#I still like this doodle being Laura though.

[pizzascythe]

Wolverine

[mcrdvcks]

Until I Found You

Summary: Living in a small town had it's pluses and minuses. But when an older man and his daughter move in, things start to change, perhaps for the better.

Word Count: 24.3k+

Pairing: Logan (X-Men) x fem!teacher!reader

Notes: this is looong, and believe me, i was surprised when i realized that it ended up being 24,000 words.

this thing is a slow-burn, i was literally screaming at my screen saying 'just kiss already!' then realizing that, in fact, i'm the one who has to make them kiss or confess or do something.

reader has a last name, but other than that, she isn't described. this technically could be considered an AU of logan (2017) where logan survives, so this was written with old man logan in mind.

i would like to turn this into another oneshot series, so don't be afraid to send in any requests! (relating to this or anything else you want to see!)

warnings: none!

The small town you lived in meant a few things, everyone knew everyone, and everyone got in everyone’s business.

A few months ago, an older man and his young daughter moved into town. You weren’t sure exactly how old he was, of course you knew who he was, but even you had to admit, he was attractive. But that’s what everyone thought, you heard the mothers who would pick up their children from school, looking at Logan as he picked up Laura.

It was nice to see a man who picked up his kid, though you’ve never seen Laura’s mother, so perhaps that explains why.

Laura was a quiet and sweet girl, at least that’s what you thought. Apparently, she also had the spirit of a firecracker and got angry easily. And while she’s visited the principal’s office at least 9 times since she’s been here, you still can’t help but see her as a cute little girl who’s been through something traumatic, whatever it was.

You were standing outside with your class in the afternoon, waiting until all the students were picked up. Laura was in another teacher’s class at the end of the day, your coworker Emma Zhou. You and Emma stood next to each other, your classes mingling as they waited for their parents to pick them up.

Emma leaned close to you, “this is my favorite part of the day, you know.”

“Yeah, I think it’s everyone’s favorite part of the day. We get to go home after this.” You replied.

“It used to be that, but now…” Emma trailed off as you glanced over at her, “there aren’t a lot of people in this town who are good looking. But he’s a great new addition.”

You hummed noncommittally, so what if Logan was good-looking? It wasn't like you spent your time ogling him. He was just another parent in the sea of them, a bit rougher around the edges maybe, but nothing that special. Emma shot you a knowing look.

"Come on, you’ve seen him, right? That scruffy beard, those eyes," Emma said, nudging you with her elbow. "He’s like one of those rugged cowboys from the old Westerns."

"You sound like you're about to swoon," you teased, trying to keep the conversation light. You didn't want to admit you might have noticed the way his eyes softened when he looked at Laura or the way he seemed to carry the weight of the world on his shoulders.

"Well, can you blame me?" Emma shot back with a grin. "Small town like ours, and a guy like that shows up? It's bound to turn some heads."

You knew that much. All the women, even those who were married, always ogled him, but he either didn’t mind or didn’t care. His salt and pepper hair, the thick beard—he was practically a wet dream for women everywhere.

Emma nudged you again, eyes gleaming with mischief. "What, you’re not even the least bit curious about him?"

"I mean, sure, he's... attractive, but I'm not about to join the fan club," you said, shrugging it off, though you could feel heat creeping up your neck. You kept your focus on the kids in front of you, especially Laura, who sat quietly on the steps, doodling in her notebook like she always did while waiting for her dad.

Emma smirked, clearly not buying your indifference. "Yeah, right. I see the way you look over there sometimes."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "You're seeing things."

Just then, you noticed Logan’s truck pull into the school parking lot. He stepped out, running a hand through his hair as he made his way over to the crowd of parents. Laura immediately perked up, her quiet demeanor shifting just a little, and she started gathering her things without a word.

"Speak of the devil," Emma murmured, but you ignored her, watching as Logan approached, his usual scowl in place, though it softened when his eyes landed on his daughter.

He gave a brief nod in your direction as he came closer. "Afternoon."

"Hey," you replied, casually. You weren’t about to give Emma the satisfaction of seeing you flustered.

Laura stood up, slinging her backpack over her shoulder as she walked over to him. She paused in front of you, though, glancing up with those big, serious eyes of hers.

"Bye, Ms. Aberra," she said, her voice quiet but steady with a hint of her accent.

You smiled. "See you tomorrow, Laura."

She gave a small nod before taking Logan’s hand. He didn’t say much else, just a simple ‘thanks’ before turning to leave with Laura in tow. You watched them walk away for a moment longer than necessary, noticing the slight limp in his step that he tried to hide.

"Y/N," Emma sing-songed, breaking you out of your thoughts. "Admit it, you’ve got a little thing for him, don't you?"

You rolled your eyes. "You really need a new hobby."

Emma laughed, but before she could press any further, her attention shifted to another parent picking up their kid, and you were grateful for the distraction. Still, you couldn’t help but wonder about Logan and Laura, what their story was. Everyone in town seemed to have their theories—some more ridiculous than others—but you’d always figured it wasn’t your place to pry.

As the crowd of students and parents thinned out, you found yourself thinking about Logan again. His gruff exterior didn’t bother you—it reminded you of those old Clint Eastwood characters, tough but with something vulnerable underneath. Maybe it was the way he looked at Laura, so protective but with a softness that made you wonder what kind of man he really was when he let his guard down.

Emma’s voice pulled you back to the present. "So, what’s your plan for the evening?"

You shrugged. "Probably just grading papers. Maybe catching up on some Netflix. You?"

"Trying to figure out how to run into Logan at the grocery store," she joked, though you wouldn’t have been surprised if she wasn’t kidding.

You chuckled, shaking your head. "Good luck with that."

As you both said your goodbyes and headed to your cars, you couldn’t help but glance over at Logan’s truck one more time. He was already driving off, Laura in the passenger seat, her head leaning against the window.

You let out a small sigh and got in your car, starting the engine. You weren’t sure what it was about him, but there was something there. Maybe Emma wasn’t entirely wrong.

Not that you’d ever admit that to her.

---

Much to your dismay, you had to go to the store once you were already clad in your loungewear. You wanted to make pasta, only to remember you forgot to get milk after work.

So now, here you were at the small local grocery store grabbing milk and a pint of ice cream for your troubles. The store was quiet at this hour, a few other people milling about but otherwise uneventful. You grabbed a basket and made a beeline for the dairy section, trying to get in and out as quickly as possible. Loungewear was great for a lazy evening at home, but not exactly your first choice for public appearances.

Once you made it to the frozen section, you looked at the pints of ice cream, specifically looking for one of your favorites, Ben and Jerry’s s’mores. “Fuck.” You muttered, seeing a pint of cookie dough in the spot of the s’mores.

You angrily grabbed the cookie dough ice cream to look behind it, only to find a chunky monkey pint. With a huff, you looked at the pint of ice cream, mentally cursing your luck. Just as you were about to put it back onto the shelf, a deep voice spoke from beside you.

"Didn't figure you for a chunky monkey type."

Startled, you looked up and found Logan standing there, one eyebrow raised, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He was holding a six-pack of beer and a carton of eggs in one hand, the other casually resting in the pocket of his jeans.

You blinked, thrown off by the sudden appearance. "What? Oh, no, I was just... I was looking for s'mores," you explained awkwardly, holding up the ice cream like it was evidence.

He nodded, his smirk deepening a little as he glanced at the shelves. "Guess they’re out, huh?"

"Yeah, my luck tonight," you muttered, a little embarrassed to be caught standing here obsessing over ice cream in your loungewear. Not exactly how you wanted to run into the guy you were definitely not crushing on. How could you? He was the Wolverine, around 200 years old, and looked to be the age of your father. Well, if your father was still alive. Or if you ever got to know him.

Logan glanced at the shelf again and shrugged. "S'mores is overrated anyway."

You quirked an eyebrow at him, momentarily forgetting your embarrassment. "Oh really? What’s your go-to then, Mr. Anti-S'mores?"

He smirked, that same low, gravelly voice coming through as he responded. "Not much of an ice cream guy, but if I had to choose… probably plain vanilla. Simple. Not too sweet."

You couldn't help the chuckle that escaped you. "Of course you'd go for the most basic flavor."

His eyebrow twitched slightly at that, and you could see the playful glint in his eyes. "Sometimes simple’s the best option."

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a pint of vanilla. "Well, I guess I'll take your advice tonight, then. Not like I have much of a choice."

He gave you a brief nod, and for a moment, it seemed like the conversation would end there, but then Logan shifted slightly, his weight on one leg, clearly trying to mask the limp you'd noticed earlier. You weren’t sure if it was from the adamantium or something else, but it definitely wasn’t healing like it should. You found yourself biting your lip, wanting to ask but knowing better.

Instead, you went for something safer. "Laura’s doing well in class, by the way. She’s sharp. A little stubborn, but sharp."

He glanced down at you, a flicker of pride crossing his face. "Yeah, she’s a tough one." His expression softened as he added, "She doesn’t talk about it, but I know she likes you. Keeps her distance with most people."

Your heart fluttered a little at that. Laura was a bit of a mystery, rarely engaging much with the other teachers or students, so hearing that she’d let her guard down even a little with you meant more than you’d expected. "Well, she’s a good kid. I try not to push her too much."

Logan nodded, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer than you expected, like he was sizing you up in that quiet, brooding way of his. It made you feel both exposed and… oddly seen.

"Anyway," you said, breaking the silence, "I’ll let you get back to your shopping. I’m sure you’ve got more important things to do than stand around talking about ice cream."

He gave a small grunt that might’ve been a laugh, but it was so subtle you couldn’t be sure. "Yeah. See you around, Ms. Aberra."

"Y/N," you corrected, feeling a little awkward. "You can just call me Y/N."

He hesitated for a split second before nodding. "Y/N, then."

You gave him a small smile, feeling a strange warmth at the way your name sounded in his deep voice. He gave a nod before turning to leave, but as he walked away, you couldn’t help but steal a glance at his retreating form. There was something about him—something rough, broken, but undeniably captivating.

---

The next morning, you pulled into the school parking lot, iced coffee in hand, still replaying your chance encounter with Logan at the grocery store. Why did it have to be the one night you went out in loungewear? If Emma ever found out, you'd never hear the end of it. You mentally braced yourself as you walked toward the building, determined to shake off any lingering thoughts about last night.

As you entered the teacher's lounge to drop off your things, Emma was already there, nursing her own cup of coffee. She spotted you immediately and raised an eyebrow.

"You look a little too chipper for a Wednesday," she teased.

You shrugged, trying to act casual. "Just happy to be halfway through the week."

"Uh-huh," she said, not quite convinced. "You didn't run into anyone interesting last night, did you?"

Your heart skipped a beat. How does she know?

"Like who?" you asked, trying to play dumb, but Emma's smirk told you she wasn't buying it.

"Oh, I don’t know... maybe a certain rugged cowboy-looking guy with a truck?" she said, her grin widening.

You groaned. "Seriously, do you have a sixth sense or something?"

"I knew it!" Emma practically squealed. "You did run into Logan, didn’t you? Come on, spill!"

You rolled your eyes and took a seat at the table. "It was nothing. We just ran into each other in the frozen section, talked for, like, two seconds. That’s it."

"Uh-huh, and?" Emma leaned forward, eager for details.

"And nothing. We talked about ice cream. He said s'mores was overrated."

Emma let out a dramatic gasp. "Overrated? Now, I know he's not perfect."

You chuckled despite yourself. "Yeah, well, that's the most thrilling part of my story, so feel free to be disappointed."

Emma shook her head, still grinning. "Oh, I'm not disappointed at all. This is just the beginning."

"There's nothing to begin, Emma," you said, exasperated. "He's just another parent."

"Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that," she said with a wink before heading out to her classroom. You couldn't help but roll your eyes again as you followed her out into the hallway.

---

The morning passed uneventfully, but Laura had been quieter than usual in your class. Not that she was typically the most talkative kid, but today she seemed more distant, even from you. She’d finished her assignments early, as usual, but spent most of the class staring out the window instead of doodling in her notebook.

During lunch, you decided to check in with her. You found her sitting by herself outside, picking at the sandwich Logan had packed for her. You approached cautiously, not wanting to startle her.

"Hey, Laura," you greeted, taking a seat on the bench next to her. "Everything okay?"

She glanced at you, her expression as unreadable as always, before giving a slight shrug. "Yeah."

You studied her for a moment, noticing the way she kept her gaze low, avoiding eye contact more than usual. Something was definitely off. You knew better than to push too hard, but you also didn't want her to bottle everything up.

"Well, you know if you ever want to talk, I’m here," you said gently.

She gave another shrug, but this time, her eyes flickered up to meet yours briefly. "I know."

You nodded, letting the silence settle between you. Laura wasn’t one for big emotional outbursts—at least not around you—but you had a feeling she'd talk when she was ready.

"By the way," you said, changing the subject to lighten the mood, "your dad said he don’t like s'mores ice cream. Is that true, or is he just weird?"

Laura looked up at you, her lips twitching slightly like she was trying not to smile. "I like s'mores."

"Thought so," you replied with a smirk. "Well, I’m officially questioning all of your dad's taste now."

Laura didn’t laugh, but her expression softened a little, and she took another bite of her sandwich. It wasn’t much, but it felt like progress. You let her finish eating in peace, feeling a little more at ease knowing that you’d at least gotten her to relax.

---

The afternoon flew by, and soon enough, the end-of-day pickup routine was in full swing. You and Emma stood outside again, watching the usual parade of parents and cars. Logan’s truck was easy to spot as it pulled up to the curb. You tried to act like you weren’t paying attention, but of course, Emma caught you glancing over.

"Still nothing, huh?" she teased under her breath.

"Shut up," you muttered, doing your best to seem disinterested.

Logan stepped out of the truck, his usual stoic expression in place as he made his way toward the school. Laura was already waiting, standing near the steps with her backpack slung over her shoulder. She saw him and walked over without hesitation, but before they left, she turned back to you.

"Bye, Ms. Aberra," she said, her voice a little softer than usual.

"See you tomorrow, Laura," you replied with a smile.

Logan gave you a nod as they walked past, and you couldn’t help but notice the slight limp in his step again. It was subtle, but there. Your curiosity piqued, but you pushed it down, reminding yourself it wasn’t your place to pry.

Emma, however, was still watching you closely. "You’re so not fooling anyone."

You shot her a look. "Seriously, get a hobby."

Emma just grinned, clearly enjoying this way too much. "Oh, this is my hobby, Y/N. And I’m going to enjoy every minute of it."

As you both stood there, watching the last of the kids get picked up, you couldn’t help but glance over at Logan’s truck one more time as it drove away. Emma’s teasing was getting on your nerves, but there was a part of you that couldn’t completely dismiss what she was saying.

Maybe you were a little curious. Just a little. But you weren’t about to admit that to anyone—not even yourself.

---

Over the weekend you decided it was time to get an oil change. You weren’t going to go to ‘Mavin’s Oil Change’, not after that happened. Which is why for the past few years you’ve been doing it yourself.

It wasn’t difficult, and it was a lot cheaper, both wins in your book.

You walked around the hardware store, glancing at the shelves as you carried a new oil drain pan. You paused in front of the rows of motor oil, scanning the labels. Conventional had always worked fine for you, but maybe this time you'd splurge on the synthetic blend. It wasn't a huge decision, but it felt like a small act of treating yourself, in a way.

You were debating the pros and cons of the oil options when you heard the sound of someone walking up behind you.

"Didn’t peg you for the kind to do your own oil changes."

You turned your head and were met with Logan’s familiar gravelly voice. There he was again—of all places, he’d found you here in the auto section of the hardware store.

"Yeah, well, it's cheaper this way," you replied with a casual shrug, hoping to mask the slight surprise in your voice. You gestured to the oil in front of you. "What about you? Conventional or synthetic blend?"

Logan glanced at the shelf, then back at you. "Conventional. Gets the job done."

"Figures." You grinned a little, grabbing the conventional oil off the shelf. "Guess I’ll stick with what I know too, then."

He raised an eyebrow at you, but there was a hint of amusement behind his usual stoic demeanor. "Figured you’d be one to overthink it. Synthetic’s not all it’s cracked up to be."

You chuckled. "I’ll take your word for it, Mr. Oil Expert."

He grunted in response, grabbing something off the shelf for himself. For a moment, you both stood there, surrounded by tools and motor oil, neither of you saying much. It was kind of nice—quiet, comfortable in a way you wouldn’t have expected.

You shifted, holding the oil pan in your hands. "So, is Laura doing anything fun this weekend?"

Logan glanced at you, his face softening slightly at the mention of his daughter. "Not much. She likes to keep busy, but… this town ain’t exactly got a lot going on."

"True," you nodded, biting your lip as you tried to think of something. "She could come by and help me out with my garden, if she’s interested. I know she likes plants."

Logan looked at you, a little longer than usual, and you wondered if you’d crossed some kind of line offering something so personal. But then he nodded. "She’d probably like that."

"Cool," you said, feeling oddly relieved that you hadn’t messed up. "Let me know if she wants to. I could use an extra set of hands."

He gave a small nod, but his eyes lingered on you again for a second before he turned his attention back to the shelf. There was that same weight to his gaze, like he was always sizing things up, figuring people out.

"You know," you said, breaking the silence, "I’m starting to think you’re stalking me. First the grocery store, now here. Should I be worried?"

Logan snorted, shaking his head. "Pretty sure it’s the other way around."

You raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended. "Excuse me? If anything, I’m just a simple schoolteacher who likes ice cream and doing her own oil changes. Hardly the stalking type."

"Sure," he replied, the corner of his mouth twitching just slightly into what could almost be considered a smile.

You felt your own lips tugging into a grin, and for a moment, it felt easier. Logan wasn’t always the easiest person to talk to, but something about these small, random moments with him made you feel more at ease than you expected.

