up a floor to visit Morgan and Penelope, and maybe grab lunch together. They make a good trio, all of them able to laugh and joke in order to lift the burden of their serious jobs, and yet hold a meaningful conversation at the same time. They are friends who understand each others fears, and share in each others happiness.

It’s at lunch when she off-handedly mentions to Penelope that she wants to go see an upcoming production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream that Morgan raises his eyebrows.

“You’re a nerd, aren’t you?” His tone is light, conveying no cruelty, only amicable teasing.

“Well, I work with computers all day, and I’m friends with Penelope. What else did you expect?” she laughs.

“No, no.” Derek shakes his head. “Not like that. I mean a bona fide, actual nerd. You probably read old literature, listen to classical music, learn things for fun. That sort of thing.”

“We can’t all kick down doors for a living,” she replies. This earns her a giggle from Penelope. “But you’re right. I do enjoy all of the above.” Since she was little, she’s loved books and words and stories. She embraces all things academia and actively seeks out plays and concerts. To some, it might seem old-fashioned, even lame. That’s fine with her. She loves what she loves, and her friends respect that.

Abruptly shifting gears, he asks, “You’re not seeing anyone, right?”

Perplexed, she tells him she isn’t. A conniving look is traded between Morgan and Penelope, and she braces herself for whatever crazy thing they’re about to suggest, or whatever witty joke they’ll make.

“How’d you like to go on a date?” Penelope asks. “With someone who has similar interests?”

“Where is this heading?” When Penelope gets that mischievous glint in her eyes, she’s learned to hesitate.

“We dare you to ask Spencer Reid out on a date,” Morgan says.

Her jaw drops. “Reid? No way. Absolutely not.” The awkward agent they work with? He’s brilliant, but where his mental abilities are top-notch, his social skills are severely lacking. Though he is good-looking, she would never consider dating him. Besides, he’s not quite handsome. More like pretty.

“Oh come on, Y/N! He’s totally got a crush on you.” A fact which she’s well aware of. Reid isn’t the best at hiding his emotions. Every now and then, when she’s walking through the bullpen in search of Penelope or Morgan, she’ll catch him staring at her out of the corner of his eye, or while pretending to be reading something. When she talks to him, he always gets flustered and ends up tripping over his words. It’s sweet – in the way a clumsy puppy dog is sweet. But she has no romantic interest in the guy.

“We double dare you,” Penelope adds, smirking. “If you do it, we’ll buy lunch next week. It’s just one date! How bad could it be?”

“Besides, it would make Pretty Boy very happy. You don’t want him to be lonely and pining forever, do you? Go out with him, talk about books and shit, and then you can politely refuse another date and my man can move on. It’s really a win-win here.”

After much begging, bribing, manipulating, and peer pressuring, she finally gives in. The next day, she marches right up to Reid and asks him if he’d like to go out sometime. He turns three shades of red before managing to agree, and they make a date for coffee that weekend. When the BAU gets called out on a case that Friday, she’s a little relieved that she has an extra week’s reprieve. What is she even supposed to say to him on a date? If it’s as bad as she fears it might be, she figures she can always discreetly text a friend and ask them to call her faking a family emergency. Dares are dares, however, and she intends to at least show up.

The following Saturday they finally go out for coffee. He’s already waiting at a table inside when she arrives, nervously tapping his feet and checking his watch. His clothing isn’t much different than what she’s seen him wear to the office – a button down shirt, Converse, a sweater – but it’s slightly less formal. No tie, and none of the trademark intensity he harbors when he’s focused on a case. The smile he greets her with is hesitant, but it looks good on him. Something that surprises her.  She’s never really seen Reid happy.

“I was afraid you wouldn’t come,” he says as they sit down, coffee in hand. “Thought maybe you might decide you didn’t want to go on a date with me after all.”

“I wouldn’t do that.” Not since she accepted a dare from Morgan and Penelope. This is for them. She just has to make it through one date. “So, um, tell me a little more about yourself. Outside of work, that is. Something I wouldn’t know.”

Reid ponders this, then says, “Well, I grew up in Las Vegas. I have three tropical fish. And I once kissed Lila Archer.”

Another surprise. Her jaw drops. “You mean that Lila Archer? The actress?” He nods sheepishly, and she tries to picture how exactly the shy Spencer Reid managed to kiss Lila Archer. Upon being asked, he tells her a little about the case they worked, in which she was stalked. He stayed with her to protect her, and one thing led to another.

“What about you?” he asks. “What’s something I wouldn’t know about you?”

She laughs. “I don’t think I can top kissing Lila Archer, but I do have a cat and a pretty extensive movie collection. Not to brag, but I’m also a pretty good surfer – and I don’t just mean the internet. I went to college in Florida, near the ocean, and every chance we got my roommates and I would go out on the water.”

“Do you miss it?”

Nobody has asked her that in a long time. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. There’s nowhere nearby to surf, and I rarely get enough time off from work to make a trip to a good beach. The Potomac really has nothing on the ocean.”

“Why’d you choose to come to Washington?”

“I was a CompSci and PoliSci major, and I wanted to do something that made a difference, you know? I found out about the FBI’s intelligence analyst positions at a job fair after grad school, and somehow managed to pass the Basic Field Training Course. It just felt really right. There are still times I doubt myself though, or wonder if I would’ve been better somewhere else.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m really glad you’re here.” There’s such sincerity in his words that the dread she’d been feeling all week begins to ebb away. From there, the conversation gets so much easier. They talk about school and work and the places they’ve lived. They discover they love many of the same books and movies, and that the few TV shows he watches happen to be some of her favorites. When he mentions that his fish are named Ophelia, Hamlet, and Horatio, she bursts out laughing. A flash of hurt crosses his face, thinking she’s laughing at him. Not wanting to offend him she quickly explains that her cat is named Robin Goodfellow.

“As in Puck?” he clarifies.

“Exactly the one! I’ve always loved Shakespeare, and A Midsummer Night’s Dream is my favorite.” And of the play’s characters, that mischievous Puck held a special place in her heart. “Of course Robin Goodfellow is a bit lengthy, so he mostly just answers to Puck. Just like the character.”

