#*chuck e voice* WELL MY RIGHT HAND WAS A HEAD FOR TEN YEARS WHAT'S YOUR EXCUSE PASQUALLY

[danny-chase]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Titans (Comics) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Garth & Dick Grayson, Garth & Donna Troy, Garth & Dick Grayson & Donna Troy Characters: Garth (DCU), Dick Grayson, Donna Troy, Lian Harper Additional Tags: Hurt/Comfort, snuggling and fluff, self indulgent fic, Cuddling, Hypothermia, Canon Typical Violence, Swearing, POV Garth, Fluffy Ending, no beta we die like Garth, Dick Grayson needs to sleep more, Cold Water, inflatable rafts, Garth has the power to make a mini hot tub, Titans, Titans (1999) feels, Blankets Summary:

The one where Garth has to save his idiot best friend from dying of hypothermia. Incredibly self indulgent with many snuggles.

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Garth decided that the next time he had a bad feeling about something, to ignore Dick, and say no. It was for his own good.

 Then.

One of the best parts of living in Titans Tower was that he could set the temperature of the indoor pool.

 It was the middle of February, outside, temperatures had dropped below freezing, but inside the heated water, he was nice and warm. Gliding through, he spun and twirled just for fun. And of course, to show off for his delightful little niece Lian.

“Catch me!” Lian ran off the diving board, a gleeful expression on her face as Garth dove up through the water, snatching her out of midair. He leaned straight back to create a massive splash (not at all enhanced with his powers). All the while keeping Lian completely dry. “Again! Again!” She cried, laughing her head off as he carried her on his shoulders, depositing her on the side.

 “One more, then bedtime. Promise?” Lian was tough to bargain with, a real smooth talker – just like her dad. As it was, the precocious little five-year-old titled her head to the side with a frown.

 “Hmm. I want two more times.” Two? He’d be getting off lucky, he’d been planning on three.

 “Deal.” He immediately replied. Lian padded off towards the board again, carefully walking (they’d told her enough times not to run).

 “Lian, sweetie.” Garth turned to see Dick and Donna walking in, in uniform. He frowned; they didn’t have a mission scheduled for tonight. Lian changed course, veering off at Donna’s call.

 “Hey, sweetheart.” Dick intercepted, swinging Lian up in his arms into a hug. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head and Lian giggled back. “It’s bedtime for you, little bird.” Her face morphed into a frown.

 “But Uncle Garth said-”

 “Sorry kiddo, I gotta talk to your uncle Garth.” Dick smiled at her lovingly. “Can you go with Auntie Donna? She’s going to put you to bed with Aunt Toni. Okay?” Garth swam to the edge of the pool, Lian’s lower lip was forming into a defiant pout.

 “Sorry, fishsticks, we can do it tomorrow. Three times.” He promised. Somehow, he knew he wouldn’t be getting out of the third round. Fortunately, his luck held, and Lian decided three times tomorrow would be good enough. She nodded, squirming towards Donna.

 “Okay.” She replied. Dick passed her over and stuck a hand over the edge of the pool. Garth took it, and they both pulled; he nearly flew out of the water.

 “Here.” Donna passed him a towel as she left. “See you in a bit.”

 “Bye, fishy.” Lian called as the exited the room, giggling as Donna gave her a little tickle. Lian was such a precious child, Roy was truly blessed to have her.

 He turned his attention to Dick. ‘Have you been sleeping?’ is what he wanted to ask; he was paler than usual, and the bags under his eyes were becoming more pronounced (again). But Dick never took to the question kindly, and at this point, Garth had learned to pick his fights. “What’s up?” He asked instead. Dick gestured towards the locker room.

 “Quick mission, you, me, and Donna. I’ve been hacking the H.I.V.E.’s servers, they’re receiving an arms shipment tonight in about an hour by boat, you game?” Garth nodded hesitantly, the bad feeling from before returning. The others were busy tonight, they likely wouldn’t have any backup.

 “How long did that take you?” He asked nonchalantly. Dick shrugged, but his bloodshot eyes spoke for themselves. Garth repressed a sigh. Fighting Dick Grayson would be counterintuitive, at least if he went, he could keep him out of trouble.

 “Meet in the bay in fifteen.” Dick instructed. “Glad to have you on board.” He grinned, and Garth did his best to ignore how unhinged he looked. This was a bad idea.

 Now.

“I knew this was a bad idea.” Garth grumbled. Cold wind stung his face, as he ducked another punch from the enhanced guard. Dick finished off the normal guards on the left, and Donna was locked in battle with another meta to his right. Fighting in cramped spaces was never fun.

 “Quit whining Gill-for-brains.” Dick teased he’d just finished off the last goon. He turned, chucking a wing-ding into the meta’s palm. The man roared with fury and charged.

 It seemed to happen in slow motion, the wind picked up on the rickety little speedboat, Dick stumbled as he dodged, the minute mistake was all the meta needed. Garth ran, but the meta was closer – he didn’t have a chance.

 “Shit.” He cursed as he watched Dick tumble off the side of the boat, into frigid waters.

 *SPLOOSH*

 “Fuck.” Donna muttered next to him. The meta turned back towards him, invigorated by his victory. Garth cursed, he couldn’t leave Donna alone with two of them, Dick would have to wait, but he needed to hurry.

 “Fucking asshole!” Garth yelled, anger burning in his chest. He let out a violet blast and kicked the man in the knee. “That was my friend!” The meta swiped at him, but adrenaline was coursing through his veins. Ducking, twisting, turning, blasting, he unleashed a barrage of fury on his opponent. All the while, they sped further and farther away from where Dick went under.

 Garth screamed in fury, unleashing a final blast at the man’s head, and finally the man stayed down.

 “Go, I’ve got this one.” He was way ahead of her, running to the side of the speeding boat. His muscles burned from exertion, but he pushed through. “I’ll meet you with the copter!”

 “Nightwing!” He called, diving off the side. Swimmingly in the opposite direction, he scanned the horizon for motion – damn Dick for making his costume so hard to freaking see against the night. “NIGHTWING!” He repeated, frantically picking up speed.  

 His pulse pounded in his head, it was cold out, and while he was resilient to the sub-freezing waters, Dick was human. It didn’t matter how well-crafted his suit was, it wasn’t watertight, and in this weather, it wouldn’t take long for hypothermia to set in. The currents were strong, and the boat had been moving fast, it couldn’t have been more than ten minutes since Dick fell in but, he was no where to be seen. Garth tore on, cutting through the choppy waves.

 Finally, he caught a spattering of bright yellow on the horizon – a small inflatable raft was tossed about on the rough sea. There was only one hero (okay probably Batman too) that kept a life raft on him. Fear seemed to pierce through his chest as he willed the water to push him forward. “Nightwing!” He called again, surfacing just next to the little vessel.

 No response. His chest clenched with anticipation and worry as he carefully placed a hand on the lip of the float. Gingerly, he pulled himself up, careful not to overturn it.

 Dick was sprawled on the other side, violently trembling, as one of his arms dangled over the side. His skin had a grayish tone, ice had frozen chunks of his hair. Panic clawed at Garth’s sides. “Dick?” No response.  He scrambled across the raft and pulled the shaking figure into his arms. Dick’s eyelids fluttered behind the lenses on his mask.

 “-ayy?” He mumbled a string garbled words, weakly squirming as Garth pulled him close to his chest. “-oo ‘ot” He protested, Garth kept his grip firm, and stood, hoisting Dick in his arms and willing water to flood the little raft.

 “I got you, Rob. You’re okay.” He murmured into Dick’s hair, the old nickname slipping out, despite the new costume. Shifting Dick over his shoulders, he plunged his left hand into the raft’s water are brought it up to a warm temperature, careful not to make it hot. “You’re going to be okay, just hang on a moment.” He kept his voice steady and soothing, ignoring the anxiety clawing its way up his throat. He had to stay levelheaded, focus on maintaining the water temperature.

 He gently lowered Dick into the make-shift bath, keeping an arm wrapped around his torso, securely locking him in place against his chest. He twisted his legs around Dick’s preventing him from kicking around. Using his left hand, he held Dick’s head above water, and carefully melted the ice in his hair. He hummed platitudes in Dick’s ear, and after a few moments, he settled down.

 “-arf?” He let out a breath of relief at the acknowledgment.

 “You with me?” He gave Dick a gentle squeeze.

 “-ere’s ‘ay-on?” He gulped in surprise, he wasn’t sure, but that sounded like Jason. Dick never talked about Jason. “-e ‘kaay? -iing.” Garth ran his hand through Dick’s hair and thanked the gods for the faint sound of a helicopter approaching in the distance.

 “You’re all right, love, everything’s fine.” He assured, willing Donna to speed up. “Keep still.” Dick was squirming again, but in his current condition it was a fruitless endeavor. He warmed the water slightly, bringing it back up to temperature. Dick’s head lolled against his chest. “Stay awake.”

 “’ired.” Dick complained. Concern tugged at his insides.

 “I know, buddy, it’s okay, you gotta keep your eyes open for me, alright?” Dick mumbled in acknowledgement. They sat in silence for a moment, tremors wracking Dick’s small frame. Humans were so tiny. “How are you feeling?”  

 “’s hot.” Dick wriggled, trying to pull out of the warm water, again Garth just gently restrained him.

 “Sorry, big brain, you gotta stay put.”

 Dick began mumbling again, Garth only caught the word “skiing” from the gibberish. The wings of the Titan’s helicopter drowned out whatever it was Dick was trying to say. Donna swooped down moments later, scooping them both up, and carrying them up to the small cabin.

 “Great Hera.” She shook her head, fretting as she unzipped Dick’s suit. Garth quickly discarded his wet clothes, vigorously toweling off before hopping in a spare set of pants from a bin they kept in the back. He yanked out boxers and sweatpants for Dick.

 “He’s not making sense.” Garth advised, tossing the clothes onto a nearby seat. Dick swayed on the spot as Donna removed the top half of his drenched suit, and Garth quickly made his way over, placing an arm on his side to keep him upright.

 “Well, that’s what happens when you decide to go swimming in Febuary.” Donna rolled her eyes, but her tone was worried. “You won’t do that again, will you?” Dick’s teeth chattered as he stared past her in response. Garth grabbed a towel and wrapped it around his torso, swapping places with Donna to take off the bottom.

 “The things we do for love.” Donna said wryly, passing him dry clothes. She started toweling off Dick’s hair, as Garth gently patted down his legs with another towel.

 “-ing on?” Dick muttered. “onna?” Garth guided his feet into the pants and pulled them up.

 “I’m right here, sweetheart.” Donna pressed a kiss to his temple.

 “Alright, almost good as new.” He grabbed a blanket off the dash. “Donna, care to join?” She grabbed a second blanket, and the two of them half carried a stumbling Dick Grayson to the cot in the back.

 “I’ll have to take over when we land, but we should be good on autopilot for now.” They threw the blankets over the group, sandwiching Dick in the middle. Garth breathed a sigh of relief, slipping his arms around Dick’s torso and pulling their chests together, making skin-to-skin contact. Donna shuffled closer, scooping his legs together and curling around them, leaning her head against Garth’s side. He leaned back against the wall, together they made a little cocoon of warmth, his naturally high body temperature easily heating their little nest under the blankets.

 “Methinks, we should take a vacation. Somewhere warm.” He suggested, contentedly cuddling Dick close to his chest, the anxiety of the last hour dying down at last. Donna snorted next to him.

 “You remember our last ‘vacation’?” She asked sarcastically. Garth nodded. A disastrous trip to a remote island, plagued with storms and infighting, the latter of which was caused by a villain with a grudge. With a specific dislike of their shivering friend.

 “Dick thinks it’s a good idea, don’t you?”

 “Mm?”

 “Close enough, I’m taking it as a yes.” Donna laughed; warm air tickled his arm.

 “Shall we go to the Grand Canyon?” She teased.

 “No.” Dick stated, catching them both off guard. “Garth is a fiiiish.” Even delirious, at least Dick understood Garth plus hot, dry climate equals a bad idea.

 “Well, he’s not wrong. I am a fish.” Garth grinned. “We could go to another island. With more houses.” He suggested.

 “’ruce hass a islaand.” Dick noted. Of course Batman owned an island. Though, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to go to an island Bruce had bought.

 “Okay, that sounded like an endorsement. Boy blunder, are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Donna put a hand on his forehead, brushing his bangs to the side.

 “’m fineee.” Ah, yes. Dick Grayson; the pinnacle of good health.

 “See, he’s fine Donna, sheesh, what are you getting so worked up for? The man wants his vacation.” Donna rolled her eyes.

 “He’ll kill us if we drag him on vacation.” She muttered. Though, in his current state, that was highly unlikely.

 “Donna, I’ll kill him if he tries to get out of bed for the next two days.” He assured. Dick would be a nightmare to deal with, but on the bright side, he’d been scheduled to babysit the next few days, and Lian would love another friend to join in watching My Little Pony and Barbie movies.

 “Agreed.” Donna noted.

 “Dooon’t, kill meee.” Dick squirmed again.

 “Dick, Garth won’t hurt him, he doesn’t have it in him.” She knocked her head against his shoulder. “He’s a big old softie.”

 “Heee’s fiiishy.” Dick agreed, relaxing back into his arms.

 “Okay, no one let him near Lian.” Garth joked, taking Dick’s hands in his. Color seemed to be returning to the surface of his skin. He pressed the side of his face to Dick’s ear, nestling his head back against his chest.

 “Youuur warm.” Dick let out a long yawn, sending shivers down Garth’s spine.

 “A yes, another brilliant deduction from the Boy Wonder, Wondergirl, how does he do it?” Garth teased. He felt almost giddy now that Dick was in better shape than before. They’d still need to be careful, but the stress of the situation was slowly leaving him as they snuggled together.

 “It’s his big head, it makes space for his big brain.” He laughed at Donna’s remark and pressed a kiss to the top of Dick’s head. It was a big brain, but a dumb one sometimes too. The conversation hit a lull, and they sat there, in silent companionship with one another.

 After a while, Donna passed him Dick’s legs. “I’ve gotta to land, take care of bird-brain.”

 “Tweet.” Dick commented as she left. Garth wheezed to stifle laughter.

 “You think you’re cute, don’t you?” Donna called from the front.

 “Am.” Dick muttered.

 “Can’t argue with that.” Garth asserted, tucking his legs up underneath Dick’s. As they neared the landing pad, he breathed yet another sigh of relief. He wasn’t thrilled with the state of events, but they’d been lucky tonight. He wouldn’t be attending another funeral tomorrow. Dick’s heart was steadily beating, his breath seeming to get easier with each passing moment. As they landed in the bay, Garth decided, that for tonight, that would have to be enough.

[anotherhamiltonblog]

Foreign Touch ch 4

Chapter Summary: Adeline and Thomas finally meet and go out! What do you think is gonna happen? Will things go smoothly or will things end in disaster?

Warnings: Once again, I didn’t proofread. Sorry <3 cursing? FLUFF annnnd Alexander being an asshat.

Word Count: 1,850 (Give or take)

Previously 

(new cover! made by ME. I like it!)

Enjoy!

Y/N really didn’t have much time to process what was going on when she was being woken up on Sunday. After spending all of Saturday with a group of kids to help them study at the public library. Only to come home and help Alex with his speech and work on the posters. Y/N was tired, her Saturday turned out to be busy, it didn’t help that she stayed up texting Thomas. In fact, that’s how she fell asleep. Phone on the pillow besides her head.

“Y/N!” a voice yelled out and Y/N groaned in response.

Opening an eye, she saw the time before narrowing her eyes. Who the hell was bothering her at 8 o’clock in the morning on Sunday?

“Y/N! Why the HELL are you texting Jefferson!” the voice yelled out again and this time Y/N sat up.

Seeing Alexander standing beside her bed, with her phone in his hand. Y/N’s mouth opened and closed a few times. “I mean, I’m helping him with something.” She said slowly and shrugged.

“What? Why the fuck would you do that? He’s an asshole, remember? We all agreed on that!” Alex ranted off while Y/N got up and slipped on her house slippers.

As she walked out of her room, Alex right behind her. Y/N rolled her eyes.

“No, Alex… YOU said he’s an asshole because he beat you in the debate from History class in sophomore year!” she narrowed her eyes at her brother. Knowing full well their parents and friends were around and listening to them. “He never did shit to me. I ignored him so I wouldn’t put up with your bullshit complaining.”

“Now wait a minute….”

But Y/N never let him finish. “If the shoe fits wear it, Alex. You are the biggest drama queen I know. And I’m around cheerleaders all the time!”

Thanking her mom for the vitamin shake, she kissed her parents cheeks before turning around and heading back to her bedroom. Ignoring the boys as they tried to hide their laughter.

Y/N: ‘Wanna meet up to go over the plans?’ T. Jeff: ‘Thought you were gonna relax today? We can plan another day.’

Y/N found herself smiling at the text and stopped looking for an outfit to wear for the day to reply.

Y/N: ‘Well, Alex found out we’re talking. Got pissy… I need a distraction.’ T. Jeff: ‘Alright… stop by my house and we can plan. Thanks for this again.’

After they finished texting, Y/N pulled on some black skinny jeans and her black booties. A red tank top and black jacket over it. Deciding to add a colorful scarf along. With minimal makeup, just mascara, some concealer and lipstick (after brushing her teeth), Y/N made sure to spray some perfume.

As soon as Y/N was ready, she grabbed her purse and made sure to chuck her phone into the small bag before putting the strap around her shoulder. Placing sunglasses over her eyes, Y/N left her room and ignored the boys who were all sitting around the living room.

After leaving the cup she had taken to her room in the sink in the kitchen, she passed by the boys again to walk towards the front door.

“Hey! Y/N, where you going?”

“Oui, mon ange… why not stay with us?”

Y/N smiled at Hercules and Lafayette; she could always trust those two to want to hang out with her. “Sorry boys, I have plans.” She smiled waving. “But, lets get coffee tomorrow before school?” she raised an eyebrow and grinned at them.

Walking out of the house, to her car. Y/N froze when Alex called out to her.

“Tell me you aren’t going to see Jeffershit?” he asked, and Y/N had to bit down on her lip to not go off on Alex.

“Actually, I am. I promised I’d help him plan something. That’s what I plan on doing.” She sent her brother a fake smile before getting into her car.

“Oh, COME ON! He’s….” but Alex stopped talking when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Y/N glanced over and saw John was speaking to Alex. By the look on the boys face, he was not happy. Which made Y/N grin and nod to John who glanced at her.

Backing the car out of the driveway, Y/N was soon driving to the Jefferson’s house. The GPS in her car turned on and guiding her. Not that it took long, ten minutes later she was pulling up to a gate and she had to stop herself from laughing.

Pressing on the intercom button. Y/N waited. “How may I help you?” she heard a voice and with a sigh, Y/N leaned her head out the window.

“I’m here to see Thomas Jeffershi…. Uh Jefferson. My name is Y/N Hamilton.” She shook her head and waited a few more seconds before the gates opened.

Driving forward, Y/N finally parked in front of the house and got out. Rolling her eyes when she saw Thomas leaning against the front door frame with a house robe, slippers and his hair a mess.

“Jesus… you could have told me you weren’t even ready for the day!” Y/N laughed when stepping out of the car. Glancing at her watch on her wrist, it was just past 9:30.

Watching Thomas shrug, he grinned. “It seemed like you needed to get out of the house. Come on, breakfast is getting cold.” He nodded only to stand up straight as Y/N walked up the steps and finally reaching the front door.

“Breakfast? Trying to get on my good side, Tommy?” she wiggled her eyebrows and laughed at the scowl on his face at the nickname she called him.

“That ain’t cute. Don’t call me that, sweetheart.” He stepped inside and waited till Y/N was in before closing the door.

After breakfast, the two making small talk about what they did on Saturday. Y/N finding out that Thomas was at football practice almost all day, while she was tutoring all day before helping her brother.

“Can he not do his own speech?” Thomas asked and raised an eyebrow.

“Uh, he does. But he has all of us over and hear it to make sure it sounds good… so it’s us sitting around, making his posters while he reads for six hours.” Y/N shrugged. The two laughed.

Once the food was devoured, Thomas showed Y/N around the house, only to stop at the backyard. “This is where I was thinking of having the party. Lots of space, my parents love barbeques, so we could do something simple, not too fancy.” He suggested, watching as Y/N had out a small notebook and pen. Writing down ideas, only to glance down and see she had done a simple sketch of his backyard.

The sketch was simple, it had the huge pool, the lots of space and the trees. “Right, so we could do something at night… we string up lights and balloons...” she spoke softly, walking around and looking at everything and down at her notepad. “Twenty-five years represents silver… so that would be lovely. It would be in December as well. So perfect for the wintertime.” She went on, not noticing the smile Thomas had on his face as he watched her.

After a few more minutes, she set down her things and turned to Thomas, grinning. “What?” she asked, laughing quietly under her breath.

“Nothing… it’s just. You are so adorable when you plan. It’s like you forget about everything. You get a cute smile on your face as well.” He shrugged, on to notice the light pink spreading on her cheeks. “Are…. Are you blushing?” he stepped forward and Y/N shook her head.

“Whaaaat… no.”

Gulping slightly, watching Thomas, Y/N snapped out of whatever trance he had her in and turned around. “Right, uh…” she blinked a few times, trying to think of what to even say.

“Come on, lets hang out a bit. Then I’ll treat you to dinner. You know, for being so kind to help me.”

With that, the two spent the next few hours laughing and watching tv. Talking about school, Thomas’ trip to Paris and spending a whole year there.

A little past 6:30 that evening, they agreed on a pizza place to have dinner at and left the house.

Never in a million years would Y/N have thought that she would spend a whole day with Thomas Jefferson and actually enjoy herself.

»»-————　♡　————-««

The next day when Y/N, Lafayette and Hercules were walking towards the football field, Y/N dressed in her cheer workout clothes. Which was just a pair of plain black leggings, a hot pink crop sports bra and her white tennis shoes. Her H/C hair was up in a ponytail. They were each complaining about the last class with Professor George Frederick. The big-headed idiot who thought too much of himself. That and his love for giving as much homework as he possibly can.

“It’s like he wants us to get held back!” Hercules was complaining and frowning as they sat down on the beachers and Y/N passing her bag and jacket over to them.

“It’ll be alright!” She laughed and winked at the two before jogging over to the girls. Only to turn quickly on her heal when someone called out her name.

Sadly, for Y/N, the grass of the field was slightly wet and as she turned, she slipped the slightest and was about to fall. Only the fall never came. Two hands grabbed onto her waist and her own hands grabbed onto a muscular set of arms.

With a gasp, eyes wide as she looked at the man in front of her. Her body feeling like she was shocked from the touch. Y/N watched as the skin where she had grabbed onto, had handprints that matched hers. The print slowly disappearing before her eyes and so her E/C eyes looked into the wide, brown eyed male who held onto her.

She focused on his eyes, which were darting back and fourth, shining in the sunlight. They were a deep, earthy brown- the intense gaze making it, so Y/N held her breath.

“Alexander is going to kill me…” Y/N said softly, a small smile coming onto her lips.

Thomas just grinned at the girl and he shrugged. “Not if he kills me first.” Was his response before he leaned down and captured her lips against his.

The dreams now made sense, why she kept dreaming of Thomas since he came back. The pull towards him whenever they were together. He was her soulmate, the one she was supposed to be with.

Cheering could be heard from the girls, the football team whistling and hooting. Y/N could even hear Lafayette and Hercules laughing and singing about how Alexander ‘ain’t gonna be happy now’ not that any of that mattered.

Wrapping her arms around Thomas shoulders, fingers making their way into his curly hair. Y/N pressed herself closer to his body as the kiss deepened.

Monday, who would have thought that Mondays would be Y/N’s new favorite day of the week?

                                                                                                   Next Chapter

Don’t forget to Like, Reblog and send Feedback! My asks are also opened and so is my IM! This was a rollercoaster to write.... I can’t wait to post the next chapter. 

Much love from me to you!!  ♥(ˆ⌣ˆԅ)

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[1-800-hellraiser]

Underfell!Sans x Female!Reader

Hello! I'm back with an Underfell Sans oneshot! I'm an absolute S I M P for this man. Anyways, PLEASE READ THE DISCLAIMER BEFORE THE ONESHOT!!! Underfell is NOT my Au, it belongs to @VictheUnderfella. Undertale is made by Toby Fox, Sans and Underfell!Sans aren't my characters! The reader will use She/Her pronouns (sorry dudes and nb pals). Have fun reading :)

❗DISCLAIMER❗

This oneshot contains mentions of verbal and physical abuse, mentions of the aftermath of abuse, smoking, and swearing! If you are triggered by/ uncomfortable with reading about these topics, I suggest you don't read this oneshot. If you're not triggered by/ uncomfortable with reading about these topics, you can proceed forwards. 

     I also made a reader insert, your character is not a human. The character can be found here. I will write this in a way where it includes everyone, I just made the ref sheet so I can at least have something to go off of in terms of outfit/makeup/species of monster.

I Wanna Be Yours

Word count: 3,936

Song: I Wanna Be Yours - Arctic Monkeys

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"Secrets I have held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought. Maybe I just wanna be yours. I wanna be yours."

      Flick. Your lighter lights with a simple motion of your thumb. You hold the lit cigarette to your dark colored lips and take a puff. You developed the nasty habit of smoking when you first became a part of the Royal Guard. Being a Guardswomen is tough, considering you actually had a kid fall down into the underground a day ago. You never thought it would happen to be honest, maybe you can finally get out of this hell hole and away from the insufferable assholes that inhabit it. Except for Sans. Sans has been your only escape, your safe haven. You met him through his brother, Papyrus. When you first became a Royal Guardswomen, you met Papyrus and Sans. After having a somewhat awkward conversation with the smaller skeleton, you both hit it off instantly. You two actually share a sentry station near the Ruins.

      Both of you share puns and stories with one another. Stories about the good, the bad, and sometimes, the ugly. Sans isn't the most trusting person. It took you a while for him to open up to you about his past. About a year and a half to be exact. Once he told you a bit about his past, you felt so bad for him. Even though he doesn't want pity, you can't help but feel bad. His brother is a very verbally and physically abusive person, especially when things don't go his way. Papyrus usually takes his anger out on someone, and that someone is usually Sans. You want to take him away from this situation. You want him to live an abuse-free life. You want him to be happy. As soon as you leave the underground, you want to take him away with you, if he lets you, of course. But for now, you just have to be there for him when he needs you to be. 

      "Ay Y/n, you okay?" Sans says, waving his skeletal hand in front of your face. "Uh, yeah, I'm good, I just kinda zoned out." You mumble, taking another drag of your cigarette. Sans looks at you skeptically before returning back to what he was doing. Suddenly Sans turns to you "Ya wanna go to Grillby's?" He asks. "Yeah, I got nothin' else to do." You respond. He takes your hand and teleports into the small diner. You two take a seat at your usual spot at the bar. "I'll take my usual," Sans says to Grillby, you order your f/f. You and Sans just chill and talk while enjoying your meals. After cackling at Sans' story of Papyrus somehow getting his head stuck in a bucket, he goes quiet. You ask him what's wrong. "Can I ask you somethin' Bud?" He asks. "Shoot at me." You reply. "What would you do if you lost the person you love most?" He questions, you're a bit stunned at the serious question. 

