#( listen ok listen I know this is mostly a very /VAGUE/ reply to this prompt )

[mercysought]

❝ there's one thing i know in my bones. there is no force in this world that can control you. ❞ - dealer’s choice

arcane season 2 // @hoboblaidd // accepting

There is much that we have forgotten. I have come to accept that, one way or another, we - the dalish - are not the last of the elvhenan. How could we ever be if such a place (A place for Our People) was broken so long ago? I think a lot about something I was told, upon first discovering that some of the People still walked and protected those same spaces that we had tried so hard to recover.

They never sought us out, they knew were lived in forests and in Clans and yet simply watched on, thinking of us like Shadows wearing vallas'lin. Shattered pieces of a past that had once been their present.

Despite the oath at the Dales, the reality is that whatever empire the elvhen once had - it is not something we can recover; nor should we. I have had enough time to think about it and, truthfully, while I believe the vallas'lin no longer carry the meaning of old, if I were to be asked once more, I wouldn't be able to carry it, to keep it. Not after learning what I have. It is an uphill battle that every dalish person will have to reckon with: to preserve the past and poison the future, to remember what has happened with nuance of knowing how fickle memory can be.

Or perhaps, to allow ourselves the nuance and the grace that comes from change. In the end, however, it should still be each of that Dalish person's choice: To keep it with its changed, new meaning, with a shameful past but a brighter life. Or to leave it behind and allow memory to destroy it too.

The Vallas'lin were markings with which the Evanuris branded their slaves, both high and low. But they are no longer. The Evanuris are dead and we are not.

   "You came here to help, Solas. I won’t let them use that against you." She had said, almost in disbelief when he had spoken almost as if he had seriously been considering leaving. This new title, Inquisitor, still felt like a fresh wound against her. Raw and impossibly larger than any life that Asharen had ever known. Solas was the only person that had seemingly cared whether she lived or died regardless of the anchor in her hand. However, this much she knew, understood: Cassandra, Leliana and Cullen, they listened to her. She wasn't sure how far she could push it. But three humans, non mages, listened.    "How would you stop them?" she hears him ask and his eyes are on her. Her brows arch as if she doesn't understand the question. And perhaps she doesn't. How did you defend the younger ones of the clan when you knew templars were marching in the surrounding clan areas? He was bare faced, but so were many in Antiva City, many that had come to her defense too.    "However I had to."

The First Inquisitor of the Chantry's Inquisition was a dalish elf - a mage - who worked alongside humans in Orlais. He died holding another world shattering threat, hoping that would keep the dales safe. It didn't.

It should not surprise me how frequently history repeats itself and yet we stand at the closing of another cycle: I too am dalish, a mage and Inquisitor during the fight against Corypheus. It does not escape my thoughts that this too is likely to be my fate. Even as I write these in the hopes of clearing my mind, I know that one way or another they will likely find themselves in hands that are not mine.

While I know that is outside of my control, my wishes, I instead find myself hoping that while it will be the interest of my title (and, hopefully, name) which will draw eyes to the writing, that it will be its contents and the History within that will keep it being repeated and passed on.

Those who hold the records of History, true or not, are the same that will control the new path the Dalish will take moving forward. The Oath of the Dales has promised that we shall never submit again. We are more than our aravels, our halla, our arlathven. We are more than our oath. We are more than our loss, our grief.

Do not forget the lessons of old, but do not allow them to destroy the joys of the present.

[astronomoney]

Love and War (but mostly war): Part 1

Loving Hate

Paring: damian wayne x reader (she/her pronouns mentions vaguely)

Summary: Being the partner of Damian Wayne comes with its own difficulties. Especially when you’re both hot tempered teenagers who don’t know how to talk to your crush.

Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence, and mild swearing

A/n: Ok so this is actually a rewrite of an older fic under the same name. I really liked this prompt but i thought i could do a lot better so i decided to try. this new revised version is going to be multiple parts, enemies to lovers, slight slow burn, with a side of fluff and extra helping of angst. hopfullly this one is even better then the last one. also the support divider was made by @maysdigitalarts ;)

Word count: 2.2k i’m pretty sure

Part 1/?: part one — part two — next part

Also in desperate need of requests:) info on that here

Being a superhero can be difficult. It can be even more difficult when your partner is an absolute dick. So for you being a superhero was very difficult.

You didn’t choose to be partners with Robin but as the newest Batgirl you found it came with the job. It turns out Robin was just as unhappy with this predicament as you were.

You tried to be friends with him at first, but after about 2 weeks you realized you weren’t getting anywhere and gave up. After you had proved your skills to Damian he stopped complaining about being partnered with you on patrol but he didn’t stop criticizing your every move. His comments led to more than one petty argument.

He was an asshole to you whenever he got the chance but somehow your over romantic heart decided the shit eating grin that he wore whenever he beat you at sparring was very attractive. You couldn’t help but think he secretly wasn’t so mean. Once when you got hurt on the field and he had to bandage you up before taking you back to the cave, he seemed worried and it was almost like he cared about your well being.

You remembered taking on 3 thugs and how the last one pulled a knife out of nowhere. He thrust it towards you before you could react and it sliced across your forearm. You knocked him out with a swift kick and turned to see how your partner was doing, almost forgetting about the cut. It wasn’t a terrible wound but the blood made it look a lot worse than it was.

Damian punched the last man, successfully knocking him out before looking over at you. You heard sirens in the distance and he motioned for you to follow him to the roof. You remembered the climb being painful but you didn’t want him to lecture you about being weak so you sucked it up and kept climbing.

When you had reached the roof he was already listening to the police scanner, looking for your next hit. You had walked over to him and sat on the ledge with your back facing the street. You examined the cut and tried not to make any noise. That’s when Damian looked up and saw your blood covered arm. You were surprised at how quickly he rushed to your side and pulled out a bat-aid kit.

“When did this happen? Why didn’t you tell me you were hurt? How deep is it?” He had bombarded you with questions while wiping off some of the blood.

“I’m fine, it’s nothing. Just a scratch.” You smiled unconvincingly and winced when his gloved hand passed over a particularly painful spot.

“Don’t lie to me. I can tell when you are.” He didn’t look up at you or stop but he was more gentle after that.

“Oh? What’s this? Could it be the one and only Robin is worried, about me?” You had exaggerated shock in your voice.

“TT of course not,” He replied stiffly, finally glaring up at you. “I’d just prefer it if my partner didn’t pass out from blood loss.” You remembered the pain of the cleaning alcohol on the fresh wound. You had hissed slightly at the feeling but sucked in your breath to avoid any further embarrassment. “There, you’ll live but from now you don't hide things from me. Got it?”

That was almost 2 weeks ago but the memory was still clear in your mind. Ever since then you noticed Damian checking on you more often. For a short time you thought this was finally the beginning of a possible friendship but eventually brushed it off as him thinking you were weak or something like that. It seemed a bit more on brand after all.

Today had been pretty shitty to begin with so patrol was pretty much a guaranteed nightmare. Your bus was late so you didn’t get home on time and then you had a mountain of homework to do. Studying had been pushed to the back burner ever since you had started officially working with Batman so you had fallen a bit behind on schoolwork and it was all catching up to you.

Damian had some intel about a drug deal so you both decided to have a mini stakeout and see who showed up. He told you to be there by 10 but you lost track of time and didn’t end up arriving until well after 10:30. This provoked a very boring lecture about time management that you were definitely not in the mood for.

The drug deal went down as expected and you and Damian jumped in to round up the bad guys. It was going fine until one of them slipped past you and managed to escape.

“Damnit!” You exclaimed as the back door swung shut. “I’ll get him!”

“No, don't!” Damian yelled after you but you didn’t listen. You heard him curse and something that sounded like a batarang hitting a wall before the noises blended together and eventually faded.

The man was fast and you were about a block away from the fight when you finally caught up to him. “Gotcha now, asshole.” You smirked as he was backed into an alleyway with no way out. He smirked back and knocked on the door next to him. 11 more thugs emerged and you realized just how bad you had messed up. “Oh you’ve got to be shitting me.” You muttered under your breath while backing up ever so slightly.

One of the men spoke up. “Aw what’s the matter little girl? Don’t tell me you’re scared.” He laughed and others joined him. You let him take a few more steps so he was within your range before grabbing a batarang from your belt and throwing it at him.

He was caught by surprise and had to swerve to avoid the sharp tool. This was exactly the reaction you’d hoped for and gave you time to lunge and land a solid hit to his stomach. He fell back into two of the thugs with a grunt. A man a bit more to your left shouted some profanities at you before charging. You dodged and he ran right into a dumpster, effectively knocking him out.

“2 down, 10 more to go. So who’s next?” You said boldly, despite the odds being very much not in your favor. 3 men launched at you from different angles and you dodged but the move forced you deeper into the alley so there were now 4 men in between you and the exit. “Well shit.” That’s when your knight in shining armor showed up to save the day.

“Well shit times 2,” You muttered.

Damian hit harder than normal and you knew it was because you’d run off without him. Usually he’d wait until you got back to the cave to lecture you but today he didn’t seem as patient. “I told you!” Punch. “Not to!” Dodge. “Chase him!” Kick.

“This might come as a shock,” You grabbed an old book from the trash and threw it at someone. “But I don’t take orders from you.”

“You don’t take orders from anyone apparently.” He sounded angry. Really angry. He started ranting something in a language you didn't quite understand but you had a pretty good guess as to what he was saying.

It took about 10 minutes to knock out the rest of the men and tie them to a street lamp. You had alerted the police and could hear sirens in the distance which meant it was time to go. You turned around and saw Damian was already climbing to the rooftop.

“Where are we going now?” You asked once you’d reached the rooftop as well. You were hoping to brawl with a few more thugs before the night was over. Fighting always helped you relieve stress and right now you have a lot of stress to relieve.

“We’re going to the cave.” He replied simply walking fast and not stopping to let you catch up.

“What? Already? It’s only like midnight. I’m sure there’s some more douche bags that need to be caught.” You knew he was mad at you but cutting a patrol short? He’d only ever done that once or twice in extreme situations. He didn’t respond but instead jumped down off the roof into an alleyway where his motorcycle was waiting. You assumed he’d called it there while he was walking.

“Go back to the cave. I’ll meet you there.” He finally spoke, before speeding off and leaving you alone.

You watched his silhouette disappear down the street and let out a loud groan. “Great, now I get chewed out for trying to stop the bad guy,” You grumbled. “This is definitely not what I wanted to do tonight.” You called your motorcycle to you and it showed up a minute later. You hoped on and headed to the cave, already trying to think up good arguments for the conversation that you knew was coming.

Once you pulled into the cave you parked your bike. You saw Damian was leaning his back against the medical table and he had his arms crossed over his chest. His mask was off and you could see the anger in his eyes as they watched you hop off your bike. Dick, Jason, and Tim were standing nearby but you didn’t pay them much attention. You walked up to Damian who glared at you but didn’t say anything

You’d done the whole “Silently stare each other down until the other person says something” thing a few times but today you didn’t have the patience to try and wait him out. You took off your mask so that your eyes could met his. “Look, I know you’re a little upset with me-”

“A little upset?” He cut you off, pushing himself off the table and taking a step towards you “I’m pissed!” 3 heads from across the room turned towards the brewing fight. “I specifically told you not to chase him.”

“That’s why you ended the patrol?” You asked in disbelief. “Because I did something you didn’t want me to?”

“You ran off on your own. That’s not ok.” He stepped closer again and you were forced to tilt your head up slightly to maintain his gaze.

“Oh please you run off on your “Lone wolf” bullshit all the time.” You saw the other boys getting up out of the corner of your eye but still didn’t acknowledge them.

“That’s different.” He seethed with anger and you still couldn’t understand why but at this point it didn’t matter to you. You had bottled up almost all your harsh feelings towards him and it was finally spilling over. All the times he’d sneered at you or told you to give up on being a hero were flooding back and fueling the anger in the pit of your stomach.

“Because you’re better than me right? Because you’re the one and only Damian Wayne, son of Batman and the greatest goddamn Robin to walk the earth!” You raised your voice letting sarcasm steer your words. “You’re mad because I don’t take orders from you and your over sized ego can’t handle that.”

“I’m mad because I can’t trust you!” He shot back, raising his voice to match yours. “We’re supposed to be partners but you’re too stubborn and immature to listen to me. This isn’t just about tonight and you know it. I can’t do what needs to be done if I’m too busy trying to make sure you don’t get killed.” There it was again. The ghost of concern buried deep under his tone.

“I can take care of myself just fine. I don’t need you to save me like I'm some damsels in distress.”

“Really? Because I had to save you tonight!” This made you furious. You went to respond but a black and blue gloved hand had already found its way over your mouth. You hadn’t even realized how close you were to Damian until Dick was pushing the two of you apart. And you two had been pretty damn close.

“That’s enough!” Dick exclaimed, sounding very annoyed. “You’re supposed to be a team and instead you two have been at each other’s throats ever since you were paired up.”

“It’s all her fault-” Damian started but was cut off.

“First of all, I'm not done yet. Secondly you’re both to blame,” Dick said pointedly. “We’re all sick of your bickering so if you don’t figure out how to get along we’re taking matters into our own hands.” he nodded at Jason and Tim.

Tim was sitting on the table that Damian had been leaning on when you arrived and he, unsurprisingly, had a cup of coffee in his hand. Jason was standing next to Tim with a look of slight amusement.

“What the hell does that even mean?”

“At best,”Jason spoke up. “we get you couples therapy. At worst, we lock you two in a room and take bets on who kills who.”

“That’s not true,” Dick interrupted again. “We’re not taking any bets,” he corrected.

“You’re not but me and Tim already have a pot going. Alfreds in on it and I'm pretty sure Bruce wants to join too.” Jason looked at you and winked. “My moneys on you sweetheart.”

Part 2

A/n: and so it begins dun dun duuunnnn anywho if you’d like to be tagged in up coming parts reply here i should be posting updates regularly and i wouldn’t want anyone to miss them :)

[bibliocratic]

For your writing prompts, I’ve always found that the phrase “for you” has a certain gravity, so maybe something with that? :3

This was such a good prompt, which is my only excuse for why this is three days late and barely counts as a drabble at all.

jonmartin, post-S5 domesticity and parenthood

“He was showing me another room he's made it to on his game,” Jon offers as an explanation as he ambles back into the living room. “Some sort of creepy dungeon, lots of what I can only presume are zombies. He can turn into a dragon now with this magic cloak thing, it's all very sophisticated.”

Martin, whose knowledge and ability with video games both started and ended with having a go on someone's Game Boy Colour one rainy school break, makes a supportive, 'showing-interest' noise as he feels around for the remote before finding it wedged under his thigh, muting the sound of a gritty BBC drama he is clearly not enamoured by. He shuffles over to make room on the sofa. Disturbing the cat, who jumps off his knees, casting a betrayed gaze upon the offender before she haughtily goes to commandeer the high-backed chair usually taken up by Jon.

“Dragons are one of the few things that haven't turned out to actually exist, and tried to murder us.”

“Oh, don't be like that,” Jon smiles as he drops down next to him.  Martin's got a beer out of the fridge now Lewis has gone to bed, and Jon leans forward to snaffle it from the coffee table, takes an  slow sip, winces at the flavour and puts it back down on its coaster. “Swimming's at ten Saturday, isn't it? Still haven't fixed his goggles.”

“Half past, they had to move the rota round for some other thing,” Martin says distantly.  In the background, someone on the TV has their mouth bared in shouting, and some grim-dark poorly shaved detective is holding a gun.

Martin's shoulders are set tight. He's twisting his wedding ring round and round and round, fidgety and unsettled all evening, and now he's leant forward with his elbows on his knees, half-way through a beer on a Thursday night even though he can get funny about drinking in the house on a weekday.

“You want to talk about it?” Jon asks quietly.

Martin frowns, but doesn't ask how he knows. His palm opens from clenched to fold their fingers together, his touch chilly from the condensation on the bottle.

Jon waits for him.

Martin clears his throat. He sources out the remote again and flicks the TV to standby, the dour detective vanishing morosely.

“I'd like to talk to you about something,” Martin replies eventually. “And I know that we're not going to agree on it, but I want you to at least – hear me out, alright?”

“Alright,” Jon says carefully. A frown has rooted on his own face, but he pushes the curious simmer to a lower heat and tries to be patient. “Alright. What – what do you want to talk about?”

“What happened last week.”

“Martin...”

“Let me finish,” Martin says, his tone slightly sharper. He doesn't shout, never in the house. The only time Lewis sees his dad raise his voice in anger, he's belligerently got his hands in the guts of the boiler, pride the only thing stopping him call a plumber, or else he's stubbed his toe against the side table he always manages to catch.

Jon lets out a heavy breath.

“Fine,” he says. “Fine – we – we can talk about it. You know what I think.”

“Yeah, well, I don't.”

“It was an outlier. It doesn't mean there's a conspiracy.”

“I can't see why you're downplaying this. It was a threat, and you got hurt.”

“A few bruises from the fall. Look, Daisy and Basira handled it. They were – they were a lone Hunter. It wasn't anything organised, so I don't see the need to twist myself in knots when it won't happen again.”

Martin scoffs dismissive. “Last I counted, we've had three 'it won't happens again' in the last ten years. Face it, we've been lucky. This one got too close.”

“So what are you suggesting?” Jon says, deliberately calmly. Martin'll get to his point eventually, but he'd rather cut through whatever he's been stewing in for the past several hours.

Martin throws up his hands.

“I am suggesting that we consider the very real possibility that something like this might happen again. Something worse than some mangy Hunter or clueless cultist. These things out there.... there's more than one of them who'd see a former Archivist as a threat, Christ, I just want you to take this seriously...”

“I do take – ” Jon's voice spikes before he exhales hard and lowers his tone again. “Of course I take this seriously. Of course I worry. But if someone came here, if anyone came here, I'd – I'd Know....”

“Knowing didn't stop you from getting hurt,” Martin insists.  “It – it doesn't make you invincible.”

“I've never thought that...”

“We need to prepared, is all I'm saying. Your... the knowledge you get from the Eye, it's so much, it's so much less than before. So what if it's not enough, what if it tells you something too late or not at all?”

“Martin, I'm not going to get myself worked up over maybes.”

“Maybe you should!” Martin snaps.

They are both bullishly quiet for a moment before Martin holds his hands up again.

“Alright,” he presses on, lower pitched than before. “Alright, then lets deal with facts then. Fact number one: there are – there are forces out there that want to see you come to harm.”

“Martin.”