The more they talk, the more she realizes how much she has overlooked about him. Or perhaps she wasn’t looking at him carefully enough. Morgan is classically handsome, his physical appearance and confidence a winning combination that lures people towards him. In a crowded room, people – especially women – tend to gravitate towards him. Reid is different. He’s pretty, but his awkwardness and shyness mask what lies in his heart. For the first time in two years, she’s really seeing him.

For the first time she’s seeing his heart.

It is full and it is kind, and so overwhelmingly gentle. Reid is perfectly polite, but not to the point of formality. His laugh makes her feel warm, and when he smiles at her, the corners of his eyes crinkle and she knows she has his full attention. He’s dorky in the most endearing ways, and as a fellow nerd, she appreciates his love for learning and sci-fi shows and classic literature.

Three and a half hours they talk, until the shop begins to close up. Disappointment washes over her, followed by the startling realization that she’s disappointed because it means she has to part ways with Reid. It’s not a joke anymore. It’s not some annoying dare Penelope put her up to. She likes him. She really likes him. The last three and a half hours have been the best date she’s been on in a very long time. Just sitting and talking to someone who is so genuinely sweet and smart and interesting. She doesn’t want it to end.

Reid looks at his watch, and sighs. “I was going to ask if you wanted to go to the Folger Shakespeare Library, but it’s too late. They’ve already closed for the day.” And now he’s inviting her to visit the Folger Library? It’s been on her list of DC things to do for ages, but she never wanted to go alone, and none of her friends shared an interest in the Bard. Going with Reid though is a thing she very much wants to do. “Maybe we could go some other time?”

A second date. He wants to go out with her again. In that moment, she knows that’s what she wants too. Four hours ago she would’ve found the notion impossible and ridiculous. How much has changed in such a short time period. A laugh leaves her lips before she can stop it.

“What is it?” he asks. “Was I that bad of a date?”

“No, of course not! You were amazing. It’s just, well, it’s kind of a funny story. You see, the reason I asked you out was because at lunch one day Penelope and Morgan dared me to go on a date with you and I-”

“Wait.” The worried tone he had before is gone, replaced by harshness. Anger, as he narrows his eyes at her. “You’re telling me that you only wanted to go out with me because of a dare?”

Heat floods her cheeks, accompanied by shame. “It’s not like that! I mean, it was, but they just thought it would be funny to-”

He holds up a hand. “Just stop, okay? I thought you were different. I thought you were nice, and actually interested in me. But this is obviously just some joke to you! You know what? I’m tired of being the butt of the joke. Contrary to popular belief, I’m not some machine. I have a heart. I have feelings, and I’m done with other people trampling on them. Go home and have a good laugh about the weird guy at work with Morgan and Garcia. Leave me alone.” His voice rises higher the more frustrated he becomes, and when he’s finished he turns around and practically runs down the block. Away from her.

Y/N stands still on the sidewalk, shell-shocked from his outburst. Guilty. Ashamed. There’s a hint of despair as she realizes she may have just ruined her chances with the nicest man she’s met. Worse, she’s hurt him. Brushing away tears, she goes home alone.

For a week he avoids her. Disappears from the office when she comes by, ignores her when he passes her by chance. Text messages and calls never receive a reply from his end. Her feelings don’t reach him. Penelope says he’s hardly talking to her or Morgan unless it’s strictly work-related. After agonizing and analyzing, she finally finds the courage to corner him as he’s leaving one day.

The look on his face speaks enough. Eyes narrowed, mouth pressed into a hard line, jaw set. He’s furious with her, even now.

“I know I’m the last person you want to talk to,” she says, “but please just hear me out. For five minutes, Reid, that’s all I ask. Please just let me explain.”

Reid makes a show of staring at his watch. Every second is going to count. “Yes, it was a dare, okay? They dared me to go out with you because they thought it would be amusing. But it was only after they realized I shared so many interests with you that they suggested it. Maybe it was part of a joke, but deep down I think that they just want you to be happy, and they thought maybe we would be happy together. And I was. I really, really was. I didn’t expect that, but as the night went on I saw just how wonderful you really are. You showed me your heart and you were vulnerable and you were kind, and I like all of that about you. When we were leaving I knew I wanted this to be more than just one date.”

Pausing, she takes a deep breath and pushes forwards. “Which is why I told you about the dare. I knew if you found out from someone else, you would be upset and anything we could’ve had would be over. I thought if I was honest then we could laugh it off but I would be able to see you again. I really like you, and I’m sorry I hurt you. If you can forgive me, I would really like the chance to make it up to you.”

So many words are fit into such a minuscule amount of seconds that when she finishes, she feels a little lightheaded. Reid blinks a few times, then asks, “You really think we could have something?”

“Absolutely,” she pants, still trying to catch her breath.

“This isn’t just part of some elaborate prank?”

It’s her turn now, to put her heart out in the open. Allowing him to see her for who she is and not what assumptions he’s attached to her.

“I swear it. You can ask Penelope if you don’t believe me. Everything I told you that night was true. Everything I felt was true as well. I just want to show you I meant it. I don’t care what we do. We can go to the library or the park. You can come over and meet my cat, Puck. As long as it’s with you. I just want to spend time with you, Spencer.” It’s the first time she’s addressed him by his first name, but it feels so natural on her lips.

After an eternity’s pause, he says, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. Okay. I trust you, Y/N. I’m still hurt, but I’m willing to give you a second chance. After all, Shakspeare did say that “the course of true love never did run smooth.””

She grins. He’s quoting A Midsummer’s Night Dream, her favorite. “That William was quite brilliant. In that case, “Give me your hands if we be friends, and Robin shall restore amends.”” Puck’s famous final words. To her surprise, he does exactly that. Long fingers encircle her own, and when their eyes meet she is certain beyond all doubt that they are truly seeing each other. Looking not with their eyes, but with their hearts.

A few days later, when he repeats the gesture on their second date, she stands on her toes and kisses him. Pulling away, she finds him with the biggest smile on his face. Smiling at her, because of her. He looks happy. Honestly, truly happy.