"Well, good luck with your oil change," he said, turning to head down another aisle. "Maybe see you around."

"Yeah, see you around," you replied, watching him walk away before you continued shopping, a strange warmth lingering in your chest.

As you walked toward the checkout, you couldn’t help but think back on how natural it felt, just talking to him. There wasn’t any awkwardness or forced conversation—just two people running into each other at the hardware store. Nothing to overthink. Except, maybe, the fact that you were starting to like these encounters more than you’d like to admit.

---

Logan blew out a breath of his cigar smoke. Laura said she didn’t like it when he smoked inside so he started doing it outside on the porch.

A small added bonus was seeing you, a few houses down, across the street, currently underneath your car getting the oil to drain.

The door opened and shut behind him as Laura stepped out, “ella te gusta,” she said softly.

He let out a huff, “kid, I don’t know how many times I have to tell you, but I don’t know Spanish.”

Laura let out her own huff, sitting down next to Logan’s chair with her sketchbook, flipping it open. She didn’t say anything for a while, just started sketching in that intense, quiet way she had. Logan leaned back, puffing on his cigar, watching the smoke curl up into the air.

He caught himself glancing back across the street, where you were still working under your car. Laura's earlier comment lingered in his mind, even if he pretended not to know what it meant.

After a few minutes of silence, Laura looked up from her drawing. “You should go help her.”

Logan snorted, taking another puff of his cigar. “She’s fine. Knows what she’s doin’.”

Laura raised an eyebrow at him, her expression skeptical. “You’re always saying people shouldn’t be doin’ stuff like that alone. What if something happens?”

“Yeah, but she’s not helpless,” he grunted, though there was something in his tone that sounded like he was trying to convince himself more than her.

Laura shrugged and went back to her sketch. “Still think you should.”

Logan glanced at her, then back at you. You were sliding out from under the car, wiping your hands on your jeans, looking like you’d handled it just fine. He grunted again, though this time it was more to himself.

“What are you drawing?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

Laura held up her sketchbook, showing him a detailed drawing of a plant—a vine with thorns twisting around a branch. It reminded him of your garden, something about the way the plants seemed to grow wild but still had a certain beauty to them.

“That for Ms. Aberra?” Logan asked, the name slipping out before he could stop it. He tried to keep his tone casual, but Laura shot him a knowing look.

“Maybe.” She shrugged, but there was a smirk playing on her lips. “She likes plants. Thought she’d like this.”

Logan just nodded, staying quiet. He wasn’t about to get into a conversation with an eleven-year-old about why he’d noticed things about your garden or how you seemed to have a way with plants. That wasn’t his style.

“Why don’t you go show her?” Logan suggested, nodding toward you as you gathered up your tools.

Laura seemed to think about it for a second, then shook her head. “Maybe later. She’s busy.”

Logan raised an eyebrow at her but didn’t push it. He knew better than to try and make Laura do something if she wasn’t in the mood. The kid had a stubborn streak a mile wide. Though he supposes it was his fault.

A teenage girl who was walking a dog, a tan pit bull, stopped in front of your driveway, the dog happily wagging its tail as it patiently waited for you to say hello.

You were still wiping the oil off your hands when you noticed the pair. "Hey, there.” You smiled as you crouched down to greet Juno, who leaned eagerly into your hand, her tail wagging excitedly. "How are you, Juno?" you cooed, giving the pit bull a good scratch behind the ears.

The teenage girl holding the leash smiled politely. “She’s been dying to see you again,” she said, giving the leash a little slack so the dog could get closer.

"Well, I’m always happy to see her." You grinned as the dog nudged your leg, clearly wanting more attention. "Been a busy evening?”

The girl shrugged. “Yeah, but Juno here makes it better. You know how it is.”

You nodded. "Definitely. Plants are my version of Juno. Or baking, it’s hard to decide.”

The girl chuckled lightly before glancing at the car behind you. “Doing your own oil change?”

"Yep," you said, standing up and wiping your hands again on the rag. "Easier and cheaper than going to a shop."

She raised an eyebrow. "Impressive. I wouldn’t even know where to start."

“You’d be surprised how easy it is. YouTube tutorials, mostly,” you said, shrugging as you wiped your hands on the rag.

The girl smiled. "I might have to try that next time. If I don’t mess up my car in the process.”

You laughed. "That’s what the tutorials are for. But yeah, it’s not too bad. You’d get the hang of it."

As you chatted with the girl for a bit longer, Juno continued to happily soak up the attention. You scratched behind her ears one more time before standing up straight. “Well, good luck with the rest of your walk. Always nice seeing you two.”

“Same here,” the girl replied, tugging gently on Juno’s leash. “C’mon, girl. Let’s get home.”

You waved as they continued down the street, Juno looking back at you with her tail wagging. With a satisfied sigh, you turned back to finish cleaning up, putting away the oil pan and bottles of motor oil.

Across the street, Logan puffed his cigar, watching as you gathered your tools and wiped your hands one more time. Laura had gone back to her sketching, though every now and then she’d glance up at him with that same look.

“She’s done now,” Laura said after a moment, still sketching.

“I can see that,” Logan grumbled, tapping ash off the end of his cigar.

“Still think you should go help,” she added, not even bothering to look up this time.

Logan huffed, staring at you as you double-checked your work and began packing up. He didn’t need to help—you were obviously handling everything just fine. But still, there was something about the way you worked so methodically, so determined. You’d done it all yourself, like you didn’t need anyone’s help. He couldn’t quite shake the feeling, though, that maybe he wanted to offer it anyway.

“Kid, you sure know how to push buttons,” he muttered under his breath.

Laura just smirked, flipping another page in her sketchbook.

Logan grumbled to himself for a moment longer before standing up from his chair, tapping out the last of his cigar in the ashtray. “Stay here.”

He walked across the street toward your driveway, hands in his jacket pockets, his eyes set on you as you knelt by the toolbox, sorting through the remaining tools.

“You done already?” he called out, making his presence known.

You glanced up, not expecting to see him again so soon. “Yeah, just finished up,” you replied, standing up and wiping your hands on the rag again. “What about you? Something break down?”

“Nah, just figured I’d see if you needed any help,” he said, his tone casual, though you could tell it wasn’t exactly his style to offer assistance without a reason.

You raised an eyebrow, smiling a little. “You offering to help after the job’s already done?”

"Guess I am," Logan replied with a hint of a smirk, his eyes not quite meeting yours.

You couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, it's the thought that counts, I suppose. Next time, I’ll be sure to save the hardest part for you."

"Yeah, you do that," he said, his voice gruff but not unfriendly. He shifted his weight slightly, glancing over at the now-finished oil change. "You do this kind of thing often? Or just the oil changes?"

"Mostly just the oil changes," you admitted, as you leaned in closer like you were telling a secret. “I went on a few dates with Mavin’s son the first few months I was here and didn’t go over well. Now he overcharges me.” You held up your hands, “but if it’s something complicated, I promise I drive 30 minutes to the city to get it checked out.”

Logan's eyes flickered with interest, the corners of his mouth twitching into something resembling a smile. "That right? Well, can't say I'm surprised. Mavin's a bit of a jerk."

You chuckled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yeah, he wasn't thrilled about me ghosting his son, that's for sure. But hey, I learned how to change my own oil, so I guess something good came out of it."

Logan grunted in agreement, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He didn't say much after that, his eyes lingering on you as if he were trying to piece together something that didn't quite fit. You had a feeling he wasn't used to people like you—people who seemed to find their way into his life, one way or another.

"Well," you said, breaking the silence, "thanks for the offer, even if the job’s already done." You smiled, a little uncertain about what to do next. "Guess I'll see you around."

He nodded, but didn't make a move to leave. "Laura likes you, you know."

That caught you off guard. "Oh," you replied, a bit flustered. "Well, I like her too. She's a good kid. Smart, but... you already know that."

"Yeah," Logan muttered, his voice softer than usual. "She doesn’t open up to many people. But you... you’re different."

You weren't sure how to respond to that, so you just nodded, feeling an unexpected warmth spread through your chest. "I’m glad she feels comfortable around me. She’s been through a lot."

Logan's eyes darkened slightly, a shadow passing over his features. "More than most," he agreed, his voice rough with something that sounded a lot like guilt.

You wanted to reach out, to say something that might make him feel better, but words failed you. So instead, you just stood there, the silence stretching between you, not awkward but charged with something unspoken.

"Anyway," Logan said, clearing his throat as if to shake off the heavy moment. "If you ever need help with the car, you know where to find me. Or Laura."

You smiled, feeling that warmth again. "I’ll keep that in mind. And if you two ever need help with, I don’t know, math homework or... anything else, you know where to find me."

He nodded, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips. "Noted."

You watched as he turned to leave, feeling a strange mix of relief and disappointment. As he walked back toward his house, you couldn't help but feel that maybe, just maybe, this was the start of something more than just friendly encounters at the store.

---

During lunch, you sat in your classroom, enjoying 30 minutes of peace and quiet before the kids came back into the room. The soft hum of the heater filled the space, making the room feel warmer than usual as you flipped through the stack of quizzes you needed to grade. The formulas and diagrams were a blur as your mind drifted back to the weekend, specifically to Logan.

The way he’d offered to help with your oil change, the quiet moments that had followed—it was so unlike him. Or maybe, you realized, you just didn’t know him well enough yet. Either way, something about it had left you feeling... something.

A soft knock on the doorframe pulled you from your thoughts. You looked up to see Emma standing in the doorway, that cheeky grin on her face.

“So,” she started, stepping inside your classroom. “I hear you’re making friends with a certain someone across the street.”

You rolled your eyes, setting down the quiz you’d been half-grading. “I’m not ‘making friends.’ We just happen to run into each other.”

Emma raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms. “Mhm. Sure. Totally normal for him to come help with your oil change, right?”

"My God, how do you know?" you asked, eyes widening in disbelief as you sat back in your chair.

Emma smirked, leaning against the doorway like she had all the time in the world. "Small town. You know how people talk." She paused, eyes gleaming with amusement. "Besides, you’re not exactly subtle. Logan? The gruff guy across the street? It’s hard to miss that you two have been... running into each other more than usual."

You sighed, rubbing your temple. "It’s not like that. He just offered to help with my car, and Laura—"

Emma’s grin widened. "Ah, Laura. That’s the key, isn’t it? I’ve seen how she looks at you. That kid doesn’t warm up to just anyone. She’s a little... prickly, but with you? She’s different."

"She’s a good kid," you said, trying to deflect. "She’s been through a lot, you know? I just think she needs someone to talk to. Someone who’s not... intimidating."

"Sure, sure," Emma teased, walking further into the room and sitting on the edge of one of the desks. "But you can’t tell me there isn’t something more going on between you and Logan. I mean, come on. He doesn’t exactly strike me as the ‘friendly neighbor’ type. More like ‘leave me alone or I’ll stab you with my claws’ type."

You chuckled despite yourself. "Okay, yeah, he’s not exactly Mr. Rogers. But it’s not like we’re... you know, it’s just—"

"Flirting?" Emma offered with a raised eyebrow.

"Friendly," you corrected quickly, though the warmth in your cheeks betrayed you. "It’s just friendly. He’s Laura’s dad, and we’ve talked a few times, but that’s it."

Emma gave you a knowing look. "Uh-huh. Sure. And I’m the Queen of England."

You groaned, pushing your quizzes aside. "Why are you so obsessed with this?"

"Because," Emma said with a shrug, "it’s about time you had a little fun in this town. You spend all your time either at school or working on that garden of yours. You deserve to have a life outside of grading papers and pulling weeds."

"I have a life," you protested.

Emma raised an eyebrow. "Really? And when was the last time you went on a date?"

You opened your mouth to reply, but quickly closed it, realizing you didn’t have a good answer. "Okay, fine," you admitted, "it’s been a while. But that doesn’t mean—"

"Exactly my point," Emma interrupted, flashing a triumphant grin. "Look, I’m not saying you have to marry the guy. But Logan? He’s clearly interested. And I think you are too."

"Okay… even if I was interested, I’m pretty sure a guy like that doesn’t have dating or relationships on his mind. Especially with someone like me." You leaned back in your chair, feeling a mix of frustration and doubt.

Emma gave you a skeptical look, shaking her head. "Someone like you? Come on, Y/N. Don’t sell yourself short. You’re smart, funny, and clearly, Logan thinks you’re worth his time. He’s not just helping anyone with an oil change, believe me."

You sighed, crossing your arms. "It’s not that simple. You know what he’s been through. And Laura... she’s been through so much already. I’m not about to mess with their lives."

Emma smirked, tapping her fingers on the desk. "Mess with their lives? Or make their lives better? Laura clearly likes you, Y/N. She’s practically glued to your side when you’re around. And Logan? He’s different with you. I see it."

You frowned, picking up a pen and twirling it between your fingers. "Laura’s nice to me, yeah. But that doesn’t mean anything. She’s indifferent to most of the other teachers, and she barely talks in class. I don’t even know if she likes me, or if it’s just... I don’t know."

"She doesn’t warm up to just anyone," Emma pointed out. "You’re different. She looks at you like she trusts you, and Logan trusts you too, whether he shows it or not. That’s not something that happens often with them. They’re... well, guarded, for obvious reasons."

You were quiet for a moment, thinking about Laura. It was true—she was quiet, distant with others, but with you? There was something different. She’d even started staying after class sometimes, just sitting there while you graded papers or prepped for the next lesson. And Logan? He was always nearby, watching, but never intruding.

Still, the idea of anything happening between you and Logan felt... complicated. "Even if he did trust me, it’s not like he’s the type to be thinking about relationships. The man’s got enough on his plate. And me? I’ve got work, and... I’m not exactly relationship material."

Emma laughed, shaking her head. "Please, Y/N. If anyone deserves a chance at something real, it’s you. You’ve spent so long taking care of everyone else—your students, your job. Maybe it’s time to let someone take care of you for a change."

You looked at her, skeptical. "You think Logan is the type to 'take care of' someone?"

She smirked. "He already is. He’s just doing it in his own way. And trust me, the way he looks at you? There’s more there than you realize. You just have to stop overthinking it."

Before you could respond, the bell rang, signaling the end of lunch. Emma stood up, giving you one last knowing smile before heading for the door. "Just think about it, Y/N. Sometimes, the best things happen when you least expect them."

You watched her go, your mind still swirling with doubt and a tiny sliver of hope. Could there really be something more between you and Logan? Or was it just your imagination?

As your students started filing back into the room, you pushed the thought aside, focusing instead on the rest of the day. But even as you taught your lessons and graded papers, Logan lingered in the back of your mind.

---

Later that evening, you found yourself in the garden, pulling weeds and trying to clear your head. The sun was starting to set, casting a warm orange glow over the small town. You liked this time of day—the quiet, the calm.

Just as you were settling into the rhythm of pulling weeds, you heard footsteps behind you. Turning around, you saw Logan standing there, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his expression as unreadable as ever.

"Need any help?" he asked, his gruff voice breaking the silence.

You blinked, caught off guard. "Uh, with the garden? I’m just pulling weeds."

He shrugged, stepping closer. "Doesn’t hurt to have an extra set of hands."

You smiled, feeling a bit awkward but oddly touched by the offer. "Sure, if you’re up for it."

Logan crouched down next to you, pulling at the weeds without saying much. The two of you worked in silence for a few minutes, the only sound being the rustling of plants and the distant hum of traffic.

Eventually, you spoke up, trying to break the tension. "So... Laura’s been doing well in class. She’s quiet, but I think she’s starting to come out of her shell a bit."

Logan glanced at you, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Yeah? That’s good to hear. She doesn’t talk much at home either."

"She’s a smart kid," you added, pulling another weed. "But I think... she could use someone to talk to. Someone she feels safe with."

Logan was quiet for a moment, then nodded. "She’s been through a lot. Trust doesn’t come easy for her."

You hesitated, then asked, "What about you? Do you feel safe here?"

He looked at you, his expression softening just a little. "Safer than I’ve felt in a long time."

That simple admission hit you harder than you expected. Logan, this gruff, guarded man, was letting his walls down, even just a little. It made your heart ache in a way you hadn’t anticipated.

"That’s good," you said quietly, your eyes meeting his. "I’m glad."

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The quiet between you felt heavy but not uncomfortable. Logan’s presence was grounding, solid in a way that made you feel... safe too.

Finally, he broke the silence. "I appreciate what you’ve done for Laura. She doesn’t trust many people, but with you... it’s different."

You shrugged, trying to downplay it. "I’m just doing my job. She’s a good kid, like I said."

Logan gave a low chuckle, shaking his head. "It’s more than that. She trusts you. And... so do I."

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. There was something unspoken in the air between you, something neither of you was ready to address. But it was there, simmering just below the surface.

"Logan, I—"

Before you could finish, he stood up, brushing the dirt off his hands. "Anyway, I’ll let you get back to it."

You stood up too, feeling the weight of what was left unsaid hanging in the air. "Thanks for the help."

He gave a brief nod, his eyes lingering on you for a moment before he turned to leave. "Anytime."

As you watched him walk away, your heart was pounding in your chest. There was no denying it now—there was something between you and Logan. Something real. And it scared you just as much as it excited you.

---

Parent-teacher conferences always stressed you out. Gathering all your students’ information, organizing it all, it was hectic and unreasonable. You couldn’t understand why an email didn’t suffice.

Possibly the worst thing about it is the fact it took place in the school gym, which had no AC. The heat was almost unbearable, making your clothes stick to your skin as you shuffled through your notes, waiting for the next parent to arrive to your table.

The gym was packed, parents and their kids moving between tables as they talked to teachers, making the already stifling room feel even hotter. You fanned yourself with the stack of notes you’d organized earlier, feeling sweat prickle at your back.