     "I think I'd go crazy. I don't think I could live without the person I love most. Why do you ask?" You question the edgy-looking skeleton. "No reason, I'm just curious 's all." He says, shrugging. You nodd skeptically, you knew he was going to say something else, but then decided against it.  After your meal, you realize it's actually pretty late. About six pm, to be exact, both of your sentry shifts ended two hours ago. "Shit! I gotta go, Papyrus is going to crucify me if I'm not back by six. Same time tomorrow, Dollface?" You chuckle, "Same time everyday, Sans," You retort. "I wish he meant to call me Dollface." Wow, that thought came out of nowhere. A blush spreads across your p/f/c (pastel favorite color) cheeks. You and Sans always call each other pet names, platonically, of course. Sighing, you begin walking to your apartment. There was a small apartment complex behind Grillby's that you live in. You used to live in Waterfall, but moved to Snowdin once you got paired with Sans to your sentry station. Even though sentry can change in an instant, you and Sans mostly stay in Snowdin. 

       Arriving at your apartment, you fish your keys out of your pants pocket. You open the door and sigh a sigh of content. After chucking off your boots near the door, you trudge to your bedroom and change into a pair of black sweatpants and a baggy blue shirt that says "Big Dick Is Back In Town" on it in Times New Roman font. You turn out the lights and collapse on your bed. Within seconds, you're fast asleep. At seven thirty am your alarm rings in your ear. You proceed with your morning routine, you shower, do your hair, put on some makeup, and get dressed. When you go to get dressed, you realise something. "Fuck I forgot to wash my work clothes yesterday!" You groan. You literally have four of the same pairs of pants and shirts you wear for work. You sigh exasperatedly, you have to wear the same ones you did yesterday again. Grabbing your phone, you set a reminder to wash your work clothes tonight at six thirty.

      After that, you put on your boots and leave your apartment. Taking a few shortcuts, you arrive at your shared sentry station, cigarette in between your clawed fingers. You sigh, Sans isn't even at the station yet. Anxiously, you wait at the station. About ten minutes later, Sans finally appears at the station, panting and shaking. "Are you okay?" You ask, concerned. "Does it look like I'm fuckin' okay to ya'?" He snaps back. Shocked, you stay silent. You know he doesn't mean to snap at you when he's mad, it's best to give him some space for a bit. You excuse yourself from the station, saying you forgot your phone at your apartment. "Make it quick, I don't want Papyrus to catch you." He says, your breath hitches. Oh, so that's what happened this morning. "I'll be careful, I promise." You reassure, taking a shortcut through the woods to Grillby's. You go in, and order Sans' usual and your f/f to go. As soon as you get the food you leave for the station again. You pop out the same way you entered, right behind the station.

     "I'm back." You announce, setting the plastic bag containing food in the front of the sentry station. "Where'd that come from?!" "Uh...Grillby's?" You say, "No-I mean-" sans sighs "I thought you had to go grab your phone from your apartment." He says, you chuckle. "Yeah, I lied. I thought you needed a little pick-me-up, considering the way you came to the station this morning." You explain, tail swishing a bit behind you at the uncomfortable subject. "Oh, well, thank you. I appreciate it, Doll." He says in a sincere manner. You love when he's soft with you when no one is around. In the Underground, it's considered "weak" to show genuine emotion outside of your home. You wish it wasn't like that, but sadly, this is the reality you have to live in for now. For now, you can only be there for Sans when he needs to show his emotions. He can't even show emotions in his own home, Papyrus will be a dick and judge him for it. It's not fair at all. 

       "Ya alright, Y/n?" Sans asks, pulling out of your thoughts. "Hm? Oh yeah." You respond, now realising how angry you must look. "Yeah, you looked pissed. Is somethin' up?" He asks, you sigh. You knew you'd have to bring this up eventually. "I'm just, so angry at your brother." "Why?" You look down at Sans. "Sans, he treats you like utter garbage! Why do you keep going back to him?" You sigh out exasperatedly. "Because I care about him, even if he doesn't care about me." He says sadly. Your e/c eyes widen. You get it now. He's the only one he has left that's his family. "Sans, I'm sorry. I know Papyrus is your brother, I'm just worried. All the scars he leaves you with. What if he damages you permanently?" You explain, biting on your black claw. Another habit you obtained from joining the Royal Guard. You look at Sans for an answer, you see a gentle red blush spread across his face. "I appreciate you caring Bud, I really do. But I can handle it myself." He says, looking you in the eyes. His red pinpricks aligning with your e/c irises. You sigh and avert your gaze down.

     "Okay, if you say so. But if anything ever happens, call me, I'll let you stay with me, okay?" You say, giving Sans your number, witten down on a tiny slip of paper. He says he will. The rest of the day goes off without a hitch. You and Sans finish your shift (on time this time) and part ways until tomorrow. You almost kick your boots off at the door before your phone starts going off. You quickly pull it out of your pants pocket, you sigh in relief. It's just the alarm you set for your laundry. You take your bin full of laundry to the basement of the complex and throw your clothes in one of the cleaner looking machines. As you put your laundry bin down next to the washer, your phone starts to go off. You check and Sans is trying to call you. You immediately answer the call. "Hey dude, what's up?" You say into the speaker. "Y-y/n, could I come over?" You hear his raspy, pained voice through the receiver.

      "Yes, of course! Do you need any help? You sound hurt?" You say panicked. "No Dollface, I got it." He says, you do not accept that. "Too bad. I'm coming over anyway." Before he could protest, you hang up the phone and speed out of your apartment complex. Thankfully, Sans' house isn't that far. After a short, speedwalk, you're staring down his front door. You rasp on the wooden door, waiting for a response. You were going to knock again, Sans opens the door, you let out a small gasp. Sans looks terrible, he was covered in his own blood. "Come on, you're staying with me tonight," you say, taking his boney hand. As soon as you start walking, you notice he also has a limp. If Papyrus were some random ass monster and not Sans' brother, you'd be covered in dust by now. You have a very motherly instinct, but only for Sans. You've never felt this way about somebody else before, you have no idea why either. 

       Once you and Sans reach your apartment, you bring him to your bathroom and seat him on the toilet (lid closed, of course). Grabbing your medical kit and some alcohol, you return to the bathroom and sit on the edge of your tub. "Could you take your sweater off? It'll be easier to clean your wounds." You ask, Sans slowly takes off his crimson red sweater. Suddenly, your bathroom gets really warm. You gasp at Sans' three cracked ribs, a bunch of cuts all over the others. You look up at him with concern written across your p/f/c face. "I don't want to talk about it right now." Sans mumbles, looking down. You take Sans' cheek bones in your hands, you tilt his head up to look at you. "That's okay, I'm just worried about you. You really don't deserve this Sans." You say, pulling your hands away from his face. You pour some alcohol on the washcloth and press it to one of the cuts on his ribs. He curses under his breath as you continue to clean him up. You'll have to call Alphys later about Sans' ribs, see what she can do about them. 

      "Alright Sans, just chill on my couch for right now. Uh, I gotta go real quick, I'll be right back," you say awkwardly, he gives you a thumbs up. Unlocking your door, you head down to switch your laundry. Once you come back up, you notice Sans wasn't sitting on the couch anymore. You panic and begin looking around your apartment, you stop in the entrance of your tiny kitchen, Sans was making something. "Sans, what are you doing?" You ask, he jumps a bit, then winces. "I'm making us dinner?" Sans says, the room starts to get warm again. "Sans, you don't have to do that. You should sit down and relax." You encourage, he shakes his head at your proposition. "Nah Dollface, this is the least I can do for you." He says, continuing to cook a mysterious food. You come up behind Sans, "Sans please, I appreciate the gesture, but you have three broken ribs, you need to sit down and chill out." Sans sighs "Fineeeeeee." He whines, you chuckle at him. "What were you gonna make anyway?" "Nothin much, just some Spaghetti and meatballs." "Okay, gotcha." You say, taking over the kitchen to make dinner. 

      Wiping your forehead of sweat, you finished cooking dinner. You walk into the living room, and set his and your plate on the coffee table in front of the couch. You sit next to him and start eating. "Holy fuck Doll, this shit's amazing!" Sans exclaims, shoving more pasta into his mouth. You chuckle and thank him, as you keep eating. After you both are finished eating you run down to the basement one more time to grab your laundry and return to your apartment. On your way. Back to tour apartment however, you notice that Sans has been calling you 'Doll' and 'Dollface' a lot more than he used to. You shrug it off as him being thankful for your hospitality. You return to your apartment for the last time with your laundry basket in your hands. "I'll be right back, I just gotta put away my laundry." You say, Sans looks over the back of the couch at you and gives you a nod of understanding. You quickly fold your clothes so Sans doesn't have to wait awkwardly on your couch. As soon as you're done, you put the basket in your closet and leave. When you return to your living room, you discover Sans asleep on the couch.

      A small smile forms on your face as you go get him a blanket. After that, you change into a red tye-dye pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Soon after you lay down, you drift into a deep slumber. A few hours later, you are ripped from your sleep by a scream. You pull off your blanket and run to the living room. "Sans?!" You say worriedly and panicked. You see him tossing and turning on the couch, he's having a nightmare. Sans has told you about these haunting nightmares before, it usually happens after a bad day with Papyrus. Not really knowing how to deal with this situation, you sit on the edge of the couch and try to reach for him. As soon as your hand makes contact with his shoulder, he pulls away and curls up into a tiny ball. "Sans, it's just me." You say gently, scooting a bit closer to his trembling and sobbing form. You try to comfort him again, and he doesn't pull away this time. You pull him a bit closer to you. He rests his head on your chest and clenches his arms around you. You massage his skull with your fingertips and whisper sweet nothings to him. 

       After a while of comforting him, he falls asleep again. So you lay on the couch, Sans' head resting on top of you, blanket draped over your two sleeping bodies. After a few minutes, you fall back to sleep. You awake to one of Mettaton's shows. You were never interested in the performer robot that much, but this episode was a (what looks to be) a well made CGI human defusing a bunch of bombs. After a while, you forget about Sans laying on your chest, until he wakes up and jumps off of you like a startled cat. "Jesus! Just scare the shit outta me why don't ya?" You say, sarcasm lacing your tone. "Ah, sorry 'bout that Doll." "You're fine Sans." You chuckle. Looking up at Sans, you notice a light red blush across his cheekbones. Your heart skips a beat as you look at him, then you get up not wanting to make this any more awkward than it already is. Opening the fridge, you look for something to eat. You have eggs, bacon, and pancake mix in one of your cupboards, you take out all the ingredients you need for breakfast and start cooking. Sans insists on helping, but you tell him he needs to to relax because of his broken ribs.

      After a half hour, breakfast is completely done. You fix you and Sans a plate and bring it to the couch. Sans looks very fixated on Mettaton's show. This was a rerun of a previous show. You set the breakfast down in front him, he immediately begins choking down food. "Holy shit Sans! Slow down your going to choke." You scold. "But we're gonna be late to work if we don't." He explains, scarfing down his meal. You give him a confused look. "Work? We're not going to work today, we have to call Alphys over to see what she can do about your ribs." You say, you can feel Sans look at you like you had just told him you had a death wish. "I can't, Papyrus would freak out-" "Papyrus can suck my dick!" You cut him off out of anger. "Your health is WAY more important to me than what Papyrus might do." You snap, Sans sits in shock. You've never snapped at him like that before. Looking at his face, you realise what you just did. "Sans I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you like that, I just got to frustrated." You explain, Sans' face softens at your words. "Nah it's okay, I completely understand where you're coming from." Sans sighs, and rubs the back of his neck anxiously.

      To defuse the thick tension, you tell Sans you have to call Alphys and you'll be back shortly. You shuffle awkwardly to your room to make the call. Pressing the contact "Weeb Lord'' with a picture you took off of Alphys' social media (it's a picture of a trash can with several red sparkly filters over it) and press the call button. "Yo Alphys" "What is it Y/n?" She says annoyedly. "So, I need you to come over to look at Sans' ribs." You say, "What? Why?" "Papyrus and him got into it yesterday and he's staying with me for a while." You explain, Alphys makes a noise of understanding from the receiver. "Alright, I'll be over in 10." She says, you can hear her shuffling around. "'Ight see you when you get here." You end, hanging up the phone, not really wanting to go back out and just awkwardly sit with Sans, you decide to have a smoke. Grabbing you cigarettes and lighter, you begin to head out of your apartment. "Where are ya going?" Sans asks, still staring at the T.v. "I'm just going to have a smoke, I'll be back soon." You reassure yourself as you leave the apartment. Maybe taking a smoke wasn't such a good idea. It's cold as balls outside, you shiver as you take drags of your cigarette. 

     After you're done, you are about to go inside, but a certain nerdy lizard shows up. She follows you up to your apartment and in through the front door. "Ay look what the cat dragged in." Sans teases, Alphys glares at him. "Nah I'm just joking with ya, how've you been?" "Okay, yourself?" She asks back, Sans shrugs. "Eh, could be better." "Yeah, I heard. Would you mind taking your sweater off for me?" She asks, he reluctantly takes off his sweater again. Alphys studies the three cracked ribs for a second. "Hmmm. I think the best I can do for you is to wrap you up. Other than that, there's nothing I can do." She explains, beginning to wrap Sans' ribs. "You'll have to not go to work for a few days, take it easy. No lifting, no fast movements, nothing." She drones on. "Your best option is to stay with Y/n for now so they can help you heal properly." She states, finishing up wrapping Sans' ribs.

      You let out a relieved breath you didn't even know you were holding. You had hoped that Alphys would tell him to stay with you, Papyrus would probably just hurt him more in all honesty. "I'm going to give you some morphine to help ease the pain a bit." She says, handing Sans an orange pill bottle. "Take two when you wake up, and when you go to bed, if you notice the pain going away, then only take one per day." She explains. You and Sans both nod. "Thank you, Dr. Alphys." you say, Alphys nods. She takes her tote bag full of medical equipment, bids you and Sans goodbye, then leaves. You sigh, and sit next to Sans on the couch. You begin to think, why do you feel so nervous around him all of a sudden. Your heart skips a beat whenever he calls you "Doll" or "Dollface", his laugh gives you butterflies, you want him to talk to you forever, just listening to his New York accent makes you want to kiss him. You can't take hiding your feelings from him anymore, you have an undying love for Sans. 

       "S-sans, I gotta tell you something." You stutter out, Sans turns to you. "Yeah, what is it Dollface?" He asks, your heart beats faster and faster every passing second. "I think I wanna be yours, Sans." You manage to get out. As soon as those words leave your mouth, you regret everything. "Y/n, I...I think I wanna be yours too." Sans mumbles, scooching a bit closer to you. You move closer and closer to each other until your thighs are squished together. Sans cups your cheek with his hand, you place one hand on his shoulder and the other behind him. Sans sets his other hand on your thigh, you lean in and give him a smooch on his sharp teeth. You pull away before Sans' hand moves from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you into a more passionate kiss. The passionate kiss turns into a makeout session. Both of your mouths moving in sync, tongues sliding over each other, soft moans come from both of your mouths.

       After a minute of missing, you two pull away, a string of clear and translucent red saliva connecting to your mouths. "Oh my god....that was amazing." You pant, leaning back into the couch. Sans nods his head in agreement. "I'm so glad you confessed to me, Sweetheart. I've had feelings for you since we were stationed at our sentry station together." Sans explains, your heart skips a beat at your new nickname. You blush. "I'm so glad I met you." You say, leaning your head on his shoulder. "Same here Doll." Sans responds, leaning his skull on your head. You're both finally safe and happy.

[irwinkitten]

got lucky | c.h

requested by anon: ok so for the bi!reader concept: last year i ended my relationship w this girl the main reason was because she was really insecure and jealous especially about me being bisexual like anytime i would talk to a guy she would just get so upset about it and she would make such gross biphobic comments and at the time i had so much internalised biphobia that i tried to convince myself i was gay n stayed in the relationship longer than i should have because i rly liked her i guess lol anyways (1/4) we ended and a while afterwards i started seeing this guy who i’d known of for ages (friends of friends type situation) but we just never really talked before or hung out but from the first date we clicked and the sex was crazy good like the type of sex were ur ditching ur vibrators cuz he’s that good lmao so one weekend we went to this party together and of course she is also there, i was so surprised and i could see her eyeing us the whole night, so when she came over i was anxious af (2/4) and this guy knew i was bi! it was no secret, i worked really hard to accept myself! so she comes over and she deadass goes “are you straight now? i knew you would end up with a man!” and she’s all smug but also hurt and im standing there like what the fuck and THEN this dumb man goes “ha guess the sex is so good i made her straight again” and i’m literally about to cry over how gross the whole interaction is and im so shocked i can’t even defend myself, i dumped him that night obviously (3/) last messgae: so basically can you pls do a redo of the gross situation where instead of being with that dumb guy its with calum and he is so protective n sweet n NORMAL n encourages u to stand up for urself about bisexuality / your sexuality, because what happened to me happens too often and its disgusting and gross and no one deserves that!! only if u feel comfortable/inspired tho, no pressure!! love u laura, thank u for creating such a safe space for all the queer babies it means a lot 💘 notes: i kinda enjoyed writing this one esp for my sweet anon baby. i love u and i hope this is everything you wanted ♥  warnings: biphobia, implications of emotional abuse

word count: 3.2k

donate to my ko-fi here

-

“Hey what’cha doing sweets?” Calum’s voice pulled you from your musings, your hand idly tracing patterns against the paper but the pen remaining on the desk. You wrenched your thoughts from the spiral you seemed to have fallen down, a smile crossing your lips as you felt your heart flutter at the sight of him.

“Nothin’. Just thinking.” You finally replied as he pulled up one of the spare chairs next to you, the bustling activity of the coffee shop falling into your background noise as his thigh pressed against yours.

“Really? Normally you doodle when you’re just thinking.” He countered with ease and your eyes dropped to the paper, noticing that the pen remained where you’d placed it when you first sat down. Subconsciously you must’ve realised that the route your thoughts had gone were not suitable to put down on paper, your fingers picking up the pen and mind falling blank immediately.

“Oh.” You breathed before placing the pen back down and packing away the pad and pen.

“What’s running through your head, doll?” Calum’s voice was quiet and concerned, you shrugged.

“Just, a lot on my mind is all. You’re not my keeper just because we’ve slept together.” You admitted quietly and he frowned before picking up his bag and for a sinking second you thought he was going to walk off, but instead, he took your bag from your hands and slung it over his shoulder. 

He looked back at you expectantly and you sighed before standing up, leaving the coffee shop with him, your eyes on the floor as you fell into step next to him.

“Your place or mine?”

“E’s gonna be home and I don’t want to hear them rant about me bringing people back.” You muttered and Calum nodded. 

“I think Ash is out. He’ll probably head out to Luke’s if I show up with you.” At his smirk, you rolled your eyes fondly before shoving him towards the bus stop. His indignant “hey!” was only ignored as you two waited for the bus, his arm slung over your shoulders.

Selfishly, you leaned into his touch, trying to ignore the fact that your stomach was doing flips at his touch alone. 

The bus journey was a quiet ten minutes, but Calum seemed to understand that you weren’t willing to talk with so many people around, so he was content to just keep you close, and you were unwilling to pull away until his stop came up.

When you reached his shared house with Ashton, you noted that the car was gone from the driveway and Calum smirked.

“Looks like he’s out. C’mon.” His hand tucked around yours and pulled you inside. And for a second you wondered if you could distract him with sex, but then the guilt appeared and you could feel the tears of frustration appear as your thoughts swirled and you felt dizzy.

Calum had stepped ahead, turning to see you stood leaning against the closed door, head in your hands and he knew something was wrong. Stepping back to you, he dropped your bags and took your hand in his, pulling you upstairs to his room and your stomach twisted uncomfortably.

“Cal I-”

“I’m not suggesting that.” He muttered. You fell silent at that and as he pulled you into his room, you felt unsure, but he gave you no chance to really deny him as he crawled into bed before opening his arms out to you.

“Cal.”

“I know you. You don’t do emotional stuff well but I’m here for a cuddle and an ear if you need it.” You fell into the embrace easily, your head resting on his chest as his arms wrapped around your shoulders, his lips finding your temple as you finally felt something in you snap, the surge of emotions overwhelming and frighteningly vivid. 

“I keep telling myself that I never was a lesbian, that I still found men attractive but Poppy made me feel like having that attraction was stupid since I was dating her and that I was a lesbian and it’s so fucking confusing because I like you, but I can hear her voice screeching that I’m not right, that I’m a lesbian or faking it or a freak.” And for the first time since you left Poppy, you cried.

Calum had been waiting for this. When the split had happened, you’d been ready for it, you’d already left her mentally, but this was what he knew you needed. He knew that the relationship with her had been toxic, but you’d never revealed the extent of her behaviour. 

His heart broke.

“Just because you like both men and women does not mean you should feel so guilty over your sexuality. There’s a B in LGBT for a reason, doll. That’s you. You’re bisexual and you should be proud of that, not ashamed because some bitch with a control issue couldn’t handle the fact that you liked more than women.” 

You found yourself gripping his shirt with your fists as you pressed your face into his chest, trying to stem the tears that seemed relentless. But Calum held his silence whilst you got it out of your system, knowing that you needed to get this off your chest. 

“I’m sorry.” You finally got out, but he simply shushed you. 

“She was a shitty person with an attitude to show. You shouldn’t apologise for the bitch.” His words were simple but it gave you a breath of ease, pulling away as hands rubbed your shoulders gently. 

He was definitely too good to you, but he was there for you regardless and you were certain that you loved him for that.

“There’s gonna be a party on the other side of town in a couple of weeks. Ash took over the old Firefly down on Hartley. He’s revamping before opening the bar to the public. You fancy going?” And you smiled at the gentle distraction he was offering. 

“We get at least a free drink if we show up, right?” And Calum laughed as he kissed your temple. 

“He wouldn’t say no to me. Or you. In fact, I’m almost certain he’s expecting me to do full introductions on that night since Luke and Mike will be there with the others and their girls.” You rolled your eyes. 

“It’s not like I went to school with Luke or anything.” Came your sarcastic retort and Calum laughed as the two of you settled for the evening. 

“Pretty sure Luke last saw you when you started dating Poppy. He’s put two and two together but he won’t say anything unless you mention it. Even then he knows it’s not his place.” Your heart seemed to swell another size in affection for Luke. 

“You’re making it difficult for me to not fall in love with you Cal. Good dick, you know how to use those lips and fingers of yours, you make me feel like I belong and you respect boundaries without me having to ask.” You finally muttered and Calum gave you an almost wistful smile. 

“You may have been with Poppy but that didn’t stop me from being friends with you. You’re someone I’ve genuinely cared about from day one. Not gonna chuck that away because of who you are. Plus growing up with my mom and sister almost made certain I’d be in touch with my feminine side.” He teased but the sincerity and understanding in his tone eased your shoulders. 

Your features softened at the admittance and you pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Then I definitely got lucky to have you in my life at least, falling in love or not.”

—

When the day of the party rolled around, you felt sick with nerves and you couldn’t understand why. 

When Calum rolled up to pick you up—he was driving to Luke’s who lived closest to the bar and you’d both get a ride back to yours before he picked up his car the following morning—he could see the nerves and the grimace on his face spoke volumes. 

“What?” You all but demanded when you were debating outfits. He’d been sitting on the bed watching, but got up and held his hands out to you. 

You took them hesitantly. His thumbs almost immediately started to soothe across the back of your hands to help relax you. 

“Word has gotten around that Poppy is planning to show up. We haven’t exactly been quiet about our relationship, but I didn’t think she’d pull something like this.” And your stomach churned uncomfortably. 

“We’re still going. Ashton promised free drinks and we’ll be in the VIP area right?” You checked and Calum nodded.

“Ashton has already told the bouncers that she’s not allowed near the VIP section. They’re checking and rechecking the lists to make sure she isn’t on one of them.” He explained and you let out a breath of air. 

“Okay. It’ll be fine. It’s being handled and I’ve got you. Now which outfit do you think I should wear?” He studied your face for a second before a smile broke across his lips. 

“The dark purple with the deep plunge. Is it wrong of me to flaunt in her face what she lost?” And you laughed as you kissed him. 

“I mean, yes. But I also know that you want to show me off properly now that we’ve got things really settled.” You murmured and he grinned back unabashedly. 

It was still an uphill battle, but he’d given you a lot to think about. And after gentle convincing, you’d found an LGBT friendly therapist who helped you process your thoughts. It helped you come to terms with accepting the toxic relationship that you’d been in but also it highlighted how beneficial Calum had been as a friend and confidant. 

It also gave you the courage to ask Calum out officially, wanting to be with him entirely and not just in the evenings. 

He took that in his stride and things shifted once more between the two of you. When you opened up to him about some of your sessions, you knew that your trust had been well placed because he never indicated anything to his friends and so you were never subjected to pitying stares or glares. 

You were almost sure that you’d fall in love with him faster than you fell for Poppy. 

The drive to Luke’s was filled with your nerves. You hadn’t seen Luke in years and you were also meeting his two other friends, Ashton and Michael as well as their partners. 

“Ashton’s excited to finally meet you and stop telling me to be careful when I go to yours.” 

Despite Calum living with Ashton, your schedules never seemed to match and more often than not, Calum could be found at your place, a small sanctuary from your hectic lives. 

Ashton never begrudged that time you shared together, but Calum had mentioned a few times about how snappy he was being on the subject. 

“He’ll chill when he realises I’m not out to break your heart or steal something.” You muttered with a chuckle. Calum snorted in return as he pulled into Luke’s driveway. 

Your nerves return full force as he pulls you to the front door and steps in like he lives there. 

“Hey fuckers, anyone about?” He called through and was met with calls of confirmation, another yell following that they were in the dining room. Your fingers squeezed Calum’s tightly and he didn’t hesitate to return it, his thumb soothing across the skin on the back of your hand.

“Look who it is!” A voice crowed loudly as he stepped into the dining room, followed by loud calls of greetings. 

There was a flurry of introductions and you felt like the spotlight was being shone on you, under scrutiny from his best friends gazes once they had greeted their friend and Calum had introduced you. Or re-introduced you in Luke’s case.

“Well c’mon, the last time I saw you we were leaving school. What’s been happening to you?” Luke finally asked, indicating to the seat next to him. A small smile graced your lips as you sat down, Calum falling into the seat next to you as you shrugged. 

“Life I guess? It’s been definitely more interesting with the different jobs and moving about. Building up a social life again.” Luke’s face filled with a frown at that. 

Michael came in next. 

“Building up a social life? Did you not have one?” His words held an innocent curiosity, yet you felt yourself hesitate. 

“My ex was controlling to the point that I couldn’t do anything without their permission. They managed to make me believe that no one really wanted me around and I lost touch with old friends, like Luke.” You glanced to the side and he was frowning. 

The others held varying degrees of stunned shock or disapproval. 

“Well then he was a cunt.” Michael muttered and your eyes refused to meet theirs at the assumptions. Luke stayed quiet but his hand rested on your knee, squeezing it. You shot him a gentle smile in return.