She was right that evening in the coffee shop. Happy does look good on him.

[therealjammy]

Somewhere, In a Land Close to Home

A fic for @marina-does-things based around Shaw’s lovely hair, entirely from that painting she did: http://marina-does-things.tumblr.com/image/156497648006

I tried to make it fluffy but some angst got mixed in because, well, you know me. Angst touch instead of the Midas touch. But the ending is happy, I promise! (It was also supposed to be sexier but unfortunately my Filter wouldn’t let me.) 

Enjoy! 

Read it on Ao3 instead: http://archiveofourown.org/works/9504224

1.

Shaw glared at her reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t that the dress was ill-fitting, or that her hair didn’t have a single, wavy strand out of place, or that she looked hideous. She looked good. It was just the occasion that this was for: going undercover at some fancy gala where a few of the new assets would be. Suspiciously close to her fortieth birthday. There were suspicions in the back of her head that the gala was fake and the number was too and that it all was just a cover-up for some giant party the Machine and Root had planned, even though they both knew Shaw detested parties and people and birthdays.

           “What’re you wearing a frown for?” came Root’s voice from behind her. She was leaning against the doorway, dressed in a suit this time instead of a dress, her hair done up in a professional-looking bun. She pushed herself away from it and warm hands settled on Shaw’s waist, thumbs running over the silky fabric of her black dress.

           “I dislike galas,” Shaw said. She brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, noticing a few streaks of grey that weren’t there before. Her mother always said age was not necessarily a sign of getting older but of getting wiser, and the grey hairs that showed up only proved that you were gaining wisdom. There was temptation to pluck them but like everything else it would just grow back.

           “I know.” Root kissed her neck despite the fresh lipstick applied to her mouth. “It’s just for a little while.” The tip of her nose brushed against the shell of Shaw’s ear. “Have I ever told you I like you with your hair down?”

           Shaw leaned into the touch despite the fact that they were running a little behind schedule. “You like me no matter what state I’m in.”

           Root hummed. “I can’t help it. You’re very beautiful.”

           In her purse, Shaw’s phone vibrated once, a frantic, strong note. She fixed her hair one last time when Root pulled away, telling her, “I think your other half wants us to leave.”

2.

It was late, just after eleven o’clock at night. Root was still feeling full from dinner even though it had been three and a half hours ago. The unpleasant coil in her belly was telling her that she ate too much and that walking back to the apartment afterwards hadn’t been the greatest idea. She disentangled herself from her laptop, reaching over into her desk drawer for a Pepto Bismol chewable tablet. The very artificial cherry flavour made it feel as if she was swallowing her tongue; it took several small sips of water for it to go away.

           Just behind her Shaw sat on the bed, hair down. It was shiny and soft to the touch, the equivalent of an inky waterfall with a little more grey at the roots. She was cleaning her weapons until they shone like they were new, a crease between her brows that showed concentration. The muscles in her forearm flexed and the tendons in her hand stood proud and suddenly Root was wishing they were tense from other things.

           With a sigh she shut down her laptop and made her way to the bed, sitting beside Shaw and letting her finish up her cleaning. When her guns were put away she ran her fingers through Shaw’s hair. When down, it nearly reached her waist. Root questioned softly, “Are you ever going to cut it?”

           Shaw shrugged. “I was thinking maybe a couple inches. The last time it was short was six years ago, when I was still working for the ISA. A few stricter regulations.” She was leaning into the touches and Root thought she would start purring in contentment. She kissed across the crown of Shaw’s head, where the most grey was showing. She didn’t like to think about the fact that they were both getting older, or the fact that the Machine had recently brought up candidates for a new Analogue Interface and Primary Asset. She wasn’t ready to hand down the torch just yet. She thought her body was still in perfect working order even if, nowadays, she got sleepy around nine o’clock at night and her joints were a little stiffer than they used to be. Root wondered what Shaw thought of all this, the getting older business. Did she think of retirement? Did she feel her own body slowing down like Root did?

           “Your hamster wheels are turning,” Shaw said, breaking the reverie. Root’s hand continued the stroking, having paused with her intrusive thoughts.

           “Sorry. I was just thinking about earlier.”

           Shaw had seen the files too, having peered over Root’s shoulder at the right time. Her body had been warm when she’d stood behind her, the tips of her bangs brushing against the exposed part of Root’s neck. There were, out of the entirety of new assets, three candidates for Analogue Interface, and five for Primary Asset, all in their mid-twenties to early thirties. They discussed it with the Machine, Shaw getting her words in first and then leaving to get dinner but not before kissing Root lightly on the head. In the end Root told the Machine it was entirely Her decision.

           “You chose me,” she’d said. “I had no say in the matter.”

           Yes, the Machine agreed, but the new Analogue Interface has to meet your standards as well. You have to make sure that they will be able to fill your shoes. I firmly believe that your input is just as important as mine.

           “We should think it over for a little while,” Root said after a long silence passed. “We’ll design tests to put them through over the course of a month, then hopefully make a decision by the end of them.”

           What of the candidates for Primary Asset?

           “Talk with Sameen. I’m sure she’ll have a few suggestions.”

           Root leaned her head on Shaw’s shoulder. Shaw’s hand settled on her knee. Shaw said, “It’s a big change.”

           “I don’t want to step away just yet,” Root whispered, shutting her eyes. She felt a pebble forming in her throat. “I’ve got a few years left in me.”

           “We both do, and we’ll keep at it until we’re both too old or She gets so insistent that we throw in the towel and retire and take that three week tropical vacation you’ve always wanted.” That got a small chortle from Root. “Maldives, Bora Bora, Grand Cayman. Wherever you want.” Shaw’s fingers settled under Root’s chin, tilting her head up until their eyes met. Her voice was soft when she said, “It’s taken me a while to realise this, but when I feel most… content is when I see you smile.”

           A single tear streaked down Root’s cheek even as she smiled happily. “Sameen.” She kissed Shaw warmly, sighing into it. She pulled away after a few minutes, earlier feelings rising to the surface. She licked her lip, tasting the slight tang of blood left over from Shaw’s teeth.