“Am I correct?” Martin repeats. His gaze won't leave Jon's. His temper's made his neck and throat go blotchy, but he's pressing his hands down too hard on his knees to stop their tremors.

Jon meets his eyes.

“Correct,” he says. Because it's what Martin wants to hear, because it's what Jon tries not to think about when the night-time drags loud and sleepless, and every noise he cannot account for takes on the guise of malevolence.

“Fact two,” Martin continues. “There is the possibility – no, no, listen to me, Jon – there is the chance, however small, that those forces, those people, could come here.”

“So what, we should install more locks? Buy more fire extinguishers?”

“This isn't funny,” Martin says waspish.

“I'm not laughing,” Jon replies dogged.

Martin lets out another aggrieved noise. He takes a moment, steeples his hands against the lower half of his face.

“That Hunter,” Martin says slowly. “Had our address on them. Knew where we lived. If Daisy and Basira hadn't sorted them out, they would have come here, and tried again. And if it can happen once, then it could happen again. A-and some of those people, the ones that serve their gods a-and want to make a name for themselves by going after an Archivist – ”

Here Martin's voice catches thready, the centre of his terrors finally excavated.

“I can't – I can't protect you from that, Jon,” he confesses. “I can't protect Lewis from that. And if someone comes here, what if you can't either? You're not – you're not exactly in the game of e-exploding people any more.”

“Been trying to give it up,” Jon replies. Martin's laugh is a little wet.

“Sets a bad example anyway.”

Jon rubs the skin of Martin's hand. He doesn't know what he can say to make this better.

“I would like to propose an idea,” Martin says. Softer now. More tired. “and I-I want you to hear me out.”

“OK.”

“Whatever it is.”

“You're not exactly inspiring confidence.”

Martin gives him a Look.

“OK,” Jon says, rubbing his thumb over Martin's knuckles. “OK, I promise. Whatever it is, I-I'll at least listen.”

Martin nods, and though his lips are pinched, he squeezes Jon's hand once gratefully. He separates them, and gets up, going over to his shoulder bag slouched by the door. He'd been vague, earlier this week, when he'd gone out on an 'errand'.  Jon had assumed it was something to do with their anniversary in the next few weeks.

Martin takes out a thick clump of folders from the stomach of the bag. Jon's heart drops when he sees the green-ink stamp of an imperious owl on the front of the beige folders but he says nothing.

“I have been thinking,” Martin says, planting himself back down. “About back-up plans. Last resorts, you know.  If someone does come here, if they're more than either of us can handle, if we can't keep our son safe.”

He passes Jon the folders. They're stuffed wide with statements, corroborating evidence, photographs, police reports, newspaper snippets attached with paper clips. Jon reads the introductions of a few statements as he flicks through, feeling not a little unmoored by the way this conversation has progressed – Statement of Dai Williams, regarding a library in Blaenau Gwent; Statement of  Michalis Charalambous, regarding an unusual wedding present – and something aches in him like a barely-forgotten hunger, twinges like an old wound.

Near the top of the pile,  there's a photograph, blown up to A4 size, of a book. The backdrop of an unremarkable desk, the cover itself blue backed, scuffed and foxed with age, the silver title decorated with florid curlicues: The Shipping Forecast and Other Nautical Curiosities. There's no author.

“What's this?”

“It's a Leitner,” Martin says. Not briskly, but straight-off the bat.

Jon pushes down several reactions with difficulty. Martin knows how he feels about Leitner. Martin wouldn't bring this to him, knowing what histories have left their scars on him, and beg for Jon to listen to him if it wasn't important.

“Go on,” Jon says, and nothing else.

“This book is currently in Archive Storage, where it's been for the past twenty or so years,”  Martin continues. He's to-the-point now, direct, and Jon appreciates it.  “Those are copies of all the statements I could find related to it, or people who have been in contact with it, and it makes up a fairly consistent picture of ownership and exchange for at least the past hundred and fifty years, records get a bit patchy before that.”

“Which Power?”

“The Lonely.”

That makes Jon look up. Martin's jaw is set for an argument but his voice betrays him.

“Tell me,” he says.

“The statements are all mostly the same. The book gets found or left as inheritance or in library donations, and some poor sod picks it up. Specifically, what happens is it renders people invisible when they read it.”

Jon blinks.

“... you're taking the piss.”

“No. Practical research did some basic experiments to test it before it was boxed up properly, they've – there's notes there, if you want to read in detail, but basically, you read a few lines of it, and you and whatever you're holding can't be seen. It wears off after a while, depending on how much you've read. The researchers went up to about a page.”

“There's a catch, obviously.”

“It's addictive to some people. Some of the people in the statements can use it once, get the heebie-jeebies then never touch it again, some of them can't shake the urge. The – er invisibility is more tempting to those vulnerable to the Lonely, or so the hypothesis goes. They read a little more, a little more and then, they're just gone.”

“So it's dangerous?”

“Yes.”

“Then why? Why show me this?”

“If someone comes here,” Martin says, “If it's – if it's the Vast o-or the Desolation or even th-the Slaughter, we can't fight them. We can't, OK, we-we have nothing that we could fight them with. So we can't fight them, and we can't outrun them, and I don't think hiding under the bed and hoping they leave is going to do much either. The best we can hope for is that we have a few minutes grace courtesy of your magical eyeballs. And that would at the very least give us time, to get Lewis somewhere safe, get out of harm's way, to go to Daisy's or something.”

“And your great plan is that we use a Leitner to what, turn invisible and sneak away unseen?”

“I'm asking you at least consider it.”

“I have considered it and it's – it's a Leitner, Martin! You know how I –  They're not toys, they're dangerous!”

“I know that! Of course I know that. But so is being unprotected! We wouldn't be using it for – it would be a last resort, nothing more. You can read the statements and the reports. I've read them all, over and over again, I-I've checked and doubled checked. As far as I can tell, the turning invisible is a temporary state.”

“For the right people. What about you?”

Martin does not meet his eyes.

“I wouldn't be using it.”

“...What.”

“I wouldn't – I wouldn't be able to,” he says. Quieter, self-conscious. “Much as I like to think that I'm – no. No, it'd be, it'd be too much of a temptation.”

Jon's tone has slipped flat and hard.

“So you're suggesting an escape plan that, what, doesn't include you?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Jon – ”

“No!” Jon wants to get up, to stand, to shake Martin by his ridiculous shoulders, because how dare he, how dare he. “No, how can you even ask me that?”

“Because I need to,” Martin urges. “Because it's not just us. Because if the worst happens, I need to know we have some way of protecting Lewis, that you could use that book to make sure he's safe.”

“And leave you.”

“I'm not the one they want.”

“I don't remember them being all that picky about hurting whoever was in their way,” Jon bites back, and he knows he's louder now, that his eyes are getting wet and his face hot. “You can't know that.”

“No,” Martin replies honestly. “No, I-I can't.”

Jon rubs at his eyes. The anger's boiled over and out of him at a dizzyingly come-down from furious. He listens, wondering if they've woken Lewis, but he doesn't hear the squeak of bed-springs. There's a wind picking up outside, and the cat twitches in sleep.

He doesn't feel angry any more. Just sick and scared.

“That's not fair,” he swallows, looking at the damp-blurred image of his husband's face. “That – that's not fair, to ask this.”

Martin's moved closer. Places his hand back over Jon's.

“I know,” he murmurs, and he sounds sorry, but that doesn't help either of them.  “I know it's not. And if there was – was any other option, I wouldn't even think of suggesting it. But I'd, I'd like you to think about it. Please. For me.”

Jon leafs through the folders in his hands without taking any of them in. Martin strokes his back soothingly, and crowds in too close, not close enough.

“I'll read them,” Jon says eventually. Wetly and unhappily. “ The statements, reports, I-I will. For you. And if – and only if they seem legitimate – I'll come with you and have a look at the book myself. And that's all I can promise you.”

“Thank you,” Martin whispers, and presses his lips to the thinning crown of Jon's hair, Jon leaning back slightly against his chest. He clears his throat. “Basira's all for performing some more clinical tests on the book, if you wanted some more concrete validation.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Jon says, feeling too tired to enquire further.

They linger on the sofa for a while after Martin shoves the folders back into his shoulder bag.

“I better put the dishes away,” Martin says.

“Leave them. I'll do them in the morning.”

Their bedtime routine is closer and quieter. Usually Martin goes up first, and Jon watches the newspaper review or the tail end of a documentary, but tonight he trails after him as Martin checks all the plugs and double-checks all the locks.

Martin pokes his head into Lewis' room, even though they said their goodnights hours ago. Jon can't begrudge him the anxiety.

“Kicked all the blankets off as usual,” he reports back as they knock elbows in the bathroom, Jon's mouth full of toothpaste, passing Martin a water glass to take his statins. Martin dutifully swallows the pill before reaching for his own toothbrush. “He sleeps like you, arms flung out all over the place.”

Jon doesn't deny it.

Jon gets into bed first, and fusses with chargers and alarms while Martin gets into a t-shirt and boxers. He gets the light and Jon follows the sound he makes as he approaches the bed in plunging darkness, the disturbance of the covers. Jon immediately curls against his shape, tucking himself tight and buried against his chest.

Martin doesn't comment on how clingy Jon is, how he knots their legs together, clutches him over-tight. On how hot the bed is going to get, on how his arm will go numb quickly from the angle. His own arms come around just as fiercely. He tells Jon goodnight, that he loves him into his hair, and Jon whispers it back into the dark and the heat, and knows it's true to the bones of him.

Neither of them sleep all that much that night.

[visionsofus]

im loving your wanda + vision's mixtape series! my song request is "I Know Places" by Taylor Swift! the song works perfectly with those two during the times between civil war and infinity war :)

Anon I'm sure you expected something quite different with this song... but here is what I wrote :) I hope you still enjoy even though its angsty! 

Track #13: I know places by Taylor Swift 

| read on AO3 here | mixtape playlist | send me an ask with your song/prompt request |

Synopsis: Wanda and Vision try to spend a peaceful evening out for dinner in Paris when they are suddenly attacked. To keep each other safe they split up, forced to make the harrowing journey to the next safe house separately. Vision is faced with Wanda's mortality.

Warnings: Angst/ mild whump, blood, guns, reference to a gunshot wound, I mostly skip writing the gore because no

All Wanda had wanted was a peaceful evening. She should have known it wasn’t to be. You didn’t get peace when you were a fugitive.

But they were in Paris, it was their first time in the city of love, and it was impossible to resist the opportunity to spend an evening together at a Parisian restaurant, overlooking the River Seine. They’d put the necessary research in, knew how private the restaurant was and chose the night it was said to be quietest – a Tuesday evening. They were so caught up in being in love with each other and in the hope of having a normal evening, like a normal couple. One of the first lessons Nat had taught Wanda was how easy it was to hide in a crowd, a lesson she shouldn’t have forgotten so quickly. But after two years of hiding on and off with Vision in different cities Wanda had come to associate privacy with safety.

Of course, they was no way they could have predicted that their server would be attending university for international relations and was not only knowledgeable in the Accords, but had aspirations of reaching the United Nations. It was the wrong time and the wrong place, but it always had been for them. Time was never on their side.

The first sign that something was wrong came before they’d even sat down. The restaurant was quieter than they’d anticipated, with only two other couples occupying the interior of the restaurant.

Wanda tried to wait patiently for their nervous waiter to return and shivered slightly at the breeze coming off the river below. They’d chosen the balcony in the hopes that it would put them further out of view of anyone else in the restaurant, but she hadn’t anticipated the cold. In response to her shiver Vision slid closer along the bench, wrapping an arm around her waist and she gratefully pressed herself to his warm side.

“She’s taking too long with the menus,” Wanda murmured quietly reaching out to fiddle restlessly with the napkin in front of her.

“You worry too much,” Vision said pressing a kiss to her forehead. “We took proper precautions.” But he too sounded worried and Wanda was beginning to second guess their whole decision to spend an evening out.

To their relief the young woman returned a moment later with two menus clasped in her grip. They began the motions of ordering food and Wanda started to hope that everything was going well.

She was mid conversation with Vision about their plans for the duration of their trip when she heard a series of car doors slamming down on the side street below them. Vision too went quiet, listening carefully. He rose, walking to the edge of the balcony and peered over, his eyesight far superior to Wanda’s human eyes. At that exact moment their server returned, two drinks in her hands and Wanda couldn’t help it. She reached out into the woman’s head, just enough to see what had happened in the time since they’d arrived. What she saw made her jerk back, fear alight in her heart as she launched herself up from the table and the server scurried back inside.

“Vis,” Wanda said stepping towards him, “we need to run.”

He didn’t get the chance to reply as a series of bullets ricocheted off his chest. Of course, his Vibranium form was impervious to such amateur tactics but Wanda still felt her chest constrict in fear. Her powers rose to the surface immediately and she encased them protectively behind her magic, shielding them from whoever was shooting.

“Perhaps this was a bad idea,” Vision said scanning the area and Wanda could almost hear his thoughts as he ran through possible escape routes. “They’ll have circled the building by now, we’ll have to get out via the roof.”

“Up it is,” Wanda muttered and launched herself towards the roof with her powers, Vision close on her heels.

“How did they find us?” Vision asked as they ran along the roof shingling, or rather she ran, and he flew.

“The server recognised us immediately and reported to the local police,” Wanda called, stumbling a little on the next rooftop as she launched herself across the space between two buildings.

Vision was at her side, grabbing her hand and pulling her along. “We have to get out of the city.”

‘Pyramus Protocol?” Wanda asked, hating using the name of the plan that was their last possible resort.

“I’m afraid so,” Vision replied, and they stopped atop a flat rooftop, far enough away that they surely must have bought some time.  

Wanda sighed, pulling herself to him and hugging him tightly. “It’ll be ok,” she murmured a promise to herself and to the night air around them.

“I’ll see you in two days,” Vision said drawing back just enough to kiss her tenderly.

“Don’t get caught,” Wanda murmured trying to keep her eyes closed a little longer as his thumb brushed along her cheek.

“Stay safe.” His voice was a whisper and when she opened her eyes he had disappeared.

Wanda cursed their frivolity even as she ran over rooftops, launching herself across spaces no regular human would have been able to in the direction of their rented apartment. Pyramus had been a requirement when they decided to keep seeing each other, despite their divided teammates, the havoc wreaked on a German airport and most significantly, the very legal international treaty that now divided them. Anytime they started feeling guilty about the danger they were putting each other in, the Pyramus Protocol was there to fall back on.

They’d designed the plan at the demand of Nat and Steve on one side and Tony on the other. Wanda knew it was the main reason their friends didn’t have more problems with these secret meetings. Vision hadn’t been able to resist naming their escape plan after Pyramus and Thisbe, the star-crossed lovers of Greek mythology whose tragedy had inspired Romeo and Juliet. Wanda didn’t mind, as long as they hadn’t cursed their relationship to end the same way.

Thanks to the Pyramus Protocol they had a safehouse in mind, deep in the mountains in the south of France. In every country they visited, there needed to be an alternate safe house if things went to shit, or it became too dangerous to leave the country. Such as right now. With Wanda’s cover blown the authorities would be keeping keen eyes on borders and airspaces, so the only option was to venture further into the country.

Part of the Pyramus protocol was to split up in the event that only one of their covers was blown and as Vision purposely hadn’t let his human form go public in the US, it was safer for them to be apart. Wanda could only hope that the authorities were only out for her. The secret of his appearance was all that was protecting him from becoming a fugitive like her if she got caught and it was this assurance that silenced Wanda’s guilt enough to keep seeing him.

Wanda was so lost in her head that she almost flew straight past their apartment, managing to slow down just in time to drop onto the small balcony facing the street. She laid a hand to the glass, using her magic to turn the handle from the inside and stepping quietly into the apartment. Vision didn’t often bring anything with him, but Wanda kept all her belongings on hand and couldn’t afford to leave everything behind, lest they find some evidence that could be traced back to her teammates.

The bag was always semi-packed, always sitting at the foot of the bed and within magic’s reach if she had to run, or worse, destroy the evidence.They’d gotten lucky so far. Until tonight.

Wanda knew something was wrong as soon as she stepped into the apartment. A floorboard creaked to her right and she threw her hands over her head as something whistled past her ear, narrowly missing her neck. A tranquiliser.

Wanda jumped into action, grabbing the duffle bag with her magic and launching herself back to the doors, smashing through the glass and up onto the rooftop once more. She heard the shouts of her pursuers and waited until the four men made it out onto the balcony, swearing in French and looking around. When one finally looked up, Wanda reached out to their minds, hating it even as she did. She managed to subdue three of them but the fourth persisted and Wanda fought between keeping the three under and trying to wrangle the last man into submission. All it took was the distraction of sirens nearby and her control waned enough for the fourth man to draw his gun and take several, carefully aimed shots at her. Wanda swore and launched herself back, throwing her power up as she did. But she was not quick enough, and one of the bullets found her shoulder, sending pain ricocheting through her left arm. She fell to her knees on the rooftop huffing in pain, tears burning at her eyes. She’d been faced with guns often during her time with the Avengers but never had a bullet actually hit her. She vaguely recalled that you weren’t supposed to leave it in, but worried about not having anything to staunch the blood flow if she tried to pull it out. If she passed out from blood loss now, she’d never escape.  

Instead, she pulled off her winter coat, removing its woollen belt and using that as a temporary bandage, her blood warm against her fingers as she tried to breathe through the pain. To hide the bloody stains on her top she took a jumper from her duffle bag and tugged it over her head with great difficulty. She heard grunting and a hand reached over the side of the rooftop, sending her scuttling to the shadows as she tried to gather her wits once more. Shouting could be heard below, and Wanda knew this was her last chance to lose her pursuers.

The station was only 20 minutes away by foot, but Wanda made slow progress, sticking to rooftops as often as she could, always on alert for how near the sirens were. She launched herself from rooftop to rooftop with one hand, her other arm too painful to move.

Once she was sure she hadn’t been followed she purchased two north bound tickets using a traceable credit card under her name, and for her real ticket used cash, messing with the ticket officer’s mind to ensure he only recalled her buying the first two. She’d paid extra for a private cabin with a bed for the overnight train ride that was due to have her arriving late afternoon at the Pyrenees mountains.

At the platform Wanda reached into the conductor’s mind as he waited at the door, erasing any memory he had of her boarding the train even as he checked her ticket. She made it to her cabin without further event, shutting the door firmly behind her and pulling the blinds down. She lowered herself carefully to the cramped bed set against one wall, breathing properly for the first time in an hour. She groaned quietly as the pain in her shoulder hit her fully and her adrenaline abruptly ran dry. It took all her strength to stretch out on the uncomfortable bed as the train started to rock, leaving the city. With the knowledge that she had gotten away she closed her eyes and let sleep overtake her.