“Well it’ll be good to have you back in our lives. Especially with these two knuckleheads.” He nodded at Ashton and Michael who immediately protested and you laughed. 

It felt like you’d known them for years as you all had a few shots. Ashton, despite being the owner of the bar, wasn’t worried about turning up with his friends. He’d already explained to his staff that he’d be around for the rest of the night once he arrived and he’d told the small groups he’d be here and there. 

After a handful of shots, the group of you made your way to the bar, your arm linked with Calum’s. There were separate conversations happening between you all, their girlfriends including you on their pamper night whilst the boys discussed a possible games night for all of you. 

When you arrived at the club, you saw the queue of people waiting to get in and the subsequent groans from the line as the bouncer let you in, no questions asked. 

Ashton guided the group of you to the VIP section and the music was still loud but you could still hear each other talking. You were chatting away with Luke’s girlfriend, arm still linked with Calum’s as Ashton disappeared to get drinks. 

Calum pulled your attention away briefly, his lips by your ear. 

“I’ve spotted her. She’s not seen us yet so don’t worry.” You barely nodded, acknowledging his words as you listened in, fighting to keep your nerves down. 

The night continued and you were all a few drinks deep. Calum’s arm had barely left your waist all night as you talked and danced and drank. You’d been welcomed into his group of friends with an ease you never realised existed. 

You’d deliberately not tried to seek out Poppy, silently praying that the universe would comply. But as the group of you stood out in the smokers area, huddled together under a heating lamp, your stomach sank as she stepped out, her eyes narrowing on you. 

“Fuckin’ knew it!” You could feel the alarm in your face as you stepped back into Calum, his arm going around you protectively. 

“Poppy, you’re drunk.” You felt curious gazes from your new friends, but you didn’t spare them a glance.

“You break up with me and go running to his arms, I knew you weren’t a fuckin lesbian. Pretending to try it out? Just another straight girl seeking attention. Fucking freak.” She snapped and your stomach sank. 

“Get it through your thick head that she’s bisexual.” Calum snapped in your defence, earning a glare from Poppy. But Calum didn’t shrink from the glare, your glance to his face confirmed he was giving her his own. You were mildly impressed that she didn’t back down instantly. 

“She’s a fuckin liar! Years of my life wasted on this bitch.” She spat at your feet and you took in a deep breath. 

“You don’t get to control me anymore, Poppy. I’ve liked both men and women, but you never liked that because it meant that I had more chances of leaving you. And I wished I’d have left you sooner. Calum certainly thought so.” 

“Of course you fucked the first man to pay you any attention.” Your heart sank once more at her declaration and you felt your mind fall into the old trap that you’d fought with for so long. 

“No she never. In fact she slept with a few girls long before she slept with me. But I was her best friend as she tried to deal with the mess you created in her mind.” Calum snapped back. You felt your heart swell for him. 

Poppy stepped forward, her hand raised but then Ashton stepped in front of you. 

“Get out. You’re no longer welcome in this bar.” He made a gesture and security slowly made their way over. 

“She shouldn’t be fucking welcome!” Poppy yelled back, but Ashton held firm. 

“She is my friend. You are not. Get. Out.” When the bouncer rested a hand on her arm, she shrugged it off and stormed away. Your entire body was trembling.

“So that was the ex, huh?” Michael commented and you could feel your hands trembling as you nodded. “Why didn’t you correct me?” Calum spoke up for you as his hands took yours. 

“It’s been a battle for her. Poppy had convinced her she was a lesbian, that she was wrong for having any attraction to men. In Poppy’s world, either your gay, lesbian or straight. Being bisexual isn’t acceptable in her eyes.” Calum’s arms wrapped around you and you stood there, holding onto him for dear life. 

“Well that makes two of us then.” Michael’s casual comment had your knees go weak and you let out a weak laugh. 

“Thank you Ash.” You finally murmured when you pulled away from Calum. Ashton didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around you in a warm hug that was both comforting and reassuring. 

“Hey, you’ve been the best thing for my best mate. And you were friends with Luke once before. I’ve definitely got your back. And I get why you didn’t say anything and don’t hold that against you.” He muttered and you breathed a sigh of relief before returning to Calum’s embrace. 

“More drinks or are we gonna go back to Luke’s?” And you shook your head. 

“Let’s stay. I’m not gonna let her ruin it,” you leaned forwards so your lips were by his ear as the others went inside, “also I want to see if we can christen the bar in one of the toilets.” You breathed. Calum groaned as his grip around you got tighter and he pulled you in for a kiss that promised more. 

“Oh you’re so fucked sweetheart. Especially since I know where the individual lips are and they aren’t attended by anyone.” You held back a moan at that thought before pulling away, your hand in his. 

“Dance first?” And the innocence in your tone made him laugh as he followed behind you willingly. 

“Menace.” The term was laced with affection as he caught up to you, kissing the spot just below your ear. 

You simply grinned in return as you pulled him onto the dance floor, Poppy long forgotten as he danced with you. 

-

@sexgodashton, @goth5sos, @calumsmermaid, @empathycth, @wildflowergrae, @calpops, @rosecolouredash, @cal-puddies, @clockwork124, @loveroflrh, @stellar5sosrecs, @ashtoniwir, @cthla, @liketheydidwithyou, @sc0ttish-wildfl0wer​, @bluehairedtracii, @drummerboy794, @feliznavidaddycal, @i-calumhood, @wokeupinjapanisabop, @converse-luke, @madbomb, @ccnicole02, @youngblood199456, @aulxna, @megz1985, @lukesidentitycrisis, @snapback-irwie, @neonweeknds, @666yourwitchyfriend666, @gamerboymike, @cashtonasfuck, @ashtaway, @conquerwhatliesahead92, @itjustkindahappenedreally, @twoamhood, @kchillout, @damselindistressanu, @colormekaykay, @findingliam-o, @sublimehood, @sugarcoated-pain, @singt0mecalum, @singledadharrington​, @calumspeachy​, @colourfulcalum​, @lostincalum​, @burncrashbromance​, @asht0ns-world​, @a-mnd, @flusteredcliffo​, @loti18​, @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​, @clumclum-hood​, @fangirl-everythang​, @lashtondaddies​, @calumssunshine​, @ambskiwi​, @abundant-stars​, @caltattoohood, @seedless-vascular, @myescapefromthislife​, @lmao5sosimagines​, @beyoncesdragon​, @jae-writes-fanfiction​, @cxddlyash​, @tresfandom​, @utterly-u-n-p-e-r-f-e-c-t​, @niallisworld​, @lietomevalntyn​, @babylon-corgis​, @monochrome44​, @behind-my-hazeleyes27​, @ghost0fy0u​, @lyllibug​, @bloodmoonashton​, @balsamic-cal, @calumsbaldhead​, @washedout-ky, @calumssunshinee​, @ghostofmashton​, @summerellaz​, @a-little-less-sixteen​, @cashworthy​, @smokeinherlungs​, @longlastingdaydream​, @h0tsos​, @sweetcherrymike​, @5sosnsfw​, @sugar-nico​, @sunnysideblog, @angel-cal​, @samros95​, @maluminspace​, @lukeinblue​, @cakesunflower​, @allamerican-betch​,  @britnicole11​, @gigglyirwin​, @everyscarisahealingplace, @loverofcashton​, @iovehemmings​, @g-l-pierce​, @jannimoeller3​, @wildmichaelflower​, @lukeskisses​, @5sossstan​, @youngbloodchild​, @alloutofcashton​, @tobefalling​, @abb-lan-5sos​, @calumsbub​, @flameraine​, @here-for-the-uproars​, @mateisit-balsamic​, @ilovelukey​, @sarahshepherdblog​

[feverinfeveroutfic]

chapter sixteen: gimme fever

Zelda sat next to Sam the whole entire time there on the curb outside of the front lobby. Testament had already left for the airport, but neither of them need not see them off. Eric did apologize to Sam however, but nothing could change the fact that she felt as though she had done something wrong. She had pushed him away all for nothing more than who she was. She came on too strong; she thought of that piece of rice paper in her bottom drawer and she wondered if it was even worth it.

She considered taking the next bus back up to the Bronx and throwing that rice paper in the trash, but the bus had already left the stop up the block. There was no way she could do it now.

Zelda had a few tears in her eyes herself, and Sam thought about what she had said about Alex, and his breaking in new shoes for their tour. But as she bowed her head a bit, Sam could tell that the whole deal with him left the both of them baffled. Eric crouched down next to him, and his smooth inky black hair swept down off of his head like a curtain, albeit one that protected them both from the hazy gray morning light.

“I'm still gonna be with the fan club,” Sam promised him, complete with a sniffle. “I can't do that to you guys.”

“I'll talk to him, don't you worry,” Eric vowed as he tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. “He gets kind of worked up about some things—don't worry about it.” The last thing he did for her was put his arms about her: he did the same for Zelda as well.

“You guys have a safe flight,” she told him in a soft voice.

Chuck embraced the both of them as well before he left after him: the soft aroma of incense riddled about his smoothed out brown waves. He peered down at her, such that the light on the ceiling shone down on his head so it resembled to a full crown.

“There's a little art shop somewhere around the block here,” he told her, “can't remember where it is, but I did see it, though.” And yet she had no desire to do anything at that point. She hadn't really known Testament very well, but it felt as though she had been betrayed by a friend. She lay her head against his chest for a few more seconds, and he patted the upper part of her back a little bit before he let her go.

Sam stood there on the sidewalk with her arms folded over her chest as she watched Chuck and Eric climb into the van in unison; the latter showed her a little wave and she returned the favor to him as the tears stayed brimmed upon her eyes. She watched them drive off; even once they had disappeared behind the corner, she stayed there and she brushed away a tear with the back of her finger. She then sighed through her nose and doubled back to the front lobby where Zelda awaited her once again with an embrace.

But Sam bowed her head so no one would look at her. It came on so fast and so suddenly, that she swore she wouldn't look at anyone for the rest of the day. Zelda lingered right next to her, also with her head bowed.

Someone next to her patted a hand upon her shoulder.

She looked to her left and the sight of those long fingers upon her, and Zelda, who had backed off a little bit. She turned her head again and Frank stood right next to her with a soft look on his face. She sniffled again at the very sight of him.

“Things will be okay,” he promised her. She turned closer to him: even though summer was upon them, she knew he was warm enough to hold for the time being. She thought about that puffy sweater he had worn on that cold morning in which they rescued Joey from the snow. A warm late spring morning and yet everything was still cold as if a fresh blanket of snow had fallen around them.

“C'mere, Puff Daddy—” she begged to him with her arms outstretched for him.

“That's a nickname I haven't heard in like a million years,” he noted with a smirk on his face. Frank held her close to his body. Someone else joined them from the side: Sam moved her head and she recognized Charlie's curls upon his head. From the other side, Zelda joined in as well.

“Nice li'l group hug here,” Dan remarked from behind Frank.

“Group hugs and love,” Charlie added as he raised his head for him. “Good way to start off our day off.” Sam lifted her head from Frank's chest and she rubbed her eyes with one hand.

“C'mon, Sam I am—if it's open, we'll take ya all the way out to Coney Island,” Scott offered from behind them.

“That's kinda far, though,” Dan pointed out. “Be hell of a subway ride—take us all day just to get there.”

Sam looked over to Joey, who sat right there at the table on the other side of the room with a cup of coffee in one hand. They were in the City and the drive to upstate was a little too far. But she needed to be in a place where she could be alone, in a place like upstate New York.

“Well, we've gotta do something, though,” Zelda quipped. “Don't really wanna stick around here in the Big Apple with nothing to do, though.”

Joey then turned to her with his eyebrows raised; he took a sip from his coffee and then he stood to his feet and cleared his throat.

“I know what you can do,” he stated, and they all turned into his direction. He ran his fingers through his jet black curls and he gazed on at her with those large brown eyes.

“What's that?” she asked him with another sniffle. Joey picked up the cup once again, and he drank down the rest of the coffee. He ran his fingers through his curls again and then he gestured for them to follow him. Sam watched him walk towards the door right before them: he then turned around and gestured again for them to follow him outside.

“C'mon,” he insisted; his expression never changed from that of concern. Sam glanced back at them and Charlie nodded at her. She sniffled again and then she followed him outside to the sidewalk there. She peered over her shoulder at Zelda, Frank, and Charlie right behind her. Joey walked on towards the driveway when he stopped right at the edge there. He turned again and he gestured once more for Sam to follow him.

“I'm coming, I'm coming,” she promised him as he took out his mirrored sunglasses, despite the veil of marine layer clouds over the sun. He peered up the street to the small piece of traffic, and then he crossed the street first. His black curls waved behind him like a series of streamers there at the back; Sam caught up with him as he moved at a brisk pace to the other side. Meanwhile, Zelda, Frank, and Charlie waited there at the corner for the rest of the traffic to clear out a bit.

“Where are we going?” she asked him over the noise of the street; they reached the other sidewalk and he slowed up for her to catch up with him. “Joey, where are we going?”

“You'll see,” he replied. She thought about the art shop that Chuck had mentioned and she wondered if that was it. She also wondered what exactly was in there.

“We drove past this place yesterday,” he confessed to her. “Surprised you didn't even see it yesterday when we first got here—although I can't really blame ya because it's kinda tucked around the corner here. But I had my eye on it the whole entire time you and Marla were helping out the Cherry Suicides yesterday—Danny and I even went in here yesterday afternoon because I knew it would be right in your wheelhouse. Did not disappoint, either.”

“An art shop, right?” She grinned up at him.

“Not just any ol' art shop.” They reached the next block up and there it stood on the corner in front of them. A large bay window stretched around the corner of the building so they were able to have a look inside of there. Through the glass, Sam spotted a pure white wall in the back, past the rows and rows of silvery metal shelves.

The light turned green and they walked onward to the front doors there. Joey held the door for her and they strode inside there: once they were inside, Sam could see that the wall was not what she believed. She spotted the gears upon the highest corners of the wall: a giant roll of blank pure white canvas suspended against the wall. Indeed, beyond the shelves stood a stretch of floor for anyone to come in and paint whatever they wish.

“So you and Danny actually came in here yesterday?” she asked him as they made their way over to it.

“Yep. We went full on—what's that artist who does the splatter paint? You've taken art history—I think you know who I'm talking about.”

“Jackson Pollock?”

“Jackson Pollock, yeah. It's about eight feet wide so he and I were able to share it and paint all over it.” They halted before the canvas and she gazed up at the roll suspended near the ceiling. Eight feet wide and ten feet high: not very big on its own, but the sheer size of it shrunk her down to the size of a pinprick on a tack.

The front door swung open again, and Sam and Joey took a glimpse back at Zelda, Frank, and Charlie as they entered the room themselves in single file: Sam looked beyond them to Scott and Dan, both of whom crossed the street and strode towards the shop. Sam returned to the blank canvas. Not very large, but it seemed to stretch on forever for her by the way of the roll and also on either side of her. She then turned her head back in Joey's direction: he held his sunglasses close to his chest in both hands for a moment before he tucked them into his shirt collar.

“So what is it that you want me to do?” she asked him as Zelda, Frank, and Charlie congregated behind them.

Joey turned to the table next to them, the one with the jars of used paint brushes, large bottles of paint, and a couple of pencils, one with hard graphite, the other with softer graphite. She looked over her shoulder to Zelda, who frowned at everything that was going on before her, and Sam shrugged at her. Joey took a step over to the table there and with one hand on his black curls to keep it back, he kept his hand over the two pencils there.

“Joey, what can I do?” Sam asked him, and he picked out the hard pencil and he returned for her, and he handed it to her as if it was a weapon. She parted her lips at the sight of it, the sight of the hard graphite tip at the end. She gazed back up to the vast stretch of canvas up on the wall, and then she returned to him. The whole room was silent, except for the noise of the morning traffic outside.

“This,” he said, to which she shook her head.

“No—I don't feel like it,” she confessed as the tears returned to her again.

“It's your greatest passion,” he insisted.

“Joey—it's so big, though.”

He bowed his head a bit, so he hung close to her face: some of his black curls brushed against the sides of her face so they somewhat blocked out the five of them behind them. She flashed back on the memory of sitting next to Lars in that dark room; but she still shook her head. The encounter with Alex earlier still left her rattled to the core; Joey swallowed and then he spoke again.

“It is what gets you up in the morning,” he whispered, to which Sam shook her head once again.

“I can't,” she stubbornly said, and she bowed away from him. “I can't, Joey. I can't—”

“Sam, please,” he called after her. But she brushed past the five of them, back to the front door. The tears began to fall once more, but he caught her before she could open the door again. He turned her around so he could face her straight on; she tried to hide her face from him but he clutched both of her shoulders.

“Sam, please,” he begged her, “listen to me. You need to do it.”

“No,” she wept. “No! No!”

“Sam, do it,” he declared; and she could hear tears in his voice as well. “Do it! Do it!”

She kept on shaking her head at him. Joey set her free hand on her shoulder and he bowed his head so he looked right into her face.

“Sam, listen to me,” he persisted in a gentle voice, “you're all about protecting me from some horrible things. It only makes sense that I do the same for you. I need you to do what you love. I need you to go forth.” He showed her the pencil. “Do it. Please. For me.”

She looked up at him as a tear streamed down her face. Those brown eyes, cold and earthy like the venom he had injected her with before, now soft and riddled with tears himself.

“Please,” he begged her in a single breath. She closed her eyes: he never let go of her, even though she wished for him to do that and let her go out to the street. The tears were almost too much to bear for her, but then she opened her eyes again.

“Please,” he whispered to her. She sighed through her nose and she took the pencil from Joey's hand. He closed his eyes and sighed through his nose; he ducked past her to the group behind her. She gazed up at the white canvas up on the wall. She looked down at the pencil in her hand. There was one thing she could do with the pencil there on the canvas, but the canvas itself seemed so big and daunting before her.

She curled her fingers around the body of the pencil, and she lifted her gaze to a row of paint brushes. Up to that point, she had been a student. The student with two years under her belt, and yet there wasn't much to take from the whole entire time. She came to New York on a whim and a promise, and yet it felt as though she had learned hardly anything from those two years.

There had to be more. There had to be more within her.

She then tucked the pencil behind her ear, and she turned to the paints on the table. The bristles on the brushes were clean, albeit stained from a few colors, namely the Prussian blue, the cadmium red, and the veridian green. But she spotted a jar off to the side for a bit of a washing.

Just the pure paint, and the way in which she felt about everything up to that point.

She had made her friends and so much had happened in the past two years. Two years worth of everything, and it felt as though she had built up some kind of new armor all the while. Armor built up by living alone in the Bronx, and she knew it had toughened up a bit by the loss of Cliff and by being in class all this time. But then again, as she thought about the loss of Cliff, and the fact they were almost a year away from that accident, she wondered if it was even tough anymore.

The encounter with Alex earlier had opened a new notch in that armor, such that it felt as though it need not be in place anymore. Seeing Joey opened yet another notch for her. To see his brown eyes so soft and so watery brought on such a tight feeling inside of her chest. A tight feeling that only caused the hardest and most astute of armors to weaken in its wake. The very venom he injected her with had brought it all down to its most basic level.

Red paint first for a base. Like blood stains on the otherwise pure white canvas before her.

She thought about Joey and Dan in there the day before with the whole splatter method. She dipped the head of the thick brush into the mouth of the bottle and then she threw the paint onto the pure white canvas before her.

Blood on the canvas. Cliff's blood on the pavement, on that road in the heart of darkness, over in Sweden.

She did it again. Even more blood before her.

She reached for the black paint: that time she splattered some from the mouth of the bottle itself and she used the larger of the brushes for a smearing. The bristles split apart a bit at one point and she thought of Alex's hair. That jet black hair with the little sliver of gray over his forehead.

She moved it towards the red. Towards the proverbial blood, as if Alex had hit his head on the pavement alongside Cliff.

More black and red. That time around, she used the big brush and she employed shorter, much more shallow strokes. The brush resembled to a knife. She moved about more quickly and much harder over the canvas: if she could jump that high, she would cover the whole canvas with the violent feeling, the feeling of betrayal and wanting to inflict a knife onto him to teach him a lesson.

“Such emotion,” Charlie whispered out at one point.

Harder. Faster. Just like the Cherry Suicides the night before. Her heart hammered inside of her chest. She moved about as if she was lighter than air. Alex's angered expression burst into her mind right then.

He pushed her and she was pushing back against him. The knife right into that boy's face. What he gets for being so cold and callous, even in the face of Cliff's demise. There was no way she could take it from him. No way. Not ever.

It was all shedding away from her, like the old skin from a snake.

“Looks like a grindcore cover,” Scott remarked as she took one of the smaller brushes. A bit of yellow right smack in the middle of the canvas.

Hair first. Followed by the shape of his handsome face. Then the brim of his hat. That black hat he had given her. Right against the red and black, right against the blood and the pavement. She then painted a piece of rope from the base of his neck and she led the end of it to that first patch of red on the canvas.

Her boyfriend gone and all his band could do was replace him.

They replaced him. They replaced him! They replaced him before they could rise up through the clouds with him! Lars said it himself: he was their brother.

Their brother and yet they still replaced him.

Breathing heavy and with a bit of sweat that ran down her back, Sam finished the little thick rough portrait before her. She then backed off so as to catch her breath and to let her heart calm down from the feeling. She held her arms out on either side of her like a crucifix: the paint brush in one hand and the bottle of yellow paint in the other. She gazed on at the scene of violence before her, something that she had never done before, not even in her wildest dreams. All of the art she had done before then was so calm and serene, but this had no restraint whatsoever.

The walls had come down before her and she could finally shake off the remnants of that broken armor. All those dark thoughts before her on canvas. Those dark thoughts of which she swore she had buried had made their way out before her.

“Is that—” Frank swallowed; Sam looked back at him and the tears in his eyes.

“It is,” she told him in a light whisper. He lingered closer to her and they both looked on at that rough painting of Cliff together. She then felt a hand on her shoulder once again: she turned her head to find Joey right next to her. He hadn't tears in his eyes anymore, but he did have a soft reassuring look upon his face for her.

“C'mon. Let's take this with us and then we'll go back to the hotel for a li'l sump'n else.”

“Like what?” Sam asked him, and he turned to Zelda, who raised her eyebrows at that.

Neither of them answered Sam as the clerk in there helped them cut down that piece of canvas for themselves: once they were sure that the paint was dry, she and Joey rolled it up and then he tucked it underneath his arm before they each pitched in to pay for it. The bunch of them returned up the block to the hotel: Sam was about to take the canvas back upstairs to the Cherry Suicides' room, but Joey gestured for her to follow him.

“I'll take that,” Zelda promised her. “I'll take it and take good care of it—don't you worry 'bout a thing.” She flashed her a wink as Sam handed her the rolled up canvas; Joey led her past the front lobby towards a door on the far side of the room. He held it for her, and she was met with a cozy dark room lit up by a series of candles in red jars. A low bar stood before her and she turned back to Joey, who had a smirk on his face.

“No,” she told him off.

“It's okay—I promise you. Yesterday, Danny and I came in here and we had Shirley Temples.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief as he guided her towards the middle of the bar. He tugged on the stool to his left, and he gestured for her to have a seat next to him.

“Bottle of wine for me and my lady here, please,” he announced to the bartender, to which she gasped at him.

“Joey!”

“What? You’re obviously lookin’ better now—we gotta celebrate. Besides, Frankie told me that wine is healthy and easy to digest. It’s not like we’re drinking beer.”

But she still shook her head at that.

“Please don't,” she begged him.

“It's just a single glass, though,” he pointed out with his eyebrows knitted together in sober seriousness. “I promise you—it’ll just be a single glass. One for you, and one for me.”

“Yeah, but—a single glass turns into a whole bottle of wine.”

“It won't this time,” he promised. “Trust me.”

Sam nibbled on her bottom lip as the bartender handed them two crystal clear wine glasses. There was no way Joey could keep it one glass, especially once that lush red wine poured inside of those two basins, one right after the other.

“Cheers to us,” Joey proclaimed with a raise of his glass; Sam followed suit. A little sip of that red wine was all it took for her to know that it would give him a rush. She turned to the bottle, which the bartender left there on the bar for them. If Joey wanted more, then he would have to fight for it himself.

“Gimme that,” she pleaded under her breath. She swiped the bottle and poured herself more, and then she drank it down in a few large gulps. The alcohol was bitter, but the wine itself tasted rich and full with those dark grapes. As dark as Joey’s eyes.

And yet, when he downed his glass, she hesitated before him. He then reached for the bottle himself. Before, she would have tackled him or at least slapped his hand, but that was all within her mind.

“Eh, why the hell not,” he said.

“Hang on, I thought you promised to only drink one glass of wine,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, but—it's so good, though.” He offered to pour her another one, and she took the offer.

“Isn't it?” She downed it right there.

“It is. Very much so.”

She was two drinks in already, but she felt as though he was onto something. A big fat painting on the wall and now they treated themselves to a whole bottle of red wine. On the other hand, she was glad that he had taken a glass of wine rather than a bottle of beer or vodka for that matter. The red wine filled the whole basin of Joey's glass; he set the bottle down between the two of them and then he brought it up to his dark lips once again: the rich blood red color was warming and welcoming, even from the outside looking in.

Warm and welcome, even with the alcohol within there.

Sam's eyelids drooped a bit from the feeling within her. Two big drinks in and she already had a blush upon her face. A bit of fever brought on by the paint, the pain, and now the wine. She held still there with her hand on the glass as Joey poured himself a third glass.

And then she forgot everything after that.

[suca-loca]

slip of the tongue.

Pairing: Anxceit (Virgil/Janus)

Tags: Sympathetic!Janus, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: It was supposed to be a quick phone call. They found out Patton got a promotion - from a Facebook post of all things - so of course, they called to congratulate him. Had Damien known he’d end the call with “See you at Christmas, Dad” he would have just congratulated him in the comments.

Author’s Note: I completed this a week before Deceit’s name was revealed so... oops. That’s why he’s named Damien in this fic. Also, the Eleanor and Park book is kinda problematic. The quote I reference here really touched me during a hard time which is why I used it, although I do not recommend reading it because the representation is b l e g h .

————

“Holy shit.”

Damien hides his face in his hands.

“Holy. Shit.”

A sound eerily similar to that of a dying bear leaves Damien’s mouth.

Virgil laughs. He doesn’t even try to hide it. He explodes like a shaken Coca Cola can until he’s nothing but a mess of overflowing tears and fizzling out snorts.

Beside him on the couch, Damien grabs one of the pillows. “Oh, how I adore seeing you enjoy yourself over me acting like a fool,” he grumbles as he smacks it over Virgil’s head. “It really shows how great of a boyfriend you are.”

Virgil, unable to speak - because he’s currently bent over, clutching at his sides - responds with two middle fingers.

Damien reaches for the last remaining couch pillow.

“No!” Virgil somehow wheezes out, the terror in his voice terribly contrasting against the grin on his face. “I’ll stop! I’ll stop!”

Damien doesn’t believe him. He throws it without mercy.

He was right to see through Virgil’s lie because two minutes pass before Virgil finally gets it out of his system. All the while Damien waits at the opposite end of the couch, watching with a pout as his boyfriend begins to crawl towards him.