           “Now I think there was something else you were wanting.” Shaw leaned back, peeling her tank top off. Her hair settled around her shoulders, the lamplight glinting off it. Root thought she looked like a goddess. “I want to distract you for a while.”

           Root hoped Shaw couldn’t taste the artificial cherry of the Pepto tablet when her tongue slipped between Root’s teeth.

 3.

Shaw sighed when the front door of her apartment closed behind her. Salon smells assaulted her nostrils. When she lifted her hands to touch her hair it felt soft and foreign, much shorter. It had been time to cut it, she’d told herself that morning when she was looking in the mirror. Her locks had reached her waist and she knew if she’d straightened them they would’ve been even longer. The ends had been dry and frayed, reminding her of rope. Root had taken to calling her a mermaid, not often enough to be a nickname but often enough that it was a form of affectionate banter. Now, if Root saw her, she would say, “Sameen, you’ve lost your mermaid status!” even though Shaw’s hair went to just above the middle of her back. Still something Root could bury her fingers in when they found themselves in bed.

           Bear greeted her when she came into the kitchen, standing up on hind legs to lick her face. His muzzle was getting white. Shaw kissed him on the head and scratched behind his ears in that furious way he loved that caused him to elicit a long groan of pleasure. “Looks like we’re both getting old, huh?” He grunted, gave her cheek one last swipe of tongue, and lowered himself to all four limbs.

           A little later, around lunchtime, Shaw gathered his leash and the Ziploc baggie of his favourite treats. She would be meeting Root at Park’s Deli for lunch, and then they would walk together in Central Park or find themselves a bench to enjoy the early fall weather. She didn’t wonder what Root would think of her haircut, only that she may think Shaw smelled different because the salon used a different brand of shampoo.

           Outside, the leaves were just beginning to change colour. It was still early enough that the weather still got warm in the daytime but not bitterly cold at night, so most of the trees would keep producing chlorophyll until mid-October or early November, and by the time December hit a lot of them would be bare and the snow would dump itself onto the city, bringing with it a cold wind from the north. Maybe then, Shaw thought, she and Root could take that tropical vacation. Shaw tolerated the cold but it was Root who hated it, complaining about her joints or that cold wasn’t proper working weather. Root was from Texas, after all, so naturally that made her a wimp in weather that was less than forty degrees Fahrenheit.

           When they got close to Park’s Deli Bear tugged on his leash. They walked a little faster and found Root standing near the entrance of a restaurant, arms casually crossed over her chest, wearing black skinny jeans, boots, a comfortable-looking blouse that was slightly see-through, and her leather jacket. She smiled when she saw them approaching and, when Shaw was close enough, her hands automatically went to her hair.

           “Your hair’s gone,” Root said, fingers running through it and pulling a little when they got caught in knots. The sting was pleasant.

           “It was getting ropy.”

           Root’s smile widened. “Ropy? Never.” She crouched down to give Bear a kiss. “You’re getting a little grey around the chops, bud.” He licked her palm. “Want lunch? She says you haven’t eaten breakfast.”

           They ate their sandwiches in Central Park, seated on a bench in one of the more secluded patches of grass. The fall sun was pleasant on Shaw’s skin and once her sandwich was gone she tilted her head back on the bench, exposing her throat to it. She sighed, feeling content. Root’s leather jacket squeaked when she threw Bear’s tennis ball.

           “The results of the new Analogue Interface and Primary Asset came in,” Root said around the last half of her sandwich. She’d torn it in half to give the other to Shaw. “It took a little longer than I was expecting.”

           “We had to make sure they were the right choices,” said Shaw. She cracked an eye open but Root wasn’t looking at her. She was looking at Bear as he ran back with his ball in his mouth, tongue lolling happily out the side. Root picked up the thing that held the ball so that her hands wouldn’t get leaves or drool on them. When the ball was released it sailed through the air, much further than it would’ve if Root had thrown it with her hand. “Want to tell me who they are or do I have to break into your laptop in order to get the info?”

           Root chuckled and handed over the other half of sandwich. “Well,” she said, gathering her words, “She chose Gen for Primary Asset, though a temporary has been assigned—Jason Kramer—until she reaches eighteen in two years and has had extensive hand-to-hand and weapons training.”

           Shaw nodded. “Gen’s a good choice.”

           “She has all the skills necessary save for the two I mentioned, and She highly favoured her over others because of her skills in counter espionage and the amount of languages she’s learning.”

           “What about Analogue Interface?”

           “Claire.”

           “Samaritan’s former asset switched sides, then?”

           “It took some convincing,” Root said amid a sigh, bending down to put Bear’s ball away and instead take out his Frisbee. “Claire had first-hand experience with an ASI. The other candidates didn’t. She was also proficient in weapons training—got the highest scores—and showed great skill with cover identities. It made the best sense.”

           Shaw chewed the inside of her cheek. They had both been hesitant at the thought of Claire’s candidacy. She had worked for Samaritan after all, and who knew if some of those values she learned over there would come back to haunt them?

           “They’ve been talking more often,” Root added, now looking at Shaw full on. “The Machine thinks she’s the right choice. She’s hopeful of a recoding, like She did with me.”

           Shaw nodded slowly, absorbing the words. She sat up straighter and gobbled down Root’s other half of sandwich. She wanted a scotch to mull things over. “I need a drink.” She stood up from the bench, crumpling the wrappers and paper bag up before throwing them into the nearby bin. She whistled for Bear, who came running over. He dropped the Frisbee in Root’s lap and she wiped it off with the sleeve of her leather jacket before putting it away inside her purse. Shaw fed him a few treats before clipping on his leash.

           Root’s hand wove itself into the crook of her left elbow. “I think they’ll work well together.”

           “We’ll see,” Shaw said. “If I remember correctly, Gen’s got a knack for annoying the shit out of people with her firing off questions every five seconds.”

           Root snorted.