You glanced at your list of appointments, sighing when you saw who was next: Logan. You hadn't expected him to come. Laura was doing well enough in your class, but she wasn’t exactly the type to care about grades. You figured Logan would be the same—practical, but not overly concerned about school meetings.

You straightened up, glancing around to see him approaching with Laura by his side. She looked slightly uncomfortable, her arms crossed and her gaze focused anywhere but the gym, while Logan was, well... Logan. His expression was gruff, unreadable as usual, but there was something in his eyes that softened when he saw you.

“Ms. Aberra,” Logan greeted as he reached your table, giving you a nod.

“Logan,” you said, smiling at Laura. “And Laura. How are you two doing?”

Laura shrugged, barely meeting your gaze. Logan pulled out the chair for her, and she reluctantly sat down, still quiet. He stayed standing, leaning on the back of the chair, watching you with that familiar intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” you said lightly, trying to ease the tension. “Laura’s doing fine in class. Really, there’s not much to talk about.”

Logan glanced at Laura, then back at you. “Figured I’d come by anyway. See how things are goin’.”

You nodded, pulling up Laura’s grades on your tablet. “Well, like I said, she’s doing great. She’s one of the best in the class, actually. Quiet, but I can tell she’s always thinking.”

Laura’s face remained impassive, but there was the slightest twitch of a smile at the corner of her lips.

“She’s got potential,” you continued, looking at Logan. “Especially in science. I think she’d be great at anything she wanted to do, honestly.”

Logan grunted in response, but there was a proud glint in his eye. “That’s good to hear.”

Laura finally spoke up, her voice quiet but clear. “I like science. And math.”

You smiled, surprised by her willingness to engage. “Well, you’re really good at it. I was thinking, if you ever wanted, there are some extracurriculars coming up. Science club, math competitions—stuff like that. It might be fun.”

Laura glanced at Logan, who simply shrugged. “Up to you, kid.”

She seemed to think about it for a moment, then nodded slightly. “Maybe.”

“Well, no pressure,” you said, trying to keep it casual. “You can always decide later.”

There was an awkward pause as you flipped through the rest of Laura’s grades, though there wasn’t much else to say. She was excelling, especially considering her background. You couldn’t help but feel a little protective over her, knowing what she’d been through.

“So, uh, anything else you need to know?” you asked, looking back up at Logan.

He shook his head. “Just wanted to check in, make sure she’s on track.”

You smiled, feeling the warmth in his words even if he didn’t show it. “She’s doing great. Really.”

Logan gave you a brief nod, his gaze lingering on you a little longer than necessary before he straightened up. “Thanks.”

You watched as he turned to Laura, ready to leave, but she didn’t stand just yet. Instead, she glanced between the two of you, her brow furrowed slightly like she was piecing something together.

“Are you... friends?” she asked suddenly, her voice cutting through the noise of the gym.

You blinked, taken aback by the question. Logan seemed just as surprised, his eyes widening slightly before he quickly recovered.

“Well,” you said slowly, glancing at Logan for a cue. “I guess you could say that.”

Logan cleared his throat, crossing his arms. “Yeah. Somethin’ like that.”

Laura’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if she didn’t quite believe it but wasn’t going to argue. “Okay.”

She stood up, her chair scraping against the floor as she started toward the exit. Logan hesitated for a moment, giving you one last look before following her. “See you around,” he said, his voice gruff but softer than usual.

You watched them go, feeling that strange mix of emotions again—the warmth, the uncertainty, the possibility of something more. As the door closed behind them, you realized that, for once, you didn’t mind the heat. It was a small town, and people noticed everything. But you were starting to wonder if maybe that wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Laura grabbed his hand as they exited the gym, having already seen her other teachers. She looked up at Logan, as he stared straight ahead at the truck in the parking lot. “Creo que ella te gusta.”

He let out a huff, “kid, don’t know how many times I gotta say it, but I don’t know Spanish.”

Laura gave him a sidelong glance, clearly unimpressed by his response. "You should learn," she muttered under her breath, squeezing his hand as they reached the truck.

Logan grunted as he fumbled for the keys, a slight wince crossing his features as he slid into the driver’s seat. He glanced at Laura, who was already buckling herself in without a word. The silence between them wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t quite easy either.

He turned the key in the ignition, the truck sputtering to life as he pulled out of the parking lot. His mind wandered back to the parent-teacher conference, and specifically to Y/N. She’d always been good with Laura, he could see that. But lately, something about her seemed to calm him too—a feeling he wasn’t used to and didn’t quite know how to handle.

“You like her,” Laura said, breaking the silence with her blunt observation. It wasn’t a question.

Logan’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. “She’s a good teacher. You like her, too.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Laura said, crossing her arms. “You act different when she’s around. You don’t growl as much.”

Logan let out a low chuckle, though it lacked any real humor. “I don’t growl.”

“Yes, you do,” Laura said, looking out the window. “But not at her.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that, so he didn’t. Instead, he focused on the road, trying to push away the thoughts circling in his mind. He wasn’t a man used to... feelings, especially not ones that left him unsure. But Y/N had a way of sneaking under his defenses, and that scared him more than he’d like to admit.

“I like her,” Laura said quietly after a long stretch of silence.

Logan glanced at her, surprised by the soft admission. Laura didn’t trust people easily, and she certainly didn’t like many. But her words carried weight, especially to him.

“Yeah?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

Laura nodded, still looking out the window. “She’s not like the others. She doesn’t treat me like I’m different.”

Logan felt a knot in his chest loosen, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the relief of knowing Laura had found someone she trusted, or maybe it was the way Y/N had already become a part of their lives, without him even realizing it. Either way, he didn’t say anything more, just drove the rest of the way home in silence, lost in his own thoughts.

---

The next morning, you thanked the stars that it was Saturday. You were exhausted from the large amount of human interaction last night and decided to sleep in a bit before tending to the garden.

After that, and taking a shower, you slipped into comfortable clothes, some small shorts and a large t-shirt that covered the shorts, since it only getting warmer outside.

Even with that said, you couldn’t help but crave chocolate chip cookies, thanking the stars once again that you had all the ingredients.

You turned on the oven, allowing it to pre-heat, as you grabbed a mixing bowl and walked around your small kitchen looking for the ingredients listed on your worn-out piece of paper. You still hadn’t memorized the recipe after making it for years.

The doorbell ringed as you poked your head out the side of your kitchen. When you answered it, you were pleasantly surprised to find Laura outside, wearing what you could only describe as a cute grey shirt with a colorful bear on it. You’d never say it to her, she’d probably leave if you said she looked cute.

“Hey, Laura. D’you need anything?”

“Daddy said I could help with the garden.” She spoke softly.

“Oof, sorry kiddo. Already did it this morning.” You looked back inside your house before turning back to Laura, “though, I could use some help making cookies.”

Laura hesitated for a second, her dark eyes studying you as if trying to decide whether this was worth her time. You were still getting used to her quiet, guarded nature, but you’d learned quickly that she was different around you compared to other people. It was like you had some sort of unspoken understanding, even if you didn’t fully get why.

“Okay,” she finally said, stepping past you into the house.

You closed the door behind her, walking back into the kitchen and grabbing a second mixing bowl. “You ever make cookies before?” you asked, glancing over your shoulder at her.

Laura shook her head, standing by the counter as she watched you.

“Well, today’s your lucky day. I’m about to show you the magic of sugar, butter, and chocolate chips.” You grinned as you started measuring out the ingredients. “Can you hand me the brown sugar?”

She scanned the countertop before reaching for the brown sugar, silently passing it to you. You got the feeling she wasn’t used to this kind of thing—normal, mundane stuff like baking cookies on a lazy Saturday. Not that you knew her whole story or anything, but you’d heard enough about Logan and his complicated life to guess Laura hadn’t had a typical upbringing.

As you started mixing the butter and sugar together, you tried to think of something to say. Conversations with Laura could be tricky; she wasn’t the chatty type, and you didn’t want to push her too much.

“So,” you started, keeping your tone casual, “what’s Logan up to today?”

She shrugged. “Resting.”

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. Logan resting was a good thing. You knew he’d been having a rough time lately with his health, even though he wasn’t the type to admit it. You figured he was just being stubborn, refusing to slow down even though it was clear his healing wasn’t what it used to be.

Laura remained silent, watching as you added the flour to the mix.

“You wanna stir?” you asked, offering her the spatula.

She looked at it for a moment before stepping closer and taking it from you. Her movements were careful, deliberate, and you couldn’t help but smile as she focused on the task.

“Nice job,” you said, giving her a thumbs-up. “You’ve got a future in cookie-making, I can tell.”

Laura didn’t react much, but you swore you saw the tiniest flicker of amusement in her eyes.

As she stirred, you reached for the chocolate chips. “Best part of making cookies—sneaking a few of these before they go in the dough.” You tossed a couple into your mouth, then held the bag out to her.

She paused, looking at the chocolate chips like she wasn’t sure what to do. After a second, she picked one up and ate it, chewing thoughtfully.

You chuckled. “See? Told you it’s the best part.”

Laura kept stirring the dough while you got the baking sheets ready. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, just… quiet. You didn’t mind it, though. Laura wasn’t the type of kid who needed constant conversation, and you appreciated that about her.

As she worked, you glanced at her again, feeling a strange sense of protectiveness. You didn’t know what exactly she’d been through, but whatever it was, you could tell it had shaped her into someone far older than her years.

When the dough was ready, you started scooping it onto the trays. “Almost done,” you said. “Then it’s just a waiting game while they bake.”

Laura nodded, wiping her hands on a dish towel as she watched you.

You slid the trays into the oven and set the timer before turning back to her. “You want some water or anything while we wait?”

She shook her head, her eyes still on the oven like she was trying to figure out why people made such a big deal out of cookies.

“Well, I’m grabbing a drink.” You poured yourself a glass of water, leaning against the counter as you sipped. “It’ll take around 12 minutes for them to finish. Then we put in another batch, and another until the dough has all been used.”

Laura gave a small nod, her eyes still focused on the oven. It was like she was trying to figure out if all this waiting was actually worth it.

You studied her for a moment, wondering what was going on in that head of hers. She never really said much, but it was clear there was a lot happening behind those dark, watchful eyes. You weren’t exactly sure why she’d taken to you, but you were grateful for it. Laura didn’t let many people in, that much was obvious.

“I can show you a movie. Or maybe some music? I usually play somethin’ while I wait.”

Laura glanced up at you, her brow furrowing slightly. “Music,” she said quietly.

You smiled, glad she was at least open to that. “Cool. Let’s see what we got.” You pulled out your phone and scrolled through your playlist, landing on something mellow, nothing too upbeat or distracting. You hit play, letting the soft sounds of a guitar fill the room.

Laura leaned against the counter, listening, her arms crossed over her chest. She wasn’t fidgety or impatient, just quiet, like she was absorbing everything around her.

You took another sip of water, watching her from the corner of your eye. “You ever help Logan with stuff like this? Like cooking?”

She shook her head. “No.”

You figured as much. “Well, if he ever asks, you’ll be a pro now.” You winked at her, earning the tiniest of shrugs in return.

You both stood there in a comfortable silence, letting the music play. It wasn’t awkward, just… peaceful. The smell of the cookies starting to bake filled the kitchen, and for a moment, it was easy to forget all the heavy stuff hanging in the air—Logan’s health, Laura’s past, whatever weight she carried that you didn’t fully understand yet.

After a few minutes, Laura spoke up. “I talked to Logan about you… last night.”

You paused, surprised she’d bring it up. “Oh yeah? What’d he say?”

She didn’t answer right away, her gaze fixed on the oven. “He said you’re... different from other people. In a good way.”

A warmth crept into your chest at that. “Well, that’s nice of him to say. I think he’s pretty different too, you know. In a good way.”

Laura looked at you, her expression unreadable. “He likes you,” she said, her tone flat, but there was something in the way she said it, like it was a fact she was still processing.

You felt your cheeks heat up a little. “Yeah? Well… I like him too.”

She stared at you for a moment longer before nodding slowly, like she was piecing something together in her head. “He doesn’t trust people. But he trusts you.”

You swallowed, not quite sure how to respond to that. “I’m glad he does. I mean… I care about him, Laura. And you too.”

Laura’s eyes flickered with something—maybe understanding, maybe something else you couldn’t quite name. She didn’t say anything for a while, just looked down at the floor.

Before the silence could stretch too long, the oven timer beeped, cutting through the moment.

“Cookies are done,” you said, turning to grab the oven mitts. You pulled the trays out, setting them on the counter to cool. The smell was even stronger now, warm and sweet, filling the entire kitchen. “Wanna taste test one?”

Laura hesitated for a second before nodding.

You carefully lifted a cookie from the tray, holding it out to her. “Careful, it’s hot.”

She took it, blowing on it before taking a small bite. You watched as she chewed, her face still neutral, but you could tell she liked it.

“Good, right?” you asked, biting into one yourself.

Laura nodded again, chewing slowly. For a split second, you thought you saw a hint of a smile tug at the corner of her mouth, but it was gone just as quickly as it came.

As you both stood there, munching on cookies, the air felt lighter, like some kind of invisible barrier between you had shifted just a little. You didn’t know all of Laura’s story, but you didn’t need to. What mattered was that she was here, sharing this small moment with you, and that was enough.

“So,” you said after a few minutes, breaking the silence. “What should we do next? More cookies? Or maybe try out that movie?”

Laura looked at the remaining dough, then back at you. “More cookies.”

You grinned. “Good choice. Let’s make this batch even better.”

---

After all the cookies came out of the oven, you sent Laura home with a container of some of the batch. You could never eat them all on your own, and you ended up giving some away anyways, so why not give some to Laura?

You walked Laura to your front door and watched as she crossed the street, her figure disappearing behind the door three houses down. There was always something surreal about the way she moved—so quiet, so controlled, like she had learned to blend into the background. It made you wonder what her life had been like before coming here.

When Laura walked in, the container held tightly to her chest, Logan sat on the couch, the soft murmur of the TV barely audible as he sipped from a whiskey bottle. His eyes flicked over to her as the door clicked shut behind her.

“You were gone a while,” he muttered, his voice rough but not harsh.

Laura shrugged, walking past him toward the kitchen. “Made cookies.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, watching her disappear from view. The faint clinking of a container hitting the counter reached his ears. He knew she didn’t do stuff like this unless someone dragged her into it. “With Y/N?” he asked, taking another sip.

Laura reappeared, nodding as she plopped down beside him on the couch, the container of cookies now on the coffee table.

Logan stared at it for a moment, then gave a small grunt of approval. He reached over and grabbed a cookie from the container, breaking off a piece and popping it into his mouth. He chewed slowly, savoring the sweetness that felt out of place in his usual world of bitterness and whiskey.

“Not bad,” he muttered, glancing at Laura. “You help with these?”

She shrugged again, still watching the TV, but there was a hint of satisfaction in her expression that didn’t go unnoticed by Logan.

“Hmm,” he grunted, leaning back. “Maybe next time, you can bring some whiskey to wash ‘em down.”

Laura didn’t smile, but her lips twitched slightly as if she was trying not to.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, the low hum of the TV filling the room. Logan’s thoughts drifted back to Y/N. He didn’t trust people easily—never had, and probably never would. But Y/N was different. He’d seen how she handled Laura, how she didn’t push too hard or ask too many questions. And she was patient, something Logan knew he didn’t have much of.

“Y/N’s a good one,” he said quietly, almost to himself.

Laura didn’t say anything, but she shifted slightly, leaning her head against the arm of the couch.

Logan watched her for a moment, then sighed, running a hand through his graying hair. He knew settling down wasn’t really in his nature, but for Laura’s sake—and maybe a bit for his own—he was trying. And Y/N? She made that easier, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

“She ask about me?” Logan asked, more curious than he wanted to let on.

Laura nodded, her eyes still on the screen. “Yeah. I told her you were resting.”

Logan snorted. “Resting. That’s a nice way of putting it.”

Laura didn’t respond, and Logan didn’t push further. He knew what Y/N probably thought—that he was just some grumpy guy with a limp, maybe a few too many scars for comfort. She didn’t know the half of it. But she didn’t pry either, and for that, he was grateful.

“Guess I’ll have to thank her for the cookies,” Logan said after a while, taking another sip from the bottle. His mind wandered to the thought of Y/N—the way she smiled when she was around Laura, how she always seemed to have the right balance of patience and understanding. It wasn’t just anyone who could handle a kid like Laura, let alone make her feel comfortable enough to bake cookies on a Saturday.

“She likes you too, you know,” Laura said suddenly, her voice cutting through the quiet.

Logan’s brow furrowed. “What?”

“Y/N,” Laura clarified, her tone as flat as ever. “She likes you.”

Logan chuckled, though there was a bit of discomfort behind it. “You don’t know that, kid.”

Laura looked at him, her gaze piercing and a little too wise for someone her age. “She does. I can tell.”

Logan stared back at her, caught off guard by how matter-of-fact she sounded. It was hard to argue with Laura when she had that look on her face, the same look that said she saw through everything and didn’t waste time with pleasantries.

He cleared his throat, trying to brush it off. “Yeah, well… that’s her problem, not mine.”

Laura didn’t react, just turned back to the TV. But Logan could feel her eyes on him for a few seconds longer before she settled back into the cushions.

Logan shifted uncomfortably, feeling the weight of Laura’s words hanging in the air. He wasn’t used to people ‘liking’ him in the way Laura seemed to imply. People tolerated him, sure, maybe even respected him, but liking him? That was new territory.

He let out a sigh and reached for another cookie. It wasn’t worth thinking about. Not right now.

But even as he chewed in silence, he couldn’t shake the thought of Y/N—and what it might mean if Laura was right.

---

A few days later, you found yourself at Logan’s house helping Laura with some of her English homework. You usually don’t make ‘house calls’ to help students, but you couldn’t deny Laura.

Logan stayed seated in the living room, drinking a beer and watching the TV. But really, he was pretending not to listen to their conversation in the kitchen.