Vision was waiting in a café, a French newspaper propped up in front of him and a steaming coffee in his hand, though he hadn’t drunk any. He was doing his best to act normal even as he listened to a couple near him chattering in French about the international fugitive spotted in Paris the night before. It was all over the various news channels, but so far, no mention of him had appeared. Better yet, the authorities seemed to have no leads on where Wanda had disappeared to.

Vision gasped as his forehead sparked with pain, exactly from where the mind stone usually was when he was in his normal form. He put his hand to his head and rubbed nervously. It was throbbing sharply, and he gritted his teeth as he tried not to draw any attention to himself. Then it was as though the stone was trying to speak to him, images flooded his mind – Wanda lying unconscious on what seemed to be a train, someone opening the door, the cry of sirens as police cars pulled into the train station. It all happened so quickly that Vision thought he might have been imaging things. The stone throbbed persistently, and he knew he could not ignore the warning. He needed to get to the train station immediately.  

Now that he was further south, it had grown colder and though Vision didn’t feel the discomfort of the temperature drop, he was glad to be wearing the thick woollen coat, flipping the collar up and pressing his chin down. He disappeared into the street, just another person avoiding the harsh wind blowing down the main street.  

The station was relatively busy as the train pulled in just on time and Vision found himself darting around people, making his way towards the front of the train where the priority seating was. The row of empty compartments appeared just as they had in his head, and there was the final compartment, its blinds still pulled tightly down.

He glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder and tried the door handle. Once inside he could have sworn his artificial heart stopped for a few moments. He dropped to his knees next to the bed and the woman lying in it. He was eye level with Wanda’s pallid, unconscious face and her eyes flickered weakly beneath eyelids.

“Wanda,” he said voice raw with pain. He reached out to her shoulders hoping he could wake her up. That was when he felt the blood, his hand coming away a dark red as he looked at her shoulder in horror. “You’re alright, you’re alright,” he whispered to himself more than anything as he picked her up carefully, hating how limp she was in his arms.

Throwing caution to the wind he phased right through the side of the train, moving so quickly he only hoped that no one on the platform happened to see him heading straight for the outskirts of town where the safe house was waiting for him. He didn’t care if he was spotted now, it wouldn’t matter if he couldn’t help her.

The house was as basic as possible, an empty cabin in a small mountainous town. The last place Vision hoped the authorities would come looking. But it was hard to be concerned about that with the alarming situation presented before him. Wanda was hurt and there was no way he could risk taking her to a doctor or trying to get her to Steve or Natasha. But Vision had always assured her that he would be there no matter what, now was the time to see that promise through.

While the cabin might have been lacking in interior design and scarce of furniture, it was equipped with an extensive first aid kit beneath the kitchen sink which Vision quickly located. He had laid Wanda out on the couch and was startled to see her slowly coming to as he returned.

She tried to sit up, gasping as she looked around frantically at the unfamiliar surroundings. “Vis?” She cried her voice full of desperation.

He appeared at her side instantaneously and she pressed a bloodstained hand to his cheek her lip quivering as she looked him up and down, as though assuring herself that he were real. Despite his concern for her jostling her injury he leant into her as she rested her head on his chest, sitting so that she could hug him with her good arm, and he could hold her.

“It’s okay,” he said kissing her cheek even as tears began to roll down, “you’re going to be okay.”

“I was so scared they’d get you,” Wanda said through her crying and Vision’s heart clenched and he held her tighter.

“It’s okay,” he whispered over and over, giving her the time she needed to calm down.

Her breaths were still coming out in hiccups even after ten minutes of holding her, but Vision couldn’t afford to wait any longer. Now came the difficult part. He pulled back gently, cupping her cheek and she relented to lying back down, wincing as her weight was put into her back and her shoulder.

He prepared the first aid kit, the tweezers to remove the bullet that was still lodged in her shoulder and the needle to stitch the wound back up. Her power must have stopped some of the impact because the bullet thankfully hadn’t gone in too deep. He’d already profiled the area and made sure it wasn’t pressing on any arteries. It would be a painful, if quick procedure.

“Wait,” Wanda said hoarsely when he looked at her for confirmation to begin. “Can I hide in your head?”

“Of course, darling,” Vision said presenting his forehead to her and relishing the feeling of her warm palm on his cheek, and more distantly, the warmer feeling of a consciousness alongside his.

He looked at Wanda for the go ahead and she nodded slowly, closing her glowing eyes as she retreated out of her own mind and into his.

The mental distance helped Wanda as Vision started cleaning her wound up. The pain was a distant foe and though she winced as he withdrew the bullet it was infinitely better wrapped up in the comfort of his mind. He let her filter through the memories of the previous evening, and she was glad to see his escape had been relatively uneventful, he’d travelled west first and then south to the mountain range. Wanda hadn’t gotten a very good look at the space so far, hadn’t taken in anything beyond the simple fact that he was by her side and that she felt safe for the first time in 24 hours. But she looked now, reliving through his eyes as he made his round of the house. It was simple but cosy and reminded Wanda of the time a year ago when they had stayed in the Swiss mountains for a week. They’d spent their time going on long, secluded walks on mountain trails or sitting wrapped up together in front of the fire. It was a week spent taking each other in, catching up on the separate lives they’d been living in the month spent apart, and relishing in the closeness they could have when it was just the two of them. This cabin certainly wasn’t as lush, but Wanda was grateful to feel the warmth behind those memories even as her body cried out with pain in the physical world.

Wanda drew back to herself as the pain began to lessen, the stinging on the surface of her skin sufficiently numbed and the bloodstained belt and bullet discarded.

The rest of the evening was quiet, though neither were able to settled down after such a close call. Vision moved Wanda to the bedroom where she might be more comfortable, and she tried her best to relax as the pain medication slowly kicked in. He helped her eat something, though her appetite was non-existent. Then he waited for her to sleep, her head resting on his arm as they lay together. He ran his hands through her hair, gently teasing tangles apart and doing his best to clean the dried blood away from her neck.  

He left bed once to double check the locks, ensuring that the motion sensor alarms were set for the outside of the remote property, ready to warn them if they were found. But Vision had been monitoring the news all afternoon and the press seemed to believe the trail of the international fugitive had gone cold, much to his relief. He distantly noted that Tony had tried to contact him twice in the last few hours and he silenced the notification, it was a problem for tomorrow.

He heard creaking coming from the bedroom and dashed back in alarm. But it was just Wanda doing her best to stand up against the wooziness from the pain medication and exhaustion.

She reached for him wordlessly, her eyes threatening to spill the tears gathered there and Vision was at her side instantly, cupping her head to his shoulder and slipping a hand under her knees so that he might return her to bed.

“It’s alright,” he whispered as she twisted her fists into his sweater shakily.

“Don’t let me go tonight please,” Wanda whispered as he tried to make her comfortable even as she gritted her teeth past pain, getting as close to him as she possibly could. “You’re the only thing holding me together right now.”

Vision wiped her tears away and kissed her softly. “I’m not going anywhere; I’ll always be here.”

“What if they find us?”

“They won’t,” Vision whispered though he couldn’t possibly say for certain, “and if they do, I won’t let them take you.”

“I’ll never let them take you,” Wanda whispered looking into his eyes as she promised. “Anything but you.”

“It will never come to that,” Vision said with such conviction that tears began spilling down her cheeks again.

They remained intertwined the entire night, Wanda curled into his side, her back to the outside world, her head resting on his shoulder.  Some part of Vision managed to rest, taking solace in the fact they were together and for now, safe. But there was a part of him agonising over what had happened, the part of him that remained conscious over-analysing every creak and crack of the old cabin as winds swirled through the forest outside. The same part of him that desperately dreamt of an alternative, a life where they didn’t have to run and hide anymore. He clung to that hope as they clung to each other throughout the night. Though Wanda had told him he was the only thing holding her together, Vision knew he’d be in pieces if they were ever separated by something more final.

[lavendersuh]

“how much do you hate me?”

pairing: fuckboy!mark tuan/reader

genre: college!au, childhood neighbors, enemies to lovers, fluff, mild angst

word count: 2.3k

a/n: you should know how much i love enemies to lovers ok i really really love it,,,, this is based off the drabble prompt “how much do you hate me?” “not enough to say no immediately what do you want” enjoy! xx

“How much do you hate me?” 

The question came from behind you, as you sat reading a textbook and munching on an apple between classes. You spin around to see Mark Tuan, resident fuckboy on campus, smirking down at you. 

He wasn’t just the resident fuckboy, but he was also your childhood neighbor, the boy that you watched grow up beside you. It still baffled you that somehow you both had managed to choose the same college. You, for the creative arts program, and he, for the fraternities. The lives you led were different, yet somehow had always paralleled each other.

You were never really friends with Mark, despite your mothers putting you in the sandbox together at a young age. Pulling your pigtails at the age of six didn’t necessarily leave you with the best first impression of him, and that animosity followed you as you both grew up. Arguments ensued throughout the occasional dinners your families would hold together. It always left you frustrated, wishing you had a grumpy old man as a neighbor rather than the increasingly attractive boy you were stuck with.

Awkward teen years and the constant bickering warranted a bit of anger when you realized he chose the same college as you. Would you ever escape this man?

You close your book slowly, as he sits down next to you. It’s early on a Saturday morning, so the library is mostly empty. 

You narrow your eyes at him, “Not enough to say ‘no’ immediately,” you say, “What do you need?”

He beams at you and you notice how much he’s changed. You have only seen him in passing glance in one of the dining halls since arriving on campus, and his hair is more blonde since the last time you saw him in the beginning of summer. He wears a hoodie with his frat logo on it, with sweatpants and a hat.

“You know me so well, Y/N.” he says, “I need you to kiss me.”

You immediately recoil, “What the hell?”

He laughs, “Not right now, but tonight at a party my frat is hosting. I’m trying to hook up with this girl and I want to make her jealous.” 

“That is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” you exclaim, before pausing, “What’s in it for me?”

“The satisfaction of knowing you helped one of your lifelong, childhood friends get laid by a senior?” he throws you a convincing smile, “The fact that you’ll have kissed your high school crush?”

You go to stand up, packing up your books into your bag, “I am not helping you seduce a girl, I don’t care if she’s a senior.” You look back at him, “And I didn’t have a crush on you! Where did you get that dumb idea?”

“Your mom told my mom,” he mentions, “You know how they love to gossip.” 

It was true, your mothers both were quite the little gossips. But the fact that you did, indeed, have a crush on Mark was something you never told your mother. It was a secret you would keep to the grave. He would never had let you live it down.

He goes to follow you as you descend the stairs, leading out to the Quad. You continue to bicker with him as you make your way back to your dorm hall, and it feels all too familiar. Arguing with Mark is a sport, and you were a pro.

“I do not support using manipulation to get someone into bed with you. Just tell her you want to fuck! What is with guys and zero communication these days, Jesus.” you huff. 

“If I do that she might think I want more than just a one time thing!”

“Then communicate that you just want to hookup!”

You reach your dorm hall and just as you are about to slide your ID and open the door, he slides between the door and you. 

“Ok, listen, what if I sweeten the deal?” he reasons, “How’s $10 and some free booze?”

You sigh. He has always been stubborn. 

“How about $30?” You’ve always been stubborn too. 

He rolls his eyes, but holds out his hand, “Fine, deal, be there at nine, okay?”

You grasp his hand in a firm handshake, “Can’t wait,” the sarcasm drips off the words. 

It would certainly be an interesting night.

By the time you got to the frat house at ten, the party was in full swing. People littered the front yard, and as soon as you walked into the house, you were met with heat and smoke. You’d never been to this house before, but the kitchen was easy to find. Grabbing a beer from the coolers lining the wall, you cracked it open, wondering where Mark was.

You wandered around a bit before seeing a head of blonde hair coming toward you.

“Hey, you made it! I honestly didn’t think you would show up,” he chuckles, a beer in his own hand.

“I came from the booze and the grocery money,” you grin at him. You never were a lightweight, but the taste of alcohol already begins to loosen you up a bit. “So, where’s this girl you’re trying to make jealous?” 

“Not sure yet!” 

You whip your head around to look him in the eye, “What? You don’t have someone specific in mind? Why am I even here?”

He laughs, guiding you through some of the crowds of dancers, “I’m trying out a new technique. You know how chicks get jealous.”

Your face morphs into disgust. Of course he thinks like that. 

“Have you always been this shallow? This inept?” you ask.

“Hey, look who’s following along with my plan, eh?” 

You huff, and take a few more swigs of the beer in your hand. Mark stays next to you, nursing his own drink, watching you curiously. It’s been so long since you’ve really talked to Mark, yet the bickering dynamic feels like you talk everyday. 

It takes a few moments, of drinking and taking in the sights of the party around you, before you come to a decision. Taking the last gulp of your last drink, you muster up your courage and look at Mark. 

“Alright, I’m starting to get tipsy, I'm kind of curious to see if this will work. Find your target, let’s go.” you tell him.

He grins, “Give me ten minutes, I’ll meet up back here.”

With that, he’s off, and you go to grab another drink. At least there’s booze, you think. You find your spot back along the wall and try to find Mark in the crowd. Eventually you spot him, talking up a pretty brunette, who isn’t as into it as he would probably like. 

Watching him flirt relentlessly with the girl brought back memories of high school. Of hugging the wall at parties, watching him flirt and go for the girls in other classes. It was odd watching the shy neighbor boy transform in such little time.

Whenever you crossed paths with Mark nowadays, it always made life interesting. While he constantly drove you insane, you also felt nostalgic for the simple high school days of dumb arguments.

While you are caught in your own thoughts, you don’t notice Mark approaching you. He swoops his arm around your waist, taking you on a trip through the crowd. He nuzzles his nose next to ear, sending a chill down your spine. 

He whispers in your ear, “Let’s find a place to start the show, eh? She’s hanging with her friends in the living area.” 

He leads you through the house, finding a bookcase in the back of the living room. As he spins you around to lean against the bookcase you catch a glimpse of the brunette he had been talking to. You can’t help but stare at her, as she takes quick looks over at the two of you.

Mark moves in close, his arms coming to rest on either side of you, “Hey,” he catches your attention, drawing your eyes from the girl, “if you get uncomfortable or something, let me know.”

Was Mark being caring? Since when? Wasn’t this the fuckboy that would tease you for paying attention to your studies rather than finding friends? Wasn’t this the very man using you to get in another girl’s pants?

You nod, catching the dark look overtaking his eyes. He glances down at your lips, before leaning in, capturing your lips with his own. 

A warm feeling spreads through you, as he grips your hips and you bring your hands up to encircle his neck. His mouth is warm against your own, and you find yourself not hating this as much as you thought you would. 

You’re still curious, wondering whether the girl is looking over at you, but you can’t bring yourself to open your eyes and check. Might as well just live in the moment, right? 

You don’t know how long it is before Mark is removing his lips from yours, but as you open your eyes, he rests his forehead against yours, staring directly into your eyes. 

“Not bad, neighbor,” he comments, sending you a smirk that could probably leave you swooning if not for your pride.

“Ditto,” you reply, through it comes out as a sigh, as you still try to catch your breath. 

He pecks you on the lips once more before fully retreating from you, “Time to see if the plan worked,” he mentions, stepping away. 

You clear your throat, suddenly sobering up, from both the alcohol and Mark. “Right, go get your girl.” 

He throws you another smile before sauntering casually in the direction of the brunette. You look away, suddenly feeling sick at the thought of watching him hook up with someone. 

You weave your way back into the kitchen and manage to score a glass of water. You aren’t really sure how much longer you want to stay. You vaguely recall Mark owing you $30, but you don’t care all that much. 

Deciding you want to leave, you abandon the glass, walking towards the door. Why, surrounded by so many people, do you suddenly feel so alone? 

You stumble out of the frat house and into the cool night. It’s quieter out here, despite the background sounds of the bass and the occasional holler from someone on the lawn. 

The walk home is sobering, to say the least, as you make your way back to your dorm. It’s never been fun walking home from parties, especially when you are all alone and not very drunk anymore. 

You pass other parties, and crowds of people laughing, but you just want sleep, you just want warmth. Coming out tonight was not your finest idea, but you’ve found when it comes to Mark, things always shift from what you planned.

You aren’t sure why you suddenly feel so sad. Is it because Mark is so easily able to find someone to spend the night with? So easily able to talk to others and make connections?

Deep down, in your traitorous heart, you fear it isn’t Mark’s people skills you want, but Mark himself.

You sputter, shaking your head to yourself. That’s crazy, you think. It’s Mark.

By the time you make it back to your dorm hall, you finally accept that it probably is just Mark. You shove that down though, suppress it. That would never happen.

You laugh to yourself, walking up the steps to the front entrance. Blaming all these ridiculous thoughts on your tipsy mind, you don’t hear someone calling out to you until they get closer.

You spin around, only to find Mark staring at you from the sidewalk. He looks out of breath, like he just ran here. He climbs the steps, two at a time and before you know it, he’s standing in front of you, winded and with a wild look in his eyes. 

“Mark?” you ask, confusion evident in your tone, “What are you doing here?”

He’s still breathing heavy, and looking at you like he doesn’t even know the answer. “The girl- she- I don’t know, I can’t stop thinking about- and then-” he pauses, taking a deep breath, collecting his thoughts. 

He tries again, “She wasn’t what I was looking for.”

Your eyebrows knit together, “Oh, so you want me to help again? I’m kinda tired-”

“No! No, I-” he cuts himself off again, “Jesus, I’m so bad at this. I finally got her all alone and it didn’t even matter. I didn’t feel like kissing her, or doing anything.”

“Why?” you ask quietly.

“She wasn’t you.”

You are startled at his words. Shell-shocked. You wonder if you already made it up to your dorm, and were fast asleep, dreaming up this whole situation. 

He steps in front of you, taking your hands gently in his.

“I know we have fought for as long as I can remember.” he tells you, “But kissing you felt right. Tell me you didn’t feel the same. Tell me to stop and I’ll go; I’ll never speak to you again.”

“I-” you can’t find words as you watch him lean closer and closer. 

Because the truth was, something about it did feel right.

“How much do you hate me?” He asks, tilting his head as you feel his breath dance across your lips.

“Not as much as I want to,” you whisper back, pressing your lips to his, letting the emotions of hate and anger flow away has he kisses you back. 

You think back to the days of your adolescence, when your mother would tease you about your bickering with Mark, saying you acted like an old married couple, joking about how eventually the two of you would start dating. You used to think your mom was crazy. But now, with Mark leaning into you, and fireworks exploding in your chest, you wondered if she’s been right all along. 