 Epilogue

Shaw’s hair smelled strongly of salt water and her brown skin like the sand. She’d darkened everywhere except where her bikini covered. It reminded Root of stripes, for some reason. Maybe because she thought of Shaw as a tiger sometimes, tough and fierce but secretly soft on the inside for the people closest to her. When she kissed her neck Root tasted the salt on her skin.

           It was three weeks into their tropical vacation. They’d stolen a small yacht and cruised to Maldives, Bora Bora, and their final stop was their very own private island in the Bahamas. The sun was low in the sky and a pleasant heat, though Root could feel her back getting sunburned. There would be new freckles on her shoulders that Shaw could press her mouth to.

           “She tells me that they blew up a basement,” Root said against Shaw’s stomach, slowly untying the knots that held the bottom half of her bikini together. “Seems like they’re having fun.”

           “What about the flash drive?” Shaw asked. She groaned deeply when Root began kissing up her inner thighs.

           “Secured. Guards were taken out, kneecaps only. It’ll be arriving at its destination in forty minutes, thirty three seconds.”

           “And the number?”

           “Safely behind bars for the next fifteen years.”

           Shaw’s hands buried themselves in Root’s hair. “Not bad,” she admitted.

           Root glanced up at the cottage. Her back hurt. She pulled away before she could kiss any higher, much to Shaw’s disappointment, and said, “My back’s burnt.”

           Shaw groaned and her head thumped back onto the sand. “That’s what sunscreen’s for.”

           “I’ll reward you generously if you massage aloe into my skin.”

           It was impossible to say no to that.

[0100100100101101]

Berlin—February 1st, 2017. I am rushing through the neighborhood of Mitte, slaloming my way through icy mud piles along the streets. Google tells me the sun is setting today at 16:53. I have two more hours of daylight. Just about enough to get a few shots of Errolson Hugh, the Canadian designer behind the Berlin-based performance wear brand Acronym.

We get together at his studio in the Mitte neighborhood in former East Berlin, which is now a popular bourgeois-bohemian neighborhood. In his loft-like studio, I almost crash into one of the stacks of the hundreds of shoe boxes that dot the floor plan like Greek temple columns. “Sorry about the mess,” Errolson says in a calm voice, “all these shoes go online for sale tonight.” Inside the boxes is the Acronym Nike Air Force 1 Downtown sneaker, the latest edition of their ongoing collaboration. Like almost everything Acronym puts onto the market, it is in high demand and soon to be #VeryRare. I find out later that night that all 600 sneakers sold in less than 12 minutes online.

I look past the shoe boxes through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows. The sky is grey and darkening at the horizon. We dash out in the backyard to catch the last rays of gloomy light. Errolson grabs a couple of black jackets, among them the J1A-GT, a revamped version of Acronym’s first collection from 2002. “It’s damn cold,” I gasp, and Errolson smiles, replying, “Oh, this is nothing compared to where I come from.”

Born in Canada, Errolson grew up facing another echelon of cold winters. To keep ourselves warm, I ask him if he can show me a few martial arts moves, knowing that he has been a karate pro since he was a kid. He shortly considers, looks around the neighborhood, then says, “Yeah, why not.” Errolson tells me that he and his younger brother both started training together, when they were 10 and eight years old, respectively. The uniform, the karate gi, is a very traditional example of Japanese pattern-making, and its geometry is such that there are no restrictions to physical motion. That was the first time Errolson realized a piece of clothing could limit or enable the way the body works. “I was always driving my mom crazy trying to find pants that I could wear and kick in. Any kind of pants. I’d always be in the department stores in the changing rooms, throwing sidekicks,” he says.

Errolson is dressed in his own collection, wearing black P25-CH pants, exactly those ones he dreamt of as a kid—pants you can move in freely, stay outside in, and practice karate. I ask him what he learned from karate apart from how to do a badass axe kick. “Martial arts fosters self-reliance, and you learn to trust your own judgment. You realize, in a very real, physical way, that you can do more than you think you can. The whole mind over matter thing, mastering situations, all of that has real world application, particularly if you’re an entrepreneur or you’re in a super competitive industry, like fashion.“

Only much later would the designer apply the merits of karate to his work process, design, and brand. Errolson’s parents, Chinese-Jamaicans, moved from the tropical Caribbean to the woodlands of Alberta to study architecture. After graduating, they worked together all over Canada, moving around to wherever the jobs would take them. “For me, Canada was the feeling of alienation and total isolation,“ Errolson says about his up-bringing, “Growing up there was myself, my brother, maybe one other Asian kid at school, one black kid. People wanted to grow up and be hockey players or work in the oil industry, that’s kind of all there was, so being a designer was about as realistic as becoming an astronaut.”

Nobody knew anything about fashion. Errolson remembers one shop, which had a copy of The Face and i-D, that was like a message from outer space. “I think it was my guitar teacher who first gave me an issue of The Face,” Errolson remembers, “That blew me away. Then my dad gave me a copy of Interview magazine at Christmas in 1985. Madonna was on the cover, along with handmade pencil drawings. It was this giant newsprint magazine. I still remember spending the entire day reading. I knew every single page of that magazine by like a week later.” With no internet, those rare magazines were the only channel to see what was going on outside of Alberta.

In 1989, Errolson enrolled at Ryerson Polytechnic University. He graduated, but it was a bumpy road. “They tried to kick me out, twice. I was a horrible student—very disruptive and not respectful,“ he confesses. I ask him if it had to do with his karate mentality, the idea of being self-reliant and one’s own boss. “Yeah, there had always been that outsider perspective,” he answers. “It is still that way with my brand.”

In 1999, Errolson registered the brand Acronym with his partner and former girlfriend Michaela Sachenbacher. From the start it focused on experimenting at the edges of what apparel can be. “Acronym is conceptual,” the designer says, “You take something and make it compact and useable. You express something very complex in a compact way, which is similar to everything we’re trying to do with apparel.”

Michaela and Errolson are both trained as designers. She now runs all of the legal, production, and finances of the company from Brooklyn, while Errolson does all of the Acronym studio work, collaborations with Nike or Stone Island, rotating between Berlin, Milan, and Tokyo. They both design Acronym together. “I’m the visible part, but Michaela is equally strong as far as aesthetics, and Acronym definitely wouldn’t look the same if she wasn’t co-owner,” Errolson says, “She is the person I’ve probably learned more from than anyone else in my life. I’ve known her since we were 18.”