“That-“ Virgil wipes away one last tear from his eye - “was beautiful. Truly the greatest thing I���ve ever witnessed in my entire life. I would love to see it on the big screen, looping for ten hours.”

Damien gives him a (totally real) disgusted look as a kiss is pressed against his cheek. “You are insufferable.”

“Is that why you made my pancakes this morning in the shape of hearts?”

“You’re totally right! Next time I won’t go through the trouble of making the pancakes into different shapes. I’ll just poison them.”

Virgil chuckles.

“Don’t you start again!” Damien groans, looking like he wants the couch to become quicksand and swallow him up. “I’ll get up and grab the pillows from the floor. Watch me.”

“Sorry,” Virgil says in a tone that is definitely not at all sorry. “It’s just...You just called my dad, Dad. That’s, like, better than when you said you loved me for the first time.”

It was supposed to be a quick phone call. They found out Patton got a promotion - from a Facebook post of all things - so of course, they called to congratulate him. Had Damien known he’d end the call with “See you at Christmas, Dad” he would have just congratulated him in the comments.

Damien watches in horror as he sees Virgil’s shoulders begin to shake as the memory comes back to him.

“It wasn’t a slip of the tongue if you consider the circumstances!” He cries out, desperately not wanting to sit through another one of Virgil’s cackling.

He only realizes what he said when Virgil’s dimples disappear and are replaced with a curious look.

“Oh?” Virgil coos, smirking in the same way that made Damien fall in love with him all those years ago. “Care to explain what these circumstances are, D?”

Damien fiddles with the hem of his pajama shirt. He’s blushing.

“Well,” he inhales sharply, suddenly acting so small and nervous in a way Virgil has never seen from him in the four years they’ve known each other. “I should get used to calling him dad since he’ll become my father-in-law.”

Virgil stills. “What?”

Deceit stands up, only to then drop to one knee.

Now it’s Virgil’s turn to inhale sharply.

“Virgil Hart,” Damien looks up at him with clear adoration and a voice oozing with love from just those two words, “Years ago, for some odd - and very stupid - reason you risked sitting in a jail cell for a guy you didn’t know.”

Virgil blushes, the day they met coming back to him in pieces. He remembers sneaking out of his college dorm room past curfew to join a protest. Remembers how the protest turned south as sirens could be heard ten blocks down. Remembers the adrenaline that passed through him as he chucked an egg at one of the cops who was in the middle of arresting some guy. Remembers the adrenaline being replaced with fear as the cop charged at him, only to then be pulled down the street by the same man he rescued.

Remembers the two of them hiding in a thrift shop that sold dildos and smelled too much like weed. Remembers learning the man’s name was Damien from the slip of paper handed to him with a phone number. Remembers getting caught sneaking back into his dorm room and not even caring as the principal shouted at him because he was too busy thinking about what a great runner Damien was. He also remembers thinking how great it was to run behind Damien.

“And now,” Damien says as he presses a kiss against Virgil’s hand, “because of your lack of control that day, we sit here in this apartment that we share. With plates still in the sink that is your turn to wash, with two cats I gifted Patton curled up on our beds because you never told me he was allergic and with the insides of my favorite sweaters smudged with black lipstick because no matter where I hide them you always find them,

But, I wouldn’t change it for the world. Which I now realize, given my moral compass, doesn’t say much, so let me rephrase; I wouldn’t change it even if it meant I had to delete all my eat the rich tweets. I didn’t realize it then, but I fell in love with you the moment I heard that egg crack against the cop's helmet. I only continued to fall more in love with you as you sent me memes past midnight and the way you scrunch up your face every time someone admits to never reading one of Edgar Allan Poe’s work. You are an inspiration to me and I hope that you remain only my inspiration. Which is why, Virgil Hart, I ask you today...”

Damien slips out a ring. It’s all black, except for the purple jewel at the center, decorated with petals curling to where the diamond sits.

“Will you marry me?”

Virgil blinks.

“There’s cheeto dust on the hoodie I’m wearing.”

Damien raises an eyebrow. “Excellent observation skills.”

“Our cats’ assholes combined are in a better state than my hair right now,” Virgil continues.

“Thank you for the mental image.”

“I gained ten pounds this week!”

“I was wondering why our cuddling sessions felt better.”

“I’m pretty sure my breath smells like Remus’ room.”

“I’m well aware. I kissed you good morning, remember?”

“Then why the fuck do you still have the ring out?!” Virgil huffs, pulling his hands away. He gestures to himself. “Do I look like a picture-worthy fiancé?”

Damien raises an eyebrow. “So what you’re saying is… I should propose after you’ve taken a shower?”

“No!”

Virgil yanks his hands away. He does it so hard Damien is surprised the other doesn’t send him flying backwards. His temper flares and his mouth snaps open to say something snarky, but it shuts when his eyes fall on the emo’s face.

Sad isn’t the right word to use. It’s devastation. Even with Virgil burying his face against the knees hugged to his chest Damien can see how hard his lips wobble and the way his eyes blink rapidly against the incoming of tears.

“Why can’t you see I’m not worthy to be a fiancé?” He croaks, voice going weaker towards the end. “Much less yours?”

Damien wastes no time cradling Virgil’s face in his hands. He rubs the pad of his thumb against Virgil’s left cheek, knowing it’ll help calm him down.

“Eleanor was right,” he begins, voice softer than the most expensive silk money could buy. “She never looked nice. She looked like art, and art wasn’t supposed to look nice. It was supposed to make you feel something.”

Virgil’s breath hitches. “Eleanor and Park, chapter 28, page 165. My favorite quote.”

Damien clicks his tongue. “And yet the message escapes you. You’re not stupid, mi vida. So stop acting like it. You’re too good to fall for society's expectations of beauty.”

Virgil looks ready to interject, but Damien keeps going.

“When I bought this ring it wasn’t because I thought every angle was your best angle. It wasn’t because you lack fewer fat rolls than other people. It was because of how you showed up at my door with my favorite movie and snacks after I got a bad grade on an exam. It’s because of how you headbang and jump around the living room every time I put The Crow soundtrack on when we clean.”

Damien brushes Virgil’s bangs to the side. He presses a kiss against his boyfriend’s forehead. Virgil is quiet through all of this.

“And most importantly, it’s because whenever I picture myself happy it’s with you.”

A sob breaks through the silence. Tears, big fat crocodile ones, pour down Virgil’s face. For a second Damien thinks he said something wrong, but then Virgil swoops down to capture his lips in a kiss.

There’s nothing soft about it. Not even three seconds in and Virgil’s hand tugs at his long locks, making Damien see stars. Somehow he’s able to break through the daze and wrap his arms around Virgil’s back, pulling him close until there’s no space between them.

Besides the occasional growl and groan, there’s just the sound of their heavy breathing whenever they disconnect for a few seconds and then continue where they left off. Virgil plays dirty by wrapping his legs around the other’s waist, so Damien retaliates by biting at his lips.

When they break apart, eyes half-lidded and hands still wandering, they smile at one another.

“Brilliant idea,” Damien breaks the silence first, voice rough like sandpaper. “Kissing me while you’re crying. Now all I can taste is salt - ow!”

Damien rubs the spot where Virgil threw a pillow at him. All the while Virgil sticks out the same tongue just shoved down his throat a second ago.

“Well played,” Damien grumbles.

Virgil shrugs. “It was either the pillow or not saying yes.”

“Truly, what a difficult decision. Me versus your fragile pride.”

“Shut up and give me the ring before I hit you twice.”

Damien rolls his eyes, but there’s fondness behind them as he slips the ring on. All the while Virgil is smiling so wide and so hard he doesn’t know how his face doesn’t crack from the pressure.

Virgil knows for a fact that his eyes are puffy, that his nose is running and that his face is the same color as a cherry. But he doesn’t care. All he can focus on is the man in front of him, with his beautiful mind and a stunning smile currently aimed (and from now on always will be) only at him.

“I love you.”

Damien doesn’t hesitate. “I love you too.”

Damien watches with love in his eyes as Virgil’s eyes crinkle around the corners.

He then watches with confusion as Virgil pulls out his phone.

“Oh no,” Damien groans, “don’t tell me you’re going to tell your Tumblr followers the news first.”

“First off, fuck you. You’re just sour over the fact that Remus was the first person I told about my Tumblr account. Secondly,” Virgil puts the phone to his ear. “No, I’m not.”

The person on the other end of the line picks up on the first ring.

“Kiddo, I was hoping you’d call back! Tell Damien I don’t mind what he said. I take it as a compliment, truly!”

Virgil smiles. “I’ll do you one better. How about I give you the phone to talk to him yourself?”

He hands the phone over.

Damien, once again, doesn’t hesitate.

“Good morning, father-in-law.”

[nalgenewhore]

crossing lines - part two

like the teeny tiniest bit NSFW......just a tad 

The sun spilling through the window was what woke him and still half asleep, Lorcan reached across the bed, searching for what, he wasn’t exactly sure. 

When he felt nothing but empty sheets, he slowly sat up, his shoulder stiff and sore. He was alone in his room and he sighed, yawning as he rubbed his eyes and spotted a note with his name on it. 

He moved slowly, not completely conscious. Lorcan picked it up and read, 

L, 

I went home to change and get my wallet, I’ll be back at 9:30 to pick you up

-E

The clock on his desk told him he had six minutes and Lorcan cursed, lunging out of bed. Elide Lochan wasn’t exactly known for her patience and would tear him a new one if he was late to go dress shopping for a dance he asked her to. Or, told her that she was his date. Semantics. 

He hastily tugged on a pair of black jeans, doing his belt up as fast as he could and he grabbed a t-shirt, a plain white one. Lorcan threw his hair up in a messy bun, held together with one of Elide’s scrunchies and he grabbed his leather jacket, nearly forgetting socks before he was shoving on his high-top chucks, once white, but after countless nights out and forgotten moments, they were slightly grey. He sacrificed a few precious seconds to cuff his jeans, Elide would understand. 

Lorcan crashed down the stairs, skittering to a stop when he saw Elide seated at the kitchen bar, slowly sipping on a cup of tea. She looked phenomenal, dressed in a cropped knit sweater and a high waisted plaid skirt, high socks pulled to her mid thigh. 

On her feet she wore a pair of platform Mary Janes, her long hair falling in soft waves down her back. Lorcan was silent as he gazed at her, his heart breaking and growing all at once. Elide turned, her mouth open like she was ready to yell at him to hurry up, but her plump lips, painted a deep burgundy spread into a wide smile, “How often do you spy on me, Salvaterre?” 

Elide slid off the stool, grabbing her keys and phone, waltzing up to him, her legs seeming like they went on for miles. “Kk, we gots to go, lots of shopping to do, Lor.” 

She slipped her hand into his elbow, scrunching her nose up at him, “What are you, deaf? Hi, how are you, why are you looking at me like that?” 

“Because you’re beautiful.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them and his eyes widened as she blushed, ducking her head down. 

“Shut up.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“El,” he whined, “I don’t care what dress you choose, just pick one!” 

It had been hours, or so it seemed. She had dragged him behind her to every store possible. Lorcan had never learned more about different fabrics and prints and cuts and slit or no slit, what strap she wanted, what kind of neckline. Elide’s voice, tinged with irritation, “You’re the one who gave me no time to shop!” 

He felt kind of bad. All he had to do was say yes or no, but he usually just said I don’t care. And it was true, he didn’t. None of the dozens of dresses she had tried on felt right. They were too poofy, not poofy enough, too liquidy, too sparkly, he found little details that he didn’t like and decided he didn’t like the entire ensemble. 

Elide was the one who actually had to try on every damned dress and he could tell she was getting more and more tired, every time she slipped her hand into his elbow, she held on a little tighter and walked a little slower. 

The door opened and he heard the sound of fabric swishing, but he didn’t look up from his phone quite yet, busy fighting with Gavriel over text, trying to convince his coach to let him play at next week’s game. 

“Ahem,” Elide said, her hands on her hips when he finally deigned to glance up, flicking his gaze over the dress she wore. 

It was perfect. 

It was blood-red silk, spaghetti straps that attached to triangular shapes covering her chest, the neckline dipping down low, just enough to show some of her ample cleavage. It was tight around her taut stomach and tiny waist, slim around her hips and legs before flowing out gently just above her knees. There was a thigh high slit running up the left side, showing off the lean length of her leg when she walked. 

There was a small train that pooled on the floor behind her and when she spun slowly, he saw that the back dipped down to just above her ass. “I don’t know about-” 

“It’s perfect.” He couldn’t look away, slowly dragging his eyes up her body to meet her gaze, “It’s perfect, El. Get it.” 

A small smile twisted her lips and it was she who looked away first, nodding as she tucked her hair behind her ear. “Ok, I’ll get it.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Ten minutes later, Elide was thanking the shop owner while they exited, her paper bag, her dress wrapped in wrapping paper, in Lorcan’s hand. 

“You and your boyfriend have a good day now, love,” the older woman said, her face kind. 

Elide laughed, shaking her head, “Oh, we’re not dating, we’re just friends. Best friends.”

The woman’s smile faded the slightest bit as Lorcan nodded, agreeing to Elide’s statement. “Just friends.” 

“Oh, well, have fun,” she said and she waved as Elide opened the door and they were out on the sidewalk. 

Elide was laughing beside him, “How many times do you think people have said that to us?” 

Too many and yet, not nearly enough because it was clear that Elide still didn’t get it. Not that he could blame her, he’d been in love with her for years and never said a word. He forced a laugh, the sound foreign in his ears, “I don’t know, I wonder why.” 

Elide shot him a quizzical glance, but before he could ask her what, it was gone and she was stopping in front of a store, a wicked glint in her eyes. Elide did not say a word as she dragged him in, letting go of his arm to clap her hands. 

Lorcan looked around and made a noise of protest, “El, why are we here?” he whisper shouted, scowling at her as he blushed, the store filled with lacy undergarments. 

Elide sighed, “None of the ones I have match.” She pouted, fingering a corset, her eyes travelling over everything. 

“And why does that matter? You’re my date and it’s not like we’re gonna fuck,” he shot back at her, gesturing between the two of them. His heart was pounding in his chest and he tried to keep his pulse in check. 

“So? They’re pretty and I want new ones,” she stated, patting his cheek and beckoning him behind her with a single finger. He followed her without question or hesitation, avoiding the gaze of every other person in the shop. “Just sit down in this room, I won’t be long.” 

He sighed and sat down on the plush couch, resigning himself to his fate. The floor-length mirrors on the walls surrounding him and the little pedestal in the middle, as well as the curtained area, told him what this room was. 

Lorcan groaned and dropped his head in his hands. 

He was so, so fucked. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“I just-” whined Elide, looking at herself in the mirror. She was clad in red lace, turning this way and that. “I fucking hate my tits, like, what?” 

It was no secret that Elide was… blessed in the chest department. They had always been above average, but senior year had gifted her with another growth spurt of sorts. Lorcan avoided looking at her now, knowing he wouldn’t be able to control the look in his eyes if he saw her. “What are you talking about?” 

“How have you not noticed? They’re fucking huge,” she cried, cupping them for emphasis. All the blood in his body shot south. 

Gods, he was not a good person. She was his best friend, the girl next door and all he could think about right now was marking her pale skin with handprints and dark hickeys as he bent her over the couch. 

Fuck, he needed to get out of here. Old women, abandoned puppies, warts, he thought as he dug his nails into his palms, waiting until he could stand perfectly normal. Elide turned and stared up at him, her brow quirked up. “And where do you think you’re going?” She cocked her hip to the side, her fingers drumming on the waist band. “We’re not done here.” 

She pointed to the couch and he sat back down, crossing his legs tightly. Elide turned her back to him, scrutinizing the set in the mirror. Lorcan let his eyes travel down her back, the red lace wrapped around her waist before travelling down to her ass. 

His gaze locked onto the curve of her backside, perfectly framed by the red panties. “See something you like?” questioned Elide, a teasing tone in her voice. 

It took everything in him to meet her eyes, willing his face to hide every thought racing through his mind. “The tag is sticking out.” Well, that was partly true.

“Oh,” she said, sounding disappointed. “Tuck it in for me?” 

Lorcan breathed in deeply before slowly standing and walking up behind her, sending a shock through her lower back as his fingers brushed against her skin. “Sorry,” he murmured, tucking the tag back in for her. 

“‘T’s all good,” she replied, her gaze hooded as their eyes met in the mirror. 

It was he who spoke first, “Um, I’m gonna go get us a table at Mistward, alright?” 

Elide nodded vaguely, still holding his stare, “Mm-hmm, sounds good.”

Without another word, he left, clenching his jaw. 

What the fuck was that?

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Lorcan was on his third coffee when Elide finally arrived, dropping down in the seat across from him, a little paper bag with ribbon handles placed on the table between them. 

It seemed whatever had happened was forgotten as she plucked his cup from his hands and sipped, making a disgusted face, “Ugh, I forgot you drank coffee. Can you fetch me a tea, love?” 

Although it was phrased as a question, it was nothing of the sort, it was a command and Lorcan stood, smiling despite himself. “Yeah, one sec.” 

“Ooh,” she exclaimed, popping her chin on her fist, “a cranberry-orange muffin would be amazing as well.” She crossed her left leg over her right and swung her foot, smiling lazily up at him. 

“You’re lucky I like you so much,” Lorcan commented as he backed away and turned, walking up to the counter. He heard Elide’s tinkling laughter behind him and couldn’t stop the smile that grew. 

The barista called for the next person and he stepped forward, “Hey.” 

“Hi, what can I get for you today?” 

He perused the menu, but it was unnecessary, “I’ll get a sixteen ounce Earl Grey and do y’all got cranberry-orange muffins today?” 

The barista smiled at him, his voice smooth and even, “Yeah, want that warmed up?” 

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” Lorcan pulled out his wallet, “I think that’s all for now, man.” 

“Perfect and it’s for here, yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he said, nodding his head. “And it’s on card, please.” 

“Alright,” the barista, his name tag reading ‘Nox’, turned the tablet over to Lorcan, indicating where he could pay, “go for it.” 

Lorcan tipped and paid the man, moving to stand by the pick-up counter, accepting the muffin set on a little round plate. He took it back to Elide, who had her eyes closed and her face tipped to the sun. “El,” he said, putting her muffin down in front of her. He didn’t sit, simply stood up straight and went to lean against the wall by the counter. 

A few moments later, a familiar body, one he knew nearly as well as his own, slid up beside him. Elide tucked herself into his side, her fingers toying with the silver chain around his neck. Lorcan wrapped his arm around her shoulders and folded her in, her forehead resting against his sternum, his chin on her head. 

He felt her smile into his chest and she fingered the zipper on his jacket.

 “Lorcan, you know that I love you, right?” she whispered. 

“Yeah, I know, I know that,” he responded, not letting his broken soul shine through his voice, “Love you too.” 

@myfeyrelady​ @schmlip-scribble​ @kandasboi​ @the-regal-warrior​ @westofmoon​ @empire-of-wildfire​ @rhysands-highlady​ @city-of-fae​ @shyvioletcat​ @alifletcher2012​ @tangledraysofsunshine​ @ttakeitbacknoww​ @tswaney17​ @ourbooksuniverse​ @flora-and-fae​ @lizzziebear @bamchickawowow​ @la7sorcellerie​ @julemmaes​ @welcometothespeaknowworldtour​ 

[pinnithin-writes]

I Know A Place

The laugh that stumbled out of Gordon was pleasant to Tommy’s ears. It was genuine, mellow, not shrilled out from nervousness or anger like so many of his previous laughs had been. The sound pulled a smile from Tommy. He wanted to keep hearing it. He wanted to keep making it happen. “If you need to get away,” he continued tentatively, “I know a place. It’s quiet.”

Gordon and Tommy are tired and Chuck E. Cheese is too loud. They step outside for a minute and decide to get out of there. 3559 words.

The floodlights in the parking lot hummed like distant hornet’s nests, but right now Tommy would take that over the grating techno music inside.

It was his birthday. Of course it was, why else would he be at a Chuck E. Cheese – he and his dad had kept the running joke long into his thirties, so something as trivial as the world almost ending wasn’t about to get in the way of that. It was still a good bit the 37 th time around, especially since he’d actually had friends show up this year.

That didn’t take away from how loud it always was. The entertainment center was never really a calm atmosphere, and sometimes the music was too loud and the lights were too much and Tommy needed to take a breather. His tolerance threshold was particularly low this year. Probably had something to do with spending the past week surrounded by gunfire and full-volume yelling.

He sat on the curb outside, breathing in the cool desert night. Things were quiet out here. Well, quieter. There still was the chirping of crickets and the soft roar of the distant highway. Somewhere, a solitary coyote yowled into the sky. It sounded lonely.

Tommy was just catching a moment by himself. He could return to the party in a few minutes, his social battery recharged enough from the break to handle the sensory input. It was something about himself that he monitored closely, and had done so for years. Even when he and his colleagues were crashing through the underbelly of Black Mesa, there were a couple moments Tommy had to blink out of there, grabbing time by the shirt collar and telling it, “Hold up. I need a minute.”

The door behind him opened and the pulsing bassline poured out. Tommy recognized the heavy tread that approached and didn’t even need to turn his head to know that Gordon Freeman had followed him outside. The door swung shut, muffling the music once more. Tommy exhaled quietly.

“Hey,” Gordon said, drawing up beside him on the curb but not sitting down. “You know the party’s in there, right?”

Tommy offered him a polite smile. “I know, Mr. Freeman,” he said. “I’m just taking a break.”

Gordon crossed his arms, filling out the sleeves of his uniform’s undershirt. The top half of his coveralls were tied around his waist in a charming way that made him look more like a mechanic than a physicist. He had shed the HEV suit’s armor as soon as he arrived, bemoaning not even being able to change after enduring the apocalypse.

Tommy himself wasn’t a fan of that detail, either - he’d ditched the tie and the lab coat as quickly as possible. Oh, and he’d gotten rid of the blood. Chuck E. Cheese was a family establishment. It would just be plain rude for them all to show up covered in gore and grime - think about the kids.

Gordon was still looking at him. “You good?” he asked.

Tommy nodded. “I’m fine,” he assured him. “You can go back inside. I’ll only be a couple more minutes.”

“I actually think I’m gonna stay out here, too, if that’s okay,” Gordon went on. “My head is killing me.”

He was teetering there, still awkwardly staring down at him, and Tommy belatedly realized Gordon was waiting for his permission. Tommy flicked him a cursory up-and-down look. He was fond of Gordon, he really was, but the guy did have a tendency to never know when to shut up.

God, he looked bone-deep exhausted, though. His eyes didn’t used to look like that, faraway and weary, with purple half moons underneath. He probably wanted nothing more than to go home and sleep for 24 hours straight.

A little peace and quiet was the least Tommy could offer. He wordlessly patted the concrete next to him in invitation. Gordon picked up on the cue and gratefully eased himself down beside him. They were sitting close enough to touch, but they didn’t. The coyote howled again.

“So,” Gordon made it thirty seconds before breaking the silence. “Your dad is… Interesting.”

Tommy exhaled quickly out of his nose, almost a laugh. People said that about his dad a lot. “It’s okay, you can tell me he’s weird,” he allowed. “He’s been around for a while and he kind of forgets how to talk to people.”

A trait that Tommy had quickly learned he inherited. He said some pretty weird things, too. Well, weird to most people. Tommy always made perfect sense to Tommy, so Tommy was who Tommy usually talked to. The fact that Gordon so often sought out his company was still new to him.

“I mean, he did just spend like, ten minutes trying to tell me that Chuck E. Cheese’s wasn’t a restaurant,” Gordon said. His tone was bitter in a careful way, like he was trying not to offend for Tommy’s sake.

He only shook his head and gave Gordon a bemused smile. “It’s not a restaurant, though.”

“Oh - you - you, too, huh?” Gordon waved him off tiredly, his voice subdued and without its usual bite. “It serves food, okay? That makes it a restaurant.”

“I’m not going to argue with you, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy chuckled, astounded at this man’s ability to find the smallest possible hills to die on.

“Thanks, buddy,” he sighed, reaching out a hand to give him a friendly pat on the shoulder.

It was an unfamiliar gesture, if only due to the fact that not three hours ago Gordon had been missing that hand. Tommy’s father had bestowed him a new one - thank you for your service and all that - and while Tommy was used to a healthy amount of the surreal, this particular gesture stuck with him. Maybe it was because Tommy had been there when Gordon’s hand had been chopped off. Maybe it was because he’d seen what Gordon was like, on the edge of death from the injury. It made all the suffering he went through seem remote, like it hadn’t even happened.

Not that Tommy wanted Gordon to still be missing a hand. It was very good that he had it back. But the wound was invisible now, living only in both of their heads, not even a scar to show for the hell they survived. Tommy found himself staring at the conjured limb as Gordon returned it to his own lap. How had his father done that? Was it any different from his other hand? Had he just pulled a copy of it from the past and attached it to present Gordon? Did it hurt at all?

He wished he knew. He wished he could have fixed things for Gordon as soon as it happened. Would have saved him a lot of pain.

“Tommy,” Gordon prompted.

Tommy’s eyes flicked guiltily back to Gordon’s face. “Yeah?”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked. “You seem a little spaced out there.”

“Yeah,” he answered tonelessly. Tommy didn’t know how to explain that he was thinking this hard about Gordon’s hands. “Does your head still hurt?”

Gordon rolled his broad shoulders in a shrug. “I mean, yeah, but - heh - felt worse before, right?” he attempted to laugh, not quite succeeding.

Tommy was sure Gordon hadn’t meant for the comment to sting, but he winced anyway. It felt like far too soon to be joking about what just happened to them.

Gordon noticed. “Listen, Tommy, it’s really nothing,” he said. His voice was careful, soft, the edges sanded down in the absence of the past week’s adrenaline. “Just a little too much in there for me right now. I’ll get over it, okay?”

“You shouldn’t... have to, Mr. Freeman,” he replied. Tommy sighed and removed the silly propellor hat he was wearing, flicking the spinner distractedly. “If it hurts you, you should make it better.”

“What, you mean, like, take an ibuprofen or something?” Gordon asked.

Tommy stared at him, deadpan. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never had a headache in my life.”

The laugh that stumbled out of Gordon was pleasant to Tommy’s ears. It was genuine, mellow, not shrilled out from nervousness or anger like so many of his previous laughs had been. The sound pulled a smile from Tommy. He wanted to keep hearing it. He wanted to keep making it happen.

“If you need to get away,” he continued tentatively, “I know a place. It’s quiet.”

Gordon stopped laughing. Fixed Tommy with a curious look. “Right now?”

Tommy nodded despite the flush he felt creeping up his neck. “Mhm.” He’d been there many times. Alone, of course. It kind of defeated the purpose of going to a quiet place if you brought someone else with you. But Gordon was different. Gordon was okay.

“You want to just get up and leave your own birthday party?” Gordon asked, skeptical.

Tommy shrugged. “I can restart things. It’ll be here when we get back.”

The other man’s eyebrows furrowed with disbelief. “What do you mean, restart things?”