[vangoddamn]

Lemon world

Warning: none :) fluffy and soft Van!!

Prompt: the reader is introverted and enjoys classical music and those calm stuffs while Van is extroverted and had a taste completely different from hers, and that they are trying hard to like each other taste?? @steveproblems

--------

People always were confused by our pairing. In all honesty so was I, Van was perfect in every way. He loved people and crowds and had a passion for a busy life and an energetic profession. However you, an introverted English teacher, with a love for the arts and the classics, were not. You had a soft spot for Mozart's Sonata in C and unfortunately Van ever since your long life friend Bob introduced you both.

You'd always tried to relate and enjoy his interests and you could tell he did too. That was why you were sat in your shared living room reading little women and listening to Miles Davis on vinyl to calm your nerves. The band were having a party at our apartment tonight and to say you were on edge was an understatement and a half.

"Baby, I'm gonna go get some more drinks, you comin?" Van asked me, walking up to where I was snuggled up stroking my cheek with his finger, relaxing me finally.

"sure" replying with a kiss to his hand. He could probably tell I was nervous for tonight, so he lifted me up walking me out of our flat. It was late afternoon, around rush hour so as we walked away from the roads into the park path I could finally hear myself think again. It was October so the air was chilled making you glad you had the trench coat Van had gifted you for you birthday.

"so, what can I do to make tonight easier for you" His hand squeezed mine a little tighter as he spoke and it made my heart ache a little. I couldn't help wish I was what he wanted.

"I'm sure I'll be fine, it's just nerves, honest." I tried to persuade him.

"hey, next week I'll take you to that gallery you wanted to see"

"you don't need to do that" I laughed half-heartedly, knowing full well he'd hate every second of it.

-----

The music was loud and the drink in my hand wasn't really strong enough to weaken my anxieties. I knew it wouldn't last forever so I swallowed it down, walking over to Bob hoping to have a conversation that may just calm me dow. 

He was with Benji and a couple people a vaguely recognised from tours. I sat myself in the corner of the sofa next to Bob smiling when he acknowledged me. I'd met Van through Bob, being mates with him for years before the band, he was the only one who wasn't surprised that I fell for him.

"heya, your enjoying the party then" he teased resting an arm round my shoulders, calming me down like old times.

"you have no idea" before I knew the conversation was involving many people and I forgot my anxieties for a moment and joined in. It might've partially been due to my tipsy state, but mostly down to the fact their conversation including the subject of Van someone I'd never get tired of hearing about

It became apparent early on that we really were very different people, but then again sometimes we weren't. It was the way that behind closed doors he was so tender and careful not to hurt me, as if I was precious to him. And the feeling was reciprocated, we appreciated each others passions and although they were on slightly different scale he appreciated it none the less. Something I'd never found in a partner before.

He was always trying to take an interest in me and what I was doing even if I knew he wouldn't understand, or just wouldn't relate. His gentle ways and tender love made me addicted to him in every way and now far down in the relationship I even enjoy some of his music taste. It may not be Bach's sixth symphony, but I could indulge in the odd 'the kooks' track and was slightly partial to 'the national'.

On Sunday evenings he might even slip next to me and duet on the piano in our shared music room. And sometimes, listening in on him in the shower I'd occasionally hear him hum along to Debussy's 'clare de lune'. The fact was that we tried for each other and most of the time it paid off.

"y/n, are you ok?" Benji was knelt in front of me passing a drink into my hand rubbing my arm.

"sorry, wow I think I just spaced out there" I laughed off, it was a regular occurrence when I was drunk to became lovelorn over Van, even before I'd plucked up the courage to profess my undying love towards him.

Benji pulled me towards the middle of the room where people were dancing, twirling me around and dancing. Well that's what we'd have called it, but it was now where near strictly come dancing level, or even club standard in our state.

Vans mates where always very understanding, and after many tours with them, they knew how to calm me down. See I wasn't an uptight person, not snooty or even proud. It was always just hard to completely relax sometimes, especially with people I didn't know.

So me and Benji danced the night away, until Van found us half way through stealing me away from his grasp. Everything was dying down now, being two in the morning, most people had left. The people that did remain were either passed out on the floor or were awaiting a taxi.

The mix of alcohol and Vans arms wrapped around your waste in a slow dance made you calm. When you breathed his musty smell of cigarettes and alcohol it made you feel fuzzy inside and melt like butter.it made you glad he had a tight grasp of your body, holding you tight against his chest.

You were now slightly rethinking the whole party situation, see if there was no party you wouldn't be listening to Van hum along to lemon world in the middle of your kitchen.

"maybe parties aren't all that bad.." my head was securely nestled in his neck and I could feel his smile radiate through me as I mumbled I to him.

"that mean I don't have to go to that gallery" he laughed half heartedly, knowing it would wind me up, causing me to wack his chest. "Only jokin sweets, I couldn't of anything more exciting..."

I pulled away scowling firmly before he shocked me further "sexy, right, you looking at paintings.." he looked out into the distance behind me pulling a face in-between mocking and concentration as if he were trying to imagine it.

"your a dirty liar, and I hate you" I grumbled after snuggling back to his embrace, with which he let out a small laugh and squeezed me tighter.

"you love me really"

And I did.

"ugh, you wish"

A/n: I really hope this was ok, it took me a while to figure out how to do this and I still don't know if it did your request justice! Anyway hope it was enjoyable my lovelies xx Em

[elletromil]

Harry/Tilde/Eggsy: ❛❛ I hope all of you out there have someone to sleep through the evening with. Or, at least, good memories of when you did. ❜❜

Took me some time but I know you understand darling ❤

Thank you for the prompt, I hope you enjoy this :D

Sleeping through the evening

“-- I hope all of you out there have someone to sleep through the evening with. Or, at least, good memories of when you did. Goodnight listeners. Goodnight.”

The voice on the radio dissolves into static and Eggsy doesn’t even bother trying to find something else. He’s been here all week and that show is the only thing he’s been able to tune into. And sure, he doesn’t understand how he can catch a community radio show of some town in the US (as far as he’s been able to figure out) when he’s doing a recon mission in Nulogorsk, a tiny fishing village in fucking Russia, but that’s probably the less weird thing about this mission so far.

He’s just glad that he finally managed to convince Merlin that there is no way Russia is using it as a front for nuclear testing. Sure, there is definitely something happening here, but he’s pretty sure it’s not anything spies should get involved with. Scientists probably, like that team that got to Night Vale. Or priests maybe.

Because while he will never say that he saw angels fishing on Tuesday in his official report, he also doesn’t know what else he could call it.

But the overall strangeness of the village isn’t why he can’t wait to head back home in the morning.

He’s just felt insanely lonely for this entire mission. As if somehow, he's been cut off from the world, even with Merlin ever present in his ear.

And the radio host's parting words have only served to make him long for the people he loves even more.

“Fuck that.”

Sure, he was briefed to not get into contact without anyone but Merlin if he didn’t absolutely needed to, but he’s willing to risk it. He feels like it’s either that or losing his sanity. So really, it’s not much of a dilemma.

He taps on his glasses only realising that it might be a bit late for a social call when a sleepy voice answers.

“Hej?”

“Tilde?” He’d feel bad about waking her up if not for the fact he was calling Harry on his glasses. “Is everything ok?”

“Hmmhmm. ‘course.”

“Why are you answering Harry’s glasses then?”

“They woke me, I answer.” Which fair enough. He’s answered Tilde’s phone plenty of time when a call came while they were sleeping and he was closer. But he usually makes sure his glasses are on his side of the bed and he’s certain Harry would do the same. “Hold on.”

He hears the soft rustling of fabrics and a soft thump before Tilde’s voice picks up again, sounding farther away this time. “For you. Eggsy.”

He knows her well enough to know that she is probably going right back to sleep, completely unconcerned. Which would seem rather cold but then again, he hasn’t given her any indication that he was in danger or anything. And after three years together, she’s very adept at knowing when he’s trying to hide something from her.

Harry isn’t so calm however.

“Galahad, is everything all right? Do you need an extraction? Why aren’t you calling Merlin? Is-”

“It’s just a social call Harry,” he cuts him off before he can work himself in enough of a frenzy to leave the bed. Tilde would be mad at him if he cost her her bed companion over nothing. “I miss you.”

“Oh.” There is a short pause during which Eggsy knows Harry is switching from his panicked-Arthur mode to Harry-his-lover again. “We rather miss you to.”

He vaguely hears the muffled sound of Tilde saying she doesn’t miss his snoring and he chuckles lightly at that. “I don’t miss hers either.”

And she truly knows him well because even if she can’t have heard him, she replies that ‘princesses don’t snore’ followed by what he is sure is some impressive cussing in swedish.

“Really, must we resort to insults so soon?” Harry sounds very disappointed which only means he finds their antics very amusing. And while Tilde does stop saying whatever she is saying about his parentage, Eggsy is pretty sure it’s because she’s too tired to continue.

“Why are you together?” Not that he minds, far from it, but Harry rarely travels now that he is Arthur and he was sure that Tilde was stuck in Sweden for at least a month last time he heard.

“We needed an in into some gala and your wife gracefully agreed to free her busy schedule for a week to assist us. But to be honest, I think she was mostly bored.”

Eggsy hears a not-so-soft ‘thump’ and Harry grunts a chuckle.

“You would too if you had to deal with the same stupid people she has to.”

Though to be fair, Harry does deal with a lot of stupid people since he took on Arthur’s mantle. But unlike Tilde, he does have a few way to blow off some steam when his frustration levels get too high. Sometimes, quite literally.

“So I hear your mission was a bust and you’ll be heading home tomorrow?”

“Yep. Can’t wait to leave this place. It’s… weird. Not in a bad way, but not in a good way either? Which just makes it worse.” He grimaces even if Harry cannot see his expression. “Anyway I don’t really want to talk about it.”

���Of course. But if you ever want to, I’ll tell you about that one mission I had to hide in Franchia.”

It’s not a name Eggsy is familiar with but then again, neither was Nulogorsk before he got his briefing a week ago.

“Ok.” It’s ‘thank you’ and they both know it. Sure right this moment, Eggsy would rather not think about his time in Nulogorsk at all, but he can’t know how he’ll feel when he’ll have put some distance between him and the village. But for tonight, he just wants pretend he’s in bed with his wife and their lover. “Tell me about that gala?”

Harry doesn’t hesitate and even if he must be just as tired as Eggsy, he describes in many details everything that happened two nights ago, from the color of Tilde underwear to the taste of the sole glass of champagne he indulged in.

And Eggsy is certain he says a great deal more, but at some point he falls asleep, lulled by Harry’s voice and Tilde snoring in the distance.

[connorssock]

Hi, I'm that Comment person from ao3, and want to say hi, and ty again for your amazing writing, I always enjoy reading it :D I also have an idea for a prompt, but don't feel obligated to fill it if it's not something you'd have fun writing (*´罒`*) It's kinda long, so will send a 2nd message :0 2/2

Gavin is v depressed, and due to the amount of work he’s had recently, he’s been unable to, or forgot to pick up refills for his medicine, so one day he doesn’t come to work. Connor, Hank, and Nines notice, but don’t start to worry for a few days. Eventually Fowler asks them to go check up on Gavin, and they find him unable to even get out of bed or find the energy to pick up his phone to call anyone for help. They then stay w/ him until he’s ok, and maybe become closer? >

I am so sorry this took so long to fill, Comment! Partially it was because I needed a break between this and the chapter of Android Update 5.12 which was very very similar. And partially because it…sort of ran away a little. I hope it is what you were after though!

The Net To Catch Your Fall

It was the season for colds and flu. Gavin had been bracedfor it, a bug had been making its way round the precinct and the sore throat he’dbeen waking up with for the last few nights spelled a few not so great daysahead.

“Morning G-Man!” Tina chirped at him as he walked past herdesk.

“Morning,” he said. Or tried to, but it was more of a hoarsecroak.

“Well shit dude, sounds like you went to town on a hundreddicks last night.” It was reassuring to know that Tina was a sympathetic asever.

“I wish,” Gavin shot back with a grin.

“Want me to grab you some throat soothers?”

She was alright after all; her heart was in the right place.All the same, Gavin waved her off.

“I need to go to the pharmacy anyway; I’ll pick some upthen.”

Of course, he didn’t get a chance to go to the pharmacy.They were called to a crime scene half an hour before he finished work. By thetime they were done the pharmacy had long since shut. There was always the nextday.

Unfortunately, the next day was no different to the previousone. By the time Gavin could get to the pharmacy it was shut. He shrugged, hehad a few days leeway, he was organised and knew how to keep his shit together.It was going to be fine.

If it wasn’t going to interview potential witnesses, it wasa meeting that over ran or getting caught up in paperwork that needed to beurgently filed. Getting a warrant was no laughing matter and even a day’s delaycould mean the difference between a successful case and evidence beingdestroyed. A packet of throat sweets landed on Gavin’s desk.

“Since you still haven’t managed to cough up your lung, nomatter how hard you’re trying,” Tina said and walked away.

“Thanks,” Gavin tried to yell after her but his voice cameout more as a whine.

He popped a lemon flavoured sweet in his mouth and tried toignore the sluggishness that had been creeping through his body.

Things were getting worse though. He struggled to focus onhis work which he could blame on his cold but the blanket of indifferent dreadthat shrouded him wasn’t so easy to dispel. Finally, he had the time to go tothe pharmacy. It had been almost 2 weeks he’d been trying to go. Of course itwas the day he left his prescription at home.

The clock ticked over six and Gavin pushed away from hisdesk. There was no point in staying to finish the report he’d been staring atfor the last three hours. It wasn’t like anyone was ever going to read itanyway. He walked out of the precinct and didn’t look back.

His desk was empty the next day. A few people cast curiousglances at it but people assumed Gavin had finally succumbed to the bug goinground and had decided to take a day off to recover. When his seat stayed emptythe following day and the day after, Nines began to worry. He approachedCaptain Fowler with well-intentioned questions and didn’t expect the bluntanswers he got.

Fowler had no idea where Gavin was, he didn’t pick up hisphone, reply to e-mails. For the time being, he could be signed off as absentdue to sickness but if he didn’t get in touch soon, Fowler couldn’t cover forhim.

“Why don’t you pop round his? Check in with him. It’sunusual to take so long off without at least a message,” he’d suggested.

It got Nines thinking, he didn’t know what he’d say to Gavinupon encroaching on his home. He also didn’t want to do it alone. That’s how hefound himself with not just Connor, but also Hank behind him as they approachedGavin’s home.

There was no response to knocking. Not on the first attempt,or the second. After the third time, when Nines raised his hand to knock oncemore, Hank grabbed his hand.

“I don’t think he wants to answer the door,” he said.

Sullenly, Nines lowered his hand.

“What if he’s in there and he needs assistance though?”

They could hear Gavin’s phone ringing in the hallway of theapartment block. If the man wasn’t in, he’d left his phone behind. Just to makea point, Nines called it again and stared Hank down.

“Fine, if he gets pissed that we broke into his flat, you’retaking the blame,” Hank rolled his eyes and gestured to the door.

Nines lifted his hand and prepared to break through it

“Woah!” Hank grabbed his arm again. “Easy there.”

He reached for the door handled and twisted it. It openedwith a click and Hank shot Nines a look that spoke volumes.

“Always check the easiest route first,” he grumbled.

It was impossible to miss the way his fingers stillunclipped the top of his gun holster, ready to expect the worst. The apartmentthey walked into was stale for want of a better word. It hadn’t seen movementin days and Hank wrinkled his nose at the smell. Nines called Gavin’s phoneagain and they listened to it ring and vibrate from a room with the door ajar.Slowly, they moved towards it.

The room was darker than expected, the curtains haphazardlypulled shut and the phone lit up the room where it rang on the bedside table.The smell of days old sweat lingered and Nines was tempted to shut hisolfactory sensors down but something stopped him. On the side of the bedfurthest from the bedside table was an unmoving form.

Connor pulled the curtains away and they stared at Gavin whowas curled up in bed, bare shoulder poking out from under the cover. His eyesslid over the three intruders before turning back to the bedside table in anunfocussed stare. Out of shock, Nines rang the phone again and watched Gavin’seyes track to the noise before returning to his blank stare.

“Gavin?” Connor asked.

There wasn’t even a flinch of acknowledgement from the bed.Hank looked over the room, there was a half full bottle of water on the floorby Gavin’s side, his phone on the bedside table, plugged in and charging. Thosehe was happy to see. What was more troubling were the boxes of pills next tothe phone, indiscriminately piled up but thankfully none of them open alongwith pen and paper. It was obvious that someone had tried to write something,but sheets were scrunched up with scribbled out words. Whoever Gavin was tryingto write to, he had obviously failed.

“I don’t understand,” Nines started and Hank cut him offwith a sharp look.

“Connor, tidy up a bit in here please,” Hank nodded at theboxes of pills and the pile of clothes abandoned at the side of the bed. “You,come with me,” he pointed at Nines.

They walked into the kitchen where Hank began to rummage throughthe cupboards, looking for something easy on the stomach.

“My scans show that Gavin is fine,” Nines started again andHank slammed a cupboard door shut.

“Does that man look like the walking definition of fine?” hesnarled.

“No. I don’t understand. Even his lingering laryngitis isall but gone.”

“Just because your scans show that someone is fine doesn’tmean they are. There’s more to a human than just their body. Like there’s moreto you than your chassis and hardcoding.”

While Nines stood and contemplated the words, Hank continuedhis search. After a moment his eyes fell on the fridge which had a few piecesof paper held to it with magnets. Mostly they were scribbled reminders, shoppinglist, appointments and meeting dates. Amongst it all, he spotted a vaguely familiarlooking piece of paper. A prescription.

“Ah.”

That was all he said before he pulled it free and scannedover it. He frowned when he saw that date and looked at his watch as he workedout how overdue it was.

“Take this to the pharmacy, pick it up. Tell them it’surgent police business if they give you any trouble.”

Obediently, Nines took the proffered prescription and left. Itgave Hank a few minutes to find a pack of plain digestive biscuits in the backof a cupboard before Connor appeared in the kitchen doorway with an armful ofboxes.

“I’ve done what I can,” was all he said before he found theempty drawer and began to sort through the pills.

“I know, Con, I know,” Hank laid a reassuring hand on hisshoulder. “Baby steps, remember?”

Connor shot him a sad smile and wondered whether all humanswere so broken or whether it was a side effect of knowing him. He watched Hankdisappear into the bedroom and sighed. He hoped he was just unlucky in knowingso many humans cursed with depression.