Before establishing Acronym as a fashion brand, Michaela and Errolson had a creative agency in Munich. They were designing and art directing mostly active sportswear, for mountain bike or snowboard brands like Burton. Both picked up on the technology that was there and through friends came across military and industrial apparel, which at some point led to the question, “Why can’t we have all of this for everyday use?” The couple realized that what they were looking for in clothes was not yet on the market. “People were like, ‘Oh that sounds terrible, it’s so difficult, it’s expensive, why would you want to do that?’ So we started Acronym almost out of frustration. We said, ‘Alright, if you don’t want to do it, we’ll do it.’ At first, people didn’t care. It was like five to six years before anybody was interested.”

Errolson is well-connected in the fashion world, having lived in Los Angeles, Tokyo, and New York, but for years the brand remained something like an outsider, a well-hidden secret. Another reason Acronym stayed detached from the fashion system is the way the company and the studio work. “We operate in parallel with it, and sometimes we intersect with it,” the designer says about the industry at large, “but for the most part our process and the way we work has almost nothing to do with the way everyone else works. This is our strength and it’s also obviously our weakness. The strength of it is being so outside of the system you develop your own independent way of doing things, and it really gives you an individual approach and a fingerprint. Then the negative part obviously is to interface with the system at play. You’re not limited by the limitations of the system, but you also don’t get to benefit from the advantages of being in the system.”

From the beginning, Acronym was focused on soft and light shell fabrics like Gore-Tex, a lightweight, waterproof, breathable fabric membrane designed for all-weather use. A lot of what Acronym does is taking an unattractive or not obviously stylish fabric and finding a way to make it look good. It always starts with the function of the apparel. There is a lot of thought that goes into each design and an obsession with details. The architectural influence from his parents comes into play with Errolson’s approach to materials. “The whole form follows function thing, fitness to purpose, all of those broad architectural concepts. My brother and I grew up with those all around us, and so it was very natural for me to apply that to apparel.”

Acronym’s collections never have more than 15 pieces, an indication of the painstaking detail that goes into each design. It took three years to work on the brand’s first collection, named Kit-1. It was released in 2002 in an edition of 120, consisting of a jacket, a bag, and accessories. The industry noticed, liked it, and the Fall/Winter 2003 collection was picked up by concept stores like Colette in Paris.

There is a misconception in the fashion world that Acronym limits its number of pieces on purpose to create artificial scarcity. In fact, there is so little of Acronym because it is so hard to make. It is very difficult to find a factory that can meet the technical criteria to produce it, Errolson explains to me while pouring himself a glass of Coca Cola. “There’s always a very specific reason for the things that we put in, and those things happen to be expensive, and that’s why it’s expensive. We’re not trying to create something purposefully scarce or purposefully luxurious, we’re just trying to make the best possible thing we can. It’s not a marketing strategy.”

Until 2009, Errolson and Michaela were the company’s only employees. They got so used to working by themselves and for themselves that when people started knocking at their door, they were surprised. Errolson wondered, “Wow, where did people get our number? Why do you call us?“ Even today, it is still kind of like that. There is no PR, no marketing, hardly any events. It was not simple to reach Errolson as he travels and focuses more on work than doing publicity. Yet the team has grown slowly over the years. “I basically hired all of my friends. We joked that all of the lost children of Berlin end up in our office. In other cities, people talk about being cool, because it’s actually a bankable commodity. The way they describe it, that kind of cool actually exists in Berlin as a real thing. People are legitimately cool here, and it’s not about knowing it. I think that also comes because it’s the least materialistic city I have ever lived in. People just aren’t about money. They just don’t care. I think that’s super healthy.”

Only in the past few years has the visibility of Acronym increased. One factor being the cultural shift in the industry in favor of their aesthetic and the rise of high fashion performance wear. Acronym pioneered the introduction of technology as its own category of design aesthetic, and their moves have paved the way for many brands’ ready-to-wear collections in recent seasons. Today, technology is one of the industry’s big trends, blending traditional sportswear with high fashion. Dubbed athleisure, active wear, or performance wear, it is casual clothing designed to be worn both for exercising and for day-to-day use in the cityscape. Fitness and athleticism has become one of the defining cultural paradigms of contemporary urban life, similar to the powers of street culture, that has turned the fashion world upside down in the last decade.

When I ask Errolson about his relationship to streetwear, he says it is hard for him to have an objective view on that, because he knows those guys, and through his work with Burton snowboards, way back in the day, met a lot of the people who invented what everybody calls streetwear today. In Tokyo, he met people like Nigo, Jun Takahashi, and Hiroshi Fujiwara. “Everything we take for granted as streetwear today,” the designer says, “started there organically. They’re all friends. They worked together. They invented the idea of collaboration.”

Acronym itself slowly began working with very carefully selected partners. After five to six years, they realized that trying to do it all by themselves was not possible. “You can’t change the industry as a single brand,” Errolson admits. Among the collaborations are well-established sportswear and streetwear brands that were part of Acronym’s growth. When Paul Harvey retired from his job as creative director at Stone Island, the Italian brand approached Errolson to be a part of that team, a partnership that gave birth to Stone Island Shadow Project. “That’s been super amazing because we get to do things ourselves,” Errolson says. “That’s the only collection we’ve ever worked on where you get to design not only the pieces but also the fabric of those pieces in the collection. They’re so up for trying different things, difficult things, and stuff no one else would even attempt. They’re like, ‘Yeah, let’s add these three processes on top of it and see what happens.’ And you just don’t get that anywhere else.“

Since 2013, Acronym has had another mutually successful partnership with Nike. Both brands worked together to create iconic sneakers, among them the Lunar Force 1 and recently the Presto Air, which has helped Nike develop an avant-garde feel and reach out to the premium menswear segment of the sneaker market. Both companies also worked together on another line, relaunching ACG (All Conditions Gear), Nike’s iconic mountaineering-inspired offering. “It’s the first time we’re really able to work at a scale where we can take an idea and put it on the street in a way that’s much more accessible to more people than we would with Acronym,” Errolson reflects. “Working with Nike means that you’re really working with pop culture. It’s not just a product or a collection. It’s so ingrained into so many people’s histories.”