“You’re doing good, Laura.” You said.

Laura shrugged, her eyes flicking over to Logan in the living room. “Can you stay for dinner?” She asked you.

Logan’s head snapped up at that. He hadn’t expected Laura to ask, but there was no denying that the kid had gotten attached to you. Before you could answer, Laura added, “I made something. With Logan.”

That was a lie, of course. Laura had barely touched the stove since the cookies, but she gave Logan a look that told him to back her up.

Y/N smiled softly. “I wouldn’t say no to dinner.” She glanced at Logan. “If that’s okay?”

Logan grunted, shifting his weight. “Yeah. ‘Course.”

Laura gave a small nod, clearly satisfied with the answer. You smiled, pushing the papers aside. “Guess I’m staying for dinner, then.”

Logan shot Laura a look, one that said what exactly are we eating? but she ignored him, turning her attention back to you. “It’s nothing fancy,” she said, which wasn’t reassuring.

“Well, I’m excited. Food always tastes better when someone else cooks it,” you joked, standing up to stretch your arms.

Logan watched you from the corner of his eye as he sat back down on the couch, pretending to be more interested in the muted TV than he actually was. You couldn’t help but notice the way he seemed a little tenser whenever you were around, like he wasn’t quite sure what to do with himself. He was trying to stay low-key, but you could tell he was keeping tabs on every move you made, every word you said.

“So, what’s on the menu?” you asked, trying to ease the quiet that had settled over the room.

Laura, sitting across from you, didn’t answer right away, like she was carefully considering her next move. Logan’s eyes flicked over to her, waiting for her response.

“Spaghetti,” she finally said, her voice as flat as ever.

You raised an eyebrow, suppressing a smile. “Oh yeah? Sounds good.”

Logan gave a low grunt from the couch, and you could tell by his expression that he was trying to figure out when they’d supposedly made spaghetti. But he didn’t contradict Laura, just took another swig from his beer.

“Well, I’m looking forward to it,” you said, standing up from the kitchen table. “Let me know if you need any help.”

Laura didn’t say anything, just headed to the stove where a pot of water was already simmering. You followed her, glancing at the nearly-empty box of spaghetti on the counter. It was clear she hadn’t done this a lot, but the effort was what mattered. And if it meant spending more time with her—and Logan—you weren’t about to complain.

“I’ll get the sauce going,” you offered, stepping beside her. Laura gave you a slight nod, sliding over to make room.

Logan watched from the couch, his eyes narrowing as if he was weighing the situation. He hadn’t expected you to just roll with it, but then again, you always had a way of adapting.

“So, how’s school?” you asked Laura, trying to keep the conversation light while you opened the jar of sauce.

“It’s fine,” she said, her tone noncommittal.

You stirred the sauce, giving a little shrug. “Well, if you ever need help with any other type of homework, you know where to find me.”

She glanced up at you, her expression unreadable, but something in her eyes softened for a second. “I know.”

The two of you worked in quiet sync, with Laura focusing on the pasta and you keeping an eye on the sauce. It wasn’t long before the kitchen started to smell of tomatoes and garlic, the scent filling the air and making the small space feel cozy. For a while, the only sounds were the bubbling pot and the clinking of utensils.

Logan shifted on the couch, clearing his throat. “Need me to do anything?”

You glanced back at him with a smile. “Just sit there and look pretty, Logan. We’ve got this.”

A low chuckle escaped him, though his face didn’t change much. “That so?”

Laura glanced at Logan, her expression unreadable, but you caught the briefest hint of approval in her eyes before she turned back to stirring the pasta.

Once everything was ready, you and Laura brought the food to the small dining table. You plated up the spaghetti, topping it with sauce and a sprinkle of Parmesan. Logan joined you both, moving slower than he probably realized, and sat down with a grunt.

As you all ate, the room stayed comfortably quiet. It wasn’t one of those forced silences that felt awkward—it was more like everyone was just settling into the moment. Laura was still guarded, but you could tell she was starting to relax, even if it was just a little.

“You did good, Laura,” you said, twirling some spaghetti on your fork. “This tastes great.”

She didn’t say anything, just kept eating, but you saw her shoulders ease up ever so slightly.

Logan, on the other hand, glanced between the two of you, chewing slowly. He hadn’t been big on cooking or anything domestic like this, but he could tell Laura had put in effort. He took another bite, grunting his approval. “Not bad,” he said quietly.

You smiled to yourself. This whole thing wasn’t exactly what you’d planned for the evening, but it was nice in its own way—just simple, like normal people having dinner together.

As you were finishing up, Logan pushed his chair back, grabbing his beer bottle from the table. “I’ll handle the cleanup,” he said, his voice gruff but not unkind.

You raised an eyebrow, standing to gather a few plates. “You sure?”

Logan waved you off. “Yeah. Laura and I got it.”

You nodded, stepping back. “Alright, I’ll leave you to it then.”

Laura watched you quietly, her dark eyes flicking between you and Logan. You could tell she wasn’t used to this kind of thing, the casual ease of sharing a meal and cleaning up afterward. But she was learning, and it seemed like she didn’t mind having you around for it.

“Well,” you said, grabbing your bag from the chair. “Thanks for dinner, you two. I’ll see you around?”

Logan grunted in acknowledgment, giving you a nod. Laura followed you to the door, her small figure standing by your side as you reached for the handle.

Before you could leave, she spoke up. “Will you come over again?” Her voice was quiet, almost hesitant.

You smiled softly. “Of course. Anytime.”

She nodded, her face still unreadable, but there was a certain calmness to her now, a trust that hadn’t been there before.

You gave her a little wave before stepping out into the evening air. As you walked back to your house, you couldn’t help but think about how unexpected this had all been.

---

You muttered to yourself, hanging up the phone. Your sink had started to leak, and even though you were fairly handy, when you tightened the pipes, it did nothing.

So here you were, on your lunch break, looking for a handyman that didn’t want to charge you $200 for a quick fix.

Emma walked in, holding a folder with her lesson plans. “So…”

You rolled your eyes, “don’t start.”

“What! I’ve told you, word travels fast. Rose saw you leavin’ his house last night.”

“Rose?” You shook your head, “that woman is 85 and still gossips like she’s 20.” You put your phone down, “I was helping Laura with her English homework.”

"Helping Laura with her English homework?" Emma raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "You mean, at ten o'clock at night? Sure, Y/N."

You groaned, leaning back in your chair. “It wasn’t like that. She’s struggling with some of the writing prompts, and Logan’s... well, you know he’s not exactly the best person for that.”

“Uh-huh,” Emma nodded slowly, setting her folder down. “I’m just saying, you and him… there’s something there. You can deny it all you want, but people see things.”

“People need hobbies,” you muttered. “Besides, Logan’s... complicated. It’s not that simple.”

“I’m not saying it is,” she shrugged. “But you’ve been spending more and more time with him and Laura lately. I’m just curious.”

You crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes at her. “Curious about what, exactly?”

“Just curious when you're going to admit you like him,” Emma smirked.

“I don’t—" you started to argue, but stopped yourself. “Emma, he’s… I mean, I care about him, but it’s not like that. He’s a single dad with a kid, and I’m just the neighbor who helps out sometimes.”

“Yeah, sure, Y/N.” Emma grabbed her folder and gave you a pointed look, “if you don’t make a move, someone on the ‘Wolverine Watchers’ will.”

You choked on the iced coffee you took a sip of, “the what?”

Emma grinned, “the ‘Wolverine Watchers’. A bunch of women in the town created a Facebook group about him. I joined out of curiosity.”

You blinked at Emma, still processing what she’d just said. “Hold on—there’s a Facebook group about Logan? Are you serious?”

“Dead serious,” Emma said with a smug smile. “They call themselves the ‘Wolverine Watchers.’ There’s, like, at least 30 women in it. Maybe more.”

You shook your head in disbelief, sinking back into your chair. “That’s insane. Why would anyone even...”

“Oh, please,” Emma interrupted. “Don’t act like you don’t get it. He’s rugged, mysterious, barely speaks to anyone, and he’s got the whole grumpy-silver-fox thing going on. They eat it up. Hell, even I get it.”

You glared at her. “You’re not helping.”

She leaned against the desk, still grinning. “Just saying, don’t wait too long, or one of them might swoop in.”

You waved her off, though a part of you felt oddly defensive about the whole thing. “Logan’s not interested in any of that.”

Emma shrugged, pushing off the desk and heading for the door. “Maybe. Maybe not. But are you interested?”

You opened your mouth to respond before shaking your head. “Okay. I’m going to forget this part of our conversation and continue to try and look for a plumber or handyman.”

Emma laughed, clearly enjoying your discomfort. “Fine, fine. But if you need help with Logan or plumbing, you know where to find me.”

She left the room at the same time Laura walked in. She walked over to the front of your desk and stared at you with those eyes of hers. “You need help?” Laura finally asked.

You shook your head, “no. Just need a plumber. The sink in my kitchen is leakin’.”

Laura tilted her head slightly, considering something. “Why don’t you ask daddy?”

You sighed, rubbing the bridge of your nose. “Because your dad’s busy, and it’s not his problem to deal with. I’ll figure it out.”

“He fixed the dishwasher last week,” she pointed out quietly, a hint of mischief in her eyes. “And the dryer.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to bother him with stuff like this,” you countered, trying to ignore how her face lit up every time she mentioned something Logan had done for you. “I’m sure he’s got enough on his plate.”

Laura didn’t respond right away. Instead, she leaned against your desk, her small fingers tapping lightly on the wood. “He likes helping,” she murmured, almost like she was testing the waters.

You looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

“Mhm,” she nodded, but quickly glanced away, pretending to focus on the bulletin board behind you. “He’s good at fixing things.”

You watched her for a moment, your irritation from earlier starting to melt away. It was hard to stay frustrated when she was being so earnest. “Okay, okay, I get it. But your dad doesn’t need to be the town’s go-to handyman.”

Laura glanced up at you through her lashes. “Just tell him. Please?”

There was something almost… hopeful in her gaze, and you felt a twinge of guilt. Laura wasn’t the type to ask for much. If this meant that much to her…

“Fine,” you sighed, holding up your hands in surrender. “I’ll ask him. But only because you asked nicely.”

Laura’s lips twitched in the faintest smile, a look of victory crossing her face. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, but you’re not off the hook yet,” you teased gently. “You still owe me an essay on Newton’s laws of motion, remember?”

She scrunched up her nose, making a face. “I know. I’ll finish it.”

“Good,” you nodded, giving her a playful wink. “And don’t go trying to bribe me with homework just to get me to talk to your dad, okay?”

Laura’s eyes widened in mock innocence. “I would never.”

“Uh-huh,” you said skeptically. “Alright, head back to class. Lunch is almost over.”

She gave a small nod, then glanced back at you before leaving. “He really likes you, you know.”

Your heart stuttered, caught off guard by her bluntness. “Laura—”

“Just saying,” she added quickly before ducking out the door and heading down the hallway.

You stared at the empty doorway, a mix of emotions swirling in your chest. Liking you? What did that even mean coming from an eleven-year-old?

You shook your head, trying to push the thought away. Logan was… well, Logan. Gruff, quiet, and often impossible to read. And sure, he’d been more present lately, but that didn’t mean anything. He was just being a good neighbor.

You glanced at the time on your phone, groaning softly. Lunch was almost over, and you hadn’t even finished setting up for the afternoon class.

“Guess I’ll ask him about the sink,” you muttered under your breath, more to convince yourself than anything.

Because if Laura was already noticing things, how long would it be before the whole town started talking?

---

That evening, after school had ended and you’d finally managed to get through the rest of your lesson plans, you found yourself standing in front of Logan’s place. It was only a short walk down the street, and yet, your feet felt heavier with each step.

You could hear the faint sound of a TV through the open window and the soft murmur of voices—Laura and Logan, probably talking about her day. It was… nice. Domestic. Something that made your chest tighten with an inexplicable emotion.

“Just ask about the sink and go,” you whispered to yourself, giving a firm nod. “No big deal.”

You knocked lightly, and a few seconds later, the door swung open to reveal Logan. He was in his usual attire—flannel shirt, jeans—and he looked at you with that same unreadable expression.

“Hey,” you said, suddenly feeling awkward under his gaze. “I, uh, wanted to ask for a favor.”

His brow furrowed slightly, and he stepped back, gesturing for you to come inside. “What’s goin’ on?”

You hesitated, then took a deep breath. “My kitchen sink started leaking, and… well, I tried fixing it, but I think I made it worse. Laura said you’re good at this kind of stuff, so I thought… maybe…”

Logan raised an eyebrow. “You want me to take a look at it?”

“Yeah,” you nodded quickly. “If you’re not too busy. I don’t want to—”

“It’s fine,” he interrupted, already grabbing a toolbox from a nearby shelf. “Let’s go.”

You blinked. “Wait, you don’t want to, like, finish dinner or something first?”

He shot you a look that was almost amused. “I’m not gonna let your kitchen flood because of a sink. C’mon.”

You let out a small laugh, relieved by his reaction. “Okay, fair point. Thanks, Logan.”

“No problem,” he grunted, stepping out onto the porch. “Lead the way.”

As you walked back to your place, you stole a glance at him. Logan might have been gruff and intimidating to most people, but you’d come to learn there was more to him than that.

When you reached your house, Logan set to work immediately, inspecting the pipes under the sink. You leaned against the counter, watching as he tinkered and adjusted, his movements methodical and precise.

“You didn’t have to come over right away,” you said softly, breaking the silence. “I know you’ve got a lot going on.”

He didn’t look up, just shrugged. “It’s fine. Better to fix it now than let it get worse.”

“Yeah, I guess,” you murmured. “But still… thanks.”

Logan glanced at you then, his eyes lingering for a moment longer than usual. “You don’t gotta thank me every time I do somethin’ for you, Y/N.”

“I know,” you replied, offering a small smile. “But I want to.”

He gave a low grunt, something between acknowledgment and dismissal, and returned his focus to the pipes. You stayed silent, watching him work, trying to make yourself useful by occasionally handing him a tool or holding a flashlight.

“You’ve done this before, huh?” you asked, breaking the silence again.

Logan didn’t look up, but you saw the faintest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Couple times.”

“Fixing sinks?” you teased, raising an eyebrow. “Or just everything?”

“Everything,” he muttered. “You learn to handle stuff when no one else can.”

There was an unspoken weight behind his words, something you didn’t pry into. You knew Logan had been through more than he let on—there were pieces of his life you still hadn’t put together, and you weren’t sure you ever would. But that didn’t stop you from being curious.

Instead, you chose to keep the conversation light. “Well, I appreciate it. I probably would’ve made a bigger mess if I’d kept trying.”

He grunted again, this time almost in agreement, and you couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Okay, I walked into that one,” you admitted. “But seriously, thank you. Laura was right—you are good at this.”

Logan tightened the last pipe and stood, wiping his hands on a rag. “She talks too much sometimes.”

You shook your head, still smiling. “She’s just proud of you.”

He didn’t respond, his eyes darkening for a brief moment before he shifted the subject. “It’s done. Shouldn’t leak anymore, but if it does, just call me.”

You nodded, feeling that strange tightening in your chest again. “Got it. Thanks again.”

Logan grabbed his toolbox and started for the door, but something in the air between you both felt unfinished, like there was something unspoken hanging there. Before you could second-guess yourself, you called out.

“Logan?”

He paused, his back to you.

“I meant what I said earlier,” you continued, a little more quietly this time. “I know you’ve got a lot on your plate, and I don’t want to add to it. But I appreciate you helping me.”

Logan turned, his gaze locking onto yours. There was something in his eyes—something you couldn’t quite place. For a second, you thought he might say something, but then he just gave a slow nod.

“Don’t worry about it, Y/N,” he finally said. “If you need somethin’, I’ll be around.”

He turned and walked out the door, leaving you standing in your kitchen, staring after him. You exhaled, feeling a mix of confusion and warmth.

Later that evening, as you cleaned up and prepared for the next day’s lessons, you couldn’t stop replaying the interaction in your head. Logan’s quietness, his willingness to help, Laura’s knowing smiles. There was something stirring there, something more than just neighborly concern.

But you pushed the thoughts aside, reminding yourself of the practicalities. Logan was a single dad with a complicated past, and you… well, you had your own life to focus on. This wasn’t the time to start overthinking things.

Still, as you drifted off to sleep that night, the image of Logan fixing your sink—focused, calm, and oddly comforting—stayed with you.

---

You’ve never liked storms. You’re not sure why, you grew up in Houston where it rained consistently and encountered a few hurricanes.

But when you turned 18, you went to college further north in Texas, getting away from the rain and finally getting sunshine and real heat, not humid heat.

It never rained much in the north of Minnesota, but when it did rain, it rained a lot. So much so that the school cancelled classes for the rest of the week.

You could use the time to catch up on grading assignments, but instead you found yourself barely able to keep your attention on the TV, flinching every time you heard thunder.

The storm outside raged on, lightning flashing every few seconds, followed by the rumble of thunder that rattled the windows. You glanced at the stack of papers you’d set aside to grade, but your mind just wasn’t in it.

“Why does it always feel worse at night?” you muttered, sinking deeper into the couch, trying to focus on the TV.

Then, a knock at the door startled you. You weren’t expecting anyone, especially with the weather this bad.

You got up, hesitating for a second before opening the door to reveal Laura, soaked from head to toe, holding a small flashlight.

“Laura? What are you doing out here?” you asked, eyes wide with concern.

“Our power went out,” she explained quickly, shivering slightly. “Daddy said I could come over here since your lights are still on.”

You frowned, glancing past her toward Logan’s house, which was barely visible in the heavy rain. “Is your dad coming over too?”

Laura shrugged, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. “He said he’d figure it out.”