Inside the bedroom, Hank put the plate of biscuits down onthe bedside table and took a good look at Gavin. His hair was falling in greasystrands, his usual stubble longer, almost worthy of being called a beard. Helooked hollow, eyes empty of all light and each breath a slight shudder like itwas the most difficult task in the world to keep breathing. It probably feltlike it.

“I can’t promise that eating something will make you feelbetter, but it might be a start,” Hank tried.

When he got no response, he shrugged. He hadn’t expected hisvoice and idea to work miracles after all. Without sighing, or even expressingany disappointment, Hank walked around the bed.

“I’m going to help you sit up, if you feel light headed atall then squeeze my shoulder and we’ll get you lying back down. But once you’reup, I’m going to but a biscuit in your hand and you’d going to eat it.”

There was no response but Gavin let his arms be positionedaround Hank’s neck and put up no resistance to being sat up. His face wassallow in the light and Hank gave him a moment, holding his shoulders to makesure he wasn’t about to keel over.

“Okay,” he muttered and let Gavin go.

It was almost like watching a haunted doll. Hank pushed abiscuit into Gavin’s lax fingers and after a moment they grasped hold of it.Mechanically, the biscuit was lifted to Gavin’s mouth and he took a bite, eyesstaring at the far wall. When he’d finished it off, there were crumbs on hisshirt but it was the least of Hank’s worries. Instead of brushing him down, heran a gentle hand through greasy hair.

“Well done,” he murmured and Gavin’s eyes fluttered shutbriefly. “Nines will be here with your prescription soon. Things will get backon track.”

He helped Gavin lie down again and wished they were at thestage they could at least change the covers on the bed.

True to his words, Nines was back with the prescription andhe helped Hank sit Gavin up again. They pressed two pills into his palm and watchedhis throat bob as he swallowed them dry. The water he swallowed after it was anautomatic gesture, not one borne out of need.

“Try to get some sleep,” Hank rumbled softly. “Nines willstay with you while Connor and I will sort a few things out.”

They left the door half open and Connor’s LED flashed yellowfor a moment as he listened to Nines start to talk. It was all inconsequentialthings, stories from the precinct, the cases they worked on, where they made adifference.  Not once did Gavin even huffout a note of acknowledgement and Connor reached out to Nines in silence.

His lack of responseis not a reflection of you. Do not lose heart.

It seemed to dissipate a little of the disappointment thatNines found himself sinking into and he continued talking to Gavin, even if hischoice of stories veered towards the more outrageous.

A quick phone call to Fowler and suddenly the three of themdidn’t have a day off together for two weeks. Each day Hank, Connor or Nineswas off and they could spend the time with Gavin until he got back on his feet.

“I read somewhere that animals could bring positive healthbenefits to humans,” Nines mulled over dinner one evening. It was Connor whowas sat with Gavin that night.

“I’ll take Sumo with me tomorrow then,” Hank nodded and eyedhis dog. “I’m sure Gavin used to have a cat.”

The next day was Hank’s first alone with Gavin. He got thereearly enough for Connor to be able to get to work comfortably and he ignoredthe puzzled look of seeing Sumo on a tight leash by Hank’s side.

For the most part, the day was quiet. Sumo had made himselfat home in Gavin’s flat, snuggled up next to him and occasionally turned tolick the man’s hand that was buried in his fur. It was the first time Hank hadseen Gavin move voluntarily, even if only to thread fingers in thick fur andgrip like his life depended on it. Maybe it did.

The next day it was Nines with Gavin. He mostly sat on thebed, on top of the covers and talked. When he saw Gavin’s eyes droop, sleepthreatening to pull him under, his voice softened until he was certain Gavinwas drawing deep even breaths, eyelid fluttering as he dreamt. The fact he wokewith a panting gasp shouldn’t have surprised Nines, nightmares were on par forthe course really. But he hadn’t anticipated a hand shooting out to grab at hisin a vice like grip. Nines pulled the hand into his lap, the fingers of hisfree hand stroked over the knuckles until they relaxed a little.

“I’m sorry,” Gavin whispered, voice hoarse with disuse.

“You’re doing just fine,” Nines replied and pretended not tosee the tears that trickled across Gavin’s face, tracing the path of the scaron his nose.

With Connor there, it was a little less personal. He didn’tsit with Gavin all the time, gave him space as he worked at his kitchen table.There was the sound of a door closing which made Connor jerk upright, followedby the sound of a shower turning on. With a small smile, he hopped off thestool and walked into the bedroom. It only took him a few minutes to change thesheets, fluff up the pillows and quickly air the room. By the time Gavinstumbled out of the bathroom in nothing but a pair of boxers, Connor was backon the stool as though he’d never moved in the first place.

“Didn’t you used to have a cat?” Connor asked that evening.

Gavin had sat up by himself and accepted the small bowl ofthick soup with a brief moment of eye contact. Obviously it was the wrongquestion to ask because Gavin froze up at the words and his head dipped, hairfalling into his face like a shield.

“She’s the neighbour’s now,” he rasped after a minute ofsilence.

“I see,” Connor didn’t, but he wasn’t sure what he could sayto remedy the situation.

“When I last had an episode,” Gavin broke off for a momentfor a breath. “When I last got like this, I couldn’t look after her. It wasn’tfair. Couldn’t neglect her like that. So I found her a better home.”

He sniffed and Connor furiously tried to backpedal withplatitudes of Gavin doing the best for her, of her being happy in her new home.Nothing seemed to help, if anything it just made things worse and he had totake the bowl from Gavin’s lax grip before it spilled everywhere.

“Because anywhere was better for her than with me,” Gavingasped and pulled his knees up to his chest.

His tears stopped as quickly as they started but he didn’ttake the bowl back from Connor that evening. Even from the living room Connorcould head his stomach rumbling with hunger. Humans punished themselves in thestrangest of ways for the oddest of things.

Handover to Hank in the morning was a mixed affair. Sumo hadbeen allowed to charge ahead into the apartment and had already taken up hisfavourite spot on the bed next to Gavin. It left Connor with a chance to giveHank a rundown of all the good things (shower, clean bedsheets and sometalking) as well as the not so good (crying over his cat, perhaps it was bestto avoid the topic for a bit). All through it, Hank nodded and when he was doneand getting ready to leave, Connor was surprised to be pulled in for a hug.

“You did good,” Hank murmured against his hair, “sometimes agood cry is what’s needed.”

Puzzled, Connor left for work, mind racing through thereasons why inadvertently making Gavin cry was a good thing. He drew a blank.

Back at the apartment, Hank knocked on the bedroom door.

“Rise and shine,” he called, “the pill club is moving to thekitchen table today.”

There was no response from the bedroom but he didn’t expectmuch either. After a minute of puttering around and setting out breakfast, hereturned to the bedroom.

“Ready to face the world yet? I won’t even make you dress upif you’re not up to that yet. Just come out and keep an old man company whilewe take our happy pills.”

That at least got Gavin staring at him, the hand buried inSumo’s fur stopping. It was enough of a reaction for Hank to retreat, confidentthat Gavin was going to follow. Sure enough, a few minutes later thefloorboards creaked and Gavin appeared in the kitchen doorway. He had even puta t-shirt on.

“Sit, sit,” Hank urged him towards one of the stools as heperched on the other one.

Each place was set up identical, a bowl of porridge, a glassof fresh orange juice and a box of pills next to each glass. Gavin eyed it allsceptically, carefully tacking Hank’s movements as he took his own pills andpopped one out. He took it with a gulp of orange juice and smiled at Gavin.

“You too?” Gavin asked. He’d recognised the brand of pillsHank was taking, it was one he’d tried himself but the side effects were toomuch to cope with.

“Me and probably half the precinct,” Hank nodded.

“Huh,” Gavin huffed out and reached for his own pills. Twosat in his palm as he regarded them before lifting them to his mouth andswallowing them dry.

“There’s no shame about it, you know that, right?” Hankasked softly. He didn’t look at Gavin, kept his eyes carefully on the spoonfulof sugar he was sprinkling over his porridge.

“Yeah, I know,” Gavin finally admitted.

It was progress, Hank didn’t want to push for too much toosoon but at the same time there was something they needed to talk about.

“That night we first came over,” he began delicately.

Gavin stiffened in his seat, ready to bolt.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to,” Hank heldup his hands to placate, “but the door was open, you made it easy for whoevercame to find you. No need to call the police, break your door in, cause ascene. Trust me, I know, I’ve been through the same process. The pills on theside, you were going to take them, once you wrote your notes. But you neverfinished a note. What held you back?”

The silence between them stretched to an uncomfortable levelas Gavin pushed his porridge around in the bowl. Finally, he pushed it awayuntouched and crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

“I didn’t have anyone to write a note to,” he bit out atlong last.

Hank nodded, no judgement showed in his face.

“I realised I was such an unwanted fuck-up that I didn’teven have anyone to say goodbye to. Nobody would miss me if I lay down and diedso that’s what I did. Wasn’t even worth taking the pills because they wouldhave been wasted on me.”

The outburst left Gavin’s chest heaving and Hank looked overat him calmly.

“Do you still think that?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Gavin ran a hand through his hair thescratched at his beard with a disgusted frown.

“I don’t mean to pry and I know it’s none of my business,but,” Hank took a steadying breath and held Gavin’s gaze, “I thought you andNines might have a bit of a thing going.”

Gavin looked away at that and he scoffed.

“The poor bastard doesn’t know any better. He’ll find someonemore deserving soon enough.”

“Funny,” Hank mused, “that’s exactly what I used to thinkabout Connor. Don’t you think it’s a little unfair to be making that decisionfor Nines? Rather than asking him?”

“Can’t we talk about pills that make us less miserableinstead?” There was a whine to Gavin’s voice that made Hank smile.

“For what it’s worth, I’d have been gutted,” Hank finishedhis porridge and left the table to do the washing up.

The rest of the day passed quietly, Gavin burrowed back intohis bed but at least he was sitting up, back against the headboard and flickingthrough his phone. That evening he suggested that Hank go home but he was wavedoff.

“One more night on your couch won’t kill me,” he’d said.

In the morning Nines was at Gavin’s door, knocking politely.Hank opened it with a loose smile.

“He’s in the shower, had enough of beard itching,” he saidand stepped round Nines’ and patted him on the shoulder.

By the time Gavin emerged from the shower, freshly shaved tohis more usual look and hair towelled dry, Nines had breakfast set up.

“Hey,” a sudden bout of shyness took over Gavin and hestruggled to look at Nines.

“Hello Gavin,” Nines replied and held out a bowl of fruits. “Igot you some breakfast.”

“Thanks,” Gavin took the bowl and scooped up the box ofpills from the side. He popped two out and swallowed, chasing them down with astrawberry.

They stood in the kitchen awkwardly, Gavin munching on hisfruit for lack of anything better to do while Nines leaned against a counterand watched him. Eventually, the bowl was empty and Gavin ran out of excusesnot to talk.

“So,” he began and rubbed the back of his neck, “thanks. Foreverything. And sorry.”

“Are you apologising for your mental health?”

Gavin knew Nines well enough to find a hint of incredulityin in his voice. It made him dip his head and mumble his response.

“You are the way you are,” the words seemed so easy, comingfrom Nines, “you cannot help your chemical imbalance any more than I can helpmy core coding. We can both try to work around it with pills and layers ofsubroutines but neither of us asked to be the way we are.”

“I know that,” Gavin kicked at the ground in discomfort, histoes rhythmically stubbing against the floor.

“So you have nothing to apologise for unless you think Ishould be apologising for being built to be a killing machine.”

“I should have told you sooner, you should have known whatyou were signing up for right from the start.”

“You do realise I’m a state of the art detective androidwith real time lab analysis capabilities, right?” Nines let out a small smileas Gavin’s head snapped up in disbelief.

“You knew all along?”

“I happen to enjoy analysing everything about the one Ilove.”

The bowl went clattering from Gavin’s hand and he steppedaway with wide eyes.

“You can’t say that,” he gasped, a hand clawing at his chestas though trying to keep his heart in place. “You’ve not lived enough to knowthat.”

The unimpressed look Nines shot him was usually enough toinstil fear in anyone but Gavin had become immune to it over time.

“If you’re quite done.”

That at least shut Gavin up. Patiently, Nines offered up anarm in invitation for a hug and he tried his best not to roll his eyes whenGavin looked hesitant.

“I won’t bite. Unless you ask me to.”

“Prick,” Gavin huffed out a laugh and stepped over the bowlthat had cleaved in two as it fell.

“Are you quite done having an existential crisis?” Ninesasked even as he wrapped Gavin in his arms and rested his chin on top of hishead.

He could feel the brush of a smile against his collarboneand Gavin burrowed in a little closer.

“I’m not sure yet. Might have to stand here a little longerto make sure.”

Nines let him cling on, ignored the little shiver thatpassed through Gavin every now and then as he fought whatever inner demon itwas that had reared its ugly head again.

“Tomorrow,” Gavin mumbled into his chest,” “we’re going towork. And I’m buying you, Hank and Connor the biggest gift baskets I can find.”

“Or you could ask us to help next time you find yourself inneed. Preferably before things hit rock bottom,” Nines tried to compromise.

“Can’t promise that,” Gavin shook his head and looked up atNines with wide eyes. “But I can promise to try my best.”

“That’s all I ask,” Nines replied and leaned down to press akiss to his lips.

The next morning when Connor knocked on the door, both Ninesand Gavin were ready to head to work. They bundled into the taxi alongside Hankwho smiled warmly at them all before pulling Connor’s hand into his and linkingtheir fingers. Shyly, Gavin reached out for Nines and grinned when they did thesame.

[sazandorable]

so im gonna do that AAW meme thing! cw: tmi about aza’s thrilling life, some cringey or vaguely depressing/upsetting anecdotes, some happy things in a silly way, and fandom

1.      Sunday, 21 October:

o   Describe your experience of finding out about asexuality/the ace spectrum.  What source(s) did you find it from? How did it feel to find out about asexuality? How did it change your life?

~Sherlock BBC fandom~! /o/ Yeaaaaah.

To be precise, the kink meme, on livejournal. just a random prompt asking for something exploring the arrangement between asexual sherlock and uhhh probably john but tbh i don’t remember that. maybe Irene. I’m almost sure this was right after the Scandal in Belgravia episode had aired, and that episode was why people were playing with the idea of Sherlock being uninterested in sex.

I don’t remember my exact feelings when I read that word, but I do remember that I was delighted at the concept (+ the discussion in the same episode about falling in love outside of your sexual orientation) and immediately convinced, that I jumped into researching asexuality, and that barely a few weeks later I was very deep in contemplating and musing about my own levels of attraction and sorting out all that stuff. I do think I just instantly realized this concept applied to me; I found the AVEN site and its definitions very fast, and grey-a felt good instantly. (I found demi later, and it took me a bit longer to claim it for myself, though I don’t remember much details about that.)

Like, years later I’m very much bitter about and Over™ Sherlock BBC, its writers, and that episode in particular and their stance on the sexualities and orientations of all their characters, but... it did bring me something very precious, that it would have taken me years to find out about otherwise.

It did change my life in that this is when I realized that I really, really, really didn’t have to date, have sex, marry or whatever “one day” if I never wanted to and I wasn’t “late” on anything. Took off a lot of pressure, and also made me stop trying to dub-con myself into accepting things I didn’t actively want just because I didn’t actively hate them.

2.      Monday, 22 October:

o   Talk about your coming out experience.  Of course, one many never be finished coming out, but you could describe how you came out to friends, what reactions you have gotten, how you have felt by coming out, and more.

Mm, two:

not quite coming out, and I don’t remember how it came up, but I mentioned “ok but what about asexuality” at my mother, perhaps a year or two after finding out about it, and she just scoffed and said “that’s not a thing, it’s just being scared of sex,” and I just... froze. Blanked out. Zoned out. Possibly shook a little. This was my first first-hand experience of being just... disacknowledged, erased, denied out of existence, and I had absolutely not expected it, nor the violence of it, nor the casual quality of that violence. I couldn’t say anything in reply, and I don’t think my mother noticed anything at all.

on another hand, I once explained to a gay male friend of mine that, well, I don’t call myself a lesbian, I like girls but I don’t call my super-duper-precious-friend my girlfriend, we are extremely close but we don’t have sex or really date, I’m asexual; and his reaction was “?? THAT’S SO COOL. That fits you! I’m glad for you that you can just do whatever works for you without following conventions about relationships! Cool, great!” and that just made my day.

3.      Tuesday, 23 October:

o   Describe your experience of confronting stereotypes.  There are many stereotypes or expectations of what being on the ace spectrum is like, but of course aspec people are just as diverse as any other group.  How have you defied or corrected these stereotypes?

uuhhhhh

Mostly this happens when I talk about asexuality with people who are questioning themselves, explaining the many different flavors it can come in, that yeah you can be asexual at the same time as enjoying sex, masturbating, having fantasies, wanting to date, etc. Not so much smashing established stereotypes, more confirming that nop this thing that you think would “disqualify” you from being asexual doesn’t, actually, you still might be, you’re not “fake”.

4.      Wednesday, 24 October:

o   Talk about positive representation of aspec people in media which has benefited you or speaks to you strongly.  Aspec people are not often represented in media, so it will be nice to see which representations have the strongest impacts.

*STANDS UP, VIBRATING*

TWENTYACETEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!

This year I got two cases of explicit, confirmed, canon, accurate and nuanced representation with central characters in two series that were already extremely close to my heart, and I’m so happy about it!!!!

Spoilers for both fandoms!

1) Shimanami Tasogare: a recently finished manga about LGBT community. In one of the last arcs, we learn that the very central yet mysterious character Anonymous (Dareka-san) is asexual. Like, the character says it, in full letters, and it’s discussed a lot.

Well, it’s more complicated than that, because it’s set in Japan and written in Japanese and Japan has different approaches, concepts and vocabulary around asexuality than English-language; what Anonymous initially describes might be closer to what English-language would call aromanticism. But they also later go “Am I interested in sex, or not? Who knows :)”, with their potential interest in sex represented with them reading porn magazines, and they’ve already expressed that they’re not interested in dating, so as it happens they’re probably both aro and ace (in English terms) anyway. (In the same sequence, they also explain that they might be male, or female, and generally aren’t overly concerned with how people think of them, anything works for them.)