When Errolson says this, we both glance at the hundreds of shoe boxes in the studio, holding the latest much-anticipated collaboration between Acronym and Nike. By the time the interview ends, the sun is down, leaving this part of the studio in the shade. It is hard to imagine that all the sneakers will be gone soon. Other parts of the studio show pieces of older Acronym collections and accessories, most of them designed from black materials. I ask him if that color is a fetish. “According to my dad, I used to wear all black when I was 10, which is kind of strange to me because that’s before Yohji and Comme des Garçons, which I never would have heard about anyways. He thinks it’s from being influenced by Arata Isozaki, who is a Japanese architect, which kind of makes more sense because there were definitely a lot more architecture books around. But with Acronym later, and the size of production that we used to do, black was the only color that all of the suppliers would have on stock, and that you could order and expect to look sort of okay. That’s why everything is black.”

Besides the underlying constants of dark colors, select materials, and a focus on functionality, in recent seasons, Acronym started to concentrate on pattern-making and how the garments move on the body. As with everything, Acronym takes its time. It’s a culture of methodical tactility. When Errolson mentions this shift, I am reminded of his karate gi and how it sensitized his perception of fashion and empowered him to become a better fighter. “That’s why fashion is so powerful,” Errolson says. “It’s that intersection of design, communication, and identity. It’s a large part of who you are, how you define yourself, how you present yourself to the world. So people definitely get attached to that. Plus, it’s just hard to find a pair of pants that fit you perfectly. It’s actually quite difficult.”

Before leaving his studio, I ask Errolson what was the last mind-opening thing he learned from someone. He tells me about his daughter and seeing her grow up: “It’s amazing to see somebody discover everything for the first time and it’s a good reminder that there can be magic in the most banal things.”

[meadowsland]

THRIVE OR SURVIVE

BY ZACH MORTICE

São Paolo is a small aquaponics farming settlement where residents and visitors gather medicinal compounds from the surrounding jungle. 2100: A Dystopian Utopia—The City After Climate Change, by Vanessa Keith/StudioTEKA (New York: Urban Research, 2017). Courtesy of Terreform.

In the not-so-distant future, what remains of São Paulo is something like an ecoresort medical crop farm for ewoks. People from all over the world travel to its lush, frequently flooded rain forest and set up shop in ovular pods in the treetops connected by open-air skywalks. They farm fish, grow sugarcane, and harvest rare, medicinal compounds from the surrounding jungle. Crews deconstruct the old city, leaving more room for this life-saving flora to reassert itself.

A continent away, the city of Phoenix, Arizona, is also in the process of unbecoming. Residents of its single-family houses are cannibalizing their neighborhoods at the stern urging of statist security forces. (Let’s say something like United Nations troops, perhaps wearing black helmets instead of blue ones.) The nation’s sixth-largest city will be shrunk to a tiny fraction of its former size to make way for more massive solar energy farms that dominate the desert landscape. Former Arizonans are invited to move themselves along with the bricks and mortar of their communities to a burgeoning megacity in Vancouver. Some people don’t want to go, and are meeting in secret to talk about what to do if they’re forced.

Those companion (but tonally opposed) visions of the future begin with the same book, Vanessa Keith’s 2100: A Dystopian Utopia—The City After Climate Change, published by Terreform’s Urban Research, Michael Sorkin’s publishing imprint. It envisions a world where preventing the two-degree Celsius change in global temperatures to forestall a total ecological collapse is a quaint memory. In 2100, global temperatures have risen by four degrees Celsius. Much of North America and Europe is a largely uninhabitable desert. Humanity races toward the poles, purposefully melting glaciers for freshwater and establishing a new stock exchange in Greenland. Many millions of people are displaced by climate change, yet the global population reaches 10 billion. Carbon is sequestered from the air into carbon fiber, and concrete megastructure biomes in Antarctica are filled with pleasure gardens and fresh fruits and vegetables. Is this a resilient techno-utopia or a tomb for the dying days of humanity? It’s presented as neither, exactly, with the direct, matter-of-fact tone of exhibition wall text, and with no political undercurrents inherent in mass relocation induced by climate change. Keith, an architect whose practice is StudioTEKA, puts this contradiction up front. “This work is intended to be both a resounding call to action,” she writes, “and an optimistic proposal for the difficult future we stand to inherit if we do not act.”

Much of Phoenix, Arizona, is given over to solar power farms as the city is largely deconstructed. 2100: A Dystopian Utopia—The City After Climate Change, by Vanessa Keith/StudioTEKA (New York: Urban Research, 2017). Courtesy of Terreform.

Keith’s most ingenious idea is the pairing of city types that organize the book and form closed resource loops in its world. There are extraction cities (often located in a very wide equatorial band with extreme weather) that are cannibalized for materials, mined for energy, and staffed by a skeleton crew of residents. These formerly great cities, like Manila and New York, harvest wind energy from constant tropical storms or take advantage of other extreme weather for energy generation. Each extraction city is paired with a compact megacity: ultradense settlements closer to the poles that welcome climate refugees (and energy generated in the depopulated zones) into hive-like high-rises. Sleepy Siberian outposts become thick with biomorphic megascrapers. In Vancouver, acres of trees and understory march up sloped skyscrapers. In Wellington, “landscrapers” burrow into the earth and also funnel wind energy. Johannesburg’s buildings are covered in facades that allow all manner of vines and animal habitats to dig in, acting as a huge carbon sink. They’re also a vital element of ecological preservation, since half of all animal species have gone extinct.

In Johannesburg, building facades that act as habitats for plants and animals provide refuge in a world where half of all species have already gone extinct. 2100: A Dystopian Utopia—The City After Climate Change, by Vanessa Keith/StudioTEKA (New York: Urban Research, 2017). Courtesy of Terreform.