You closed the door behind her, grabbing a towel from the bathroom and handing it to her. “You should’ve just called, you know. I would’ve come to get you.”

Laura gave you a small smile as she dried off. “It’s fine. I didn’t want to wait.”

You shook your head, unable to suppress a smile at her stubbornness. “Of course you didn’t.”

The two of you sat in the living room for a while, Laura settling into the corner of the couch with her legs tucked under her, still glancing out the window at the storm every so often.

“How long’s the power been out?” you asked after a few minutes.

“Since just after dinner,” she replied. “Daddy was gonna try and fix it, but he said it might take a while.”

You nodded, already feeling a little guilty. If the power didn’t come back on soon, you’d probably end up with both of them staying over. Not that you minded, but it was one of those situations where you didn’t want to impose. Especially with Logan.

Almost on cue, there was another knock at the door, this one heavier, more deliberate.

You didn’t even have to look to know it was Logan.

You opened the door to find him standing there, drenched like Laura had been. His hair was plastered to his head, and his usual gruff expression was softened slightly by the rain dripping from his face.

“Come on in,” you said quickly, stepping aside.

Logan entered, shaking off some of the rain before giving you a nod. “Thanks. Power’s out, and I don’t think it’s comin’ back anytime soon.”

You closed the door behind him and offered him a towel, which he accepted without a word. He glanced over at Laura, who had made herself comfortable on the couch, and then back at you.

“You alright with us bein’ here?” he asked, his voice low but genuine.

“Of course,” you replied, waving it off. “I’m not gonna let you sit in the dark with no heat.”

Logan nodded, though there was something in his eyes—something like gratitude, though he didn’t voice it.

The three of you sat in the living room for a while, the storm still raging outside. It wasn’t exactly the most comfortable silence, but it wasn’t awkward either. Just... quiet. Logan wasn’t one for small talk, and Laura seemed content just to be around people, her gaze flicking back and forth between you and her dad.

As the night wore on, the storm didn’t let up, and Laura’s eyelids started to droop. You glanced at the clock, noting how late it was getting.

“You’re welcome to stay the night,” you offered, glancing between them. “It’s still coming down pretty hard out there, and I don’t think the power’s coming back on soon.”

Laura perked up at the suggestion, but Logan hesitated, clearly uncomfortable with the idea. “We’ll be fine,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t wanna impose.”

“You’re not imposing,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “There’s a guest bedroom, and I’ve got blankets. Besides, I’m not letting either of you walk back in this mess.”

Laura, sensing her opportunity, chimed in before Logan could object. “I want to stay,” she said quietly, her eyes big and hopeful.

Logan sighed, glancing at his daughter, clearly torn. “Laura…”

“Daddy, it’s still storming,” she added, her voice soft but insistent. “We can stay, right?”

You jumped in before he could refuse. “It’s no trouble, Logan. Really. Laura can take the guest bedroom, and I can sleep on the couch.”

Logan gave you a skeptical look. “You’re not sleepin’ on the couch in your own house.”

You rolled your eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s your bed,” he grunted. “I’ll take the couch.”

Before you could argue, Laura piped up again, her voice full of innocent mischief. “You could both sleep in the bed.”

Your eyes widened, and you quickly glanced at Logan, whose expression had shifted to one of slight surprise.

“Laura,” you started, but she just shrugged, clearly enjoying this more than she should have been.

“What?” she said innocently. “It’s a big bed.”

Logan sighed heavily, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You’re not helpin’, kid.”

Laura just grinned, her eyes gleaming with quiet victory. “I think I am.”

You cleared your throat, trying to regain control of the situation. “I’m fine with sleepin’ on the couch, really. Can’t really sleep when it’s stormin’ anyways.”

Laura, still lounging on the couch, piped up again, her grin growing wider. “You could just share the bed.”

Your face flushed, and you shot her a look. “Laura—”

“What?” She shrugged, playing innocent, but you could see the hint of mischief in her eyes.

Logan sighed, his shoulders slumping. “Kid, stop messin’ around.”

She held up her hands in surrender, but the teasing smile on her face didn’t budge. “I’m just saying it’s an option.”

You shook your head, feeling a mix of embarrassment and amusement. “Laura, you’re gonna sleep in the guest room. I’ll be on the couch. End of story.”

Laura rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. “Fine.”

Logan glanced at you, his eyes softening for a brief moment before he muttered, “You sure about this? I don’t wanna take your bed.”

You waved him off, trying to sound casual. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. Just get some rest. You’ve been out in the rain long enough.”

He hesitated for a second, then gave a small nod. “Alright. But only because you won’t stop arguin’.”

“Exactly,” you said, smiling a little as you grabbed an extra blanket from the hallway closet and tossed it to Laura. “You can get settled in the guest room, kiddo.”

Laura caught the blanket and headed toward the guest room with a little bounce in her step, clearly pleased with how things were turning out. You watched her disappear down the hallway before turning back to Logan, who was still standing in the living room, looking somewhat out of place.

“You can leave your wet clothes by the door if you want,” you offered, trying to keep things normal, even though the situation felt anything but.

Logan gave a quiet grunt of acknowledgment, pulling off his soaked jacket and hanging it on the back of a chair. He moved slowly, like he was still debating whether to argue about the sleeping arrangements again, but thankfully, he didn’t.

After a minute, he glanced back at you, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “You really are stubborn, you know that?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Takes one to know one.”

He chuckled softly, shaking his head as he walked past you toward your bedroom. “Fair enough.”

Once he disappeared into the room, you let out a small sigh, running a hand through your hair. This was... not how you expected your night to go. Sharing your house with both Logan and Laura during a storm, with Laura sneakily playing matchmaker. It was almost funny, if not for the fact that Logan being this close made your heart race a little too much for comfort.

You settled back onto the couch, pulling a blanket over yourself and staring at the TV screen without really watching it. The sound of rain pounding against the windows and the occasional crack of thunder filled the quiet, but it was hard to focus on the storm when you knew Logan was in the next room.

Laura had probably planned this all along.

You glanced toward the hallway where the guest room was, wondering if she was already asleep—or if she was lying there, scheming her next move.

Thunder broke you out of your thoughts, making you flinch slightly under the blankets.

You settled deeper into the couch, but sleep wasn’t coming any easier despite the exhaustion from the day. Your mind kept wandering, mostly back to Logan and how natural it had started to feel having him and Laura around. Maybe a little too natural.

A sharp crack of thunder rattled the windows, and you flinched again, instinctively pulling the blanket tighter around your shoulders. You’d thought you were getting used to storms, but this one was relentless, dragging on with no signs of easing up.

Just when you started to think you’d be up all night, you heard the soft creak of the floorboards behind you. You turned, expecting to see Laura coming out of the guest room, but instead, Logan stood there in the dim light of the living room, looking as uncomfortable as you felt.

“Can’t sleep?” you asked, your voice quiet but steady, despite the storm.

He shrugged, leaning against the doorway. “Not used to sleepin’ anywhere but my own bed.”

You nodded, biting back a knowing smile. “Yeah, I get that. Storm’s not helping much either.”

Logan’s eyes flicked to the window, then back to you. His gaze was a little softer than usual, like the storm had taken some of the edge off his usual roughness. “You alright? Heard you jumpin’ every time the thunder hits.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to brush off his concern. “It’s nothing. Just... not a fan of storms.”

“Yeah, I noticed,” Logan said, stepping further into the room. He hesitated for a moment, then moved to sit on the armrest of the couch, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “Don’t have to tough it out, y’know.”

You looked up at him, caught off guard by the gentleness in his tone. It wasn’t like Logan to be this open, to offer any sort of comfort. He usually kept things buried under layers of gruffness and distance.

“Guess I’m just used to toughing it out,” you said softly, offering him a small smile.

Logan studied you for a moment, his eyes flicking over your face, like he was weighing his next words carefully. “You don’t always have to. Not with us.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you said anything. You weren’t sure what to say. This side of Logan—the quiet, protective side—was something you’d only seen glimpses of before, but tonight, it was like the storm had brought down some of his walls.

“You don’t have to worry about me,” you finally said, but your voice lacked its usual conviction.

“Not worryin’,” Logan replied, his gaze steady. “Just statin’ a fact.”

The thunder rolled again, quieter this time, as if the storm was finally starting to let up. Logan’s eyes lingered on you for a beat longer, before he stood up, looking like he was about to head back to the bedroom.

But then he paused, glancing over his shoulder. “If you want... there’s room in the bed.”

Your breath hitched, and you blinked up at him, not sure if you heard him right. “What?”

Logan’s lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile, but his expression remained serious. “I ain’t suggestin’ what Laura was earlier,” he muttered, a little embarrassed. “Just... if it helps you sleep better, I don’t mind. Couch’s not exactly comfortable.”

Your heart thudded in your chest, caught off guard by the unexpected offer. Logan wasn’t the type to offer comfort lightly, and the idea of sharing a bed with him—platonically or not—made your pulse quicken.

“I—” You faltered, unsure how to respond. But something in the way he was looking at you made it clear this wasn’t just about the storm or being polite. This was about something more—something that had been quietly building between the two of you for a while now.

Before you could overthink it, you nodded. “Okay.”

Logan’s eyebrows raised slightly, surprised by your answer. He stepped aside as you stood, grabbing the blanket from the couch. Neither of you said anything as you walked down the hallway to your bedroom, the tension thick but not uncomfortable—more like an understanding had settled between you.

Once inside, Logan shifted awkwardly as you took your side of the bed, pulling the blanket over yourself, trying to act like this was normal, like your heart wasn’t racing in your chest. Logan laid down on the opposite side, keeping a respectful distance, though the bed felt smaller with him in it.

The sound of the rain outside softened, though the occasional rumble of thunder still rolled in the distance. You stared at the ceiling, hyper-aware of Logan beside you, the space between you feeling charged.

“You good?” Logan asked after a minute, his voice low in the quiet.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m good.”

A beat passed. Then another.

“Thanks,” you added, not just for offering the bed, but for being there, for not making this weird.

Logan turned his head slightly to look at you, his eyes soft in the dim light. “Ain’t nothin’.”

But it was something. It was a lot, actually.

You both lay there in silence for a while, the sound of the rain becoming almost soothing. You could feel the warmth of him next to you, solid and reassuring, and slowly, the tightness in your chest began to ease.

Just as your eyes started to drift closed, Logan’s voice broke the silence again, so quiet you almost missed it.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured, his voice gruff but sincere. “You don’t have to do this on your own. Not with us around.”

Your heart swelled, a mix of emotions you weren’t quite ready to confront just yet. You didn’t know what to say, so instead, you reached out, your hand brushing against his in the small space between you.

Logan didn’t pull away. Instead, his fingers curled gently around yours, his grip warm and steady.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, you fell asleep without flinching at the sound of thunder.

---

You woke up to the sound of soft rain pattering against the window, the storm from last night finally easing up. For a second, you forgot where you were, until you felt the weight of the blanket and the warmth of another presence next to you. Logan. His steady breathing filled the quiet space, and you shifted slightly, careful not to wake him.

This was new.

You glanced over at him, his face relaxed in sleep, the tension he usually carried nowhere to be found. It was strange seeing him like this—calm, almost peaceful. You could feel the residual warmth from his hand where he’d held yours last night, and the memory made your chest tighten.

Carefully, you slipped out of bed, not wanting to disturb the rare moment of quiet. You padded out into the hallway, stopping by Laura’s room to peek in. She was still asleep, wrapped up in blankets, her small body barely a lump under the covers.

You smiled to yourself, already suspecting that she had something to do with last night’s sleeping arrangements. Laura was too clever for her own good sometimes.

In the kitchen, you started brewing coffee, the scent filling the small space. As you waited for it to finish, you found yourself staring out the window, your mind still on Logan. Last night had been... unexpected. But not unwelcome. The way he’d stayed close, offering comfort without making a big deal out of it—it meant more than you wanted to admit.

The soft creak of footsteps behind you pulled you out of your thoughts.

“You’re up early,” Logan’s gravelly voice broke the quiet.

You turned to see him leaning against the doorway, his hair still a little mussed from sleep, but otherwise looking much like his usual self.

“Couldn’t sleep much after the storm,” you shrugged, offering him a small smile. “Coffee?”

“Yeah,” he grunted, moving to sit at the kitchen table. “Thanks.”

You poured two mugs, setting one in front of him before taking a seat across from him. For a moment, neither of you spoke, just sipping your coffee in the comfortable silence that had settled between you.

Logan glanced at you over the rim of his mug, his eyes softer than usual. “You sleep alright?”

You hesitated, remembering how easily you’d fallen asleep next to him. “Better than I expected, honestly.”

He grunted in acknowledgment, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Guess the storm wasn’t as bad as you thought.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck. “Or maybe it was the company.”

Logan’s smirk widened slightly, but he didn’t push it. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his eyes scanning the kitchen before settling on you again. “Thanks for lettin’ us stay. Laura didn’t give you much choice, huh?”

“She didn’t have to,” you replied with a shrug. “I wasn’t gonna let either of you stay in a freezing house with no power.”

Logan nodded, his eyes drifting to the window. “Power should be back on soon. I’ll head back once it’s up.”

You didn’t say anything, but part of you felt a pang of disappointment at the thought of him leaving so soon. You hadn’t had many moments like this—quiet, with just the two of you—and you found yourself wanting it to last a little longer.

Laura’s quiet footsteps broke the silence as she padded into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes sleepily.

“Mornin’, kid,” Logan greeted her.

“Mornin’,” Laura mumbled, glancing between the two of you with a knowing look before plopping down at the table. “Is the power back on yet?”

“Not yet,” you said, trying to ignore the way she was eyeing you and Logan.

Laura just shrugged, grabbing the cereal box from the counter and helping herself. “Guess we’re stuck here a little longer, huh?”

You shot her a look, but she didn’t seem fazed, her focus on her cereal. It was hard to tell if she was playing innocent or if she was just that good at pretending.

“So, what’s the plan for today?” you asked, trying to shift the conversation.

Laura perked up at that. “You said you’d help me with my English homework, remember?”

You blinked. “I—uh, right. Yeah, I did say that.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, looking at Laura. “Since when do you need help with English?”

Laura shot him a quick look before turning back to you, all smiles. “I figured Ms. Aberra would be better at explaining it than you.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, starting to catch on. “I’m sure you’re doing fine in English, Laura.”

She shrugged, playing with her spoon. “Yeah, but it’s better when someone explains it.”

Logan just shook his head, clearly not buying it either, but he didn’t say anything, letting Laura’s little game play out.

“Well,” you said, getting up from the table. “I guess we can take a look at it after breakfast.”

Laura grinned, clearly pleased with how things were going. “Thanks, Ms. Aberra.”

You smiled back, even though you knew something was up. Sure, you had been helping her with English homework for a while now, but she didn’t need the help. When she would show you her essays or answers to questions about a reading, they were always perfect. Still, you played along, grabbing your coffee and heading toward the living room.

“Alright,” you said, glancing over your shoulder at her. “Go grab your stuff, and we’ll take a look.”

Laura jumped up, cereal forgotten, and dashed off to retrieve her things. You settled onto the couch, sipping your coffee and trying to push aside the strange feeling that this was part of something bigger. But what?

Logan followed you into the living room, sitting down in the worn armchair opposite you. He gave you a look—one eyebrow slightly raised, lips set in that half-smirk he sometimes wore when he was figuring someone out.

“She really roped you into this, huh?” he asked, voice low and rough.

You shrugged, trying to seem casual. “It’s not a big deal. I’m used to kids asking for help with schoolwork.”

“Yeah, but Laura? She doesn’t ask for help unless she’s got some kind of angle.”

You laughed softly, but the truth of his words settled somewhere in the back of your mind. Laura wasn’t just a smart kid—she was calculating. You’d seen it in class and at home. The way she observed things, the way she always seemed to know what was going on, even when no one said a word.

“I guess I’ll find out,” you said, leaning back into the couch.

Before Logan could reply, Laura returned, a small notebook and a pencil in hand. She sat beside you, flipping it open to a random page. You glanced at the page, immediately noticing that it was filled with neat, almost perfect handwriting. The essay she’d written didn’t have a single correction or revision mark.

“Alright,” you began, pretending you didn’t see the perfection in front of you. “What do you need help with?”

Laura handed the notebook over, her face perfectly serious. “I just wanted to know if the introduction’s strong enough.”

You skimmed through the first paragraph, and honestly, it was better than anything you’d expect from a sixth grader. If anything, it felt more like she was testing you than asking for actual feedback.

“It’s good,” you said slowly. “Your thesis is clear, and you have a strong opening sentence. You might want to make the transition to your first point a little smoother, but overall, it’s solid.”

Laura nodded thoughtfully, pretending to make a note in her notebook. You watched her for a moment, trying to figure out what game she was playing. There was no way she needed your help, but for some reason, she wanted you here. And Logan, too.

Logan just sat quietly, watching the two of you like he wasn’t quite sure what was happening either. His hand rested on the arm of the chair, fingers tapping lightly. You could feel his presence, steady and grounding, even when he wasn’t saying anything.

Laura glanced at her dad. “Ms. Aberra’s a pretty good teacher, don’t you think?”

Logan’s eyes flicked to you, his smirk back in full force. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

You gave Laura a suspicious look. “You’re not just buttering me up for extra credit, are you?”

Laura’s eyes widened in mock innocence. “No. I just like the way you explain things.”

“Mhm.” You weren’t buying it, but it was hard not to laugh.

The quiet hung between you all for a moment, just the sound of the rain outside and the occasional scrape of Laura’s pencil against her notebook. It felt… peaceful, despite the nagging feeling that something was going on beneath the surface.

“Alright, well,” you finally said, pushing yourself up from the couch. “Looks like you’ve got this handled, Laura. I don’t think you need much help.”

Laura blinked up at you, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks anyway.”