This brings the other characters to think some more about their own desires for love, sex, relationships, human contact... There is a beautiful scene where the main character thinks that knowing this lets him finally understand Anonymous, that this must be why they are so mysterious and detached and fleeting — and Anonymous tells him point-blank that nah. They’re not just their asexuality. Don’t reduce them to that. They’re not “anonymous” because they’re asexual, and vice-versa — those are just two incidental parts of who they are. They are a full person, who just happens to be asexual, and also to enjoy being anonymous and unknown and find freedom in living their life this way.

It was just incredible to read entire chapters dedicated to a central character talking at length about their asexuality, and also how they relate, not only to straight people, but also to queer non-ace people. In the end the main character still doesn’t quite get Anonymous, and that’s how they like it.

2) The Magnus Archives: an ongoing horror podcast that’s casually LGBTQIA-friendly. (Like, a lot of horrible stuff does happen to queer people, but that’s because there’s a lot of them, and I do think that statistically more of them survive than straight people. Equal opportunity horror.) I had been toying with headcanoning the main character Jon as asexual for a variety of reasons for a while, and then in an episode that aired a few months ago a character casually mentioned that “apparently [he] just... doesn’t. At all.” Asked to elaborate, the writer confirmed on twitter that yup, he’s written as asexual (though who knows if Jon would use that word himself, he doesn’t really think about it).

I’m especially delighted because this came up, in context, because Jon has dated. At least once. We know his ex, and she is super chill with him. This reveal also comes up in the same breath as the reveal that a male character seems to have a crush on him, and IMO the show seems to hint that said character is aware that Jon doesn’t do sex, and doesn’t/wouldn’t mind this if they were to date.

Jon did start out as the usual cold, rational, unempathetic character archetype (in fact, he’s very reminiscent of BBC’s Sherlock in early episodes), but by the time this line comes up, the listener knows that he actually cares a lot and is full of emotions. He’s shown to be very, very protective of the people close to him — though also very bad at it. And at expressing it. But, still around the same time of the ace reveal, he is making deliberate efforts to communicate more and value everyone’s feelings. And of course, being the central character, he’s a veeeeery developed character with tons of evolution and nuances, and a huge fandom fave. The reveal that’s he’s asexual has changed exactly nothing in the show; but, like I said, it fits him, he read as asexual to the point that I was suspecting it despite zero real textual evidence until then.

When this episode came out and I heard that line (... I actually had missed it on first listen), I was at work, and I just started almost crying at my desk.

And then I got to go around yelling about it at my fandom friends.

... And at my non-fandom friends.

[beatricethecat2]

if/then (2.0) - 16

I'm releasing this into the world so I'll stop fiddling with it and I think the gist is there. It's a bit of a rollercoaster with lots of dialog, but more than a few things are revealed, so yay! and finally! There are a few more chapters coming up than I thought, because it's going to take awhile to unravel all of Helena's mysteries. Typos abound, I will fix later. (edited 8/28) Thanks for reading!

Previously: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13, part 14, part 15

////////////////////

Lowered voices and metallic rumblings nudge Myka from her well-earned sleep, but the high-pitched giggle of a giddy child rouses her for good.

“What are you watching?” Myka asks, hiking herself up to eye level, spying Helena and Christina huddled at the table.

“The finest in feline entertainment,” Helena says, angling her eyes toward Myka. "Sorry to wake you.”

“That’s ok. It’s been…” Myka turns and plucks her phone off the coffee table. “Wow, three hours.”

“You were exhausted.”

“Where's Claudia?”

“Comatose in the bedroom.”

“And the cooking?”

“We’re basting,” Christina answers, not looking up from the screen.

“Soon, there’ll be much more to prepare.”

“I'll help,” Myka says.

“Mom, look!”

Helena glances at the phone then brushes Christina's hair from her face, eyes shifting back when Christina lets out another hardy giggle. Christina leans into her mother, and Helena hugs her close, both chuckling at whatever’s happening on the screen.

The sound’s a reassuring reminder of simpler days, before the weight of the world crushed Myka's resolve. She sinks back into the couch, maybe there's hope for them yet, once Helena comes clean and their feet finally touch the ground.

Their day began early, with Helena rushing off for her bags, then a hurried trip to catch their red-eye to London. They were seated promptly on the plane, but after an announcement of a delay, Helena unclasped her seat belt and abruptly stood. Myka caught her arm and eased her down as the flight attendant scuttled over. She insisted they’d be moving shortly, but Helena fidgeted, overly worried they’d miss Christina and Claudia's arrival at the airport.

Their meet up went smoothly, thankfully, with jubilant hugs all around and they were soon whizzing in a black cab toward London. Claudia curled up in a corner while Christina and Helena cuddled nearby and Myka lounged in the jump seat across from them. As she sank into her seat, the weight of the last month fell off in waves; their next few days should be comparatively easygoing.

Once they hit the inner city, the driver twisted and turned, so much so Myka swore they were going in circles. When the car pulled up to the curb, there was a collective groan; they'd all conformed to their seats and were unwilling to move again. But they tumbled out of the cab and dragged their bags across the pavement, hauling them up a set of stairs and promptly dumping them inside.

“So this is it,” Claudia said. “Chez H.G.”

“This room and the next,” Helena replied, as Claudia poked her head in the bedroom.

“Not bad,” Claudia said, ducking into the kitchen then the bathroom. “Hey look, everything’s where it’s supposed to be.”

“For your convenience,” Helena quipped. “Obviously."

“It’s pretty small," Claudia said.

“It is only me here.”

“I got dibs on a shower.”

“I believe we all desire one.”

“I took one this morning after you…” Myka started, but Helena lowered her brow in caution. “...you went to get breakfast."

“I don’t wanna know,” Claudia said, waving a hand. "But I’ve been on kid duty for forever, so I get first dibs on whatever I want.”

“Claudia’s right,” Myka said.

“Very well,” Helena said. “I’ll begin preparations for the Great American Feast. Who’s with me?”

“Me!” Christina said, raising her hand and jumping up and down.

“And me. As long as I last,” Myka said.

Myka didn't last for long.

Claudia walks in yawning soon after Myka wakes, and as she joins in the preparations, their muscle memory of co-habituating flexes full force. It’s not unlike Helena’s old apartment, their bodies navigating around each other on instinct, but instead of a low coffee table, they’re eating at regulation height.

During dinner, Christina describes every dish's preparation, including where she found the recipe and how many times they’ve made it before.

“Our first foray into brussel sprouts precipitated Christina's front tooth's extraction,” Helena states.

“I thought it was the stuffing,” Claudia says.

“It was the nuts in the green beans!” Christina corrects.

“Almonds,” Helena recollects. “Damn that Martha Stewart."

Christina describes the event jubilantly, and all present agree with her account.

This prompts a flurry of anecdotes detailing previous Thanksgivings, everyone interrupting everyone else with corrections as they go. Myka sits back and listens, completely enthralled, as here's the backstory she’s always craved from them. It’s too bad it’s when she’s at odds with Helena, but she enjoys their tales nonetheless.

Once they're stuffed to the gills with turkey and pie, they crowd on the couch and cue up a movie. Myka nods off after the beginning credits roll and when she wakes, only Claudia remains, sleeping.

Myka finds Helena and Christina asleep, curled up together in Helena’s bedroom. She slides under the covers, gently, and shimmies close—a tight fit, but ultimately manageable—then smiles at the serenity on Helena's face. She reaches out, brushing a lock of hair away from Helena's eye, then skims her hand towards her, across Helena’s cheek and down to trace her jaw.

Helena blinks awake and as she focuses, returns Myka's smile in earnest.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Myka whispers.

“It’s alright. We should talk.”

“Tomorrow. Rest.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yeah, goodnight.” Myka glances at Christina, still blissfully asleep in her mother’s arms, then closes her eyes.

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

Helena's phone rings the minute they leave the flat for lunch.

“Go on ahead,” she says, frowning at the screen.

“We can wait,” Myka says, chancing a glance at the caller, but the display reads “unknown."

“This may take a minute. I’ll join you shortly," Helena says, tapping accept and lifting the device to her ear.

“Babezilla, you think?” Claudia says as Helena walks back inside. “I thought she was in the clear."

“Me too," Myka says, looking in Helena’s direction warily. "I guess she’s never really off the clock.”

After the sale, Helena was vague about her involvement closing the deal and hadn't spoken much about the bar or school. But it's odd, her wandering off with Christina physically here, as she’d want to spend every single second possible in her presence. Whoever is calling must be delivering sensitive news, but she’ll suspend her suspicions until later.

When Helena joins them at the cafe, she claims the call wasn't that important, but as the day progresses, Myka doubts that's true. Helena won't look her in the eye and keeps Christina close, making it impossible to ask probing questions. She thought she’d be more forthcoming once Claudia left to meet with friends, but instead, she suggests visiting a row of market stalls. This thrills Christina to no end and they look up recipes while shopping, until Helena’s phone rings again. She instructs them to go on without her, handing Myka her keys and walking off in the direction they came from.

“Is mom ok?” Christina asks, looking as worried as Myka's feeling.

“I think it’s just work. It was hard for her to get time off.”

“Ok,” Christina says, sounding unconvinced. “We need milk to make dessert.”

“There's a store on our way. We’ll stop there,” Myka says. As Helena disappears around a corner, she places a hand on Christina’s shoulder and guides her toward the flat.

Ten minutes after their arrival, the buzzer rings. "Hello again," Helena greets as Myka opens the door. She kisses Myka on the cheek, then strides towards the kitchen with nary a word about the call.

Helena dotes over Christina and it's a heartening sight, but Myka can’t shake the feeling something’s terribly wrong. She’s surprised when Helena suggests they tuck in Christina early. They tell her stories until Christina's eyes droop and close.

“Wine?” Helena suggests as they tiptoe into the living room.

“Yeah, sure,” Myka answers, following Helena into the kitchen.

“Perhaps this economically priced Malbec will suffice for the evening since it’s all that’s left after last night.” Helena sets the bottle on the counter and rifles through a drawer, then opens another and repeats the action. When she consults a third with no result, Myka opens the first and plucks out a wine opener.

“Are you ok?” Myka says, flipping the knife open and sliding the bottle towards her. She scores the wrapping, then peels it off.

“I’ve been better,” Helena says, taking two wine glasses from a cabinet.

“What’s up with all the calls?” Myka asks, screwing the corkscrew in and pushing the lever down.

“Things best discussed while sitting,” Helena answers.

Myka up lifts the cork and when it pops, Helena snatches the bottle out from under it. She pours a generous portion and hands the glass to Myka. "Have a seat, and I’ll join you shortly.”

Myka grimaces as she walks, sitting down means bad news. She circles the couch and sits, looking over her shoulder to check if Helena’s following.

Helena downs an entire glass and pours herself another, then joins Myka, but sits at a distance. She folds her hands over her lap and straightens her spine as if readying for a presentation.

“Thank you for joining us for Thanksgiving. We had a lovely time.”

“It was nice. But that’s not what this is about."

“No.” Helena looks down at her hands, a thumb now scrubbing over her wrist. "We’ve been getting on rather well lately, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yeah, mostly.”

“If you might recall that moving forward I’d be most appreciative.” Helena stills her thumb and clasps her hands together.

"What’s wrong?”

“I must inform you of something rather unpleasant.”

“Was that Bonnie on the phone?”

“I’m not at liberty to say."

“Is this about the appeal?” Myka scoots closer and places a hand over Helena’s.

“Not precisely. It’s something I’d hoped to avoid entirely, but I’m told there’s no alternative." Helena glances towards the bedroom, then back at Myka. “I apologize for the situation that we’re all about to be placed in."

“You’re scaring me a little,” Myka says, withdrawing her hand.

“I’m scared myself,” Helena says, unclasping her hands and laying them, palms down, on her knees. For a minute it looks like she might stand, but it’s just the way her body's tensing. "I won't mince words, but I do ask you remain civil once I've disclosed this information."

“Civil? This doesn't sound good.”

“It's not,” Helena says, fingers now curled around her knees. “I’m being taken in for questioning for transporting stolen goods over international borders. It’s likely you, and Mrs. Frederic will be questioned as well.”

Myka blinks several times, repeating the phrases in her mind until the depth of Helena's words sink in. “Questioned by who? And when?”

“By the police. As early as tomorrow."

Myka takes a moment to rationalize this. “Is this about the sale?"

“In a sense. Have you any idea what the “under the radar” item you offered was?”

“No."

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

“Absolutely certain.”

“Yes. Why?” Only a minute in and Helena’s already testing her patience.

“You must be unwavering in answer when questioned."

“I don’t know. You said you didn’t either.” A familiar anger wells up in Myka's chest. "I’m guessing that was a lie."

“I delivered it, for Mrs. Frederic.”

“To who? MacPherson?”

Helena’s eyes narrow, reading as if that wasn't the question she was expecting. “No. To Bonnie.”

“So the police think you stole it?”

“It was stolen goods in the first place. I was merely transporting it across borders.”

“You’re saying Mrs. Frederic stole it?”

“I have no knowledge of its acquisition. I was simply the courier in this situation."

Helena’s bláze tone works on Myka’s nerves but going off on her now will only make matters worse. If she’s honest, many of Mrs. Frederic's deals have questionable origins, though she does make an effort to reunite items with their owners. And her original offer, the Faberge egg, was technically stolen goods, but stolen a hundred years ago, which made it seem a non-issue.

The secrecy around this new item must mean it's very, very hot. Helena and Bonnie obviously knew that and pushed Mrs. Frederic to release it. But to get caught during delivery seems out of character for both of them. There must be a logic driving the decision.

“You’re framing Mrs. Frederic. You got caught on purpose,” Myka says, as it all comes into focus.

“Why would I do that? I’m already on probation. Do you think I never want to reunite with my child?”

“That’s not what I—"

“That bloody Sally blew the whistle. Bonnie was whispering in her ear for months. The police are gathering planted evidence as we speak."

“So Bonnie does work for MacPherson,” Myka mumbles, mostly to herself.

“Not that I’m aware of."

“That’s who was on the phone at the sale every time you left the room."

"How exactly would he call without raising suspicions? He's in jail."

“I don’t know. But ruining Mrs. Frederic’s reputation would be a priority for him.”

“Why would I, of all people, agree to help him?"

“Maybe it's your way out, permanently."

"I was out. This is on Emily. And there are numerous others invested in taking Mrs. Frederic down."

"Ok, say I believe you. Why are Emily and Bonnie railroading Mrs. Frederic?”

“Emily was delivering goods as contracted. Bonnie planned this escapade down to the minute. Apparently, my 'slip up of disastrous proportions’ was only to be executed as a desperate measure.”

“A-ha! So you did know. And you are framing Mrs. Frederic.”

“Keep your voice down,” Helena scolds and glances towards the bedroom.

"I know Bonnie's a cop. Or she used to be. And I know you've known her since undergrad,” Myka continues, undeterred.

Helena flinches back. "Where are you getting this?"

"You dated. She left you. You were crushed. And now you're working with her and probably sleeping with her, too.”

“I most certainly am not.”

“Do you want to be?” Myka’s hands ball into fists, it’s exhilarating to have thrown that jab. She wants to hit something, something Helena sized, and she just might, depending on the answer.

“Do you hear yourself? You’re utterly delusional."

“How would I know? You’ve spent more time with her than me."

“I understand you’re upset, but this is—”

“What do you want from me? Really, truly want?"

“I want this to be over so we can move forward as a family.”

“Ha! Right. With you in jail?”

“It wouldn't be for long."

"How could you know?"

"I've information to barter my freedom.”

“And if that doesn’t work and you’re sent away anyway? You’re just stringing me along to look after your kid.”

“You’ve never been obligated. Claudia can—"

A muffled whimper cuts Helena short. She flies off the couch towards the source and scoops Christina into her arms.

Myka remains on the couch as they disappear into the bedroom, sick to her stomach that Helena used her for personal gain. She didn't deny knowing Bonnie previously and she deny sleeping with her. Now that all of her worst fears have been confirmed, Helena's flat feels too small. There’s no way she can stay here tonight, she has to get out as soon as possible.

She strides into the bedroom to gather her things but is stopped short by Christina sobbing in Helena's arms.

“Myka hates me,” Christina blurts.

“She doesn’t hate you, love. Do you, Myka.”

“Of course I don’t,” Myka grunts, avoiding Helena's glower by grabbing her suitcase. “Your mom and I are having…issues, but I still love you.”

“But you said…you said that...that you didn’t want to take care of me anymore,” Christina manages, through sobs.

“I didn’t mean that.”

“Yes, you did. You never stay at Aunt Claudia’s.”

“I’ve been busy."

“What are you doing?” Helena asks.

“I'm leaving. I need to be anywhere but here.” Myka jams a pair of shorts into her suitcase and Christina sobs harder. “Just for tonight,” Myka amends, with a slightly less bite.

“She’ll be back,” Helena says, combing her fingers through Christina’s hair.

Myka grabs a smaller bag, one that will do for overnight, and transfers clothes into it.

“I don't want mom to go to jail.”

“That wasn’t meant for your ears,” Helena says.

“Knowing you, you will,” Myka grumbles at Helena.

Christina gasps and burrows her face into Helena’s chest. Helena shoots Myka a deathly glare.

“I-I need some things from the bathroom.”

Myka hurries out of the room, that was cruel but Helena pushed her, plus it's too late to take it back now. She shoves toiletries into her bag then pats her pockets, but doesn't find her phone. It must be in the living room, so she treads out to find it, but is dragged back in by the arm.

“Ow, you're hurting me!” Myka yelps as Helena herds her in. She tugs her arm free as Helena pushes the door closed.

“You must listen closely and do as I say, for I will not have you put away in my place.”

“Me, go to jail? I haven't done anything wrong!"

“That you’re aware of.”

“What did you do?”

“Not me. Mrs. Frederic.”

Myka scoffs. “Mrs. Frederic, right.”

“This is not a bluff.”

“It’s hard to tell with you.”

Helena’s eyes tighten; it’s clear she's in no mood for bickering.

“Fine. Go on."

“Before I continue, I must emphasize, you mustn’t mention your ‘theories' when questioned."

“What ‘theories'?"

“Bonnie working for the authorities and us colluding against Mrs. Frederic. Neither were 'in the heat of the moment' guesses, I presume.”

“No. But you said I was ‘delusional' and brushed me off.”

“What are you basing them on, exactly?”

“I don’t have to tell you.” Myka throws her nose into the air and crosses her arms over her chest.

“But you shall, after the state you’ve left my daughter in.”

Myka drops her arms. “Is she ok?”

“As well as to be expected after being shunned by someone she loves.”

“I was mad at you, not her.”

“Then take it out on me, not in front of her.”

"Oh, I will.” Helena's scolding gets Myka's ire up again.