“Take us back; restart things.” He repeated, waving a hand vaguely. “Y’know, like, time? For a little.” He didn’t like to turn back the earth for more than an hour - things got weird if he did - but he didn’t imagine they’d need to be gone that long. Just long enough to make it better.

Gordon wasn’t entirely tracking. Tommy could see it on his face. But when he stood and offered his hand, Gordon took it without hesitation. Just like he had back at Black Mesa, when it was just the two of them against the cruel, cold world. Gordon had placed his unconditional trust in him, and Tommy had sworn to hold it close, keep it safe, never let it break.

He realized he was just standing there, staring at him. Hand in newly restored hand. Tommy blinked and pulled Gordon to his feet, the motion natural and reflexive after their week in hell together.

“Man, I still don’t know how you can just pick me up like that,” Gordon said as soon as he was upright. “You’ve gotta weigh what, a buck forty?”

“The soda gives me special energy,” Tommy replied dryly, just to make Gordon laugh, which he did.

He led him through the parking lot, patting the pockets of his slacks until he found his keys. As he pulled them out with a merry jingle, he and Gordon approached a truck on the far end of the lot. It was a Toyota Tacoma pickup, bright orange. Cheerful. Next to him, Gordon made a surprised noise.

“You can drive?”

Tommy gave him a curious look as he hit the unlock button on the key fob. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be able to?”

Gordon faltered, dark eyes thoughtful behind the lenses of his glasses. “I dunno, I guess I thought you grew up in Black Mesa or something,” he answered. “There weren’t a lot of cars there, right? Like, y’know how some people from New York never learn how to drive because of all the public transportation?”

Tommy just shrugged again, somewhat relieved Gordon wasn’t assuming he was too infantile to drive. It was a useful skill to have. Plus, he liked it. “I learned,” he said simply.

They climbed inside the vehicle, the ambient sound of the desert night muffled by the doors closing. Tommy started the car while Gordon put on his seatbelt.

“I didn’t really peg you as a truck person, either,” Gordon commented.

Tommy fastened his seatbelt as well, so the safety alarm wouldn’t sound off as soon as he hit the gas. A nice feature, he considered, if crashing and dying in a wreck was ever a concern to him. “It’s not always a truck, Mr. Freeman,” he explained.

Gordon snorted. “Of course it isn’t. Sure.” He gazed thoughtfully out the window at the parking lot while Tommy threw the Tacoma into gear. “You can just change your car into a different kind of car?”

He nodded.

“Is it always orange?”

“Usually,” Tommy answered, passing Gordon a fond smile. “I like orange.”

They drove. It didn’t take long to reach the highway, then to reach the access road off the highway, then to reach the little dirt track that snaked its way through the sand. The truck trundled past a barbed wire fence and Tommy rolled down the windows, letting the night air rush in to chill them. He didn’t play any music. It wasn’t the night for that.

“Where are we?” Gordon asked. “Where did your dad send us?”

“The Chuck E. Cheese is in Las Cruces,” Tommy replied as he cut the wheel. The Tacoma bucked and jostled them as they went off road.

“Las Cruces - so wait, we’re still in New Mexico?” Gordon tore his eyes away from the scenery to give Tommy an incredulous look. Well, as well as he could while he was bouncing around. “He just put us all back in the middle of fuckoff nowhere?”

“Yeah,” Tommy answered mildly. He thought it was pretty out here. “White Sands is just past those mountains.” He pulled the vehicle to a stop, put it in park, and pointed at the terrain in question.

To Tommy’s surprise, Gordon's eyes lit up. “The missile range?” he asked. “You know that’s where they tested the atomic bomb, right?”

Tommy was aware. He had fact-checked the Wikipedia article for WSMR several times during his employment at Black Mesa, and the topic was frequently touched on while he was getting his degree. But it was good to see Gordon excited about something, so he invited him to keep talking with an, “Oh, really?”

He listened to Gordon go on at length about the proving grounds and the Trinity detonation while he opened the door and let himself out. Gordon’s voice was animated and charming, and it brought a faint smile to Tommy’s face as it filled the desert night. In the backseat of the Tacoma was a tidy collection of pillows and blankets that Tommy piled into his arms. As he went to carry them to the bed of the truck, Gordon distractedly followed him.

“And then in the nineties they started hosting the Bataan Memorial Death March marathon there, and - oh, hey, d’you need a hand with that?” he asked as he clambered down from his seat.

“I’ve got it, Mr. Freeman,” he answered. “Thank you.”

Tommy tossed the blankets lightly into the bed and opened the tailgate. He climbed up, offering his hand once more to Gordon. The wind ruffled coolly through their hair as they paused. It wasn’t like the guy needed any help crawling into the bed of a truck - they both knew this - but Gordon gratefully took his hand anyway and let himself be pulled inside.

“Man, you’ve got this all figured out, huh?” Gordon commented as he took in the heap of blankets.

That he did. Tommy had come on many teeth-chattering night drives out to this spot over the years. Later on, when he’d come into his abilities, he would simply wink out of existence and end up here. The desert was peaceful, the mountain range enchanting. Tommy loved it. He kicked out the blankets and shuffled them into a more comfortable pile, trying to ignore the way his heart was starting to flutter.

He didn’t take people out here. This was his spot. But…Gordon was here. He’d put him in his truck and brought him here. And Tommy wanted him to be here. He really, really wanted him to be here.

“Whoa,” Gordon breathed as he settled back on one elbow to fully look at their surroundings. “This is… beautiful, Tommy.”

They were stretched out under the wheeling stars, the Milky Way tracing a smoky band across the velvet night. The southern Rockies bordered the desert like sentinels, guarding them and keeping them safe. Juniper and sagebrush cast the night in a heady scent, and somewhere faraway, a great horned owl hooted.

Tommy watched Gordon take it in. This was his place, and he desperately wanted Gordon to like it. His eyes were wide with wonder, the starry night reflected prettily in the lenses of his glasses. The tension that had built up in his shoulders was slowly soaking away in the quiet. He looked relaxed, for once. At ease.

The streaks of gray at his temples were likely new, brought on by the stress of recent events. Tommy fought the impulse to reach out and thread his fingers through his hair. He had done it in Black Mesa, when Gordon was half-conscious from blood loss, but now it was different. It would mean something else.

Gordon caught him looking. Raised his eyebrows in question. “What?”

Tommy blushed delicately and laid back to look at the stars. The stars didn’t look back. Usually. “Nothing,” he said.

They stargazed in silence, the desert sighing softly around them. It was a chilly night, and Tommy could sense Gordon subconsciously closing the gap between them for warmth. When they were close enough to be touching from shoulder to elbow, Tommy’s heart rate had worked up to a jog. It was bizarre; only yesterday personal space was out the window for the two of them, a cascading apocalypse forcing them to lean on one another to survive.

Now Tommy was keenly aware of the warmth radiating from the man beside him, and he found it incredibly unfair that the script had been flipped on him so suddenly.

“Hey, Tommy?” Gordon’s voice tugged him out of his thoughts.

Tommy turned his head slightly to indicate that he was listening.

“Did you…know? About like, everything that was happening?” He asked, his voice small. “The Resonance Cascade and the aliens and the - the weird shit with Benrey?”

“No, Mr. Freeman, I didn’t know about that.”

“Your dad just kind of let us take care of it without telling you anything?”

Tommy hesitated. “He didn’t… tell me anything, no.”

There were some clues he picked up on as they went along, but there was no way he would have been able to explain it to the science team at the time. Not in a way that made sense. He hoped Gordon didn’t think he was keeping anything from him while they were clawing their way through the halls of Black Mesa. The last thing he wanted to do was betray the man’s trust.

But all Gordon said was, “Pretty fucked up of him to leave you in the dark like that.”

“I...” Tommy faltered. “Yeah, I guess so.”

He had been dealing with his father’s tendency to play god all his life. The emotional detachment with which the man made decisions was prudent, but he often forgot how cold he really was. Yes, his father loved him. Tommy was aware of this. But loving someone and showing it were two different things.

At that realization, he turned his head to look at Gordon fully. The other man was already staring in his direction, the space between his eyebrows wrinkled in concern. It was sweet that he was worried. Gordon was the only member of their little ragtag team who had consistently asked after his wellbeing. Tommy reached out with a delicate hand and removed his glasses, folding the frames carefully and setting them aside. Gordon let him, watching expectantly.

God, his eyelashes were so long. It was a wonder they didn’t get all tangled up when he blinked.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” Tommy told him.

“Okay,” Gordon answered immediately. “Is there something else you want to talk about instead?”

He smiled softly and shook his head. This was a quiet place. There was nothing left to say.

Tommy kissed him in the same way he did everything: with care and purpose. He thought about it first, decided it was right, and he did it. The brief, gentle press of Tommy’s mouth against Gordon’s was like a sheet of rain rolling over the desert, soaking them both with a muted calm. When he pulled away, his entire body felt weightless. Gordon was starry-eyed.

Tommy touched his fingertips to his own tingling lips, feeling his face go hot. He really just did that. “I’m sorry, Mr. Freeman,” he murmured. “I should have asked first.”

He didn’t regret it, though. He held Gordon’s gaze as the stars shifted silently overhead. Tommy realized he had done the impossible - he had rendered Gordon speechless.

Then his hand was on the back of Tommy’s neck and he was pulling him in again. Gordon kissed him in the same way he did everything: headfirst and with passion. It was blood roaring in his ears and fire burning in his stomach and as Tommy fisted a hand in Gordon’s hair, he thought he might never come up for air again.

They lay side by side in the bed of the truck, mouths meeting and parting and meeting again, slipping under each other’s skin. The trust they had built together bloomed into a lovely affection there in that desert night. And while they had to go back to the world eventually, Tommy was content to stay here for now, drinking in the quiet and the wonderful man in his arms.

The stars glittered brightly. The mountains stood tall and vast. Tommy would stop the world a hundred times over for this.

[shirtlesssammy]

15x08: Our Father, Who Aren’t In Heaven

Then:

Fighting the good fight since 2010

Now:

At the Lucky Elephant Casino, God’s knocking back fruity drinks, playing slots, and murdering everyone around him. Things don’t look so fun in Chuck-land. 

Meanwhile, Eileen is living her best new life hunting a werewolf. She’s kicking butt but has a temporary setback when Sam shows up. She shoves him out of the way to finish the job. She asks Sam if he’s following her. MAYBE he’s being a little overprotective, but c’mon, he did just bring her back from the dead. I’m guessing he’d like to keep her on the side of the living a little longer than a week or two.

Later at the bunker, they’re eating their respective burger (Eileen) and salad (Sam), and Dean walks in with the demon tablet. He’s hoping the tablet will reveal a weak spot with God. They’re going to need Donatello!

Cas knock’s on Donny’s door. Hmm, I see, divorced husbands still communicating about the case and Cas still doing things for the cause. 

Donatello comes back to the bunker, but isn’t happy about it. He gets to work eating chicken wings and translating the tablet again. Sam, Dean, and Cas casually hang out in the library and sneak concerned looks towards the prophet.

Donny finds some footnotes written by Metatron about God’s secret fear that he only shared with “his favorite.” Lucifer was already locked away by the time the tablets were written. He must mean Michael. The problem with finding Michael is that he’s locked away in the Cage. Donatello starts to freak out over how overly dramatic TFW’s lives are but then passes out in a chair. He comes to --but it’s Chuck this time communicating directly through his prophet. He tells them to leave it alone. Then he threatens all the women in their lives if they don’t (and I just hate/love this because this calls back to early SPN so much when the women died for all their man-pain.)

They tell Donatello to go home. Then they all decide (Cas reluctantly) to go to Hell to find Michael. Dean sarcastically tells Cas that he can “stay here” at the bunker. And I can’t for the life of me find the post now, but whoever made a post of Dean increasingly going from sarcasm to flat out begging for Cas to stay at the bunker is my hero. 

In the bunker’s kitchen, they cast the same spell Rowena used to get Cas and Belphagor to Hell before. Dean cuts his hand as part of the spell (something he’s done a thousand times before) and Cas takes the time to heal him (but doesn’t touch him like he normally does) and it takes so much of him to do it. I’m just going to sit here quietly for a bit before proceeding. 

Once in Hell, Cas leads the way until they run into a bunch of badass lady demons that completely kick their asses. Well, they do until a very familiar voice bellows, “STOP!”

It’s ROWENA!!! 

She’s now Queen of Hell. She’s also posturing up a storm. Ah. They tell her they want to lock up Chuck and they’re looking for Michael. She tells them he could be anywhere. The Cage opened just like the rest of the doors in Hell. She sends her demon minions to find Michael. 

Back at the bunker, Eileen is watching over the spell, and she gets a call from Sue, another hunter. She needs help with a vamp nest. Eileen agrees to help as soon as she’s done helping TFW. 

In Hell, TFW meets with Rowena in her throne room. She tells Sam that killing her was a good thing. She’s queen! Then she asks him to get her another drink (!) so she can have a little therapy time with the other two clowns. She tells them to “fix it” because there’s no reconciliation in death. A demon comes in to inform them that Michael “is nowhere to be found.”

For Perfect Framing Science:

Actually, he can be found at Jaci’s Red Wagon diner. It seems that Adam and Michael are good buds and Adam’s currently enjoying his first burger in ten years. 

Dean checks in with Donatello just one more leeeetle time to see if he’s gotten any Chuck-adjacent flashes. Just when you think you’re out, yadda yadda yadda… He THEN checks in with Sam about Eileen. She is FINE, Dean, they have “an agreement.” Dean picks up on Sam’s waffling, and tells Sam that she fits the parameters of a potential partner: she knows the life, plus she’s hot. That’s way better than the life Sam tried to build with Amelia, a bag of limes, and a dog. This conversation is also notable for Dean’s admission that he’d been in a very dark place not long ago but he’s climbing out of it now.

At the diner, Adam continues to chill with Michael and contemplate the future when Lilith arrives. 

She’s there to bring Michael to Chuck. “I’m not accustomed to being fetched,” Michael says coldly. It looks like things are headed towards fisticuffs when Michael just…burns her to ash right there. Ah, archangels. (Side note: I rewatched this section with the sound off while gathering images and watching her performance is every bit as engaging. I’ll miss you, scrunchy-nose Lilith.)

Donatello has a vision and sees Michael’s spiteful smiting (smiteful?). He calls Dean with Michael’s location. He’s in Cairo! Time for Dean to hop on a plane and hold Cas’s hand nervously the entire time… I’m ready for an airplane destiel fic episode!

Cas has an alternate, non-hand-holding suggestion. He’ll pray to Michael instead. In the quiet of an upstairs corner of the bunker, next to a REAL and also METAPHORICAL CHESS SET, Cas characterizes their last meeting as “unpleasant” and asks to meet up. “I’m not your enemy anymore. Now we all have the same enemy. God himself.”

Mmmkay, compelling words. Michael meets Cas in a warehouse. He remembers Cas. “You called me assbutt and set me on fire.” LOL, classic. Cas faces Michael stoically and lights a circle of holy oil around him. That’s the Winchester’s cue to enter and they do so with STYLE.

DAMN!

Dean presents a set of warded cuffs for Michael’s consideration. There’s clearly only one way out of the circle of fire.

For Check out the Curtains Made of Chains SO PRETTY Science:

Michael is twenty-five shades of pissed off at being confined. In the bunker he accuses the Winchesters of abandoning their brother and then shocks them all by flashing Adam back in control. 

Adam seems much more chill than Michael and reveals that he and the archangel only had each other in the cage so they came to an agreement. Dean, who only recently stopped dragging himself around in a post-Michael traumatic haze, is gobsmacked that Michael’s letting Adam walk and talk. He tells Adam that there’s nothing they can say to fix what they did by leaving him in the cage. “How about ‘I’m sorry?’” Adam suggests.

Michael wrests back control and we go back to Chuck talk. Team Free Will attempts to briefly explain that Chuck isn’t trying to usher in “boring” paradise. Instead, Michael’s dad would rather see everybody suffer, including Michael.

Adam pops back behind the helm and advises them to stop their paltry attempt at convincing Michael of Chuck’s perfidy. On his (their) own, Adam unpacks the situation. He doesn’t forgive the Winchesters for what they did, but he does think they’re operating from good intentions. I don’t remember where I saw this online, but somebody posted that they have never liked Adam more than in this episode. I completely agree! There’s a lovely amount of complexity and growth hinted at through this performance.

Michael finds it hard to shake off a near-eternity of being God’s favored son. God is “having a mid-eternity crisis,” Adam suggests. Maybe Michael should at least entertain the possibility that Chuck isn’t on the up-and-up. Michael doesn’t want to doubt his father. “You still care about that after he left you in the cage?” Adam asks.

Meanwhile, Eileen’s friend Sue calls again. She’s ready to move on the vamps and needs backup NOW. When Eileen hesitates, Sue needles her about having to ask for permission. Eileen rises to Sue’s barb and agrees to meet up. The camera tumbles, Sue swears, and Eileen acts immediately as the call ends. She races to Sam’s room and fills him in on her friend’s perilous situation. Together, they run off to give Sue backup. (I love how this scene both shows Eileen’s need to assert her own independence and her absolute trust and pragmatism in getting Sam to back her up.) 

Cas heads in to speak with Adam/Michael. Michael is still not on board the fight-Chuck train. Cas responds with sass, as is his custom. “I never liked you. I thought you were too haughty. Too…to paraphrase a friend, you had an entire oak tree shoved up your ass.” 

Now Cas finds him pitiable. Michael isn’t God’s favorite. He’s just a tiny part of Chuck’s favorite soap opera. DAMN, Cas. 

Cas goes even further, telling Michael that Lucifer was the smart one all along, and Michael SNAPS. He flips Cas over the table and gets him in a headlock. Cas struggles, and manages to lock both his hands on Michael’s temples. It’s brain zapping time! Even an archangel is no match for Cas’s mind mojo, and Cas dumps a clip show of Chuck being a dick writer into Michael’s head. 

Later, Cas decompresses alone in the kitchen. Dean arrives, then suggests that Cas might have misjudged the situation and gone too far with Michael. D E A N. Before Cas left, Michael essentially said, “Leave. Get out. I want you dead.” We’ve all been in agony for several days now over the parallels between this line and what Cas thinks he’s getting from Dean and AAAAUGH THE SWEET PAIN OF IT. “We didn’t bond,” Cas summarizes. If you need me, I’ll be hunched in this burning dumpster, muttering about profound bonds. 

The bunker rattles, and they race to Michael’s room. He greets them with, “God lied to me.” He gave everything for Chuck, but it turns out he’s not even unique across the multiverse if there are other Michaels out there. 

Sam and Eileen arrive at the hunt and discover abandoned vehicles. Sam’s suspicion bone is tingling, but then Sue shows up. She’s got this swagger, so Boris and I immediately assume she’s been turned into a vamp because we’ve been watching this show since forever. Uh, Sue’s not a vamp. She’s Chuck! Or…you know, Chuck’s her! [Admiral Ackbar voice] It’s a trap!

Michael agrees to help Team Free Will. He pulls out a slip of paper with a spell on it that can contain Chuck just like it contained Amara. All they need is myrrh, cassia, rock-rose, and the nectar of a leviathan blossom. It’s a flower that grows in Purgatory. Michael opens up a rift-style door with the snap of his fingers.

The door will stay open for twelve hours. Dean uncuffs Michael/Adam and apologizes for what happened to his half brother. Adam smiles sadly and wishes them luck in their Chuck-fighting endeavors. After he/they leave, Cas and Dean turn towards the glowing rift. It’s Purgatory time, baby! And you know what they say about Purgatory. It’s the perfect place to work out your emotions in a friendly, non-deadly environment!

Quotingmoon in Purgatory:

There’s a crack in his invincibility shield

When I go crazy again, just shoot me

Usually I enjoy our little process. I toss something at you guys and you slam it right back. It’s fun! Like tennis! With monsters

What am I picking up from you two? A wee tif? Tell your Auntie Rowena

Why would he send you, a demon, a speck of infernal bile?

Oh, I didn’t come to beg

Since when do we get what we deserve?

Want to read more? Check out our Recap Archive! 

[whumphoarder]

Living the High Life

Summary: Peter gets a nosebleed while on Tony’s private jet. Chaos abounds.

Word count: 1,751

Genre: Fluff, humor, whump

A/N: Thanks to @awesomesockes for the idea, and to @xxx-cat-xxx & @sallyidss for beta reading!

Link to read on Ao3

The plane jostles slightly, causing the seatbelt light to flash overhead. Glancing sideways, Tony sees Peter’s eyes widen as the kid grips the armrests of his seat nervously.

“Hey, chill out, alright?” Tony says with a chuckle. “I don’t really want your handprints embedded in my two hundred million dollar jet.”

Peter gapes at him, his nervous expression being replaced by one of disbelief. “Wait, wait, two hundred million?” He releases the armrests and grabs his open bottle of coke from the cupholder so he can quickly screw the cap back on. “And you were letting me drink soda on it?!” he demands, horrified.

Tony smirks; he always gets a kick out of seeing the kid experience for the first time the same luxuries that Tony himself has been taking for granted since childhood. Private jets are no exception.

The two of them are currently flying out to California for the weekend to visit Tony’s recently rebuilt Malibu mansion, as well as to get Peter campus tours of UCLA and CalTech (two of the schools he’s considering applying to during his junior year). Tony’s excited to see the kid’s response to everything from their upcoming hotel accommodations to actual palm trees.

The plane hits a few more bumps of turbulence. His face draining of color, Peter squeezes his eyes shut tightly and leans back in his seat with a tiny moan.

“Wait a minute…” Tony raises an eyebrow, giving Peter an amused look. “Are you telling me that Spider-Man—a guy who swings from literal skyscrapers through the streets of New York on the daily—is scared of heights?”

“Not heights,” Peter grits out, his teeth clenched a bit. “Just flying. Like, in a plane.”

“Flying?” Tony frowns. “But you flew to Germany with no problem.” Or, at least none that he recalls Happy reporting to him. Though, to be fair, they were all a bit distracted that week.

Peter opens his eyes and shrugs. “Well, that time I was kinda more focused on the fact that Tony Stark pulled me out of school for three days so I could steal Captain America’s shield, so…” he trails off as they hit another bump and gulps. “Just, you know, Parkers and airplanes have kind of a history...”

Suddenly, it clicks. An instant wave of guilt washes over Tony. Of course the kid would have issues with flying after having his parents die in a plane crash when he was only four years old. Hell, Tony was twenty-one when his own parents were killed and he still prefers to drive himself rather than relinquish control of his vehicles to a chauffeur (with the notable exception of Happy).

Tony softens his tone before speaking again. “It’s just a little air pocket,” he reassures. “We’ll be through it soon. And worst case scenario, I’ve got suits on board.”

Peter nods tightly a few times. “Yeah, yeah, I know. I’ll be fine.”

Figuring a distraction is in order, Tony starts recounting a particularly memorable MIT party back in the day during which Rhodey got so wasted he danced on the ping pong table to “Heat of the Moment” until it collapsed under him. By the time he’s done, the kid’s nervousness seems to have dissipated and he’s giggling along, the plane ride all but forgotten.

Once they’re through the turbulence, the flight attendant brings out their lunches and Tony once again has to grin at the kid’s awe.

“Honestly, I would have been happy with like, McDonald’s,” Peter babbles, sawing away at his filet mignon piece with a knife and fork, “but this definitely beats that.” He pauses, frowning. “Unless it’s McRib season. McRibs are the bomb, Mr. Stark.”

Tony pulls a face. “I am going to pretend you didn’t say that.”

Peter giggles. Then the plane begins shaking again—a bit harder this time—and the giggles fade, replaced by breaths which are a little too carefully measured to be natural.

Alright, back to story time. “Hey kid,” Tony begins, “have I ever told you about the time Happy fell backwards into the compound’s swimming pool?”

“Uh, don’t think so…” Peter says, gazing nervously out the window.

Tony launches right in. “So, Happy was doing his laundry, like he does every Sunday afternoon. I swear, the guy separates every single color until he’s got like, seven loads. Total fanatic about it. Now, you gotta understand DUM-E had been malfunctioning for the past few days, and so—”

“Oh no…” Peter breathes out suddenly. The kid turns back away from the window, his hand clamped over his mouth and nose and an urgent expression on his face. “Oh no, not here, not here...” he mutters, his words muffled by his palm as his eyes dart around the plane.

Figuring he has a pretty good idea of what’s about to occur, Tony immediately bends down to grab a paper airsickness bag from under the seat, but Peter has already unbuckled his seatbelt and is scrambling up from his chair, his hand still clamped over his face.

“No, Peter, you can’t—” Tony calls after him, pointing to the still illuminated seatbelt sign, but the kid is already racing toward the lavatory. Tony quickly unclips his own seatbelt and jumps up to hurry after him. He’s halfway down the aisle before the plane hits another patch of turbulence that causes Tony to stagger into one of the other seats.

From inside the lavatory, he hears a crash followed by a sharp “oof!” Tony winces. Maybe he shouldn’t have insisted the bathrooms on his plane be designed four times as large as the cramped ones on commercial aircrafts—it leaves enough room to actually fall down.

“Peter?” he calls worriedly, knocking on the closed door. “You alright?

“Don’t come in!” Peter’s voice yelps. “I’m fine! I got it handled!”

Tony’s worry deepens. “Kid, you really can’t be out of your seat right now. If you’re getting sick—”

“I’m not!” Peter says quickly. “Really, it’s okay. Uh, I just…” His voice trails off, and then, barely audible, Tony hears him mutter, “Oh god it’s everywhere...”

The plane shakes again and Tony stumbles, pressing a hand to the lavatory door to keep himself upright. But Peter must not have locked it because the door pushes open and Tony half-falls into the bathroom, catching himself one-handedly on the corner of the sink. His hand lands in a few drops of something red and wet.

“What the…?” Tony turns away from the sink, taking in the horrific sight. Blood drops seem to be covering every flat surface of the bathroom—the countertop, the floor, the sink. Peter is sitting on the floor beside the toilet, his light gray t-shirt and blue jeans now stained with crimson splotches as he frantically tears off more pieces of toilet paper to add to the growing bloody wad of tissue he’s pressing to his face. Tony blinks at him. “Are you hurt?”

Peter shakes his head. His voice is nasally when he speaks. “I’m really really sorry.”

Tony blinks again. “This is all from your nose?”

Peter nods, looking absolutely miserable. “I, uh, kinda get bad nosebleeds sometimes? Like usually if it’s too dry, or if I get stressed, or… I dunno, I guess if my nose just feels like it?”

“Well that’s... inconvenient,” Tony remarks.

The plane jostles and Peter braces his free hand against the wall, squeezing his eyes shut. “Is it supposed to be doing that?” he groans.

“It’s just turbulence,” Tony assures. “I’ve flown through a hell of a lot worse, I promise. There was this thunderstorm once when I was flying over Portugal when a bolt of lightning actually—” He’s cut off by a pained whine from the kid. Tony clears his throat. “...But, that’s probably a story for another day.” He makes a vague gesture in front of his own nose. “Is it stopping?”

Peter pulls the tissues back to check. Immediately, a fresh wave of blood runs down from his nostrils, causing Tony to wince though the kid seems unfazed. “It’s slowing down,” he says with a shrug.