You caught the look she sent Logan’s way, and suddenly, it clicked. She didn’t need your help with homework—she was just trying to get you to stick around a little longer. Maybe even trying to give you and Logan more time together.

Smart kid.

Logan, of course, said nothing, just watching you with that unreadable expression he wore so well. You could never quite tell what he was thinking, and it both frustrated and intrigued you.

"So," Laura said suddenly, breaking the quiet. "What’s the plan today?"

You glanced at her, raising an eyebrow. "You’re the one with the notebook full of perfect essays. I thought you had plans."

Laura grinned at that, not even trying to hide it anymore. "I was thinking we could all go out for lunch. Since we’re stuck here."

Logan gave her a look, but didn’t say anything, clearly seeing through her. You stifled a laugh, playing along. "Lunch, huh? You paying?"

Laura shrugged, looking way too pleased with herself. "I’ll ask nicely. Maybe you’ll cover it."

You shook your head, pretending to think it over. "Might be able to swing it."

Logan snorted. "Real generous of you."

"Hey, I’m a teacher. Gotta budget wisely," you shot back, smirking at him.

Laura just smiled, clearly happy with how things were going, and it hit you again—she was definitely playing matchmaker. Subtle, but it was there. Not that you minded. Spending more time with Logan wasn’t exactly a hardship.

Logan leaned back in his chair, his eyes still on you, though. "You’re sure you don’t mind us hanging around?"

You tilted your head, genuinely surprised. "Logan, if I minded, I wouldn’t have let you in. You’re both always welcome here."

For a second, he looked like he was going to argue, but then he just gave a slow nod, like he was accepting it—maybe even appreciating it, though he’d never say that out loud. "Thanks."

You shrugged, trying to act like it wasn’t a big deal, even though you knew it kind of was. "Don’t mention it."

Laura got up, stretching her arms over her head before grabbing her empty bowl. "I’ll go get ready for lunch then," she said, already heading to the sink. "I’m starving."

You watched her go, then turned back to Logan, raising an eyebrow. "Think we’ve got time for that before the power comes back on?"

Logan shrugged, his smirk returning. "Could be out a while longer."

"Convenient," you muttered, though there was no real bite to it.

Logan chuckled, a low, rough sound that made something in your chest tighten. He set his empty mug on the coffee table and stood up, stretching slightly. "Guess we better make sure the kid doesn’t eat the place out of food while we wait."

You laughed, following him into the kitchen. The dynamic between the three of you felt easy now, comfortable in a way that surprised you. Even with Laura’s not-so-subtle attempts at matchmaking, there was something natural about how you and Logan were around each other. It wasn’t rushed or forced. Just... right.

Laura appeared from the hallway, already dressed and tugging on her jacket. "Ready when you are," she said, a little too cheerfully.

Logan gave her a look. "We haven’t even decided where we’re going."

"I’ll leave that up to the grown-ups," she said, grabbing her shoes.

You exchanged a glance with Logan, both of you clearly thinking the same thing: this kid was way too clever for her own good. But neither of you called her out on it.

"Alright," Logan finally said, grabbing his jacket. "Let’s get going before the power comes back and ruins her plan."

Laura grinned but didn’t say anything, grabbing your hand as you all headed out into the damp, cool air. The rain had finally stopped, but the sky was still overcast, a soft, gray light filtering through the clouds.

You walked beside Logan, Laura skipping a few steps ahead, her eyes darting around like she was taking everything in. She was always like that—watching, observing. And now you knew why. She was playing a long game, slowly pushing you and Logan closer together, little by little.

You couldn’t help but smile. She was good. Really good.

And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to appreciate her efforts.

---

The school did something special for parents on Valentine’s Day. Instead of just handing out donuts or cupcakes, they did a competition.

There was different challenges for each couple, or pairing, to finish, and to make it even better, their kids would have to guide them on certain challenges, like walking blindfolded to the finish line on the field.

Emma glanced over at you as you were going through the list of parent’s names, making sure everyone had a partner. There were a few single parents, so you had to figure out who they should be paired with. But there was an odd number, one parent would have to sit out.

“So… who’s sitting out?” Emma asked, leaning on the desk next to you. She had that casual curiosity in her tone, but you knew she was just as invested in making sure things ran smoothly as you were.

You chewed your lip, staring at the list. “Looks like we’ve got one extra parent. I’m not sure yet.”

Emma peeked over your shoulder, scanning the names. “What about Logan?”

You paused, looking at the list. Logan’s name was there, as was Laura’s, but you hesitated. He wasn’t exactly the type to jump into school events, especially one that involved blindfolds and teamwork. And while he’d been involved in Laura’s life, you weren’t sure he’d want to participate in something like this.

“Yeah, guess he can sit out. We have an odd number of parents anyways.” You put down the clipboard and looked at the empty donut box, “I’ll be right back. Gonna go to the other room and get another box.”

As you moved toward the door, you noticed Laura sitting quietly in the corner, fiddling with her notebook, watching everything with that usual sharpness in her eyes. She had been quiet all morning, almost too quiet. You gave her a smile before heading to the break room, still feeling a little awkward about pairing up the parents.

Emma stayed behind, her eyes flicking between you and Laura, a slight smirk tugging at her lips like she was onto something.

You weaved through the hallway, your mind still on the whole situation. These parent events were always a little tricky when it came to single parents. You knew Logan wasn’t exactly the type to jump into the school scene, especially for something like a Valentine’s Day competition, but you couldn’t help but think maybe he’d want to give it a shot for Laura.

Grabbing the donut box, you paused for a second. The idea of Logan being there today, paired up with someone else, didn’t sit right. Not that you had any reason to feel that way. It was just... Logan. You weren’t even sure if he’d show up.

When you returned to the room, Laura was still sitting there, now scribbling something in her notebook. She glanced up as you entered, her expression neutral but her eyes watching you closely.

“Everything okay?” you asked, setting the fresh box on the table and moving to grab the clipboard again.

Laura nodded. “Yeah, just thinking.”

“Thinking about the competition?” You smiled, trying to make conversation, but she just gave you a vague shrug.

“Something like that.”

Emma glanced at you, her smirk still there as she made a little noise of amusement. “Logan didn’t strike me as the ‘competition’ type. But who knows?”

You shot her a look, but before you could respond, the door swung open, and Logan walked in. Speak of the devil. He looked around, taking in the sight of parents getting ready, kids buzzing with excitement. His eyes landed on you, and he gave a short nod, his usual gruff greeting.

“You’re here,” you said, surprised, trying to keep your voice casual. “Didn’t think you’d make it.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, his hands in his pockets. “Laura signed us up. Thought I’d better show.”

Laura, sitting nearby, perked up but kept her face mostly neutral. She wasn’t about to blow her cover, not yet anyway.

“Right,” you said, glancing down at the clipboard. “Well, there’s an odd number of parents, so... I was thinking maybe you’d sit out.”

Laura, quick as ever, jumped in. “Or you could partner with someone else.”

You blinked at her, caught off guard. “Well, yeah, I guess, but we don’t really have—”

“You could partner with Daddy.” Laura said it so simply, like it wasn’t a big deal, like she hadn’t been plotting this for weeks.

Logan’s eyes narrowed slightly as he glanced between the two of you, clearly realizing what his daughter was doing, but he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, waiting for your reaction.

You stammered a bit, caught completely off guard. “I—I don’t know if that’s a good idea...”

Laura gave you a look, one that said she knew exactly what she was doing. “It’s just for the competition. Besides, it’ll be fun.”

Logan’s gaze flicked to you again, and this time, there was a slight smirk on his face. “It’s just a game, right? We’ll survive.”

Emma, watching the whole thing play out, was trying very hard not to laugh. “Looks like you’re stuck with Logan, Y/N.”

You felt a wave of heat rise in your cheeks. It was one thing to think about spending time with Logan, but being thrown into a school competition with him—especially with Laura being the mastermind behind it—was another.

“Okay, fine,” you muttered, trying to act like this wasn’t a big deal at all. “I guess we’ll partner up.”

Logan just gave a nonchalant shrug. “Let’s get this over with.”

Laura’s eyes practically sparkled with victory as she hopped up from her seat, already heading toward the field where the first challenge would take place. You followed, trying to shake off the awkwardness, but it was impossible with Logan right next to you.

As you reached the field, the first task was announced: a three-legged race. Of course. Out of all the challenges, it had to be this one. You glanced over at Logan, who was already eyeing the ropes being handed out for the pairs to tie their legs together.

"This should be interesting," Logan muttered under his breath, taking one of the ropes and holding it out for you.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your nerves behind a smile. "I feel like this is a recipe for disaster."

Logan’s lips quirked into a smirk. "Only if you don’t keep up."

"Me?" You chuckled, shaking your head as you bent down to tie the rope around your ankle and his. "You’re the one with the bum leg."

Logan grunted, not arguing, though his usual swagger was still intact. "I’ll manage."

Laura stood off to the side, watching with a faint smile, clearly enjoying the show. You could tell she was pleased with herself, and part of you was too, even if you were trying to act like this was no big deal.

"Alright, ready?" Logan asked, standing up straighter after securing the rope.

"As I’ll ever be," you replied, trying to gauge the best way to navigate the race without falling flat on your face.

The whistle blew, and before you knew it, you were awkwardly hopping forward, one leg bound to Logan’s as you tried to find some sort of rhythm. The first few steps were disastrous—Logan’s longer strides making it nearly impossible for you to keep pace without stumbling.

"Slow down!" you laughed, grabbing his arm to steady yourself as you nearly tripped.

Logan smirked, his hand quickly coming to your waist to keep you from toppling over. "You gotta move faster than that, Y/N."

"Or maybe you need to move slower!" you shot back, trying to adjust your steps to match his. After a few shaky moments, you finally found a rhythm, the two of you moving in sync—well, mostly. Logan’s hand lingered at your waist, steadying you as you both half-hopped, half-laughed your way toward the finish line.

"Not bad," Logan grunted as you crossed the line, not quite first, but definitely not last either.

"Not bad?" You shot him a look, still a little breathless from laughing. "I’m pretty sure we almost face-planted three times."

"Could’ve been worse," he replied with a shrug, that smirk of his still in place.

You rolled your eyes, but you couldn’t deny the way your heart was still racing—though you weren’t sure if it was from the race or from the fact that Logan had kept his arm around your waist longer than necessary.

Laura, waiting at the sidelines, gave you both a knowing look as you untied the rope. "You guys were pretty good," she commented casually, though the glint in her eyes said otherwise.

"Pretty good?" you echoed, shooting her a playful glare. "We almost ate dirt, Laura."

Logan grunted in agreement but didn’t say much, just shaking his head as he rubbed his leg a bit. You noticed the slight grimace that flashed across his face—something you hadn’t seen often, but it was there for just a moment before he covered it up.

"Next challenge is... egg balancing," Emma announced from the other end of the field, holding up a spoon and a carton of eggs.

You and Logan exchanged a look, and you couldn’t help but laugh. "Oh, this’ll be fun."

Logan just sighed, clearly less than thrilled about the prospect of trying to balance an egg on a spoon, but he didn’t protest. You handed him one of the spoons as you lined up for the next round.

"You got a steady hand?" you teased, raising an eyebrow at him.

Logan glanced at the spoon, then back at you. "Steadier than yours, probably."

"Let’s see about that," you shot back, placing the egg carefully on your spoon. The whistle blew, and you both started across the field, trying to keep the fragile eggs from toppling off. You had to admit, Logan had a surprising amount of focus for a guy who usually looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.

"Not bad for an old man," you joked, glancing over at him as you both carefully moved toward the finish line.

"Careful, Y/N. That’s how you get egg on your face," Logan muttered, but you could hear the amusement in his voice.

Just as you were nearing the end, Laura darted over, watching closely. "Come on, you guys can do it!"

It was hard to ignore the pride in her voice—she was definitely enjoying watching you two work together. And maybe, despite the ridiculousness of it all, you were too.

By the time you finished, both of your eggs still intact, you couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of accomplishment. It was silly, sure, but being paired with Logan for these goofy challenges wasn’t as awkward as you thought it might be. In fact, it was... kind of nice.

"Two for two," Logan said with a smirk, handing his spoon back as the event wrapped up.

"Don’t get too cocky," you replied, bumping his arm lightly as you handed yours in too. "We’ll see how you do with the next one."

Laura appeared beside you again, her eyes bright. "You guys make a good team."

You gave her a sideways glance, trying not to read too much into her words. "Yeah, well, it’s all about teamwork, right?"

Logan didn’t say anything, but his eyes met yours for a brief moment, and there was something there—something unspoken that made your heart skip a beat.

The rest of the day went by in a blur of silly games and laughter, and by the time the event was over, you were exhausted, but in the best way possible. Logan had stayed the whole time, never complaining or trying to bow out early. Laura, of course, was thrilled with how things had turned out, and you couldn’t help but feel like she had succeeded in whatever plan she had been cooking up.

As the parents and kids started to trickle out of the school, you found yourself standing beside Logan near the door. Laura had already run ahead to grab her things, leaving the two of you alone for a moment.

"Thanks for sticking around," you said, glancing up at him. "I know this probably wasn’t your idea of a fun day."

Logan shrugged, his usual nonchalant expression in place. "Wasn’t so bad."

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you at his words. "Well, I’m glad you came. Laura seemed to really enjoy it."

"Yeah," Logan agreed, his gaze softening slightly as he looked in the direction where Laura had run off. "She’s a good kid."

"She is," you said, nodding. "And she’s lucky to have you."

Logan didn’t respond right away, but after a moment, he gave a small nod. "Thanks."

There was a brief silence between you, the air charged with something unspoken but palpable. Before you could say anything else, Laura came bounding back, her backpack slung over one shoulder.

"Ready to go?" she asked, looking between the two of you with that same knowing glint in her eyes.

"Yeah," Logan said, ruffling her hair lightly. "Let’s get outta here."

As they started to head for the door, Logan paused, glancing back at you. "See you around, Y/N."

"Yeah," you replied, feeling your heart skip again. "See you around, Logan."

---

It had been a few days since the Valentine’s Day event, and things had settled back into routine. You were sitting in your living room, halfway through grading papers, when there was a knock on your door.

Opening it, you found Logan standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking slightly out of place.

"Hey," he greeted, voice low. "Laura wanted me to ask if you'd join us for dinner tonight. Nothing fancy. Just... thought it’d be nice."

You blinked, surprised by the invitation. Logan wasn’t exactly the type to invite people over casually, but something about the way he stood there, slightly awkward, made your heart skip a beat.

"Sure," you said, smiling. "I’d like that."

Dinner at Logan’s place was unexpectedly warm. Laura set the table with care, and you found yourself laughing more than you expected as Logan recounted some old stories about his past. The tension that usually simmered between you felt different tonight—softer, like you were slowly crossing an invisible line you’d both been careful to avoid.

As you helped clear the dishes, your hand brushed against Logan’s, and the brief contact made you pause. He glanced at you, and for a moment, neither of you moved. It was like a quiet acknowledgment of something building between you.

“Thanks for coming,” he said, his voice low, his gaze lingering just a little too long.

“Anytime,” you replied softly, feeling the weight of his eyes on you as you turned to put the plates away. You tried to ignore the flutter in your chest, but it was hard with Logan standing so close. It was like every time you were around him, you felt like something unspoken hovered between you—something that Laura, in her quiet, clever way, seemed determined to help along.

Laura wandered back into the room, a book in her hands. “Y/N, can you help me with my English homework?” she asked, holding it up and glancing between you and Logan like she hadn’t just interrupted a moment.

You blinked, turning to her with a small smile. “Of course, I can take a look.”

“Great!” Laura said, her voice a little too cheerful. She plopped down on the couch and spread her notebook and book out in front of her. “It’s this essay I’ve got to write.”

Logan lingered by the kitchen counter, his eyes flicking to Laura’s book with an expression you couldn’t quite read. “I’ll leave you two to it, then,” he muttered, and before you could say anything, he was stepping outside, probably to get some fresh air or give you and Laura some space.

You turned your attention back to Laura, still smiling but a bit confused. “Alright, let’s see what you’ve got here.”

Laura launched into an explanation, talking about a character analysis she needed to do for class. As you glanced over her notes, though, it struck you that everything was pretty much perfect. Her sentences were clear, her argument made sense, and she’d clearly put a lot of thought into it. Like always, it was perfect.

“Laura… this is really good,” you said slowly, giving her an impressed look. “I don’t think you need help with this.”

Laura’s face stayed impassive, but you caught a faint hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Just wanted to make sure it was okay,” she said casually, glancing in the direction Logan had gone.

Something clicked then, and you had to suppress a chuckle. So this was just another one of Laura’s little schemes to get you to stick around. You were starting to see the pattern—tiny excuses to keep you close, to get you and Logan in the same room more often. It was subtle, but now that you were catching on, it was impossible to miss.

“Well, your essay’s great,” you said, folding your arms as you gave her a knowing look. “But I think there’s more going on here than just English homework.”

Laura’s gaze stayed steady on yours, and for a moment, you could see a glimpse of something deeper in those eyes—something far beyond her years. “He’s lonely,” she said quietly, so softly that you almost missed it.

Your heart gave a small squeeze at that. It was true that Logan always seemed like a man on the outskirts of everything, never quite fitting in. And you knew he and Laura had been through a lot together, more than most people could imagine. But he wasn’t exactly the type to talk about his feelings—or admit he might need someone else in his life.

“Maybe,” you replied gently, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. “But that’s something he has to figure out on his own, okay?”

Laura nodded slowly, but she didn’t look entirely convinced. “He likes you,” she said, blunt as ever. “And you like him.”

Your cheeks heated, and you glanced away, trying to keep your voice steady. It wasn’t the first time Laura has said something like this. “It’s not that simple, Laura.”

“Why not?” she asked, her brow furrowing like she genuinely didn’t understand.