“These ’theories’ of yours. What are they based on?"

“Stuff Claudia dug up on the internet."

“You’ve involved Claudia!” Helena blurts.

"I couldn't follow you blindly! I had to find out for myself."

"Does she know—"

"About you being at the sale? No."

"And this information, is any of it on your computer?"

“Yes. Why?"

"Wipe it immediately. All traces. Everything. And when you're interviewed, do not mention Claudia's involvement.”

“Why should I help you?”

“It’s in all our best interests you heed my advice.”

“Seriously, why? I don’t see how ‘heeding your advice’ helps anyone but you.” Myka glares at Helena until her muscles begin to quiver, the urge to punch her rising again. “I gotta go,” she says, moving towards the door, but Helena steps in front of her. She tries to push Helena aside, but Helena grabs her wrist and shoves her back in.

“I’ll explain," Helena says. "But I shouldn't."

Myka yanks her wrist free.

“You mustn't repeat a word I say. Not to Claudia nor Christina, Abigail or Amanda. You're absolutely in the dark; otherwise, we’re all sunk.”

“Got it. Act dumb.”

“Act pained. Dumbfounded. Betrayed. Everything you’ve been feeling this evening times ten. The drama must ring true."

“Fine," Myka says and waits for Helena to continue, but instead, Helena looks over at the tub. She perches on its edge and looks down at the floor, dragging a hand through her hair, holding it back.

“Helena, tell me."

Helena releases her locks slowly, letting them cascade in sheets until her face is entirely obscured by a black curtain. "It's you that's being railroaded. By Mrs. Frederic."

“What?” Myka barely heard a word Helena said. She sits on the tub and angles her head for better access.

“Your trajectory was ideal: an eager young recruit, overstepping her bounds for professional gain. I was told it was the least harmful option to produce the desired result."

"I don't understand."

“The delay at Customs. Mrs. Frederic's intervention. All pre-planned events. The item in question was hidden in your crates.” Helena turns toward Myka. "It was you that was meant to be caught redhanded, but Bonnie and I threw a wrench into the works.”

Myka stands and backs away. This is surely another tale Helena's spinning.

“I understand how ludicrous this sounds, but it's the truth."

"Why should I believe you?"

“Because we’re all pawns in this volatile game of chess. Your sacrifice was meant to push MacPherson into a compromising position. His influence extends well beyond antiquities, into dark dealings too gruesome to mention. I can’t even begin to explain how important this transaction is and how horrified I was to hear you were anywhere near it. I did everything in my power to force Mrs. Frederic’s hand. I thought I’d succeeded until you turned up in Germany.”

“You got me dropped from the sale?"

"Yes."

Myka takes a moment to process this. "How long have you known?"

“Since my first meeting with Mrs. Frederic. I’d learned then you’d been earmarked earlier. And that Theodora and Vanessa were also involved."

"Theodora and Vanessa?” Myka wobbles and grabs hold of the sink counter. That’s why she was given the antiquities job, not because she was worthy. "Vanessa wouldn't do that."

"Vanessa had little choice. She was strong-armed by Mrs. Frederic. Theodora wavered but was...coerced."

“Coerced? How?”

“I’m not privy to the details. But she was rather suddenly on board.”

"Why me?"

“Mrs. Frederic believed, were you to be sentenced at all, the court would be lenient for a first offense. I argued the opposite, that they’d use you to set an example, especially with such a high profile case. Therefore, I was ordered to stay out of it entirely, which I entirely did not do. I instead contacted Vanessa and Theodora to form a plan."

“What did they say?"

“That Mrs. Frederic’s no longer behaving rationally. She’d do anything to keep MacPherson behind bars, even ruin careers were it to further her agenda. They agreed she needed to be stopped, but they hadn’t a clue how.”

Myka flashes back to Italy, to the meal she had with Theodora. She'd said Mrs. Frederic would push her until she broke and warned she should push back before that happened. "Family's what’s left when everything else falls flat,” Theodora had said. Was she referencing this moment then?

“So this has nothing to do with Emily. This is all about me.”

“Unfortunately, yes. Upon arrival in London, I, and Emily were genuinely free of Macpherson’s affairs. In fact, my involvement was never meant to go this far."

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“The less you knew, the better."

Helena's standard answer, but an answer that now makes sense. Myka stares at her, heart racing, blood pounding, she doesn’t know what to say. Her whole world’s just been turned upside-down, and for once, Helena’s given her real answers.

“I’m doing this for us. For our future. I’m in a much better position to bargain than you. And who better to care for my daughter were I locked away?”

Helena’s quip is meant to be playful, but her tender tone hits Myka in the gut. “I’m sorry. So sorry. For everything.” She moves across the room and resumes her spot on the tub. “I should apologize to Christina."

“Please do. But maintain the illusion we're fighting."

“I’ll do whatever you say,” Myka says, reaching across Helena's lap and taking hold of her hand.

“Your instincts are correct. Stay in a hotel. Don't tell me where. And come tomorrow, this conversation never happened. You’re very, very angry with me once it all unfolds."

"I'm sorry for the way I've treated you. You didn't deserve—"

"You had good reason.” Helena flips Myka's hand over and laces their fingers together. "Now, go apologize to my daughter, then storm off in a huff."

Myka scoots closer. "I have no idea what's going on and that scares me. But I trust you. I really do."

"You have no idea how much that means to me.” Helena brings Myka’s hand up to her lips and kisses its back.

“Hey, you guys in there? Cos I really, reeeeally gotta pee. These Brits, man, they guzzle booze like there’s no tomorrow,” Claudia says.

Helena closes her eyes and breathes a deep breath. “Can this evening get any worse?"

“Don’t tempt it,” Myka says, squeezing Helena’s hand.

-TBC-

[dirtycreekwater]

ok my irl best friend requested a platonic Prinxiety for number 11 from the writing prompt so here have a shitty, messy drabble thing idek.

prompt: “If you keep squeezing that hard, you’ll break my hand.”

warning for very small amount of hurt/comfort. but mostly this is just a silly, kinda fluffy piece.

-

“Anxiety!” Roman yelled cheerfully, and a little too loudly, startling the anxious facet who was sat on the couch, listening to his music.

“Jesus.. What, Princey? Is my presence just annoying you that much?” Anxiety asked, staring up at the annoying man in confusion.

Roman pouted at his harsh tone, and crossed his arms.

“Why do you always assume that I’m annoyed with you?”

Anxiety scoffed.

“Because you literally always are.”

Roman pursed his lips trying to think of what to say next. The more he thought about it the more he realized he didn’t necessarily have a reason to be bothering Anxiety at this exact moment. Maybe he just missed their childish bickering. It had been a while since they picked on each other, and as annoying as it was it was also kind of fun.

“Maybe I just want to hang out with you!” Roman threw his hands up in defense which made Anxiety flinch a bit.

“Sir sing a lot wants to hang out with the emo nightmare?” Anxiety scoffed as he looked away. “Okay, real funny. Who put you up to this? Logan, right? Makes the most sense. Patton actually likes me, and couldn’t ever hurt someone like this.”

Roman’s frown deepened as he listened to Anxiety’s heart wrenching words.

“Anxiety. No one put me up to anything. I’m here on my own accord.” Roman stated truthfully. Anxiety looked back at him in disbelief.

“Yeah, okay.” Anxiety replied sarcastically, and shook his head. He refused to believe this. It didn’t make sense. They always hated when the other appeared, and were always bickering. Why would he want to spend time with someone that drives him crazy?

“Do you trust me?” Roman said with a hand held out bringing Anxiety back to earth.

“What? Dude, your Aladdin shtick isn’t gonna work-”

“Do. you. trust. me?” Roman repeated making Anxiety roll his eyes as hard as he possibly could.

“Yeah, sure. Whatever.” Anxiety replied in an annoyed tone still not accepting Roman’s hand.

“If you trust me you’ll take my hand.”

Anxiety stared at his hand then looked back up at him with a look of repulsion.

“Then I guess I don’t trust you.” Anxiety replied, smirking.

Roman huffed in defeat, and sat next to Anxiety.

“You tried, you failed, I’m going to sleep.” Anxiety said as he started to get up. He was quickly pulled back down by Roman.

“Anxiety. Hang out with meeee.” Roman was whining now, and Anxiety couldn’t believe that this was his life right now.

“If I hang out with you, you have to promise to never grab me again, and please for the love of everything good never whine like that again. Especially not for me.” Anxiety said still wearing a look of disgust.

Anxiety was confused when he was met with silence. He looked at Roman to see what the problem was, and immediately regretted it.

Roman had his pinky finger held out, and a stupid grin on his face.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Anxiety sighed as he stared at the pinky.

“Come onnnn…” Roman encouraged making Anxiety groan.

“You’re such a child.” Anxiety said as he reluctantly wrapped his pinky around Roman’s.

“I know you are, but what am I?” Roman asked in a childish tone.

Anxiety shot him a look that said “really?” He quickly shut up.

“So, what are we doing?” Anxiety asked in a bored tone. He was already hating this.

“We could watch movies!” Roman exclaimed.

“Let me guess. Disney?” Anxiety groaned. He loved Disney almost as much as Roman did, but he’d be lying if he didn’t say he was a little sick of it.

“Well.. no. Perhaps we could watch a movie of your choosing?” Roman suggested.

Anxiety’s mouth twisted into a mischievous smirk which greatly worried the prince.

“Yeah, sure. Gimme a sec.” Anxiety said as he snapped & vanished.

Roman could hear the mischief in his voice. He wasn’t sure if he liked it.

A few seconds later Anxiety returned, startling Roman. He had about five DVDs in his hands.

“Are those what I think they are?” Roman asked hesitantly.

“If you’re thinking a few of my favorites from my creepy and disturbing horror movie collection then you’d be correct.” Anxiety’s smirk widened as he watched Roman cower in fear. He was going to enjoy this.

Or so he thought.

A few hours later they were on their third movie.

They couldn’t tell when it happened, maybe between the first and second, but Roman & Anxiety were huddled together in fear.

They were even holding hands.

Roman vaguely remembers grabbing Anxiety’s hand towards the middle of the second movie. He sensed Anxiety’s nerves, and while he was terrified himself he felt he had a duty to protect his anxious friend.

Anxiety doesn’t remember. Everything’s been a terrifying blur of scary noises, and heart attack inducing jumpscares. He does remember screaming a few times however, and that Roman was there. And as long as Roman was there nothing could hurt him. He was a dragon slaying prince after all.

“Anxiety?” Roman said softly as he didn’t want to startle him.

“W-What, Roman?” Anxiety’s voice was shaky making Roman worry even more.

Maybe some light hearted humor would help.

“If you keep squeezing that hard, you’ll break my hand.” Roman chuckled as he glanced at their hands then back to Anxiety who was now blushing.

Anxiety’s hand was paper white from the death grip he had on Roman juxtaposed with the rose tint in his cheeks. Roman wouldn’t dare say it out loud, but he found it kind of cute.

“Oh, shut up, Princey. You’ve squeezed my hand just as tight since this movie started, and nothing’s even happened.”

Anxiety huffed angrily as he let go of Roman’s hand.

Roman frowned, and quickly took Anxiety’s hand back in his.

“It’s okay, Anx. You can break my hand if it makes you feel better.” Roman smirked.

Anxiety rolled his eyes.

“I don’t need to do anything. I’m fine.”

However this statement was quickly made false as a shadowy figure on the staircase made him scream and jump.

The lights immediately flickered on revealing a tired, and confused looking Logan.

“What are you two doing?” Logan asked as he stared at the two terrified facets in confusion.

“Well, obviously we’re having sex. Why do you think Anxiety was screaming so much? Thanks for interrupting.” Roman replied sarcastically leaving Logan completely speechless.

“SHUT THE FUCK UP, ROMAN!”

Roman immediately bursted into a fit of giggles at Anxiety’s outburst, and slid off the couch so he could avoid being hit by the angry facet.

“I.. I can’t deal with this. I’m going back to bed.” Logan said in a tone that implied he was completely done with the others ridiculous antics as he headed back upstairs. He didn’t even bother to turn the lights off again.

A few minutes later Roman’s laughter died down, and he now had to face the consequences of his childish humor.

He could feel Anxiety’s eyes burning into his skull. He reluctantly turned around to meet his gaze.

“Anxiety..” Roman started hoping he wasn’t too angry.

“Just shut up, and finish these stupid movies with me.” Anxiety sighed as he laid back in his original spot.

“You’re not mad?” Roman asked as he took his spot back next to Anxiety.

“Well, I’m not exactly ecstatic over the fact that you told Logan we were fucking, but the look on his face was kinda funny. Messing with Logan is fun. So, I’ll give you some props.” Anxiety said as he fiddled with the tv remote, ready to play the movie again.

Roman hummed in response as a self satisfied smirk grew on his lips. Anxiety rolled his eyes, and playfully punched him on the arm.

“That doesn’t mean you’re totally off the hook. I’ll get you back at some point.” Anxiety said making Roman frown.

“Well, it’s a good thing I have blackmail.” Roman said making Anxiety scoff.

“Yeah, okay.”

Instead of saying anything Roman unlocked his phone, and showed Anxiety the picture he took of their hands.

“Princey, I swear to god I’m gonna fucking kill you.” Anxiety said as he tried to snatch Roman’s phone away, but to no avail.

“I won’t show the others, or the fanders if you promise to not get revenge on me.” Roman offered.

“Fine, whatever. Can we just get back to the stupid movie now?” Anxiety asked impatiently.

Roman nodded so Anxiety resumed the movie. Unfortunately for them they paused just moments before a scary part.

Anxiety shrieked, and immediately grabbed Roman’s hand again.

Roman smirked as he looked over at the scared boy.

“How did we go from you absolutely refusing to take my hand to you practically breaking it every time you get scared in merely a few hours?”

“The same way you went from being a somewhat decent friend back to an idiotic asshole again.” Anxiety replied, never taking his eyes off the movie.

“Touché, Anxiety. Touché.”

[thetactilepope]

Lessons in Thermodynamics: Chapter Five

I’d like to take a moment to say ‘thank-you’ to @jircu who kindly agreed to beta this chapter! They’re an amazing writer, and I’d highly recommend checking out their blog!

{Previous Chapter} | [Chapter Index] | {Next Chapter}

Exothermic Behaviour

39 days until Winter Break

Thursday

Yaoyorozu Momo had a problem.

Well, technically she had several problems, all stemming from a single failed test, but the one she was most preoccupied with was the fact that she hadn’t heard a word her tutor had said in the past ten minutes.

“The lesson’s barely started… And yet my mind feels so fuzzy…” She shook her head, unsure why she had zoned out, unless the anticipation for day-off they were getting tomorrow was affecting her more than she had expected. Taking another sip of the coffee Todoroki had brought for her, she tried to focus on the review he was going over.

The now-familiar lilt of his voice seemed a little muted, and for some reason, she felt much calmer listening to him speak, “So, given that energy moves from, um, areas of high heat to areas of low heat… we can, well, surmise that…”

It was no use. Despite her efforts, she found herself thinking back to the previous sessions.

After leaving so abruptly at the end of their first lesson, she had assumed Todoroki would be a little mad at her. Surprisingly, he texted her the next day as if nothing had occurred, and never brought up the subject again.

He seemed somewhat withdrawn the next few times they met up, and she worried that her requests for help had annoyed him, despite his kind words to the contrary. There had been a sort of unquantifiable tension between them, one that resisted her every attempt to ease or dispel it.

Several times, it seemed like one of them might back out of their deal, for one reason or another. An unacceptable result, but one that she felt ill-equipped to prevent.

By the time Momo had sorted out what she wanted to say, what she should say, and what she was going to say, that icy distance between them had somehow thawed, returning them back to their usual camaraderie.

Or at least, something fairly close to it, almost indistinguishable, in fact. And yet, that ‘almost’ left her feeling slightly off balance, but lacking a satisfactory explanation as to why.

 Aside from that, her studies were going well, but not to a point where she could afford to zone out like this.

“I’ve got to start paying attention,” She sighed, resolving to cut out the day-dreaming once and for all.

“-rozu? Yaoyorozu? Are you alright?” Todoroki’s concerned voice cut through her mental fog, prompting her to sit up straight and blush.

Her quick reply was demure, and she silently thanked her parents and every boring social event they had put her through for teaching her how to maneuver a conversation, “Y-Yes, I’m fine. I was a little distracted for a moment, that’s all.”

Of course, those maneuvers only worked if everyone played by the same rules, holding their tongues out of politeness. She had always been pressured (‘required’) to abide by the social niceties that governed her parents’ world, whereas Todoroki Shouto could shake off those conventions with ease, shedding them like a thin sheet of ice, in a way that she found enviable.

Todoroki simply acted according to the respect you had earned from him, and she had seen him treat their classmates better than some adults.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, scratching absent-mindedly at the bottom edge of his scar with his left hand.

“One of his nervous tics.” Momo frowned, not quite sure when she had picked up on that, or why it mattered to her. Subconsciously observing your friends, taking note of their habits, it was something everyone did, right?

“Ah, it’s really nothing. I guess I really do need that day off tomorrow…” She laughed, but it trailed off, before she took another sip of her drink. The bitter taste helped ground her, which is why she preferred it black while she studied.

Todoroki accepted her answer with a shrug, and though it seemed like he had more he wanted to say, she was relieved when he handed her the page of today’s topics.

“Did you have more questions from last time? Or did the review clear them up?”

She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear, and consulted her notebook. Her neat handwriting listed the terms and concepts that had given her trouble, with a small checkmark beside the ones they had sorted out.

“Yes, actually. Do you think we could go over the ideal gas law once more? I’m not sure I understand it completely.”

…

With a yawn, Momo snapped her binder closed, the undeniable thrill of a successful lesson giving her a much needed boost. Caffeine was great, but a single cup of coffee could only carry her so far.

“Tired?” Todoroki asked, and although he didn’t show it, she suspected he was almost as worn out as she was.

She shook her head, small smile on her lips, unwilling to admit defeat before he did. A small rivalry between them, lacking any point or payoff other than pride.

Still, she was very glad they had managed to wrap up early, as it meant they’d both be well rested for tomorrow’s session.

As they both began to clean up, occasionally chatting for a few moments about their day at school, Momo let herself relax, enjoying the comfort of an emerging routine.

She finished putting the last of her notes in her bag, and was preparing to stand when Todoroki spoke up.

“Yaoyorozu, I know we agreed to meet up in the morning but…” He sighed, hesitant, “Could we wait until the afternoon instead?”

The request surprised her, since Todoroki had never wanted to reschedule before, only telling her that he’d be a little late if and when something came up.