Tony huffs out a short laugh. “That’s kind of concerning, but we’ll suspend that for the moment.” Stepping further into the bathroom, Tony moves over to the cabinet to locate a stack of plush white towels. He holds one out to the kid, who throws him a horrified look in return.

“I’ll just get blood all over it,” Peter says worriedly. “Those look really expensive.”

Tony rolls his eyes. “It’s a towel. It can’t be more than, what? Forty? Fifty bucks?”

Peter’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, that’s even worse! I was thinking like ten!”

With a deep sigh, Tony chucks the towel directly at the kid’s face. Peter shoots up his free hand to catch it on reflex, leaving bloody fingerprints on the pristine material. He makes a little distressed moan upon realizing. “Mr. Stark…” he whines.

“You’re welcome,” Tony says with a huff. “Now let’s get you back to your seat. Safety first and all that jazz.” As if to emphasize his words, the plane promptly hits another rough patch.

Peter shakes his head, teeth clenched through the jostling. “Can’t. I’m covered in blood. I’ll ruin your two hundred million dollar jet,” he grits out.

“You’re not gonna ruin the jet,” Tony points out. He pauses for a beat. “Just the jet’s upholstery.”

Peter only moans miserably.

Tony sighs. “Alright, we’ll figure something out.”

X

“Whoa, does this seat go all the way flat?!”

Tony chuckles as he adjusts the controls on Peter’s seat to recline it backwards. “Yeah, wonders never cease, kid,” he remarks.

Peter—now wrapped completely in the unrolled emergency parachute from the plane’s cargo area like some kind of nylon burrito—is finally strapped into his chair again. The bleeding has nearly stopped now, though he’s still pinching his nose with tissues to be sure.

Tony pulls a single use ice pack out of the plane’s first aid kit. He squeezes the packet and shakes it to activate the chemicals inside before passing it to Peter. “Here.”

“Thanks,” Peter says. He presses it to the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “And I’m really sorry about all the mess…”

“Don’t worry about it.” Tony waves his hand dismissively. “But you are definitely going to need a shower when we land before you even think about trying out the mansion’s rooftop swimming pool.”

Peter’s eyes widen yet again. “Your what?!”

Tony chuckles. This never gets old.

X

If you liked this story, you might like:

Arachnids & Phobias

Grand Entrance

Them’s the Breaks

Link to all my fics

[maandags]

Eidolon (Angel!Keith x Demon!reader) {part ii}

im still alive! yay!

---

Summary: Keith is an angel, and he’s completed mission after mission for the Upper Hand, the organisation controlling all of the Above. He’s only failed a mission once: when he was assigned to kill you, a surprisingly charismatic demon. He roamed Earth–Middle Ground–for years before he was caught by the Upper Hand again, and things quickly go south.

Word count: 6.5K 

Genre: Angst -- CW: death mention, injuries, blood, hallucinations (?)

Notes: masterlist -- {previous} -- {next} -- yall........ hes trying his best ok

-- -- --

you did not break me  

i’m still fighting for peace

~ Elastic Heart, Sia

-- -- --

Keith bites his lower lip as he makes his way to your apartment. Every step sends a sharp jolt of pain up his right wing and he grimaces in pain, massaging his shoulder. The trip looked a lot shorter from where he'd been standing in the square, he thinks bitterly as he makes his way through the swirling crowd, shreds of conversation coming at him from all sides. He's actually surprised at how well he remembers the layout of the city–and how well he remembers the way to your home.

When he finally gets to the apartment building he hesitates for a moment. In the glass door he sees his reflection: black dirt coating every inch of his body, tear tracks streaking down his cheeks. His hair is an absolute mess, as if a particularly pissed-off fairy had tried to knot his hair in the most complicated ways. He tries to smooth the locks down, growling when it did nothing at all. His clothes are torn and crooked, and a wild–almost dangerous–light shines in his eyes, and he looked like he'd just escaped death itself. In a way, he had.

That's when he remembers his knife. A glance to his calf tells him everything he needs to know and he suddenly wants to cry again.

It's gone.

The knife he'd carried with him for so long, the knife that had saved him in many a sticky situation, one of the rare blades that could actually kill both angels and demons–and he'd lost it. Probably dropped it on the ground in the woods. The black straps he used to keep the knife concealed beneath his jeans served no purpose anymore. Keith bends down, ignoring the pain throbbing on his back and unclasps the sheath. Strangely, it's mostly undamaged, except for the dirt and mud that coat every inch of it. He holds it, weighing it in his hands. His leg feels oddly light without it.

Scrunching up his nose, he chucks it in the rubbish bin that stands beside the apartment entrance and pushes the door open.

He's slightly out of breath when he finally reaches your floor, cursing the weight of his wings under his breath, but his heart skips a beat when he finally arrives in front of your door.

He doesn't know what he'd expected, quite honestly. It was–well–a door. A plain white wooden door with a stainless steel doorknob and a number plate on the side; yours said 34. Bar that very number, it was completely identical to the other doors in the building. It didn't look very... well... demonic.

But then again, he hadn't really expected it to be. He takes a breath and knocks.

You open surprisingly quickly, and the sight of you makes Keith freeze up.

Your eyes are stormy and wild and widen only a fraction before they narrow down again, your lips pressing themselves into a thin line just shy of a snarl. The door is only just cracked open, and Keith can't see what's going on inside your apartment, but he forces himself to relax his muscles even though every nerve in his body is screaming at him about how wrong this is.

In the split second where no one said anything, Pidge's words of the previous day–had it really only been a day?–echoes in his ears: Is that why you need guarding every second of the day? Because you're a traitor to the Above? She would never know how right she had been, Keith thinks bitterly.

"No," you say, firmer than Keith had expected, and you cross your arms.

Keith blinks. "You don't even know what I was going to say–"

"I don't need to," you snap. "You look like you just spent a week running around in a jungle. You're probably in need of somewhere to stay. There's a shelter a couple of blocks away. You can take the underground."

"They'll find me there."

"Not my problem." You almost shut the door on him, and in a desperate attempt to keep your attention on him just a minute more he stumbles forward and slams his hand against the frame. You freeze and Keith notices how your muscles tense up–as if you were preparing yourself for a fight.

"Y/N."

You look at him now, eyes pools of swirling fire laced through with hatred, fear–but Keith also thinks he sees something like doubt, and he latches onto that with all his might.

"I need your help. Please." He takes a ragged breath. "I don't have anywhere else to go."

You close your eyes, fingers tightening around the doorknob. When you open them again, all sign of the doubt he'd seen before is gone, a grim determination having taken its place. "No."

That single word is enough to stun Keith into letting go of the doorframe, sending him swaying back. His thoughts are racing, emotions coursing through his body–most prominent of all the absolute terror of the fact that he was going to die. He was going to get found by the Upper hand, and they were going to kill him, and he was going to die. He'd just fucked up his last chance at staying alive a little bit longer.

He almost protests again, opens his mouth–then shuts it, and lets his head hang, sighing deeply. There's no point. You've made up your mind.

Your voice is quiet as you say it. If there had been a single other sound in the hallway, he most definitely would have missed it. But it's dead silent, and so he hears it: "Never ask a demon for help, Keith. You're only going to get yourself hurt."

His head snaps up, but the door is closed. It's like you've never been there at all.

He brings a hand to his face, turns and starts down the stairs again, every step sending a bolt of pain down his back. He flinches against the pain. Doesn't slow.

What was it again you said about a shelter?

The Kindness for All Adults and Children's shelter is a small organization located on the corner of a dark street, easy to miss if you don't know where to look. Except Keith did know where to look, so he found it just fine. He knocks on the glass door, is immediately let in by a short and stern-looking woman (but with kind eyes) and ten minutes later he's sitting on a stool (he's careful to avoid anything to rest his wings against, because even though he concealed them, they're still there) and a blanket puddled in his lap (again. Wings), sipping on a mug of hot tea.

Isabel–the woman who let him in–enters the room, frowning at Keith's dirty boots and overall grossness. "Honey, you'd better take those off. If you'd wait a bit, we have shower hour in just–" she glances at her wristwatch– "twenty-three minutes. We have a couple of other fellas here; hope you don't mind communal showers." She gives him a scrutinising look, and Keith has to fight the sudden urge to straighten his spine and salute. "You look like you need one."

Keith takes a long sip of his tea, rolling his shoulder. His stomach lurches at the mention of a shower. He does need one: he reeks of rotten plants and he's pretty sure he has multiple cuts on his legs and arms that probably need cleaning before they get infected. He didn't bother to check.

But staying here would only get these people in danger, and that was about the last thing he wants. The Upper hand was going to find out one way or another of his whereabouts. Now that he couldn't rely on your protection–he hadn't realised how much he'd just assumed you would take him in, no questions asked (stupid, stupid; he saw that now) to the point where he had no idea what his next move was going to be. He had made a huge mistake doing whatever it was that got him onto Middle Ground and he was paying the price for it now.

Besides–he couldn't fully hide his wings; not with the injury. He didn't want to have to think about what would happen if one of the other guys in the shelter saw a cut-up, bruised, dirty dude wash blood and earth off his body while water slid off a shape hovering above his back that looked suspiciously like wings.

"I won't be staying, Isabel," he finally mutters, a ghost of a smile on his lips.

The older woman frowns, shifting her weight from one leg to the other. "Are you sure?"

Keith nods, setting his mug down beside him and getting up from his chair, bunching the soft fabric of the blanket in his hands. "I'm sure. Thank you for your care."

"But–but where will you stay, then?" The edge of worry to Isabel's voice almost makes Keith smile. Humans... some of them were even more rotten than demons, but thankfully even more were better than the purest angel could ever be.

"I'll find a motel or something," he lies. He didn't have money. He didn't have anywhere to go. "I'll be fine." He sounds so convincing he almost believes it himself.

As he curls up on a particularly comfortable spot of hard concrete, Keith nibbles on a piece of bread he'd nicked from the nearest bakery. It hadn't even been hard. He probably should feel bad. He almost does. His stomach growls even after he'd scarfed down the bread. Angels shouldn't have to eat, he thinks bitterly. And in a sense, they didn't–but everyone had to bend to the rules of Middle ground to a certain extent. Having to eat and drink to, you know, live, is one of those rules.

A bottle of water sits beside him, half empty. It was the last gesture of kindness Isabel showed him before he'd exited the shelter and he knows he has to be careful with it and not drink it all at once, even though it was tempting. He also got to keep the blanket, and he wraps it around his shivering body now, and although it hadn't been designed for an angel and it's kind of small to fit both his body and his wings he made it work, and he's grateful for the warmth it provided in the chilly night, however little it may be.

The city buzzes around him, lights flashing and illuminating his surroundings every so often. He'd managed to find a building that looked pretty quiet and not the worst place to spend the night in–big, made mostly of concrete and red bricks, apparently abandoned years ago. It looks like it used to be a factory of some kind. Graffiti tags litter its walls, from stupid vulgarities to surprisingly intricate artworks Keith observes with a kind of admiration. They give him a strange sense of safety, somehow. You're not alone, the colourful letters seem to whisper in the dark. The wall he chose to make his hoe is decorated with a particularly interesting piece. It's different from the others, somehow–he doesn't exactly know what drew him to it, but with his back to the paint he feels a little better.

Now that he's sitting there, the outside noises faded into the background, he has time to think. Really think. Mostly about how he's going to survive the next... next what, exactly? Weeks? Months? Years, maybe, like last time?

He sets his jaw, huddling up even more in his blanket. No. He had to make sure this wouldn't be anything like last time, because he got caught last time. It wouldn't happen again.

The best way to avoid an angry and very powerful group of celestial beings was by constantly moving. Never spending more than a few nights in the same place. Changing the way you look, changing the name you go by. Hiding your wings (that one might be an issue). Not, under any circumstances, performing magic of any kind. And, most importantly, not standing out among the people.

If you want to hide among humans, you have to fool everyone into thinking you are one.

That was probably how you had made it so long, Keith reflects, ears perking up at the sound of water dripping onto a metal surface. It echoes around him. That, or you had managed to reconcile with the big guys from the Below. maybe you'd started doing missions again. Maybe that was why you couldn't take him in. You feared for your own safety.

Or maybe you just didn't want anything to do with him, Keith reminds himself. He screws his eyes shut, softly banging the back of his head on the wall behind him. How he had managed to hold onto the hope that a demon–a perfectly real demon–would be the one to save him was completely beyond him. He sees now how truly stupid he had been. There was no mistaking the fire he'd seen in your eyes for anything other than what it was: hatred. Pure and utter hatred. They're a demon, Keith mutters to himself like a mantra. They're a demon. A demon. It's his fault and his fault only that he's in the spot he's in. His fault.

And yet, he can't get the image of your eyes blazing up at him through that crack in the doorway out of his head. On the back of his eyelids, he sees the vision he had of you right before he'd exited the Above–your eyes had been swirling pools of and black devoid of any emotion, so different to what he'd seen earlier this evening.

Because there had been emotion in your eyes. It had been sort of a shock to him and he recalls how he'd flinched back at their glint. He doesn't know why your eyes affected him so much. They shouldn't have.

But the difference was so stark–and, in a way, almost unsettling–that he couldn't for the life of him banish the image from his mind.

– – –

You sag on your favourite bench, ripping pieces off a stale loaf of bread and chucking them into the pond for the ducks to eat with more force than necessary. You're in a foul mood this morning, you realise, and it's all you can do to scowl at the ducks and scream internally about how much of a moron Keith the Angel really is.

You'd called Allura. Of course you'd called Allura. You hadn't explained to her exactly what had gotten you worked up–maybe it wasn't the best idea to tell a human about the existence of angels and demons–but you'd asked her to meet you at the park. You hadn't needed to say where. Allura knew.

Here she comes, you think, and you drip even further down the bench when you spot the tall girl skipping towards you, her silver ponytail whipping in the wind. She holds two cups of what you recognise as coffee and a smile creeps up your face. Allura, Allura. I don't deserve Allura.

"Gimme." You stretch out an arm and sigh contently when Allura deposits a steaming cup of coffee into your open pal. "I love you and only you."

"I know, dear," Allura croons, graciously draping herself onto the bench next to you and sipping her own cup. "So what's got your panties in a twist today?"

If the question had been asked by anyone other than Allura you would probably have snarled at them to mind their business, but it hadn't, so you didn't. You sigh, handing the leftover bread to her. She starts cooing at the ducks, pitching pieces of bread to them surprisingly accurately. "It's just... I got a rather unexpected visitor yesterday."

Allura's eyes widen. "Greg from Accounting. I told you he's got a thing for you–"

You cut her off with a whack on the back of her head, but you can't hold back the giggles anymore. "No! No, you moron, not Greg from Accounting."

She pouts. "Who then?"

You bite your lip, taking a long sip of your coffee. It's then that you discover that the drink is actually hot chocolate, and you silently thank the Devil for the one good thing in your life as the warmth spreads through your entire system. Still, you hesitate if you should tell her. It'd only bring up more questions, and you don't know how you'll answer them because you have a ton of questions of your own.

"An old acquaintance of mine," you finally muse. You pause, frowning, unsure of how to continue. "I only vaguely know him." You don't know him, you remind yourself firmly. You don't know how he figured out where you live, too–but your questions had to wait, though you had a faint feeling you'd get the answer to them soon. It wouldn't surprise you if you were to run into him once more.

You look over at Allura. She raises an eyebrow, her coffee forgotten and her hand gone slightly slack. "... And you have no idea why he showed up at your door?"

You shake your head. But deep down you did know why he was there: he'd needed help. He was terrified and hurt and alone and he'd come to you for help. Even after you had told him to go away, the encounter had left you awake into the early hours of the morning as you rolled in your bed, getting your limbs tangled in the sheets.

You still don't know why you were so worked up over it. You were a demon, first of all–a rogue demon at that. You were busy trying to avoid the Below's own Managers ever since you'd failed one of their missions and decided that the average demon's life just wasn't for you, and you'd done a fine job of it so far. Taking an angel in could put all of that in jeopardy. Everything you'd worked for–it could all go up in smoke.

You have a life here, now. You have a job at the local animal shelter (not very demonic–but you'd noticed it was harder for Management to pick up your trail when you smelled of animals. Besides, you like the job). You even have a couple of friends: Allura was a prime example of that, and in a way she represented everything you could lose should you have chosen to help the confused Angel who had knocked on your door the day before.

"What'd he want?" she asks, and you start.

"I don't–I don't know," you lie, fingers curled around your practically-full cup of not-so-hot-anymore chocolate. "He didn't say."

Allura squints at you, pitching the last of the bread to the ducks. You watch as at least six of them frantically paddle towards the sinking bread, squawking as they try to get hold of at least a small part of it. Discomfort lodges in your chest when the bread is ripped to shreds in a flurry of flapping wings and spraying water. "I think you're lying to me."

Your eyes widen and you open your mouth, but Allura cuts you off. "It's okay. I know you don't like to talk about your past, and I'm not going to force you to do so," she says in between sips. "It's just–you've told me about how you cut off all ties with people you knew from before you came here. Would this dude have gone through all the trouble of finding out where you live, seeking you out in particular when he knows you don't want anything to do with him anymore if it wasn't serious?"

"I don't care, though," you say, pulling your sleeves down onto your hands. You sound like a whiny child throwing a temper tantrum. "I don't want to know what's got him here. Nothing can be so serious for him to come to me of all people. It makes no sense."

"All right, all right." There's a moment of silence as Allura drains the last of her coffee. "You have the week off, right?"

You nod, even though you plan on going to the shelter anyway. Better safe than sorry.

"There's a party in the old abandoned factory in two days. Wanna come?" The twinkle in Allura's eyes should have warned you that the night was going to get messy. But you'd never been one to deny yourself a bit of fun, and hey–maybe you could even throw up some graffiti on your wall while you were there. Allura knows she has you when you start to grin.

– – –

The cans in your duffel bag make clattering noises with the swaying of the underground. You grab onto a pole to stabilise yourself, sending a cautious look around you. This particular subway ride was quieter than you'd liked, with everyone either on their phone or staring out of the window, headphones on, but nobody seemed to hear the suspicious sounds coming from your bad. That, or they just plain didn't care.

The city was big, and there were a lot of factories around, but Allura hadn't had to specify which one, because it always was the same one. It had shut down years and years ago. No one knew why. No one knew what it used to be–the signs were all worn and unreadable. Most importantly, no one cared. There were lots of little rooms. A few big rooms with high ceilings. Clean, concrete walls perfect for graffiti. It hadn't been long before the young folk of the city had claimed it as their own.

You duck out of the subway as soon as the doors hiss open, jogging with your hands shoved in your hoodie pocket and your headphones hanging around your neck, making your way to the factory. You don't go in immediately, making sure to walk past it before you skirt back and sneak in through a hole in the fence at the back. Cheap trick, you know–but it had saved you many a times from getting spotted, because you were technically not allowed to go in there.

Allura waits for you a couple of rooms away from your wall. She's smiling, long red skirt billowing around her legs, and holds out an arm for you to take. She starts chattering before you've even properly entered the building, stepping over suspicious-looking stains and discarded beer cans. You'd asked her to come a bit earlier so you had time to at least make a start on a new design that you'd sketched out the same morning. Allura plops down onto a slab of stone (probably supposed to have become a bench) and props her chin onto her palm. "You have maybe an hour, babe." You give her a side-eyed glance as you set down your duffel, zipping it open.

You shake the can, cocking your head to visualise the piece on the wall. Your sketchbook is propped up against the wall, for reference. You stand there for a couple of minutes, shaking the can of red paint in an almost hypnotic motion before you take a step towards the wall and push the valve.

Slowly, the lines you put down start to take shape and form something more. The design is pretty simple, yet you work faster on this than you ever have on any other piece. It's as if you're racing against the clock, and you need to get it done or it'll disappear. The two silhouettes take shape: one white, one black, facing each other in a mirror image of themselves and red wings sprouting from their backs. You purposely approach the can of red paint to the wall to make drips. When you step back, it looks eerily like blood.

As you work, you try to banish the thoughts that worm themselves inside your mind. An angel. A demon. How much more obvious did you have to be? As much as you want to forget about him, you find that you just... couldn't. You feel sick in the stomach all of a sudden, but you bite your tongue and squint hard against the tears that threaten to fall, pressing down hard on the can.

You had already refused. It was done. You repeat those sentences over and over until you start to believe them.

When you're satisfied with the base layer, you check the time. You have maybe twenty minutes left. You shove the cans back into your duffel, grabbing the small paint container you always carry with you and the paintbrushes.

You like the way spray paint and regular paint look together in the same piece. It's the small thing that sets you apart from the other artist whose work cover the walls, the small details you add in with black paint that make your work really stand out. You get paint on your hands. You don't care.

It's weird how an hour can pass in ten minutes. Allura taps you on the arm. "It's starting." It is. Music drifts through the door-less doorway, closely followed by laughter and chatter. You nod, packing in the paint and the brush and taking off your mask. You were practically done anyway, and when you look over your shoulder one last time before following Allura to the party, you feel a burst of pride.

The warm feeling quickly disappears, though, when you notice something you hadn't seen before.

A grey blanket, stuffed into the far corner grabs your attention and you frown. The fingers around your bag's straps tightening, you walk to the corner and crouch down. There wasn't much else besides the blanket–yet it made you uncomfortable enough to pick it up and inspect it from closer.

Out of the blanket, two black feathers fluttered down.

Anyone else would merely have thought it weird, but wouldn't have thought much of it. They'd have laughed and moved on.

You, though, weren't just anyone else.

You'd recognise an angel's feathers anywhere.

You make a sound that's a mix between a sigh and a groan. You don't even try to pick up the feathers, knowing they'll turn to ashes if you try. Running a hand down your face, you consider your options–but you know that there really aren't any options to consider. If he's here, and he's found by the partygoers–he can't conceal his wings properly, you recall from a few days ago.

You heave a pained sigh. The risk is too big.

"Y/N?" Allura calls, irritation staining her voice. "You coming or what?"

You stand, clenching a hand around the blanket and stuffing it in your duffel without a second thought, sighing once more for good measure. "Sorry, Allura. I can't."

"What?" cries Allura, face falling and shoulders going slack. "Why?"

You shake your head, eyes scanning the room. If he heard you and Allura come (which he would have, with Allura's chattering echoing through the building), he couldn't have left through the main door, which meant he had to have gone through either the crack in the wall on your left or the big hole that you knew led to the empty staircase to the second level of the building. The bigger hole is probably your best bet, you reason.

"Sorry," you tell Allura, and you hope she understands that you really are sorry. "I'll explain later." But you flinched even as you said the words. Explain what, exactly? You feel yourself slipping back into your old skin: one tainted with memories of fighting, hunting, and betrayal.

When you turn around again, Allura is gone.

Setting your jaw, you duck into the hole and into the dark staircase.

– – –

Keith presses a hand against his side, panting and flinching against the pain.

Noise is coming from all around him. He hears music, people laughing, people talking, people screaming. It seems to come from the walls themselves, and grows louder with every passing second. He needs to move, but these last few days have been hard on him–his wing has gotten worse, to the point where he can't conceal them at all anymore. He's losing feathers, leaving a trail of them behind him wherever he goes.

His other cuts–the ones he dismissed as not being very dangerous–have grown red and swollen and hurt when he puts any type of pressure on them. Infection, the one part of his brain that still somewhat works whispers.

He hasn't eaten since that loaf of bread the first night, and his bottle of water is long since empty. In fact, he spends most of his time slipping in and out of consciousness, living and reliving horrible nightmares that have him jump awake and gasp for breath as he wipes tears from his cheeks that he doesn't remember shedding.

Even in his feverish state, he knows he has to keep moving. There has to be a place in this building where he can huddle up and wait for the people to go away. There has to be a spot where he can wait it out. He stumbles his way up the stairs, one hand gripping the railing as if it's the only thing keeping him upright. Sometimes he has to stop for a minute to catch his breath, clutching his stomach and coughing his lungs out.

He wanders through the upper level of the building. It's somehow cleaner than downstairs, with less graffiti staining the walls and less rubbish littering the floor. Guess it's not an ideal place to party, in plain view of the city, Keith thinks. He chooses a particularly comfortable-looking spot in a small room–too small to be an actual room, more likely a broom closet–to curl up on. Before his head hits the ground, he's asleep again.

– – –

You curse the angel's apparent stamina as you climb the apparently unending stairs, skipping one out of two steps as you race up them, your bag bouncing on your back. Every once in a while you glance down, looking for a feather. He was leaving a trail of them behind, a sign his condition was worsening.

"Swear–to Satan–" you mutter, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand. It may not have been warm, but running up a set of stairs for ten minutes was bound to make anyone sweat like it's thirty degrees and the sun is beating down on you.

You get to the top level and groan.

This part of the factory is relatively untouched, you know, because it was so easily seen from other parts of the city and there had already been people who had gotten caught by the police. But what that means is lots and lots of rooms you didn't know to explore, looking for on single guy who could, if he wanted, avoid you until you gave up. All it would take is a better knowledge of the place.

So you get to work.

You search as quietly as possible, as to not give yourself away, tiptoeing from one room to the other, making sure to check each and every dark corner. You don't need a flashlight: the city's lights have turned on, and the moon shines brightly in the sky, casting a cool light on everything it can reach through the windows. You silently thank the obnoxious city lights.

After ten minutes of checking rooms, you start to grow impatient and slightly worried. What if you're wrong? What if the feathers are already days old, and he isn't here anymore? What if you do find him–but you're too late? You shake your head, not wanting to think about it.

And what if you find him and he needs help? Even more than when he initially came to you?

You haven't even fully thought about that. When you did find him, you couldn't do anything else than bring him home with you, could you? You hesitate, slowing your pace and carding a hand through your hair, scanning the walls as if looking for an answer there. It isn't too late to turn back, a voice in the back of your mind whispers.

You can just go back downstairs, join the party. Make up some bullshit excuse to Allura as to why you left so suddenly.

You almost do. The thought of just leaving it–letting everything run its course normally without you interfering–is so tempting...

But then you hear a string of coughs coming from the room on your right and your legs carry you there before you can protest. When you see the shape on the floor, all you can say is "Oh shit."

It's him, all right. Unconscious, lying face down on the dirty floor of an abandoned factory, all curled up like a little newborn angel. He's shivering, you notice when you crouch down by his side. You put a trembling hand on his forehead and hiss through your teeth. He's burning up, the skin slick with sweat and his hair sticking to his forehead in a tangled mess.

"Okay," you whisper, getting on your knees and covering your face with your hands, taking a deep breath. "Okay, all right."

His chest rises and falls, though irregularly and barely noticeable–but he's breathing. He's still alive. You frown at his wings (they're all dirty and dusty and it makes you icky–it's a known fact that the state of your wings reflect your health) and wonder about how in the name of the Below you're going to get him out of there unnoticed. He's not exactly inconspicuous. You'll probably have to carry him.

You tap his cheek. He groans. You keep tapping until he cracks open an eye, and even then you have to coerce him into opening both eyes. They're unfocused and murky and filled with confusion and fear, but he's awake.

"Hey. Do you think you can sit up?" you ask softly.

He tries–you can tell he puts all the strength left in him to push himself up, inch by painful inch. You try to help him as best as you can, but even then he's panting with his eyes closed as he rests his head against the wall.