This key pairing is what allows Keith to stop short of a total Malthusian collapse for humanity. Securing resources and habitable land in such a tight city-to-city connection across international borders also seems implicitly to call for the dissolution of the nation–state as the fundamental organizing unit of government, and for the re-emergence of the city–state.

Keith’s book tears down disciplinary divisions and assumed divisions between the natural and the urban. It reaffirms the omnipresent need in the climate change era for all infrastructure to serve multiple functions. All the technology she mentions either exists or is being researched. For decades now, ecologists and environmental designers have been reminding the world that humans must find ways to live more in concert with nature’s design. But in 2100, we’re forced to pound ourselves out on the climate change anvil of our own design. Keith talked with LAM about what these hammer strokes might look like.

So is this a utopia or a dystopia?

We’re trying to get away from binary thinking of a dystopia or a utopia. It’s really hard to separate. What we’re trying to really do is focus on hybridity. Things can be this and that. We can have a utopia within a dystopia. We took as our site this world at four degrees of warming, which is arguably dystopian.  And it’s far from ideal, but if we keep going, it may very well happen. The utopian part of the book is that, while we have not been able to stop global warming, we’ve been able to prepare for it in a way that is orderly and in a way that hasn’t caused chaos and death on a massive scale.

Troll is Antarctica’s first large city. 2100: A Dystopian Utopia—The City After Climate Change, by Vanessa Keith/StudioTEKA (New York: Urban Research, 2017). Courtesy of Terreform.

Outside of the habitable megastructures that several of these projects use, what you see in these scenarios pretty broadly falls under the definition of landscape architecture or landscape urbanism. What can these design practices do that others can’t in this extreme climate?

I feel that landscape architecture has an enormous role to play, and that we need to have more collaboration and interdisciplinary work across our fields. In Troll [Antarctica], the landscape is inside the building. So, is that interior design or landscape design? Who does that? Is that the architect or the landscaper? We need to think beyond these categories.

We’re going to have to work together internationally, and we’re going to have to work together across the divides in our thinking that act as a blind spot preventing us from seeing solutions. The city is not separate from nature. There’s nature in cities—we just don’t choose to see it that way. What’s really required is a new perspective and work that is truly interdisciplinary. Why is it that the architect makes the building, the interior designer does the inside, and the landscape architect does the outside? Maybe nature [forces us to] rethink these artificial positions we have.

In Beijing, former landfills are mined for precious metals. 2100: A Dystopian Utopia—The City After Climate Change, by Vanessa Keith/StudioTEKA (New York: Urban Research, 2017). Courtesy of Terreform.

The challenge is to create intermediate spaces that are neither fully urban nor fully of the biosphere. If you look at the example of Beijing, I wanted to have a site where we could look at the issue of polluted environments, and how we deal with waste. Eco-System, a recycling plant near Tokyo, produces around 600 pounds of gold per month—as much gold as a small gold mine—from old cell phones and circuit boards. I really feel that in the future we’ll go back to our landfills and mine them like we currently mine for gold. There’s so much value in the things we throw away.

Which of these places would you really want to visit? Which sound terrible to you?

I’d like to visit all of them! I love New York, and I live here now, but if we go to a four-degree world, I don’t know if anyone is going to want to be in a coastal area during hurricane season. Wellington is very interesting. The climate is supposed to be pretty mild there, even with four degrees of warming. I really like the idea that we have this radial city over a gorge with these furry bridges that collect wind energy, and I like the public outdoor space in the stacked rambla. People might also want to tour the energy installations in Manila and New York, and spending time in São Paulo in the rain forest either as a vacationer or a volunteer looks like it would be great. The places you’re going to want to spend the most time are the compact megacities. We envisioned a world of dense urban settlements, smaller-scale outpost settlements, and a lot of wilderness, farming, and renewable energy farms in between. Not a lot of urban sprawl.

“Landscrapers” in Wellington help funnel wind energy. 2100: A Dystopian Utopia—The City After Climate Change, by Vanessa Keith/StudioTEKA (New York: Urban Research, 2017). Courtesy of Terreform.

Are these places to thrive as a species or places simply to survive? Or are both of these ways of living happening at the same time?

I think they’re places to thrive. I don’t want to see a world where we’re focused only on survival. I think that if we have a world where we’re able to harness our smarts and our technology, that we would do it in such a way to have a better quality of life.

So why not shade this more intensely as a pure, joyous utopia or completely dismal hellscape, instead of a more middle-of-the-road approach?

I wouldn’t say that it’s middle-of-the-road. Again, it’s utopia within dystopia. It would be horrifically irresponsible of me to say, “Let’s just go on the way we are.” Right now business as usual is six or seven degrees by 2100. At six degrees [warming], with very warm oceans, hurricanes can circumnavigate the globe multiple times. That is not something that we want. What we want to emphasize is, look at all this great stuff that’s going on. Look at all these wonderful people that are doing this research to solve our problems. Why don’t we start using that now, and maybe we can have something that’s better than we’re imagining?

Compact megacity Moscow is a vertical maze of old and new high-rises. 2100: A Dystopian Utopia—The City After Climate Change, by Vanessa Keith/StudioTEKA (New York: Urban Research, 2017). Courtesy of Terreform.

But why not scare people the other way with UN storm troopers and mass relocation to the Antarctic? There’s the carrot, and the stick.

Within the arc of a few years we’ve gone from thinking that driving a hybrid SUV and recycling was doing enough to [solve] the problem, to [thinking] “it’s so big I can’t do anything.” People get crisis fatigue. Everything’s a crisis. If you can’t do anything, you may as well party while the world burns. I didn’t want to do the storm trooper vision of the future because it makes people feel overwhelmed and that there’s nothing we can do, and that’s not true. I don’t want people to feel disempowered and that they have to wait for a top-down state solution.

Zach Mortice is a Chicago-based architecture and landscape architecture journalist. Listen to his Chicago architecture and design podcast A Lot You Got to Holler, and follow him on Twitter and Instagram. 

from Landscape Architecture Magazine https://landscapearchitecturemagazine.org/2017/05/11/thrive-or-survive/