She tried to hold back her curiosity, but the possible insight into the enigma of Todoroki Shouto’s personal life this presented was too enticing to resist.

“Oh, of course.” She said, nodding, “Is, uh, everything OK?”

He frowned, scratching at his scar once again, “Yes, it’s just I need to… I want to go visit someone.”

That vague answer just made her eager to know more, and almost without thinking, she leaned closer to him, “Who is it?”

The words slipped out before she could stop them, and their demanding tone made her want to cringe. She knew he was unlikely to elaborate further. After all, she hadn’t even tried to answer when he had inquired something of her.

“To pry now, when you ran from him before is incredibly hypocritical.” Her logical side chimed in, much to her chagrin.

Where that side had been not five seconds ago was beyond her.

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me, wasn’t it.” She said, mentally berating herself, “Forgive me, I’ll be more courteous in the future.”

He shrugged, face as impassive as ever, “I don’t mind. You’re supposed to be asking me questions, right? Nothing rude about doing that.”

The logic behind that statement made her almost double over, and the only thing preventing her from bursting into laughter was the hand she clamped over her mouth. After a moment fighting against that urge, she looked back up at her friend.

By the subtle upwards curve of Todoroki’s lips, she could tell this reaction to his words was the desired result.

“I supposed you have a point.” She took a deep breath, smoothing out her hair, and composing herself once again, “Still, I should have phrased that more politely.”

“Todoroki, if you don’t mind my asking, who do you want to visit tomorrow?”

With only the slightest of hesitation, he told her, “It’s… It’s my mother, Miyuki. She’s, well, been in the hospital for a long time. About ten years, actually.”

He continued without pause, and she got the feeling that if he stopped, he might not start again.

“I only reconnected with her recently, after the Sports Festival. And with how busy things have gotten, I haven’t been able to go see her for some time, so, uh, I’d like to take advantage of the day-off school.”

At first, she didn’t know what to do with the information. Everyone at school knew who his father was, you’d have to be living under a rock not to.

“But he’s never really mentioned his mother.” Momo thought, trying to recall if the topic of family had ever been discussed without Todoroki leaving the conversation. She came up with nothing, not even if he had any siblings.

So what could she offer but encouragement with a smile? His family situation was far removed from her own, and any advice would sound condescending at best.

“In that case, I’ll have to insist we reschedule. Please, take all the time you need. What hospital is she at?”

He told her, and she frowned. That hospital was a fair distance away from the school library, so even if he went early, there was sure to be lots of traffic.

“That’s pretty far, isn’t it? Are you sure you’ll be able to make it back without any problems?” Momo considered the other options, and while there was one simple solution, she wasn’t sure it would be acceptable to him.

“Pretty sure. I mean, I’ve never gone on a Friday morning before, but it can’t be that bad, right?” He replied, shifting uneasily in his seat, “Besides, I don’t want to cancel your lesson completely.”

With nervousness beginning to constrict her throat, she bit her lip, gathering her courage.

“Well, how about I accompany you? Once you’re done your visit, we can find a café, or somewhere else to study nearby.” She asked, words rushed, hardly able to believe she had managed to speak.

“It’s just a practical offer, that’s all.”

Somehow, that thought rang hollow, as if she wasn’t telling herself the whole truth, but she ignored those misgivings, “I’d extend the same courtesy to any… well, almost any of my classmates.”

“Yaoyorozu, I-I, uh…” He stammered, a slight grin on his face, “It’s very kind of you to suggest that, but I couldn’t ask you to give up what might amount to your whole day.”

“I would think,” She countered, “that it’s my decision how I spend my time. And I don’t mind spending it accompanying a friend to visit their mother.”

They both knew his protests were mostly a formality at this point, but she couldn’t resist seizing the opportunity to reuse a phrase that had been stuck in her mind.

“Besides, it isn’t like I would make other plans.” She echoed his words spoken outside the library, nearly two weeks ago. This time, it was Todoroki who was unsure how to react, mouth slightly agape.

Sensing there wouldn’t be any more arguments from him, Momo stood up, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder.

“We’ll figure out a plan later this evening, OK?” She said, turning to go, “Thank you for your time, Todoroki.”

…

Once Momo was back in her dorm, she pulled out her phone, heart hammering in her chest. The nervous fizzle in her stomach wasn’t exactly an unpleasant feeling, just puzzling in a way that made her shiver slightly.

{♫ Kyouka ♪}

(Kyouka? Do you have a sec?)      

Her thumb hovered over the ‘send’ key, but she didn’t feel up to dealing with Kyouka’s inevitable good-natured teasing in order to ask for advice.

“I’m just not in the mood.” She concluded with a sigh, clearing the message, “I’ll talk to her this weekend.”

Flopping down on her bed, she figured she should at least pick out an outfit for tomorrow before she got too involved in her work.

Beginning to sort through her closet with a smile, she realized she was more than a little excited, “Well, there’s no doubt it will be an interesting experience…”

There are thirty-five days until the Retest.

[sebbytrash]

Shiver

Summary - You and Steve are on a mission together, stuck out in the middle of Russia in the freezing cold, waiting on your pickup. Forever the gentleman, Steve keeps you warm. At least, he’s trying to be a gentleman anyway.

Pairing - Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings - Mentions of death (not graphic), endless lusting over Steve, Steve is a sweetheart and you will love him.

A/N -  This is a late, very late, birthday present for one of my closest friends @watchmemarvel  Charlie my love, I’m sorry it’s late but I hope it’s worth the wait. I love you more <3

A shiver wracks through your body again, cold seeping further into you, into every cell until your mind is blank with it. Your muscles are stiff and losing feeling as you huddle in the empty building, out of sight and out of the cold. That was the plan, anyway.

Fucking Russia.

You glance at Steve, see him tucked sort of into himself, his hulking limbs wrapping around him like a sturdy muscle blanket. Your eyes skim along the hard lines and settle on the set of his jaw, you let the thoughts that come along with it warm you a little, use them like a blanket against the ice slipping up your spine and the dark edges of your mind.

“How much longer, Steve?” You ask again, again because you’d asked before but hadn't really listened, hearing nothing past the deep throb of cold in your eardrums.

“Quinjet will be back in a couple hours. Y/N.” He repeats, gives you a look like maybe he’s getting worried about you, then shuffles closer, hesitates for a beat then slips an arm around you. The warmth, the niceness of it feels like heaven and you lean into him, pulled towards the heat of him. “It wasn't your fault, you know?” He says, low but solid, surety in his voice.

“Sure feels like it.” You whisper back, sucking in your bottom lip and chewing on it so he can’t see the quiver in it.

“You tried. We tried. It came down to you or him.” His arm tightens a little around you, “I’m glad you chose you. If you hadn’t… I- I don’t know what I’d do without you, sweetheart.”

You glance towards him, watching his throat work as he swallows, getting a little distracted in wondering how a neck can be so sturdy. You tilt your head and rest your cheek against his chest, forehead touching his neck, “Thanks, Stevie.”

“God, Y/N, you're freezing. Hey- get in here.” He slides your body along the concrete like you weigh nothing, hooks under your knees and lifts you, settles you in front of him right between his legs. He opens the front of his jacket and slips the sides round you so you're both snug inside, his thighs tight against the sides of yours, his arms crossed over your stomach and over your wrists. The heat spreads through you, every single part of you that’s touching Steve feels like its scorched, tight and hot from more than just body heat.

“This okay?” His voice in your ear makes you jump and muscles tense, his fingers gripping a little tighter on your wrists, only loosening when you force yourself to relax against him again.

“Yeah, uh, yes. More than.” Did you sound as shaken as you feel? Probably. Did he? Maybe.

The mission had gone well, at first, you and Steve tasked with retrieving plans held on a poorly guarded Hydra mainframe in Kazan, Russia. It hadn't taken a whole lot of effort to take out the two guards in the building, and Tony had given you a neat little flash drive that did all the hard work for you, all you had to do was plug it in. Get in, get out, 30 mins tops. You just hadn't counted on...him. No older than his teen years, manipulated into a dark seated loyalty by Hydra, a new low for them really. Child soldiers. It’s what you saw, in any case. You hadn’t wanted to do it, take him out, you desperately tried not to. Steve had tried to reason with him, explaining the lies Hydra had told him, pleaded with him to lower his weapon but in the end it hadn't been enough. You saw it, the second he made his decision, saw the resignation, saw his face go slack and his eyes turn dead as he tightened his finger on the trigger. You felt the pain of his life taken before your bullet even hit him, time slowing till it was almost laughing at you, extending out the moments like a lifetime and taunting you.

10 minutes. That’s all it took, between meeting and killing the boy. 10 whole minutes.

The mission had been budgeted for a few hours and your pick up wasn't due for a while. Since Steve was so well known, Mr Captain America, there’s no way you could chance being spotted, not since tensions between the US and Russia were already at their peak since, well, forever really but most recent since the Siberia. Yeah, that was a shit storm that no one wanted to touch, never mind have in their back garden. So here you were, skulking in some abandoned building which reeked of death and horror like a slaughterhouse, the large open space doing nothing to quell the harsh temperatures of mid-winter Russia and the boys face playing in a loop in your head. The only thing that kept you from drowning in that image was sheer proximity to Steve.

The hard concrete floor is unforgiving, you shift a little to get more comfortable but also to keep as much of your weight off Steve as possible, trying to resist the urge to brush your ass back just a little and answer that too-ever-present question in your mind about the Serum and if it affected everythings size. You take in a couple of deep breaths, attempt to drag your mind from the gutter which is entirely unlikely given the object of your most recent ‘self-love’ episodes was pressed against you. Glancing down makes it worse- thighsthighsthighs- but at least you're no longer in danger of hypothermia… right? Steve shifts behind you, the muscles in his legs tensing against yours and sending heat straight to your gut. A yawn sneaks out, prompted by the long flight here and the emotionally beating you’d been through.

“Tired? You can sleep if you want, I’ll wake you up when we can leave.”

“S’ok Ste-” You fight the yawn this time, but he knows anyway, hand coming up to press against your forehead till your head has rolled back against him.

“Sleep, Y/N. I’ll keep you safe.” His voice sounds further away as your eyes close, the soft scent of Steve lulling you into a light sleep, his body pulling you tighter, heat wrapping like a blanket over you.

You hover in and out of consciousness, not quite awake and not quite asleep. Aware of the ache of sitting on the floor, shifting occasionally to ease it, mostly followed by another shifting of Steve. You vaguely wonder if you are too heavy, half flickering between that and sleep induced thoughts of arms and thighs and everything inbetween. Before you can get lost there, get too settled in those thoughts you force yourself up, blink yourself awake and straight up to stretch out those stiff muscles again. Steve releases his grip on your wrists to give you movement to do so, and you roll your back a little to relieve the ache.

That’s when it happens, the shock of it sending you both scrambling to your feet. As you arched your back to stretch, your ass brushed against Steve, against him, full, solid, hard. He’s just as affected as you to the close proximity and the thought alone thrills you as much as it terrfies you.

“I’m sorry!” You both rush out, looking everywhere but at each other. His face snaps to yours, tight with confusion, “Wait, why are you sorry?”

“I didn’t mean to rub against you, shit. Was an accident.” You rub at your face and eyes, the last remnants of sleep shoved from your body as the adrenaline lights up your veins.

“No, I’m sorry. I just- uh, god, Y/N. You kept moving around in your sleep and I just…” You hear the desperation in his voice as he searches for a way to explain this, most guys would have laughed it off by now but not Steve, ever the gentleman, he needs to explain. He needs a reason.

“Hey, Steve, Steve it’s ok. No big deal.” You take a few steps, close the gap but not quite, “These things happen, yeah?”

“No, Y/N. It’s just that- fuck, how do I even...” He runs a hand over his face, dragging his skin a little, looking so lost.

You tut at him, shaking your head and fighting the smile on your face, “Steven, did you just cuss?”

He looks at you now, see’s the smile on your face and his shoulders loosen a little, a tentative smile working at his lips, eyes brimming with unsaid words. He reaches for you, steps up close so that your chests touch with each breath, slips his hand round your waist to the small of your back. Each action is slow, deliberate and laced with intent.

“Alright, Captain Ice Age, your chariot has arrived.” The static of the comms radio jolts you both, Tony’s voice like a bucket of ice on the situation and prompts Steve to take a step back away from you.

“On our way, Tony.” He replies, looks at you sort of haunted and hungry, like he’s not sure which is worse, lingers there a minute before blinking back into Captain America mode. Passive face, professional attitude, you see it all snap into place as he nods towards the door, making sure you leave first. You sigh but do as he says, following orders like the good little soldier.

You can hear the engines from the jet, but can’t see it anywhere. What is Tony doing?

“You need to uncloak, Spare Parts Man.”

“Ohhh, somebody's in a bad mood. What’s wrong, Y/N?” The jet flickers into view. “Did I interrupt? R-Rated handholding and cheek pecking?”

“Fuck off, Stark.” You say as you climb inside, followed by Steve who undoubtedly hears the whole exchange in his ear piece but says nothing.

The journey home is long but comfortable, a damn sight more comfortable than the building you’d just been stranded in. Steve sits up front with Tony, fills him in on the mission and takes over so Tony can start decrypting the data you had obtained. It keeps him busy, getting lost in his work is Tony’s trademark so you don’t see much of either of them for the duration. The quiet hum of the engine fills your head, leaving you with nothing to focus on but your own thoughts and today’s events. The boy's face flickers in and out, hovering with dark edges and void eyes. You shake the thought, try to focus on something else to drown him out, notice Steve’s silhouette against the front screen, shoulder hunched and fingers tight on the controls.

Steve. Focus on Steve.

Was he really going to kiss you? Certainly seemed like he was, unless you're reading too much into it but really, he leaned. Your fingertips vibrate with the need to trace his lines, all his lines of muscle and full, firmness. You’d always had a thing for him, sure, but had never given much thought to him reciprocating. Now, though, now you're thinking and it's a nice train of thought. Now the real question of the hour, what do you do? Nothing, you suppose, let him decide if he wants to continue the quiet almost moment you shared, pretend you're not avoiding out-and-out rejection.  

“Okay guys, preparing to land.” Steve’s voice cuts through your musing. You make your way to your seat and buckle in, giving him a thumbs up to let him know you're ready. Tony does the same, sliding in next to you instead of joining Steve in the cab up front.

“Doing okay, kid?” He asks, halting you when you realise what he means.

“Yeah, Tony. I’m ok.” You offer him a small smile which he returns, the moment remaining untarnished by your equal measures of sarcasm and sass. Tony was a kindred spirit, meeting you toe to toe in snark and love. He was a true friend.

“Enjoy your alone time with Stone Cold Steve Rogers?” And there it was, moment gone, Tony back. He loved to give you a hard time for that crush of yours.

“I hate you.” You say but laugh anyway, because it’s Tony and he always knows how to do that.

“Except you don’t.” He smirks at you, jostling a little as Steve finally puts the jet down.

You're both up and out as soon as it lands, you give him a punch to the shoulder on your way out and hear him cracking up behind you. Steve appears at the door, arm stretching out to help you down and your heart responds with an extra thumpthump.

“Thanks, Steve.”

He leans towards you a little, a smile working its way on to his face, “You know, you’ve been pretty thankful today. That’s 3 I count.”

Was he...was he flirting?

“What’s not to be thankful for, when a handsome man keeps you warm in the cold?” You arch an eyebrow, a silent dare to take the bait.

“Handsome, huh?” Bait taken.

“Definitely.” This time, your smiles mirror the other but with layers of intent and want. Tony catches your eye as he walks around, giving you an exaggerated thumbs up over Steve's shoulder. You roll your eyes and flip him off, Steve turns to see who you're aiming at and catches Tony blowing you a kiss. He turns back to you, eyebrows raised in question, you murmur a “Don’t ask.”

“I need to do the mission report, but can I come see you later?” Steve says, taking a few steps backwards but never breaking eye contact.

“Doors always open.” Like you could say no to him? He gives you a smile, the kind that makes your knee joints wobble and rushes away to do whatever it is a Captain does. You make it back to your room, showering quickly and changing into some lounge pants and a tank, the blue one that shows off a little cleavage that definitely wasn't deliberate. You tidy up a little, vacuum the lounge, straighten the bed because you never know and throw out the chinese take-out cartons that have been there for...a while. It’s been maybe an hour when there’s a knock at the front door. You make you way over to open the door, heart vibrating in your chest with how fast it’s beating, the dip your stomach takes ties you in knots.

The door opens to reveal Steve, as you suspected, changed out of his uniform to loose sweats and a white t-shirt. You roll your bottom lip absentmindedly as you take in the dips of his abs visible through the tight material, your blood hums in anticipation. When you finally meet his eyes you see the way he lingers on your neck and lower, see his pupils expand until his eyes are darker than you've ever seen. He steps forward, into your room, moving you back with him automatically and closing the door softly behind him,

“Thought we might continue where we left off earlier?” He murmurs low, closing the distance between you but not touching.

“Would be rude not to.” You reply, releasing him from his invisible binds he reaches for you, hands slipping around your waist again, so natural and easy like you were built for this.

You slip your hands up his chest, a slow path over the muscles you’ve been so desperate to feel and finally hook around his neck. His lips hover just out of reach, his breath mingling with yours and your heartbeat finally making it to your ears, drowning out everything but it and the sound of Steve's labored breaths. He tips forward and closes the distance, a soft brush of skin against yours before pressing more firmly, more deliberately with a feeling that reaches right down to your toes and back. You moan, quiet and low, and Steve uses it to deepen the kiss, mouth working against yours till your breathless and yet so full of him. It’s deep and thorough, and layered with feeling. You grip his neck tighter, needing him closer still and good God this man can kiss. His fingers inch under your tank, fingertips whispering gentling on the soft skin with goosebumps chasing them. A shiver wracks your body, this time it's a welcome one.

“Wait, wait- this isn’t…” His chest heaves with each breath, forehead pressed against yours and his words create a little panic in your heart.

“We don’t have to-” You whisper, mistaking it for nerves or something worse.

“No. No, it’s not that. Believe me it’s not that.” His look is like gasoline on the very open flame of your body and it slides down from head to toe. He looks wrecked.

“Then what?”

“I want to take you out. On a date.” He says, linking his fingers with yours and bringing them up to kiss your knuckles, his bottom lip catching on the them in the sexiest way. “You deserve to be wooed.”

A smile fights loose on your face, Steve Rogers, always the gentleman. An absolute sweetheart and seriously, how did you deserve this man?

“Okay, Steve. I think I’d like that.”