Then you remember your water bottle. Scrambling for your bag, you yank it out and unscrew the cap, slowly tipping it into his mouth. "Careful, careful," you mutter when he tries to take the bottle from your hands and starts taking bigger gulps, a bit of strength seeping into his system with every drop. "It's not good to drink so much after days of dehydration."

His eyes finally seem to focus on your face, and he frowns. "Y-Y/N?"

You only smile tightly in response. He blinks sluggishly. “But you–”

“I know, I know,” you mutter, running a hand across your face. “I’m probably going to regret this a lot. But I just…” You cast him a tired look. “I couldn’t just let you die.”

“Huh,” he whispers sheepishly, a ghost of a smile pulling at his lips. The small gesture is so strangely out of place that you just gape at him for a few seconds, only shaken out of your stupor when he doubles over and proceeds to hack a lung out coughing. You start, grabbing hold of his shoulders to steady him and whisper encouragement as he takes a few ragged breaths.

“Hey. I’m gonna get you out of here, all right? But you need to be able to conceal your wings. I can carry you, but you have to be able to do that for me, okay?” You speak to him in a low, rushed tone, only able to hope that he can grasp how important it is for the two of you to not be spotted all the way to your apartment. He sets his jaw and nods, weakly grabbing at your shoulders for support as he tries to hoist himself up.

“Okay, all right.” He’s standing now, still woozy and swaying slightly, but he’s standing. “There we go. Hide your wings.”

He closes his eyes. His brow furrows in concentration, beads of sweat beading on his forehead. His wings flicker in and out of sight twice before completely disappearing. “Okay, awesome. You’re doing great.”

You awkwardly lead him down the stairs, one arm around his chest and under his armpits as he steadies himself on the railing, muttering encouragement every couple of steps. His wings flickered twice more, and every time you almost had a heart attack–if he couldn’t keep them hidden when you were in the city, in full view of hundreds of people… you didn’t want to think about it.

When you reach the building entrance, you debate briefly in your head what your options are. You could walk back to your apartment, but that would take over forty-five minutes and you weren’t sure if the angel could keep his wings concealed for that long. But the other option would be to take the subway and risk someone seeing you and starting to ask questions.

Then again–it was almost midnight. Most people wouldn’t be out on the streets right now, and it was dark, and the ones who would be out would be exhausted and only wanting to get back to their own homes. With a little luck, you could find an empty subway cart. The ride home would be seven minutes long.

“C’mon,” you say quietly, tugging on the angel’s sleeve. He’s leaning heavily against you–but he’s walking on his own and that’s better than you could have hoped for. “The station is that way.”

The cart is almost empty, bar a teenager with bags under their eyes the colour of charcoal. They barely give you a glance as you stumble into the cart with the angel, only pulling up their hood and crossing their arms, pointedly looking out of the window. You don’t mind in the slightest. They probably think the angel is just shitfaced drunk, you think as you set him down on a seat–maybe a little rougher than necessary. He flinches. You feel only a bit sorry.

You had given him your sweatshirt before you left the factory, and now you rub your own arms up and down against the chill biting at the skin. You scowl, sinking down into the seat, wondering what in the name of all that is demonic was wrong with you to have made the choices that you did. Taking the angel in could very well be the cause of your capture. Hiding a demon amongst humans wasn’t so hard, but a demon and an angel… That would prove to be a challenge.

But then again, you think as you cast a sideways glance at the angel who passed out as soon as his butt had hit the subway seat (he looks strangely serene in the flimsy yellow light cast upon the seats–you could almost believe he’s merely asleep), you had never been one to turn down a challenge.

[elejah-verse]

Always/7

Fanfiction

Part 7

Elijah Mikaelson x reader/Elena Gilbert

ft Klaroline

a/n: thanks so much for reading and liking. xoxo

tags @rissyrapp20 @dendrite-lover @cassienoble2000 @captainshurley @goddessofthunder112 @elejahforever @hides2000

____________-

Ten years ago

Y/N/E ran her forefinger around Elijah's face as if she wanted to capture his features exactly right so to put on a canvas later, to remember his features precisely. Slowly she neared his lips and brushing over them he placed a peck on her finger. 

"You have nearly the perfect Michaelanglian features~ " Y/N/E said gazing into his eyes. "Nearly? Ah, you're hurting my feelings.  I thought I was perfection ~ at least that's  what I saw in your eyes"- Elijah teased. "Your heart is perfection"-Y/N/E said smiling a little.

"I think you've mistaken. It is yours that is unique. There is no one like you"- he now played with a wisp of her hair.

Y/N/E rubbed his cheek with her thumb looking at him for a second seriously. For a moment he thought she was now going to slip away and call it a day and a strange feeling like cold wind walked all over his heart. Her look was the one seeing as if she was seeing a stranger in front of her.

“Elijah? Are you all right?"- she asked.

"I am fine"- he gulped a little-"I just- for a second- I had this crazy premonitions- stupid"- he neared her and kissed her.

"What was it?"- Y/N/E wanted to know.

"It's stupid"- he said-"nothing really- I don't know why I said it. The champagne probably hasn't worn off yet."

"Ok, you don't have to tell me. But you can kiss me?!"

"That I can do, but there is something I need to tell you-"

"What?"-Y/N/E said chuckling a bit. "I love you!"-he looked at her enchantingly. Y/N/E neared him and pulled him into a kiss, which very much confirmed the same sentiment.         

      Present, Morning

Y/N/E watched Elijah sleep. He was so very relaxed and at peace. After a year of fragmented sleep, he could finally float away serenely. This man was her husband, she passed the thought and they had this amazing history as she was told by all their friends and family, but no memory of their life was coming back to her. And she wondered if everything was really so perfect as everyone said they were. Could things really be so divine? Doubt was worming inside of her. She shook her head to toss the bad thoughts away now. The way he kisses her, the way he made love to her last night, told her of his genuine affection for her. All of their photos taken on their trips away show happiness, so why is this odd feeling creeping inside her like a mean demon. To break away from it, she now got up and took her sketchbook. She sized him up with the pencil and started drawing. 

Half way through she stretched her leg and her foot touched his. This now made he move, opening his eyes.

"Don't move"- Y/N/E said-"I am not done yet"

"Done?"- he rubbed his eyes now. 

"Nevermind"- she put the sketchbook aside saying-"morning- the way you slept hugging that pillow- just got the urge to draw you"

"Show me"- he sat up now.

Y/N/E passed the sketchbook and Elijah complimented her- "wow - it's like you took a photograph-the way drawing  comes so natural to you- Once you said I was - your muse."

"Did I?"- she asked.

"Yeah.”- Elijah muttered.

“I don’t see any drawings or anything of you-”

”You said that I give you all the creative juices - inspiration. I could never understand how -- Elijah said now yawning a little- "you let me sleep long again."

"It's obvious that you need the sleep. And it is ok. Bonnie said that sleep helped me."- Y/N/E said.

"I love you awake"- he now moved to her and caressed her face taking her hand. brining it to his lips and kissed it. Y/N/E smiled and now leaned  forward to him and kissed him. He now tumbled on his back. Holding her dearly now, as they parted from the kiss, Y/N/E said lovingly-

“Last night - was so - good. More- I definitely know now I married you- though I don’t remember what it was like with any other of my ex-s- and I don’t care”

Elijah brushed his hands through her hair and smiled, and said in a joking tone - “I can’t believe I would say this, but I am glad you can’t remember”

“I so remember last night and - I so want to repeat it”

“You do?”- Elijah chuckled.

Pic by Vermariess

He now pulled her to him, and kissed her, their lips fitting like two pieces of puzzle. Her body melted into his. And it was like she was walking through fiery air. It was the same for him. He wanted nothing more, but to feel her perfect softness. In moments the soft caresses became more urgent, he savoured her lips. The quickening of her breath matched his own, as she now lowered herself onto him, both moving in sync, enveloped in the blissful haze of passion seeping all over them. And it felt like they connected fully. There was intimacy between them like nothing ever happened and their life was back on track. But deep down he remained unsettled.

____

Later that day

Elijah walked in ‘Daniel’s’ and as he sat down at the bar, he ordered a Bourbon, now flashing back to the session with his therapist earlier.

Flashback 

"We get along. And making love to her was amazing, like it has always been. We talk about things like we have always done. Y/N/E had always spoke her mind. Directly, and that was one of so many things about her that made me fall in love with her. So, why do I have this stupid feeling like she is not Y/NE at times, but -"

"What?"- Camille asked.

"I shouldn't feel this way and I don't know why I do- after everything we have been through-"- Elijah paused and Camille let him take as long as he needed to voice out what had troubled him. Elijah sighed-"like she is some - other woman-"

"Doppelganger?"- Camille suggested.

"Yes. Everything is the same, but yet it is not. And it is so stupid of me to feel this way. I love her."- Elijah said.

"You feel disconnection because she cannot remember?!"

Elijah nodded slightly- "I guess - yes. I think so."

Kol, who now came in, broke his thoughts.

“Ready for the ‘Lockwood Ball’?”- Kol asked as he sat on the bar stool.

“Yeah. You?”

“I don’t fancy going.”- Kol said.

“But Sophie does?!”- Elijah now said.

“Well, yeah. It’s a good cause and- you know.”- Kol now took a sip of the Bourbon he was served.

“What’s up with you? Last night was so good. I haven’t laughed like that for ages.”

“Nothing. It’s good. More than good. Y/N/E and I - well - we - “

“You  did? Ah, great man! I knew you would find your way back to one another. Like Rebekah said - you got the love of all times. So happy for you brother. This causes for more celebration.”- Kol was genuinely happy for his brother. 

Elijah thanked him and they now greeted Klaus, who waved at them as he got in the bar.

****

Meanwhile

Y/N/E walked into the Salvatore clinic, and Bonnie greeted her as they met in front of Stefan's office. 

"How are you?"- Bonnie asked.

"Good. Even though I have not made much progress with remembering anything, but I can speak and write perfectly, even draw."- Y/NE said.

"I am glad to hear it."- Bonnie said.

"And- since you are not my therapist anymore, I would like to ask you if you and your husband would like to have dinner with us, whenever it suits you?"- Y/N/E said.

"I would like that"- Bonnie said. 

"Great. I will call you then."- Y/N/E was happy. 

Stefan's assistant now got out telling Y/N/E that she could come in, as the other session had finished. Y/N/E walked in and forty minutes of mnemonic memory methods.

After the session Rebekah picked Y/N/E up, calling Sophie on the way to meet for a bite to eat.

"Can't wait to meet Caroline Forbes tomorrow, finally."- Rebekah said.

"So, she said yes to the invitation?!"- Y/N/E asked.

"This is one of the few most important events of the year, and it's a plus being there and as a news anchor that had just started work- this is a jump for her that she is not even aware of"- Rebekah said.

"Seriously?"

Rebekah now looked at Y/N/E like - you're pulling my leg- and then said -"Well, I forget that you never really cared for the Ball thing, but the charity part of it"

"Elijah doesn't really want to go"- Y/N/E said.

"Ahm- did he say so? The other day he was fine with it?! He told mother he will be there."- Rebekah said.

"He didn't really say it, but I can feel it that he wasn't really into going. Probably because of me"- Y/N/E said.

"Most probably because of all those people there- they will gossip about us anyway. And we have always been the case with us. It has never bothered you. You were always strong minded, Y/N/E and so was he."- Rebekah said.

They arrived to the restaurant where Sophie was waiting for them and they now continued talking about the dresses and the masks as the Ball had the Phantom of the Opera theme.

***

Elsewhere

In Caroline's wardrobe

"You had a package delivered"- her assistant informed Caroline. 

"Thanks"- Caroline replied trailing off to her wardrobe. She was not expecting anything particular and now took the card. It was soon clear that it was from Klaus.

Save me a dance. Fondly, Klaus- the card said.      

         She opened it and then closed it. She had never seen such exquisite dress. She opened it again and gently took it out of the box. These were real jewels on the dress. She felt it was too much. She had barely known him and him sending such an extravagant present was out of order. She picked up her phone and dialed his number.

"And how are you today, Ms Forbes?"- Klaus chucked a bit.

"I am afraid I cannot accept your gift. What do you think that I can't buy a designer dress?!-"- Caroline said.

"I am sure you can, but this one was custom made for you."- Klaus continued.

"What?"

"You treated for a great night out the other day showing me the best of NOLA- so it is only right for me to return the gesture"- Klaus said-"pick you up at, shall we say around eight"

"You never take a no for an answer"- Caroline said.

"Very seldom."- Klaus said confidently-"I will see you tomorrow"

"Yes, I guess"- Caroline said hanging up in the process. 

She took the dress and went to see what it would look like on her. It looked gorgeous. Her assistant had the same to say as she walked in letting her know she should be getting ready for the interview she was doing.

****

A week or so later

And so everything was set for the Masked Ball. Rebekah had come to see how Y/N/Ea and Elijah were doing before she had to whiz away as she was in the organizing committee.

"It will be good."- Rebekah said-"and don't forget your masks. This will be a great night."

Y/N/E was buzzing, telling Rebekah that she will make sure Elijah gets in better mood.

"He has always hated these things"- Rebekah said-"but this is an important cause"

"I have a feeling of a deja-vu"- Y/N/E said and now both Rebekah and Elijah jumped astonishingly thinking she had remembered something.

"No. It's just a saying, isn't it?"-Y/N/E said.

"Yes"- Rebekah muttered and then gave them a few more instructions and left.

Y/N/E got a call from Vicky and she went out of the living room to talk to her. Elijah left to shower and get dressed. 

"Oh, I am excited about the Ball. It will be like watching a theater performance, I am sure."- Y/N/E told Vicky.

"Just dance and have fun."- Vicky said-"Tell me it was Rebekah's idea to choose Phantom of the Opera?"

"Yeah. Watched the film. And, you know, I wish Christine actually chose the monster."- Y/N/E said-"strangely in the night I had a dream it was me and Elijah, but he was a vampire. I don't get where that came from."

"You two went on a masked Ball before. He went as a vampire."- Vicky said.

"And me?"- Y/N/E asked.

"Just a girl. Not much different from Christine from the Phantom"- Vicky said-"But- hey, if you had that dream- maybe something is kicking in? You said you had no dreams?"

"I have, lately. But- it is nothing particular."- Y/N/E said. Elijah now walked in the bedroom letting her know that soon they would have to go so Y/N/E told Vicky that she will let her know how it was the next day.

"Ok. Have fun."- Vicky said and hung up. 

Y/N/E went to get ready. 

By the time they arrived, everyone was already there. It was extraordinary as it looked like a special multimedia event. 

Rebekah went to all of her family to greet them as they were now all complete, looking at Caroline sizing her up. 

"My sister, Rebekah- but since she made a special entrance, I guess she doesn't need special introduction."- Klaus said to Caroline.

"Love the dress"- Rebekah said to Caroline and whizzed away.

"Arrogant much"- Caroline muttered.

Sophie now added-"That was a compliment. Trust me, that meant she likes you- a lot"

Caroline was now introduced to Y/N/E and Elijah by Klaus. 

"Watch your show every day"- Y/N/E said-"you really are sharp"

"Thank you. Y/N/E, was it?"- Caroline said.

"Yes. Y/N/E, that’s me. Feel still quite strange that it is my name.”

"Sorry- way too many people to remember at once. It feels a bit too much"- Caroline admitted.

"Tell me about it. Once I used to know everyone here- well, nearly everyone- but now have to learn who is who myself"- Y/N/E joked a little.

Caroline was told about Y/N/E and her memory loss, and now seeing the way she was free spirited, she immediately took to her.

"Great. Doesn't make me feel like I have come from a galaxy far away and look like an alien"- Caroline said.

Klaus now apologized for interrupting, but he had to whisk Caroline away. 

They were now all asked to participated in the  first dance. Elijah now put his hand out and Y/N/E followed him to the center of the vast room. 

  My eyes adored you Though I never laid a hand on you My eyes adored you Like a million miles away From me you couldn't see How I adored you So close, so close And yet so far away  

In the background they played the videos made from the Phantom of the Opera. Y/N/E looked at Elijah as if she was seeing a ghost. He noticed it and immediately asked her if she was fine. 

"This song..."- she then said.

"What about it?"

"I don't know- but- it is so familiar."

"Are you ok?"- Elijah asked as they danced to the song.

"Yes. I guess I must have heard it the other day when Rebekah played different songs"

Flashback - ten years ago

Elena walked in her apartment and put her favourite CD with mixed songs on.

"My eyes adored you"- she sang along- thinking of Elijah and the night they spent together smiling.

_______

[waywardnerd67]

Long Distance Call

Title: Long Distance Call Summary: (Y/N) has waited weeks for one phone call and when it finally comes it unexpectedly gets cut short. Pairing: Soldier!Castiel x Reader Rating: E - Everyone Warnings: Angst/Fluff Word Count: 973 Squared Filled: Soldier!Cas Bingo Card: @spnaubingo​ A/N: None

Check Out: SPN AU Bingo Masterlist

Pacing the length of their living room couch. Six weeks without any contact with the love of her life was driving (Y/N) crazy. Her arms wrapped around her midsection continuing her pacing while her cell phone sat on the coffee table.

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Nearly dropping the phone when she went to grab it, she saw the overseas number on the screen, “Cas?”

“Hi beautiful. I don’t have long.” His deep, raspy voice sputtered as the connection cut in and out.

Tears fell down her cheeks, “Cas… I need to tell you something…”

“Beautiful, the connection is fading fast. I-I… will… b-”

Deafening silence filled her ears as the phone went dead. Tears not streaming down her cheeks as she stared down at the dark screen. (Y/N)’s chest burned as a sob tore through her escaping through her lips. Her body curled into a ball on the fall in front of the couch.

8 Weeks Later

The military would not tell her anything since Cas’s unit was on a top secret assignment. The stress of not knowing what was going on and not hearing from him was taking its toll on her. Thankfully, it was summertime and she was off for an extended period of time. (Y/N) tried her best to rest and relax, but something deep within her was making her anxious.

Ding-Dong

As she approached the front door, her heart dropped seeing two looming figures. Her hand trembling turned the knob to see the two men in uniform standing there.

“No… No, no, no…” She muttered as tears fell down her face.

“Mrs. Novak, could you please come with us.” One step inside gently grasping her arm to keep her from stumbling backwards.

“Wh-What’s going… where is my husband?” (Y/N) gripped the soldier’s arms desperate for any information.

There was no expression on his face or eyes as he spoke, “That is why you need to come with me.”

(Y/N) starred up into the young man’s eyes then nodded, grabbing her purse. Following them out to the dark SUV, the one who had spoken to her slide beside her in the backseat while the other was in the front passenger seat. A third soldier was driving quickly down their street.

No one spoke as they pulled out onto the highway towards Camp Pendleton. When Cas had taken a promotion, he had worked it out that they would live off base and put down real roots for once. They both loved the house they found in Oceanside and they wanted to start trying to have a family. (Y/N) remember the last conversation they had before he had left for this assignment.

“I promise beautiful, this is the last one. I have enough years in that I can retire and we can finally have the life we’ve both dreamed of.”

She pressed her ear against his chest listening to his steady heartbeat, “I don’t want you to retire if you’re not ready. I know you love the military and your career is important to you.”

Cas lifted her chin, “Nothing is more important than you.”

She wiped away the tears falling down her cheeks as the memory faded. They were cleared to enter the main gate of the base and then proceeded to drive through the barracks. Seeing all the young recruits brought a small smile to her face. Reminded her of when Cas first enlisted right out of high school. Buzzed hair, scrawny body and ambition bursting from him. He had been the third generation to enlist and he was proud of his military heritage.

“Ma’am, we’re here.”

(Y/N) shook her head then looked out to see they were parked in front of the main communication hub for the base. Following the soldiers in, they were ushered to a back room where there were ten people rushing around. Orders were being given as she stepped inside and was led to a small conference room. She recognized Cas’s commanding officer, Colonel Chuck Shirley.

“(Y/N), it’s good to see you again.” He shook her hand then led her to a chair, “We wanted to bring you here to give you an update on Captain Novak.”

She let out a shaky chuckle, “Well I take it he’s still alive since we are meeting here.”

Colonel Shirley nodded with a tense smile, “Yes he is. His base was infiltrated by a band of militia he had been gathering information on. They were held at the base while the militia leader negotiated their demands. Finally, yesterday we were able to take back control and arrest the members of the militia.”

(Y/N) let out the breath she had been holding, “And Cas?”

“Captain Novak played a critical role in everyone coming out of this situation alive. He is being debrief and then will be on the first flight home.” Colonel Shirley smiled then clicked a few buttons on the keyboard in front of him.

“(Y/N)?”

Tears streamed down (Y/N)’s face as her husband’s ruggedly handsome face appeared on the large screen in front of her, “C-Cas!”

Everyone cleared the room for her to have a moment alone with her husband, “Are you alright? Honestly?”

He nodded, “I’m perfectly fine, beautiful. Just ready to come home to you and keep my promise I made to you.”

She smiled then stood up, “We’ll be waiting for you.”

His blue eyes widened, “W-We? You’re…”

She nodded, “Almost twenty weeks now. Next week we can find out what we’re having. Think you’ll be home by then?”

Her vision was blurry from tears of joy as tears fell down Cas’s face, “Nothing will keep me from that appointment. I can’t wait to be home with you again. I love you.”

“I love you too, Cas and I’m proud of you.”

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[rowdy-revenant]

The Beauty of a Beast - part 8

Characters: Lucifer (Novak), Castiel (Novak), Jack Kline (Novak), Charlie (Middleton) Bradbury, Balthazar (Bradbury), Chuck Shurley, Asmodeus, unnamed Queen

(Future) pairing: Gabriel x reader

Words: 1500+

Beta-reader: @nobodys-baby-now​

Warnings: Mentions and depictions of minor character deaths, abandonment, child abuse

Chapter summary: The pasts of Gabriel and his servants are told

[Series masterlist] [General masterlist] [Gabriel masterlist]

Part 8 - Days in the Sun

Kelly Kline didn't live to see her son. All those conversations of raising a child together and she never even got to hold her first born. It broke Lucifer's heart.

Their son was named after Kelly’s father. That was chosen name if the baby was a boy. Jack Kline Novak, Kelly’s last name as Jack’s middle to honour her.

Lucifer did his best to raise his son alone. He used his talent of playing the piano to entertain at parties and events, earning just enough to get by. He even taught little Jack how to play, his son sitting on his lap, little toddler hands pressing the keys at random, creating beautiful musical chaos. It reminded Lucifer of how he and Kelly would sit side by side to play duets.

It was the day when his brother came to visit that Lucifer’s life changed.

Castiel Novak, Lucifer’s younger brother, sharing his blue eyes but with dark hair in contrast to his blonde. He worked as the head chef at the royal palace, a tall and impressive building about an hour’s ride from Lucifer’s village. Lucifer was a little jealous of his younger sibling’s success.

“You could work for the prince too.” Castiel suggested. “He entertains guests often. I could get you a position working for him, playing music at parties.”

“But Jack-”

“Jack could come with you. You can live in your own quarters. Some other servants can help you raise him.” Castiel assured. “When he gets old enough, I'm sure he could get a job of his own too, earn a little more.”

Lucifer looked at his son, sleeping on a mattress on the floor of the room the two shared. Jack deserved better than this. Lucifer accepted the offer, and thanked his brother.

Crowley couldn’t remember his mother. Not in the way that you can’t remember the face of a stranger you met once, or the way you can’t tell if something was a memory or a dream. He just couldn’t remember her.

Fergus knew his father left them before he was born. He knew his mother raised him, but every time he tried to picture her face, it would just become a blur. No face, no voice, no name. He woke up one morning when he was younger, alone. It was like waking from a dream.

Maybe that’s all she was.

The name Crowley seemed foreign on his tongue. Fergus Crowley. It seemed off, like his last name was an alias. But he was always Crowley, right? Your last name doesn’t change at random.

Still, the name Crowley soon earned a reputation. Fergus would shine shoes to earn enough money to get him by. One day, when Crowley was just in his teens, a tailor showed up at his stand. Fergus muttered something under his breath.

“I beg your pardon?” The tailor asked.

Crowley looked up at him, his face growing red. “I said those shoes don’t match your outfit. They’re far too casual.”

The tailor chuckled in amusement. “Perhaps you’re right.” The man stood, handing the boy some money. “Perhaps if you stop by my shop later, you could show me a better pair.”

So Crowley went to the tailor’s. It was a whole new world for him. The tailor saw the boy’s eyes widen at the sight of the fabric, the pins, the thread, and offered him an apprenticeship.

So a new life began. Fergus had an eye for fashion. He could design, make, and mend clothes like nobody else. He soon took over for the tailor when the older man retired.

Crowley never forgot where he came from though. He’d use leftover scraps to repair the clothes of people who couldn’t afford new ones, often for free, though some insisted they give him what little money they could spare.

Fergus Crowley’s career flourished in his village, until one day he had a special request. A letter from the prince (though not directly from the prince, just written by one of his servants by the name of Charles) arrived. It said that a guest at a recent ball had been wearing something Crowley made. The prince Gabriel wanted an outfit too, only better. The opportunity, and the reward, were too much to refuse.

After more and more requests for increasingly intricate outfits, Crowley sold the shop and moved to the palace to work full time as the prince’s personal tailor.

Charlie Middleton and Balthazar Bradbury had known each other since they were children. The two were best friends- and in an arranged marriage. Both loved each other, that was true, but not in the way their parents wanted them to. Neither wanted the marriage, but neither had the courage to refuse it.

Balthazar took his fiance up on a hill to watch the sun set. The two sat side by side as they watched the colours of the sky change.

“So…” Charlie muttered. “Wedding’s soon…”

“Indeed it is,” Balthazar replied. “Mr and Mrs Bradbury…”

They sat in an awkward silence for a bit before Balthazar spoke again, “I don’t want to marry you.”

“What?” Charlie asked.

“I’m sorry! You’re a lovely woman, and my best friend, but- but I can’t see you as anything else but a friend,” Balthazar explained.

“Oh thank god!” Charlie sighed with relief. “I didn’t want to marry you either.”

“You don’t?”

“No! I… I like girls!”

“That’s okay! I like men!” Balthazar replied. “And women. I like both.”

The pair fell into a fit of laughter, glad to have their feelings off their chests and glad the other felt the same.

“So friends?” Charlie asked.

“Friends.” Balthazar agreed. “I don’t think our families will take no for an answer though.”

“Well, we could get married for them, and… be open to other relationships?” Charlie suggested.

Her fiance smiled. “Agreed. Hell, we could even move to a place where nobody knows we’re us and just… live our lives. What do you say?”

“I’m in.”

The Shurleys had worked for the royal family for five generations. They always held high positions in the castle, advising, planning, organizing, and a great deal more.

Charles was three years older than the prince, though the pressure put on him by his family to succeed and continue tradition forced early maturity on the boy.

Gabriel and Charles, though the prince called him Chuck,  grew close. The two would get into trouble together quite a lot. Sneaking into the kitchen to steal sweets, running around in the garden and getting messy, making book forts in the library.