You struggled to find the right words. How could you explain that things with Logan were complicated—that you weren’t sure where you stood with him, or if there was even a place for you in his life beyond being Laura’s teacher? And yet, every time you were near him, there was this pull, this quiet magnetism that made you wonder.

“I just… don’t want to mess things up,” you admitted finally, feeling a little silly for having this conversation with an eleven-year-old.

Laura’s gaze softened, and she reached out to squeeze your hand. “You won’t.”

Before you could respond, the door swung open, and Logan stepped back inside, his gaze immediately going to the two of you. “Everything okay?” he asked, his tone gruff but laced with something you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Yeah, we’re good,” you said quickly, trying to push down the strange mix of emotions Laura’s words had stirred up. You stood up, smoothing down your shirt as you gave him a smile. “I should probably get going, though. It’s getting late.”

Logan nodded, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—something that almost looked like disappointment. “I’ll walk you out.”

He led you to the door, and you hesitated for a moment, glancing back at Laura. She gave you a small, encouraging smile, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Thanks again for coming,” Logan said as he opened the door, his voice a little softer than usual.

“Anytime,” you replied, echoing your earlier words as you stepped outside. The cool night air hit you, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, feeling the weight of Logan’s gaze on you.

There was a long pause, the kind that felt like something should be said, but neither of you knew what. You shifted on your feet, biting your lip as you glanced up at him.

“Logan, I—”

“Y/N, I—”

You both spoke at the same time, then paused, sharing a startled laugh.

“You first,” Logan muttered, his lips twitching into a faint smile.

You took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. “I just… I wanted to say that I really enjoyed tonight. And I know Laura’s been… well, playing matchmaker or something,” you added with a chuckle, “but I just want you to know that I’m not—”

“Using her as an excuse to get close?” Logan finished for you, his voice dry but not unkind.

You nodded, feeling a little self-conscious. “Yeah.”

Logan stood there, his eyes steady on yours, and for a moment, you both let the silence fill the space between you. He shifted his weight, his usual stoic expression softening just a bit, and for the first time, it felt like he was truly considering what to say next.

"Look, I know Laura's been trying to push things," he said, his voice low and gruff, but gentler than usual. "She's... smart, too smart sometimes. But this—tonight—it wasn’t just about her."

You blinked, surprised by his admission. You weren’t used to Logan being so open, especially about anything personal. He seemed to read the surprise in your face and let out a quiet sigh, rubbing the back of his neck like this was harder for him than any physical fight he’d been in.

"What I mean is," he continued, glancing at the ground before his eyes flicked back up to yours, "it’s not just her, Y/N. I didn’t mind tonight. And that’s not something I say often."

Your breath hitched a little at his words, heart beating a little faster. There was a vulnerability in Logan that you weren’t expecting—a side of him that he clearly didn’t let out much, if at all.

"I didn’t mind it either," you said softly, trying to match his tone, to let him know you weren’t taking this lightly. "And Laura... well, she’s got a way of seeing things."

Logan let out a quiet chuckle, a rare sound that caught you off guard. "Yeah, she does. Sometimes I think she’s too smart for her own good." His eyes softened as he spoke about her, a fondness there that made you smile.

"She just wants you to be happy," you said gently. "And, I guess, maybe me too."

Logan looked at you for a long moment, something unspoken passing between you, and for the first time, you wondered if maybe—just maybe—there was something more here than just a shared concern for Laura. You had always admired Logan’s strength, his quiet loyalty, the way he looked after Laura with such fierce protectiveness. But standing there now, with the night air cool against your skin and Logan’s presence so close, it felt different. More personal.

"You know," Logan said after a long pause, his voice low again, "I don’t exactly have a lot of people in my life. Never been good at that sort of thing. But... you’re good with Laura. And you’re—" He stopped, his jaw tightening for a second like he wasn’t sure if he should say the next part. "You’re good for us."

Your heart thudded in your chest, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and you could feel the weight of what he wasn’t saying—the layers beneath that simple statement. You’re good for us. It wasn’t just about being Laura’s teacher anymore. It was about something more.

Your heart thudded in your chest, but you forced a smile to keep things light. “Good for you?” you repeated with a slight chuckle. There was an ache there, something that hinted at how much more those words meant coming from Logan—someone who didn’t let people in easily. The way he looked at you, steady and deliberate, made it hard to brush aside. His eyes held yours a little longer than usual, almost daring you to look away.

"Yeah," he replied, his voice a low rumble, and you couldn’t help but notice how the weight of the night seemed to gather between you, thick in the air. Logan’s usual guarded stance had softened, just enough for you to sense it. He stepped a bit closer, enough that you could feel the faint warmth of him, the earthy scent of cigars and the wild outdoors clinging to his skin.

You shifted on your feet, trying to figure out where this was heading, but the flutter in your chest only grew stronger. Something unspoken seemed to pass between you two, like a current beneath the surface, waiting for one of you to reach down and touch it.

“I think Laura’s got something figured out,” you admitted, voice soft as you kept your eyes on him. “She’s smart enough to see what’s happening here.”

Logan’s lips quirked into a small, barely-there smile. “Yeah, too smart sometimes.” His gaze fell to the ground for a moment, and when he looked back up at you, there was something different there—something raw. “But she’s right. You’re good for us. Hell, you’re good for me.” His words carried a weight, a kind of honesty that took you by surprise, even though deep down, you’d been hoping to hear them for a while.

You swallowed, trying to keep your composure, but your pulse quickened. “Logan, I…” You started to say something—anything—to break the tension, but the words stuck in your throat. He was so close now, you could feel the heat radiating off him, and there was a wildness in his eyes that drew you in.

And then, as if some invisible line snapped, Logan took another step toward you, his rough hand reaching out to cup your cheek. His thumb grazed your skin, the touch light but electrifying. “I don’t say things like this often,” he muttered, his voice husky, the growl in it more pronounced now, “but I want you to stay close. For Laura, yeah, but... for me too.”

Your breath hitched as his words sank in, your body reacting to the closeness of him, the way his hand lingered on your cheek. It wasn’t just the softness in his eyes or the tenderness of his touch, but the way he was looking at you, like he was seeing more than just the surface.

“I’ve wanted to stay close,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper, as your hand gently touched his chest. His heartbeat was strong, steady, and you couldn’t help but feel drawn in, like the pull between you was more than just chemistry.

Logan’s gaze dropped to your lips, and for a moment, everything else faded away—the cool night air, the sound of distant traffic, even the faint light from inside the house. All that mattered was the closeness, the way you could feel his breath mingling with yours.

Before you knew it, Logan was leaning in, and you closed the gap without thinking. His lips pressed against yours, rough and warm, and everything else just melted away. The kiss was slow at first, almost tentative, but then it deepened, and the heat between you flared like wildfire.

His other hand found your waist, pulling you closer against him, and you could feel the solid strength of his body as you pressed into him. The kiss was everything you hadn’t let yourself think about for so long—filled with a hunger that had been simmering beneath the surface, waiting to spill over.

Logan kissed like he lived—intensely, without holding back. His grip on your waist tightened as if he was afraid to let go, and you responded in kind, threading your fingers into the rough texture of his hair. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing; just the two of you, connected in this raw, unexpected moment.

When you finally pulled back, breathless, you both stood there for a moment, neither of you saying anything. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and Logan’s forehead rested against yours, his breath still ragged.

“I—” you started to speak, but he cut you off, his voice low and hoarse.

“Don’t,” he muttered, shaking his head slightly. “Don’t ruin it with words, not yet.”

You nodded, biting back whatever thought was trying to escape. The night air felt cooler now, the warmth of Logan’s body contrasting sharply against it, grounding you in the moment. His hand lingered on your waist, thumb brushing your side, and you could feel the slight tremor in his fingers, like even he was surprised by what just happened.

After a long silence, he finally spoke, voice quieter than before. “Didn’t think this’d happen,” he admitted, almost to himself.

You gave a soft laugh, still trying to catch your breath. “Me either.”

His lips quirked into the faintest of smiles, and he shifted slightly, his hand moving from your waist to gently brush your cheek. The gesture was so uncharacteristically tender for him that it made your heart twist a little.

For a moment, you both just stood there, the weight of everything unspoken hanging between you. Part of you wanted to step back, to put some distance between you and Logan, to give yourself a chance to think. But another part—the stronger part—wanted to stay right where you were, feeling the warmth of his hand on your skin, the rough edge of his thumb grazing your cheek.

Meanwhile, Laura peeked through the blinds, a smile spreading across her face.

tags: @freythecrazyfae

[sekhisadventures]

Darkness Rises, Kingdoms Fall

Dalaran, The Legerdemain Lounge

“… well, you got closer that time Leza. The mouse has fluffy fur instead of sleek now.” commented Nelen as he pointed into the small cage sitting on the table in the bar. The owner had been a bit annoyed by the mouse being in his establishment, but Nelen had assured him that if it did get out it would be because it had become a sheep and thus would be easily captured and returned to captivity once the spell wore off.

Leza nodded, checking her notes on the spell and holding her wand tightly as she did. Nelen hadn’t lied, it was a difficult spell. Easy to understand, but like he’d said the real trick was convincing reality that there was a sheep where there shouldn’t be. “Yeah… hard though… its like… I dunno… tryin’ ta draw over a doodle without any paper.”

“That’s a good way of describing it Leza. Try to visualize that. Imagine that the world is your canvas, and your wand is the charcoal stick…” he smiled encouragingly, “… and picture yourself putting a new image over an old one…”

She nodded, closed her eyes, and murmured an incantation as she pointed her wand… and with a loud squeaky bleat a mouse-sized sheep was sitting in the cage! Suddenly, with a loud snapping sound, it was a very confused mouse again.

“I did it!” she yipped, wagging excitedly.

“Almost. You got the species right, but it was still too small. This is a big improvement though, well done!” grinned the worgen.

Nearby Samantha smirked at the two of them, taking a drink of her Thunderbrew Ale. “Heh… those two geeks I swear…” she chuckled.

Across from her sat Laurelgosa, in her visage form of Laura Brightflame. She was enjoying some moonberry wine, the dracthyr leaning back in her chair. “It is still impressive that she has learned this so quickly.” she nodded. Being an evoker, she understood the arcane enough to know that polymorphing creatures was challenging. While her ties to such powers leaned more offensive, she could at least appreciate the dedication the vulpera was showing to learning magecraft.

“Eh, I suppose.” replied Samantha with a dismissive shrug. Such sights caused mixed feelings for her. She respected Nelen, and she found Leza’s excitement endearing… but seeing a mage tutoring their apprentice brought back some unpleasant memories of her father trying and failing to get her to use magic as a child, usually with some awful results when her attempts at spells would fail to do anything at all.

Laura seemed to pick up on this, sighing. “He is not your father Samantha.” she nodded to her, “What happened to you was terrible, but it will not happen again. Your father is long dead.”

“Yeah, I know…” sighed the ren’dorei as she took a big gulp of her ale, then shrugged, “Wish we had somewhere else we could meet up for drinks though. Pity Dalaran is the only neutral territory that’s easy to get to.” she huffed.

Pandaria would be the next option, but without a capital city the portals in Orgrimmar and Stormwind only led to the Jade Forest and the tiny country inns there had very limited drinks on offer. Shattrath City wasn’t really a great choice either as it was hard to find a bar that was… well… safe to drink at. While the Horde and Alliance weren’t enemies anymore, there was very little in the way of truly neutral territory, and Valdrakken was still restocking after hosting so many adventurers for so long. It’d be a while before the city was ready for visitors again.

The only other option would be Oribos and the selection there was problematic at best. Only Galdia and Edwood were willing to risk most of the beverages on tap at the inn, given that the host was one of the Brokers who mostly figured out what mortals liked to drink by guesswork as he lacked a sense of taste… and a head… and a digestive system.

It had definitely put a damper on her coming out party with the rest of Avalon and Savage United when she’d tried something that had seemed interesting, a clear liquid with flecks of silvery sparkles floating in it, only to spend the rest of the night sitting in the corner talking animatedly at a pot plant amid bouts of hysterical giggling while Mola’raum frantically tried to work out an antidote.

“Sorry Laura, I guess I’m just not feeling so great today… truth is, I had a really nasty dream last night.” she sighed…

“Oh? What was it about?” asked the dracthyr, cocking her head at her elven companion.

“Well… it was bad memories about my dad at first… but… then it got really disturbing.” she frowned.

Orgrimmar, the Vulpera Encampment

Sekhi whimpered and tossed in her sleep, the vulpera shamaness clutching at her bedroll. “Hnnnhhh…”

The laughter of a creature older than the world she knew, the chittering and hissing of an army of horrors, screams and flames, explosions and pain, terror, all around her.

Hear me!

Sekhi gasped, her body shaking now, “No… make it stop…” she whined, her ears flat against her head.

It was falling, it was falling to the ground below like a meteor. Fear all around her, screams of pain and horror, the monsters waited below for any survivors.

HEAR ME!!!

“NO! ITS GONNA CRASH! ITS GONNA CRASH!” cried the shaman, flailing her arms as she screwed up her eyes tightly.

“SEKHI!” came a voice.

HEAR ME!!!

“Sekhi! Wake up! Please!” came the voice again, and a pair of hands gripped her shoulders and began to shake her.

With a loud gasp Sekhi’s eyes flew open, her ears sticking straight up.

Leaning over her was her father Atu, his wife Risala next to him, their faces full of fear for their daughter. Nearby were her twin siblings Zato and Eeda, the small vulpera kits whining at the sight of Sekhi’s distress.

“See?!” yipped Zato, “We told ya! Sekhi was havin’ a really really bad dream!”

Sekhi sat up, breathing fast, the vision still ringing in her mind. “N-no! It wasn’t a dream! It was th’ Song! It was tryin’ ta warn me… The city… falling…” she whimpered, trying to figure out what Azeroth was showing her. How could a city literally fall? The only city that could conceivably do that would be…

She froze, looking up at her family, then around the cart. Mom? Check. Dad? Check. Twins? Check…

She looked around again, then scrambled to her feet and ran to the exit, sticking her head out and looking around the encampment, then turning to her parents. “W-where’s Leza?” she asked, feeling a chill go down her spine as she tried to remember what day it was.

Atu glanced at her mother, then back at Sekhi. “Dalaran probably… today is her lessons with Nelen, she left a couple hours ago.” he replied, “… why?”

Sekhi’s eyes went huge, “No… NO! I GOTTA GO NOW! I GOTTA GET HER BACK TA ORGRIMMAR!” she shouted, diving out of the cart and landing on all fours in the form of a spirit vulpin, then racing off towards the city gates and the portal room.

“Sekhi! Whats going on?! Whats wrong?!” shouted his father as the twins yipped in panic, Risala holding them back as Atu ran to the cart’s exit, but his daughter was already disappearing into the tunnel that led to the Drag…

Dalaran

“… and then Annulus grabbed and dragged me out of the woods. It was so messed up, it really felt like I was about to get killed.” she shuddered.

Laura nodded, holding the void elf’s hand in her own. “That sounds horrible… do you know who the woman in your dream was?” she asked.

Samantha glanced away, “Well, Annulus said that… and I’m not kidding here… it was…” she began, and then suddenly the entire city shook as all of them grabbed their tables to steady themselves.

“What the fel was that?!” shouted Samantha as she got to her feet, the void elf looking around in shock as Laurelgosa stood, her eyes narrowing.

Nelen adjusted his glasses as Leza picked up the cage, the mouse inside squeaking in panic and racing around trying to find an exit. “That felt like a teleportation spell. Khadgar and the council have sent the city somewhere else, but… why?” he wondered aloud.

“Nelen… if the city has been moved, then it was likely not for a frivolous reason.” observed Laurelgosa, holding up a finger as she did so, “To teleport all of Dalaran would take tremendous resources and energy… perhaps it would be wise to return to Stormwind and Orgrimmar.” she warned.

Nelen nodded slowly, then gestured to Leza. “Afraid the lesson will have to get cut short today. We’ll pick it up again next time alright?” he offered to her as the group made their way out of the Lounge into the streets of Dalaran. Nelen was trying to be calm for Leza, but the magus could tell something big was happening, and both Sam and Laurelgosa were checking to ensure their weapons were loose in their sheathes.

Leza nodded slowly, “Uh… okay… but whats…” she began, then suddenly she yelped loudly as an explosion echoed through the city.

“What was that?!” gasped Laura, her eyes wide as she looked around, the dracthyr woman trying to regain her footing.

The city shook again, and a loud skittering sound began to fill the air.

Nelen growled and in an instant his body swelled into his worgen form, his fur standing on end. “I sense something coming, get ready everyone!” he barked.

A moment later, void portals tore open all over the city and out they came. A tide of chitinous hide and long slender claws, some held weapons and others weaved spells, but to those who had fought in Northrend they were unmistakable.

Nelen hadn’t fought in Northrend, he was still running wild in Gilneas during that war, but he was a bookworm and he did collect a lot of tomes… including bestiaries. The worgen’s ears folded back as he bared his fangs, “Gordrinn’s fangs! Those are nerubians!” he roared.

Nerubians, the spider-like descendants of the aquir, creatures born of the blood of the old gods during the height of the Black Empire. The monstrous spiders poured over the walls into Dalaran, attacking anything in sight as they besieged the city! “TAKE THE OVERCRALWERS! FOR QUEEN ANSUREK!” shouted one of the attackers.

Samantha drew her daggers and held them ready as Nelen began to channel arcane energy, Laura snarling as her body swirled with magic and her visage faded, revealing Laurelgosa the Dracthyr once more.

“LEZA! RUN FOR THE PORTAL! NOW!” barked Nelen.

Leza yipped in fear at the sight of the monstrous arachnids and turned, racing back up the path towards the Windrunner’s Sanctuary, only to skid to a halt as a group of nerubians advanced from the other direction. “NELEN!” she shouted, “THEY’RE BEHIND US!”