Gabriel’s mother thought it was sweet that her son had a best friend. Gabriel’s father did not. The man was strict, cold and power hungry. Mercy was weak. Friendship was weak. Love was weak. Weakness was unacceptable.

Gabriel was ten when the queen got very, very sick. She spent all day in bed, growing paler and weaker each day. Gabriel never left her side, so by default, Chuck never left his.

“She’ll get better, right?” Gabriel asked his friend with a whisper, looking over at his mother.

Chuck’s words were stuck in his throat. “I don’t know…”

The doors to the queen’s chambers slammed open. “Out,” the king growled, advancing towards the Chuck. The boy quickly nodded and, after one last glance back at Gabriel, he rushed out.

“Asmodeus, he’s just a boy-” Gabriel’s mother feebly protested.

“He’s a servant,” Asmodeus growled. “You hear that boy?” He asked Gabriel.

“But- but he’s my friend!”

“He’s not your friend,” the king spat. “You’re royalty, royalty don’t make “friends” with peasants.”

Gabriel nodded, amber eyes glancing back at the door his friend- his servant left through.

Days passed. The queen’s health got worse.

“Gabriel,” she whispered. “Step closer.”

The prince did as he was asked.

His mother’s skin was white as snow, her voice as faint as a breeze. Shakily, she lifted a bony hand and held out a book to her son. Brown leather with a rose painted on the front and the hand-painted words ‘The Sonnets of Shakespeare’. “This is for you. Read it and think of me.”

“But you’re going to get better!” Gabriel protested. “You can read it to me!”

“I’m sorry, Gabe,” the queen replied. “I’m sorry. I love you.”

“Mother?”

She was silent. Her amber eyes looked at him and saw nothing.

“Mother!”

Asmodeus firmly put his hand on Gabriel’s shoulder. “It’s time to go. Let the servants take care of this.”

“No!” Gabriel screamed. He tried to pull away from his father’s grasp and move to his mother’s bedside. “Let me say goodbye! Let me tell her I love her!”

“It’s too late for that.”

“No it’s n-”

The king struck Gabriel across the face and the prince went silent with a whimper. Gone was anyone who could get in the way of Asmodeus’ rage. “You listen to me, boy. Your mother is dead. She isn’t coming back.”

The blow on his cheek stung, but Gabriel’s heart ached even more. It was broken, and all the love had been drained from it. The prince’s heart became like ice, and the prince became like the king. He didn’t love anymore. Love was weak. Weakness was unacceptable.

~ Murdoch’s tag list - want to be added or removed? Send me an ask! Problem with the tag list? Let me know! ~

All: @a-r-c-h-a-n-g-e-l @ashiewesker @ashtheironbat @baritonechick @crowleysprincess159 @cynda-kiwi @d4rzill4 @fayepummeluff @gabriels-depressed-angel @kristaparadowski @lenawiinchester  @like-gabriel-and-castiel  @madelineannmolder @micachu1331 @oldpaperfan  @sdavid09 @shrimpdrake @tangle-of-ivy @team-barry  @thehowling1234 @thewhiterabbit42 @treitike @tyrex15 @unsink-the-titanic @youre-my-monomania

Supernatural: @gabriels-trix @wanna-see-my-lease

Gabriel: @elven-leaf @hiddles-and-skittles @hp-hogwartsexpress @im-gabriels-bitch @elenawrit @trollhunter94 

TBOAB: @a-michellerae-things @a-vast-african-plain  @jasura @katgirl05 @person-born-winchester @red-bandana-girl @tardisandtiaras

[kellykadesperate]

@robertisbisexual tagged me in a request because @robertssugdens wanted an ‘awkward exes caught under the mistletoe’ fic and of course i ran with it and well, here you go: 

He'd rather been anywhere else right now. You name it and he'd jump at the damn chance because being in this stuffy pub on Christmas Eve watching old people have a final go on the karaoke before closing time, it's fucking depressing.

He's not even supposed to be here, yeah he was coming home for Christmas but he was meant to fly in tomorrow morning and be back in time for Christmas dinner.

Vic's called it a happy accident.

Robert's calling it, 'not paying attention to what you're clicking and agreeing to at three in the morning.'

"Cheer up will ya." Vic's full of beans and Christmas cheer like always and Robert has to stop himself from asking when exactly she's going to grow out of it. "Don't tell me you don't feel a *little happy being back."

And no, he doesn't.

Because everywhere he looks, he's met with a million memories. Every surface in this pub has something attached to it, a smile, a punch thrown, a kiss.

It's utter madness and he can't believe how quickly it can all come back when you give yourself chance to think about it for too long.

It's been nearly ten flipping years since he left and *it ended and he was alone again and yet standing here now is almost like he's back *there again.

He's a disappointment and dad can't handle it anymore and he has to leave.

And he can't do anything about it.

"Not really, no." Robert says honestly. "I would have rather met you in Hotten and had a drink or two." He shrugs, knows that this snowball he's drinking isn't actually that bad but still.

Vic rolls her eyes and then she's shaking her head. "You're unbelievable." She says lightly and Robert's eyes flicker. There's always a softness about his sister that he doesn't deserve.

He's smiling to himself when he hears the door open and Chas' shrilly voice is making him wince.

But then he hears Aaron's and something drops in his stomach.

He's eighteen again and Aaron's this fucked up sixteen year old who hates himself yet likes kissing Robert.

His hands slips down from the cup he's holding and he has to try and keep himself as perfectly still as normal because in his mind he can totally pass as a statue if he tries hard enough.

Only Vic is Vic and she has to intervene. Because yeah, she knew, and everyone else did really. Not about how deep it all got but - "Oh wow, look who it is." She teases and Aaron frowns at her before he's looking directly at Robert.

His eyes are wide, give away all his surprise and Robert is shocked by how readable he is now. When they were kids, Robert didn't know Aaron's mood from one moment to the next but *now it's so clear.

He feels out of place instantly in his long grey coat and suit because well, Aaron's not grown up on that front has he? He's still rocking a hoodie and a jumper and some jeans.

But he's got a beard now and fuck it makes him look older.

"Long time no see." Robert says, voice flat as Aaron shuffles a little.

"Yep." He says, and the room turns hollow.

"You could say that again." Chas says, all sneaky like she used to be and yeah, she knew he was coming.

Aaron clearly didn't. "You - what you doing -"

"Vic." He points at her and she smiles. "Badgered me about coming home for Christmas." He says.

"It was not badgering. Just gentle prodding." Vic demonstrates with her hands and Chas laughs in the background.

"Good to see you." She nods, a smile on her face and he's reminded of how much she actually didn't hate him. He nods at her and she winks before looking at her son and then getting distracted.

"You finally grew a beard then." Robert says and this is so fucking awkward but he tells himself it's better to plough through some small talk and then just fuck off.

Aaron still looks so surprised to see him and Robert can feel him search his face like he's soaking him in. "Uh yeah, it - yeah I did." He says, stilted, rushed at the same time.

Robert nods, hears the Christmas music play on and then excuses himself towards the toilets because it'd be great to breathe.

When he gets there, stands in front of the mirror, he sees Aaron staring back for the first time in years.

He sees Aaron standing behind him telling him that he's sorry for always pushing him away, that he hates himself, that Robert should find someone else.

And Robert is spinning around and catching his arms and saying he can't and that's the problem.

( "I don't want anyone else, I just want you." He said. )

And then Aaron would give this little nod and they'd spend hours in barns kissing the life out of each other over and over again.

Robert gulps hard, remembers them getting caught, remembers the way Aaron tried to deny it because he was *that scared about being gay.

He remembers Aaron being the first one who ripped his heart to shreds.

( "It's okay, if we stick together then it'll be okay." Because Robert had it all worked out, they'd weather the storm, wait it out until they weren't hated by Jack anymore.

"There is no 'us'." Aaron snapped, tears welling in his eyes and fists balled.

"What?" Robert blurred out. "Don't lie, don't do this. We were - we were passed this."

Because Aaron used to kiss him like Robert was giving him air, and then he'd shove him hard against a wall and tell him he didn't mean it.

"You think we'd be what? Boyfriends? Don't be ridiculous." He said, so heavy.

And it managed to sting everywhere.

"But I love you." The words fell out without care and for a second he thought Aaron would say it back but he didn't.

Instead he just started to fucking cry and he was running away. )

To absolutely shreds.

For a second, Robert's that kid getting his heart stamped on again. He's that kid who cried and told himself that he didn't care.

He's that kid who went off the rails and was told to leave and never come back by his own dad.

The door opens and some random walks in and Robert feels embarrassed just standing there looking at himself in the mirror.

He's out before Aaron can invade his thoughts.

::

He's outside, sitting on one of the benches and biting down against the cold. He's wishing he got the keys from Vic now and settled into his room, made himself a coffee and watched the shitty Christmas films until it was late enough.

"Bit cold ain't it?" Robert's hearing, and when he looks up Aaron's standing there with a nervous look on his face.

"It's alright." He lies and Aaron is still just standing there until he's not, until he's even closer to Robert.

"How have you been?" And Robert just scoffs as he looks up at Aaron. "What?"

"We don't have to do this." Robert says, goes to stand but Aaron catches his arm and pulls him back a little.

"I'm just -"

"Don't." Robert says and Aaron looks so sad, so suddenly.

"I'm sorry." Aaron blurts out. "Ten years too late but I am." He says, starts playing with his hands like he is a ball of nerves. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"You did." Robert says, kicks his foot into the sleet and sighs.

"I know that now." Aaron says heavily.

"Now you're what? Out and proud?" He says. "Bet Chas was nice and supportive." He bites and Aaron's eyes turn glassy. "Because dad, he could never look at me the same way again and I risked that, for you, for us."

He's shaking, years and years of anger inside him.

Aaron frowns, bites his lip. "And I hate myself for that." He says shakily. "I *hate myself for -"

Robert winces, and Aaron tries to move himself forward but Robert flinches away.

"You - you used to say, I'd never be able to break your heart." Aaron says after a few minutes, and Robert's got tears in his eyes that he's trying to wipe away.

"You gave it a damn good job though didn't you." Robert says, and for a second he wants to scream and shout and say how he has had this hollowness inside him for years because of how fucked up Aaron left him.

He doesn't though, he just excuses himself and then Aaron's making him turn around again.

"I was so scared." Aaron says, "Back then. What I felt, I shouldn't have, or at least that's what I thought." He's stumbling and Robert still has that feeling inside him, he still wants to catch him.

"I was scared too. But I had you." Robert shrugs. "Or, I thought I did." He says and Aaron comes towards him again. "Aaron, don't torture yourself over this. We were just stupid kids who were in over our heads." He's putting so much distance between them and it kills but he has to.

Aaron frowns. "Don't lie. Don't be me, don't pretend that we didn't fucking - care about each other too much and -" Robert can't hear this, turns to leave and then Aaron's slamming him against the pub door and they're teenagers again.

"Sorry." He says, has a hand on Robert's chest.

"Remember when I chucked Vic's straighteners at ya." Robert blurts out and Aaron smiles. They'd been fighting like cat and dog because they were suckers for the chase, for the thrill of it all.

"Was that before or after I nearly threw you off that bridge?"

It makes them laugh, their breaths colliding in the cold air as they stand so close.

"I tried to find you, Jack wouldn't tell me where you went." Aaron says slowly, shakes his head. "I let you go."

Robert looks away, "It's okay."

"Stop saying that!"

"What do you want me to say? You're my ex and it's been ten years but I'm still in love with ya because you were my first fucking love and you'll always be in here." He presses against his chest and Aaron holds at his face.

"Something like that, yeah." Aaron says nervously. "Because I love you - I always have. And I'm not scared now. I'm not -"

Aaron loves him. Always has.

He looks up and there's mistletoe hanging from the door and Vic and Chas spring out of nowhere and catch them so close.

"Blimey." Chas says, "Didn't take you long then." She smirks and Aaron pulls away.

"Go on, give him a kiss then. He's been waiting for ten years." Vic says, points at Aaron and he's blushing.

"We are under mistletoe." Robert says.

The stars twinkle and everything is so bright and light and Aaron kisses him without fear.

It's so soft, delicate as they remember how the other feels and everything becomes pulled into this gentleness which they cannot even think of trying to escape.

And Chas cheers and maybe Aaron's been as lost as he has, as hollow.

"I love you Aaron Dingle." He says as Vic and Chas disappear.

And Aaron's smile is so bright. "I love you too. Always have done." He whispers, reminds Robert again, and they kiss again, and -

It's been fucking ten years, but this moment here, it makes all those Christmas' without Aaron seem worth it.

"You're sticking around." Aaron pulls at Robert's coat and Robert smiles. "None of this taking it slow bullshit. I -"

"We're different people now Aaron." Robert whispers, "There's no denying that."

Aaron nods slowly. "Still the same boy who fell off Andy's tractor, I promise." He whispers and then he's looking towards a small cottage at the end of the street. "I have a place. If - if you want to -"

Robert nods slowly, feels Aaron take his hand and something inside him turns to absolute jelly.

"Sort of want you to stay here, with me." Aaron says, once the door is shut and Robert is filled with this warmth. "If you - if you're not - I mean -"

It's so cosy, so filled with a lightness that Robert has been looking.

"Think I'll like it here." He says and Aaron's got this massive grin on his face, pulls Robert towards him. "I won't hurt you again, I promise." He's saying seriously, eyes flickering. "Fuck, this is surreal." He says, hands falling over Robert's face. "I didn't think I'd ever get the chance to -"

"Shut up and kiss me Aaron Dingle." Robert says playfully and Aaron fucking pounces and they're kids again, slamming each other into walls and racing up stairs and -

The clock strikes midnight and Aaron's on top of him, panting hard and then falling towards Robert's chest. "Merry Christmas then." He mumbles, fucking exhausted it seems.

And Robert's eyes flicker, feels Aaron, Aaron, in his arms after all these years and he never expected this but -

"Yeah. It is." He knows, closes his eyes and sees a million more moments like this.

And -

(Aaron's in all of them, and so are the fairy lights which dance in the wind outside.)

[shimmershaewrites]

Waltzing's for Dreamers, Chapter 11 (a Walking Dead story, Caryl AU).

Title:  Waltzing's for Dreamers. 

Rating:  M, just to be safe. 

Warnings: adult language, allusions to abuse, some angst. 

Characters/Pairings:  Daryl Dixon, Merle Dixon, Enid, mention of Oscar, mention of Sophia Peletier, past Carol/Daryl, mention of past Merle/Karen, hints of Karen/Tyreese, mention of Axel, mention of Negan (ugh), his wife, Amber, Dwight/Sherry. 

  Behind a cut.  Because this one got away from me.  Hope you don't mind. 

Waltzing’s for Dreamers

    More than six years after Vegas.  Early August. 

      “Pull over,” Merle orders.  “Gotta take a piss.  Probably ain’t the only one.” 

  A glance in the rear-view mirror suggests otherwise—E’s been playing that new game Oscar downloaded to her iPad, Temple-something or other, since the novelty of being chauffeured around in the Impala had worn off ten minutes into their hour's long trip—but Daryl don’t say nothing.  Recognizes his brother’s stall tactics for what they are and flips on his turn signal at the intersection.  Pulls into a gas station with a Texaco sign and a towering James Dean pointing the way and parks.  “You go on.  We’ll just stay here.” 

  “Suit yourself,” Merle shrugs as he unloads his big body from the passenger seat.  “You want something to eat, you’ll get your asses movin’.  ‘Sides,” he slaps the car’s hood, “damn thing’s hotter than hot.” 

  The double meaning of his words makes Daryl grumble.  “You best be buyin’.”  Heaving his own door open, he performs the same courtesy for his niece and the preteen barely even takes her eyes off of the screen in front of her as he nudges her toward the mini-mart’s entrance.  Still enthralled with her game and happily oblivious to the back and forth bitching between him and her jackass father.  “Ever occur to you,” he hisses as the kid passes beneath his brother’s bracing arm and ducks into the air-conditioned tourist trap, wandering a few feet away from them both, “we could be arrested for this?” 

  Merle grin falters slightly.  “Got your panties all in a twist for nothin’, Darylina.  Thought we’d turned over a new leaf, but I can see we still have a ways to go.” 

  Guilt only softens Daryl up so much and the best non-apology he can manage is to keep his mouth shut.  Let the subject drop for the time being.  “Man, just hurry up.” 

  “Fuck, but you’s straight up actin’ like a woman,” Merle mutters as he makes a beeline for the restrooms. 

  “We ain’t here when you come back,” Daryl calls out to him, “we’re in the car.  Waitin’.”  Soon as his brother’s out of sight, he tracks down his niece.  Finally finds her clear across the store.  Standing in front of a red counter and a display case full of fudge that sets his mouth to watering.  Flipping her ponytail over one skinny shoulder, he voices a gruff reminder.  “Know you shouldn’t be sneakin’ off like that.” 

  “I didn’t sneak.  You and Merle were just too busy fighting to pay me any attention.” 

  It still throws him, her calling Merle, well, Merle.  Logically, he knows it shouldn’t when his brother didn’t know shit ‘bout her for the first eight years of her life.  Still.  When it’s all said and done, he’d been in Sophia’s life even less time than the three or so years Merle’s been in Enid’s and he’s still haunted by the memory of that little girl asking if she could call him Daddy.  By his choice to walk out on her and her mama without saying goodbye.  It’s always there, that regret.  It never fuckin’ leaves him, no matter how many times he reminds himself he only done it for their own good.  No matter how many vices he indulges in to try to dull it.  It’s always there.  Just like the wariness the kid staring up at him has never quite managed to shake completely.  Yeah, she might have let them in.  Him and Merle.  But it ain’t escaped Daryl’s notice she keeps one eye on the door, always ready to make her escape should his shithead brother relapse into the fuckin’ mess her mama kept her protected from all those years, and he can’t say he blames her.  Not one bit.  “Weren’t fightin’,” he tells her.  “Not really.  Ain’t seen us really fight.”

  Those big, old soul eyes of hers narrow skeptically. 

  “M’serious,” Daryl insists.  “You ain’t.  Hope you never do.”  Nodding his head at the display case, he unconsciously swipes his tongue over his lips.  “Shit looks good.  Want some?”  He looks up sharply when a cotton-candy sweet voice butts into their conversation. 

  “I can give you and your little girl some samples if you’d like.” 

  “Ain’t my…” 

  “One of each flavor,” the cooing blonde entices.   

  “One of each?”

  Kid asks the question with an overkill of wonder, and Daryl has to bite back a smirk because there ain’t no DNA test needed to tell him the little con artist slipping her arm through his and tugging at the back at his shirt is his brother’s girl.  Naw, she’s a sweet and sour chip off the old block, and he knows for a fact Merle would be beaming at her right now.  Proud as a fuckin’ peacock if he weren’t taking the longest piss in the history of all mankind.  “Dunno,” he says, wincing slightly when the comment earns him a pinch to his side.  Looking back up at the woman, he explains.  “Gotta be gettin’ back on the road soon.  Don’t have time to stick around.” 

  “I can box them up for you.  Won’t take but a minute.” 

  Little E turns up her game, batting her lashes and pouting.  “Please, Daddy.” 

  Choking back a laugh, Daryl gives in.  Goes all in, really.  Those years of pretending with Carol—first as a loving husband, then as a man that was walking away from one big, elaborate sham—coming in handy.  “Alright.  Really do need to get a move on.” 

  They make out like bandits, all three of them.  End up back in that Impala, eating up the miles between Bakersfield and San Francisco before the girl’s mama can send out a search party.  Pull up in Karen’s driveway in the middle of the afternoon to find the woman herself waiting beside an idling U-haul, the concern on her face morphing into a relieved smile when she lays eyes on her daughter.  Then dissolving into a disapproving frown when she sees the kid’s chocolate smudged lips and the nearly empty box of fudge in her hands. 

  “I’d make her ride with you and Patrick, but I’m not sure you can keep both of them alive,” she mutters with a roll of her eyes.  No, ma’am,” she says, plucking the box of sweets from her daughter and pushing them into Merle’s chest.  “I think you’ve had enough, thank you very much.  Go wash your face.  We should have been at the airport an hour ago.  We should have been in Jacksonville with Ty and the team last week.  Got the Patriots in their house in less than a week, but I digress.

  “’Member now why me and you, we never made a real go of it,” Merle tells her with a shake of his head.  “Always been a real buzzkill, Woman.  Life of the fuckin’ party.” 

  Daryl elbows him sharply in the side.  Exchanges the bulging duffel bag in his hands for the box of candy.  “Merle.  Just shut up while you’re ahead.” 

  “Listen to your brother,” Karen advises over her shoulder as she marches up the shrub-lined sidewalk.  Checks to see what’s taking her girl so long.  “Enid!  We still have to go through security.”  

  “What?  Company jet not available?  Ow.  Ouch.  Dammit, Darylina,” he scowls, rubbing his already tender side.   

  “Stop bein’ a jackass.” 

  “Fine.  Somebody gonna tell me who the hell Patrick is?” 

  “Kid’s pet turtle.  ‘Member?  Had him since she was six,” Daryl reminds him as he pops the Impala’s trunk and slides the girl’s back pack over his own shoulder.  “Named it after some cartoon character.  Here,” he says, looping the bag over his brother’s prosthetic when he stands in front of him again.  “She’s gonna want this with her on the plane.” 

  “Sure you won’t come with me, Baby Brother?  Ain’t never gonna remember all this shit.  Don’t know what I was thinkin’.  Girl ain’t gonna care one way or the other if I follow her all the way to Florida.  Ain’t cut out to be no daddy.  Hers or anybody else’s.” 

  Daryl frowns.  “Now who’s actin’ like a woman?”

  “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Karen comments as she rejoins them.  Sizes Merle up.  “You backing out?  Because if you are…” 

  Merle clenches his jaw.  Straightens his shoulders and stands a little taller.  “Ain’t.” 

  She stares at him, like she’s not sure if she can believe him or not, the same way Daryl catches her girl doing sometimes, and he supposes that’s fair.  His brother ain’t really done nothing in the past to earn their trust.  But the sonofabitch is different now.  Daryl knows it even if they don’t, so he comes to the asshole’s defense.  One last time, hoping he don’t make a fool out of him when all is said and done.  “He ain’t backin’ out.” 

  A split second of hesitation and Karen nods.  “Good.  We’ve got a layover in Las Vegas.  Another one in Chicago.  I’m going to call you,” she warns as she walks toward the waiting cab.  “Check on Patrick.” 

  “Hear that?  That’s one stone cold bitch right there,” Merle tells him with a dawning grin.  “Startin’ to ‘member how me and her got along.” 

  Daryl’s brow furrows in confusion and the fog of memories dredged up with the mention of Vegas dissipates.  “You didn’t.” 

“’Xactly.  Made the sex…well, hey there, Darlin’.  Come to see me off?” 

  The eleven-year-old scoffs and snatches her back pack from him, works it over her small shoulders.

  “Enid!  Hurry up!” 

  Daryl chucks her on the chin.  Offers her a tiny smile when she turns her back to his brother. 

  “Bye, Uncle Daryl.” 

  “See you ‘round, Kid.” 

  “Hey,” Merle grouses.  “What ‘bout me?” 

  “Try not to kill Patrick.  ‘Kay, Dad?”  Then she’s off, racing to the cab and her anxious mother.  Grinning that coat hanger grin out the window at the two of them and their stunned expressions, their jaws still dragging the ground as the cab leaves their sight. 

  Daryl’s the first to recover.  He reckons it’s gonna take a while for his brother to come back around.  “Heard the girl.  Best protect that turtle with your fuckin’ life.  Listen.  I, uh.  I gotta get back on the road.  Square things away with Axel and the guys.  Was thinkin’…” 

  Merle, being Merle, is impatient.  Interrupts him.  “Yeah?” 

  “Was thinkin’ you were right.” 

  “Ole Merle’s always right.” 

  Daryl doesn’t even try to refute the bastard’s claim.  Doesn’t have it in him to poke holes in the natural high he’s enjoying.  “Bakersfield.  It ain’t home.” 

  “Georgia on your mind?” Merle drawls.  Winks. 

  “Man, could you just…what the hell’s this?” he asks, when a yellow package hits him square in the chest.  “Ass Kickin’ Beef Jerky?” 

  “Kick your ass right back to Mouse and your girl.” 

  He ducks his head, grips the Impala’s open door until his knuckles turn white.  “’Phia ain’t mine.  Don’t deserve that little girl or her mama.” 

  “Yours in every way that counts, Lil Brother,” Merle says, clapping a hand over his shoulder and giving it a brotherly squeeze.  “And that woman of yours?  You don’t just up and quit lovin’ somebody the way she loved you.  I know.  ‘Cause you ain’t never stopped lovin’ her.  Been tryin’ to fool yourself for a long time, but me?  I ain’t never bought it.” 

  “Yeah?  How come you never said anything, Asshole?” 

  His brother shrugs.  Turns toward the idling truck, but not without a glance back.  “Figured you’d come ‘round.  In your own sweet time the way you always do.” 

  “Things you don’t know.  Ain’t so easy as me makin’ up my mind, admittin’ I still love ‘em.” 

  “Never was.” 

  “Naw.  Wasn’t,” Daryl agrees.  A thought occurs to him then.  Out of the blue, and he pinches the bridge of his nose.  Sighs.  “That asshole Negan ain’t gonna be waitin’ for me, ready to take battin’ practice when I get back is he?  You sure we didn’t steal his car?” he asks.  Watching Merle climb in the U-haul after his bags, settle himself behind the wheel. 

  Merle shakes his head, slides a pair of sunglasses on his nose, and gives him a grin full of nicotine-stained teeth.  “Just borrowed it.  He claims otherwise?  Just ask him how Amber’s doing.” 

  “Amber?” 

  “Cheerleader that came in with her mama last week when they dropped off the Volvo.  Real pretty little piece of jail bait I’m sure his sick wife would just love to meet.” 

  “Dammit, Merle,” Daryl curses.  Disgusted and more than a little bit disappointed in his brother.  “Girl’s a kid.  Not much older than…”  He can’t even say it.  Feels too sick to his stomach to even think of somebody taking advantage of Sophia or Enid like that and he slaps his hand down on the car’s hood.  Swears some more.  “Fuckin’ hell.  Dirty piece of shit.  Girl’s a kid and you’d just let…”

  “Ain’t just lettin’ nobody do nothin’,” Merle is quick to cut him off.  “Prick’s days are numbered, thanks to that weasel Dwight.” 

  “Dwight?  What’s he got to do with...no.  Sherry?” 

  “Is probably filin’ assault charges as we speak, promised to go with the kid to the police station to file her own.” 

  “Wait a minute.”  Daryl’s frown deepens even further.  “Where’d you hear all this?” 

  “Got eyes and ears all over the place, Baby Brother.  All over the place.  That’s why I know.” 

  “What?” 

  “Time for you to go home. Running out of time.” 

  “What do you mean I’m running out of time?  Merle?” 

  “Mean what I mean,” Merle says cryptically.  Shifting the U-haul into gear and maneuvering it around the Impala.  “Daylight’s burnin’.  ’Member what I said.” 

  “Which par…dammit, Merle.”  He leaves, disappearing around the same corner the cab had, and Daryl can only wonder. 

 Running out of time for what?