The worgen spun around and slammed his hands forward, his claws shining with arcane energy, and one of the nerubians flew backwards in a blast of purple flames, but the others were still coming!

Leza whined, then pulled out her wand and dropped the cage which shattered on the cobbles, the mouse inside immediately running for cover as she took a deep breath, muttered a quick incantation under her breath, and pointed the wand at one of the attackers. There was a loud fwoosh and a fireball the size of a cannonball blasted out of her wand, but her aim was wide! The fireball struck the nerubian in the shoulder and the spider fell to the ground with a scream, its arm engulfed in fire!

Two down… but there were three nerubians…

“SUBMIT, OVERCRALWER!” shouted the last one as it drew close to Leza, raising its weapon. A longsword with a razor-sharp edge, dripping with a viscous green liquid.

Leza stumbled backwards, her eyes wide, but there was no time to get away!

Suddenly, a loud sharp sound cut over the sounds of battle, a single powerful note from a wooden flute… and the clouds above sparkled with electricity before a lightning bolt slammed down into the nerubian!

The spider creature howled in pain, then fell dead to the cobbles, smoke rising off its body as another vulpera ran into view, coming out of Windrunner’s Sanctuary.

Sekhi looked around, then saw Leza and ran up to her, gripping her shoulders. “Are ya okay?! Are ya hurt?! We gotta go!” stammered the shaman, her eyes wide with fear for her sister.

“S-sekhi?! Whats going on?!” yipped Leza, “I’m fine! Ya got him before he could touch me!” she nodded firmly.

“Sekhi? When did you get here?” asked Nelen as the others caught up to them. Fights were breaking out all over Dalaran, the Nerubians swarming into the city from all sides!

Sekhi looked up at Nelen, her eyes wide, “Azeroth was warnin’ me in my sleep! Th’ Harbinger lady that Nitika was talkin’ about is here! She’s th’ one leadin’ th’ spider-things!”

Lauregosa gasped at her as Samantha grimaced, Nelen’s jaw falling open. He knew the shamaness was the most sensitive of all of them to the Radiant Song. He believed her… but the portal to Stormwind was on the other side of the city! They couldn’t get to it without fighting through the nerubians!

“Everyone! The Orgrimmar portal! GO!” he shouted, the group racing towards the path to the portal.

“That seems like a really bad idea Nelen! I mean we’re not exactly welcome there!” pointed out Samantha.

“I will vouch for you both!” nodded Laurelgosa, “This is an emergency! The Horde Council will understand!”

They fled past the entrance to Windrunner’s Sanctuary, the guards fighting back the Nerubians as they tried to push past into the area, and Sekhi took the lead, “THIS WAY!” she yipped, heading towards where the portals were… then stumbling to a halt.

Samantha turned the corner next and cried out in horror. There, in front of them, stood the creature from her nightmare. A mix of human and spider, but much more human than the average nerubian. It had two sets of arms covered in a hard exoskeleton, six eyes over an all-too-human mouth, and a body covered in armor-like plates, a sword sheathed at its belt.

“Too late overcrawlers!” it laughed as it gestured behind it. The guards to the portal were dead on the ground, and all around the recess were strange smoking objects.

“Bombs…” growled Nelen… then he looked down at Leza. “SAM! LAURELGOSA! TAKE HIM!” he roared as the rouge dashed forward, daggers at the ready. Laurelgosa snarled and flexed her claws, scarlet flames swirling around them as she threw a ball of dragonfire at the creature!

As they did Nelen flew into action, grabbing Leza around her waist. “BRACE YOURSELF LEZA!” he shouted, picking her up and taking careful aim as the vulpera girl struggled in surprise, then with a grunt he threw her as hard as he could!

He knew he was taking a risk, but he could tell how close the bombs were, and it was his duty to protect his apprentice at all costs! Normally he’d have no hope of pulling this off, but worgen arms were far stronger than human ones!

With a yip of surprise Leza went flying and vanished through the portal, landing with a loud gasp of pain on the floor of the portal room in Orgrimmar.

She shook herself, sitting up as she looked back at the portal, the two blood elves who maintained it staring at her in shock with her sudden arrival. “Oww… Sekhi?” she asked, looking back…

Then a loud BOOM echoed through the portal room!

The elves were trained battlemagi and they reacted on instinct as much as anything. As one they leapt back and with a word and a gesture a wall of arcane energies suddenly appeared in front of them as a blast of flames erupted from the portal, splashing into it as the barrier held it at bay!

When the flames died the portal flickered like an image on a broken TV set… then suddenly vanished with a snapping sound.

Leza stared at the empty recess, the ground around it scorched and blackened. “SEKHI!!!” she screamed.

All around her the other magi who maintained the portals across Azeroth turned to stare where the portal to Dalaran had been, as well as other members of the Horde. A murmur of questions arose, those there wanting to know what had happened, what the explosion had been. The guards at the entrance nodded to each other, and one pointed back towards Warsong Hold. The other grunted in acknowledgement and ran off to tell the Council what had just happened.

But Leza took in none of that. All that mattered to her was that the portal was closed… and her sister had been on the wrong side of it.

Dalaran

The strange spider-creature was on the ground, his throat had been slashed and one arm was burned away, but they hadn’t been able to stop him.

Where the portal had been was a pile of rubble, the path to Orgrimmar cut off.

Samantha stared at it, then glanced at Nelen. “We’re in deep shit, aren’t we?” she asked.

Nelen growled but nodded. “Yeah, but at least Leza got away. She can tell Grimo and the rest of Savage United what happened, and they can pass it along to Avalon.”

“Well that’s great, but what about us right now?! If they blew up the portal to Orgrimmar they probably took out Stormwind’s too! Can’t you open one?” nodded Samantha, the void elf looking rather distressed at their situation. She could feel Xal’atath’s power somewhere in the city through her connection to Annulus, and her unseen partner was getting more and more frantic in her insistence to be anywhere but Dalaran as soon as possible!

Nelen nodded, then took out his stave and drew a circle in the air, a glowing ring of arcane energies appearing as the view inside it began to distort…

Suddenly Sam gasped and clutched her head, and a burst of shadow appeared in the middle of the portal spell, collapsing it in an instant. “Owww…” she hissed, her tentacles twitching, then she looked up with a worried expression. “Annulus says Xal’atath did that. She’s doing something to interfere with portals and hearthstones.” she warned. “She had to destroy the permanent ones, but she can stop new ones from getting made.”

Nelen growled in frustration, “Doesn’t want her prey escaping...” he nodded.

Sekhi whined, holding her flute tight. “At least Leza is safe… but…” she began, then she gasped loudly as her eyes went wide.

HEAR ME!

Sekhi shook her head, “A-Azeroth… she’s tryin’ ta tell me… oh no… EVERYONE! WE GOTTA YIPPIN’ GO! NOW!” she cried out, the vulpera shifting into her spirit form and racing out of the Sanctuary towards Kraus’s Landing

Nelen, Samantha, and Laurelgosa looked at her in confusion… and then the entire city lurched!

Nelen looked towards the Violet Hold and his eyes widened in horror. A sphere of pure blackness was growing out from within the tower, visible over the other buildings of the city already. “RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!” he roared and together the group raced after Sekhi.

There were still nerubians within the walls, but they were fleeing now, heading out of the city through the portals they used to invade. They didn’t want to get caught up in this any more than the others did!

Finally, they made it to the landing, but there were no mounts waiting. The city’s gryphons had fled at the start of the chaos. Nelen looked back and let out a wolf like whine, the black hole already spreading to cover half of Dalaran.

Sekhi whimpered, the vulpera staring in terror as the others looked around. “What the fel do we do?!” shouted Samantha, her eyes wide and wild as Annulus’ own terror rocked her mind. It was not an easy thing having to deal with enough fear for two people, literally.

“JUMP!” roared Laurelgosa as she grabbed Samantha around the middle, then ran to the end and leapt free of the city, spreading her wings.

Nelen snarled and grabbed Sekhi off her feet, holding the shaman tightly to his chest, “HANG ON!” he shouted, then he too dove off the edge over the coastline below. He let gravity do it’s thing counting down from thirty, and once he was fairly sure they were out of range he waved his hand and invoked his magic, and their descent suddenly slowed from a freefall to a gentle float.

The four of them looked back as they descended towards the unknown land below, Sekhi whining in fear at the sight.

Samantha gasped in shock, hanging on tight to Laurelgosa as the dracthyr hissed under her breath, baring her fangs at what she was witnessing.

Nelen could only watch in despair… Dalaran was a city of learning, the home of all who practiced the magical arts on Azeroth, a city of scholars and magi that had risen from the ashes of the Third War both figuratively and literally. His childhood home away from home, reborn.

Now… the city was engulfed in a sphere of pure void energies, and a glow was forming at the center of it… a single star in a sea of blackness.

With a tremendous, earth-shattering blast, the void energies collapsed and the city exploded into pieces! Most of it fell into the ocean, but the tower above the Chamber of the Guardian slammed into the ground and shattered! Purple glass, white stone, random debris, it all went flying as the building gouged out a deep trench in the land before the main bulk slowed to a halt… behind it the rest of the city disappeared slowly beneath the waves.

Dalaran, their base of operations against both the Scourge and the Burning Legion, was no more. Xal’atath had done what both Arthas and Sargeras could not. The City of Magi was gone.

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[a-modernmajorgeneral]

In 1946, at the age of 68, Laura Knight was sent by the War Artists Advisory Committee to Nuremberg to record the trials of the Nazi war criminals. The idea for this audacious mission came from Knight rather than from the WAAC, a fact that tells you a great deal about her: at an age when most artists of her reputation might have been inclined to rest on their laurels – by this time she was very famous indeed – Knight was still questing after challenging new subjects.

The result was remarkable. Faced with both the devastation of the German city, and the inconceivable crimes for which the men were being tried, Knight, a realist all her life, found her usual narrative methods unequal to the task. "I am trying out a rather crazy idea which gives me the opportunity for space and mystery," she wrote in her diary. "I do hope so much I can bring it off… Stanley Spencer could do it. I will fight for it." From her press box high above the proceedings, she diligently sketched Goering and the others: their drab suits, their headphones (for translation), their bald patches. But when the time came to turn all this to paint, she gave the courtroom only one visible wall, framing the dock instead with what she called "a mirage" of the ruined city – a fire even now burning among its rubble, the better, perhaps, to symbolise the impossibility of reparation.

The Nuremberg Trial was, you gather, received with a certain coolness at the Royal Academy's 1946 Summer Exhibition, but it is one of the highlights of a small new show of Knight's work at the National Portrait Gallery. For beside it, in a glass display case, are some of Knight's diaries from the trial, a collection of vivid documents that bring her disorienting painting into startling focus. On one page she has inked a sketch of Goering, a dramatic doodle that caricatures his widow's peak and the stubborn slope of his back. It is quite horrible. Beside it, in her neat hand, names jump out at you. "Today, Hess's eyes and mine interlocked," she writes, adding that she was unnerved to find herself wondering if she should smile at him. Reading these scant pages – I wish the curators had included more – is fascinating, but unsettling too. Knight's sheer appetite for her work is palpable: it seeps through the solemnity like light through a broken venetian blind.

Of course it was ever thus. Knight was born in 1877, in Long Eaton, Derbyshire, the youngest of three daughters. Her father having left the household soon after she was born, money was tight, and it was surely this formative experience of what it meant to be broke – her mother's dream that her daughter would study art in Paris ended before Laura was even a teenager – that fired both her work ethic (she would later turn out paintings in a single day) and her preoccupation with the value of her art; she had a tendency to price her paintings too highly, with the result that they sometimes did not sell.

But work gave her something else, too: a means to be extrovert at a time when women were all too often expected to be mice. As she put it: "An ebullient vitality made me want to paint the whole world, and say how glorious it was to be young and strong and able to splash with paint on canvas." This ebullience stayed with her, girlish and delightful, throughout her career. Her technical skills, which were considerable, she learned at art school in Nottingham, and from her husband Harold Knight, a Vermeer-wannabe who was its star pupil (they married in 1903); but her great charm as a painter, her flamboyance and use of colour, were all her own.

[...]

Most stirring of all, though, are the pictures she did during the second world war under the auspices of the WAAC. Yes, they are technical exercises. Yes, they are propaganda. But somehow none of this matters when you stand before them, your lip beginning sentimentally to tremble. My favourite is Corporal Elspeth Henderson and Sergeant Helen Turner (1941), which stars two young women who were awarded the Military Medal for bravery, both of them having continued to work on their switchboard even as their RAF base was bombed by the enemy. Oh, the expressions on the faces! They look so marvellously unimpressed. And while Knight has given all due attention to their uniforms, their equipment, and even to a map on the wall behind them, it is the distinctive orange-red of their lipstick that catches the attention, all their pluck somehow captured in the careful application of a little Max Factor.

[crazyblondelife]

Bald Head Island - This & That

Happy Monday! I’m here at Bald Head Island and definitely on turtle time as you can probably tell from my posting schedule! The weather has been off and on, but yesterday was absolutely beautiful with highs in the low 80’s and the humidity was relatively low which is very unusual for this time of the year at Bald Head!

I’ve still been making some fun videos and definitely active on social media, so be sure to follow me on Instagram and check out my stories to see what I’m up to! Amos and I have been doing a lot of walking and enjoying the beautiful weather…I’ve been cooking yummy meals, drinking some great wine and enjoying this time before the fam gets here!

Even though July seems like the middle of the summer, it’s always been the month when I start thinking about fall because the magazines are showing fall clothing and sweaters start to appear in stores! I’m by no means ready to start wearing fall clothes because it feels like it’s just now getting consistently warm but I do enjoy planning because fall is my favorite time of the year!

I think I’ve mentioned that the whole family will be here with us at Bald Head next week…all 11 of us and 2 golden doodles…Amos and John Wayne, our daughter’s dog. It will be a house full, but we’re going to cook and spend days on the beach, and enjoy being all together for the first time in a while! We’re going on an afternoon sail, and on the 4th we’ve entered the annual July 4th parade where everyone decorates their golf cart and prizes go to the best cart! I know it will be the most amazing memory for my grandsons and I’m so excited! I ordered every imaginable July 4th decoration from Amazon so we’re ready to go!

I know I’ve shared this dress in a previous post, but…I remember trying it on and at that time, I knew that I wanted to wear and photograph it on the beach! It’s the perfect, timeless summer dress and I couldn’t resist posting again! Yes…I did get the bottom wet, but it was so much fun and I’ve been wearing it around in the afternoons feeling very much like a Victorian seaside lady!

My Beach Reads…

I’m reading two amazing books at the same time…they are both so different and unlikely beach reads, but I’m really enjoying them both! The Neville Collection by Neville Goddard is a collection of essays written by Neville Goddard and first published in 1932. It was put into one volume and re-published in 2020! It you’re interested in metaphysics at all, this book is fascinating, but admittedly not the easiest read! I’ve been reading it first thing in the morning when my mind seems more receptive to comprehending the deep ideas! I actually am really loving this book!

The second book I’m reading is A Gentleman in Moscow by Amor Towles, who also wrote Rules of Civility, which I loved! This beginning of this book is set in Russia…I’m only on page 178, and it’s so descriptively beautiful that I can see in my mind the beauty of Russia in the early 1900’s! However, at this point, I can tell it’s taking a turn and it’s going to get somewhat dark, but I am thoroughly captivated by the story, so, of course, I will keep reading! If you haven’t read Rules of Civility, you really should pick up a copy!

I’ve read many books at the beach and some of my favorites have been Educated by Tara Westover, The Great Alone by Kristin Hannah, The Nightingale…also by Kristin Hannah, The Red Tent by Anita Diamant, The Fountainhead by Anne Ryand (I stood in the pool and read this one for the most part because it was so hot that summer), The Last Thing He Told Me by Laura Dave and Flight Behavior by Barbara Kingsolver! I’m sure there have been many more but that’s a pretty good start!

When I first started blogging, I remember every blogger I followed being obsessed with the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale. At the time, I didn’t know what a big deal it was but now, I know what a big deal it is! The items included are fall items that are only on sale for a short time and the prices go back up when the sale is over so it’s really a great time to buy things that you need/want for fall. It’s also a great time to get a jump on holiday shopping!

Nordstrom Anniversary Sale

HERE IS A BREAKDOWN OF THE EPIC NORDSTROM ANNIVERSARY SALE 2023:

WHAT:

The Nordstrom Anniversary SALE is an amazing sale made up of NEW FALL ITEMS that go on SALE for a limited time, until August 7TH at which point the prices will go back up. This is a great opportunity to purchase new fall items at a discount and get a jump on your holiday shopping! The discounts are amazing and you don’t want to miss out!

In order to shop the Nordstrom Anniversary Sale EARLY you must be a Nordstrom card holder.  You can apply HERE.

If you’re not sure what level card holder you are you can check by logging into your account on the Nordstrom website and clicking on MY ACCOUNT.

 IMPORTANT SHOPPING DATES: 

SHOP ONLINE STARTING AT 12:01 AM ET ON THE FIRST DAY YOU’RE ELIGIBLE TO SHOP THE SALE:

ICON STATUS:  JULY 3RD PREVIEW, YOU CAN START SHOPPING ON JULY 11TH ONLINE AND IN STORES

AMBASSADOR STATUS: JULY 3RD PREVIEW, YOU CAN START SHOPPING ON JULY 12th ONLINE AND IN STORES

INFLUENCER STATUS: JULY 3RD PREVIEW, YOU CAN START SHOPPING ON JULY 13TH ONLINE AND IN STORES

PUBLIC STATUS: JULY 3RD PREVIEW, YOU CAN START SHOPPING ON JULY 17TH ONLINE AND IN STORES

SALE ENDS AND PRICES GO BACK UP ON AUGUST 7TH

Favorites to Shop from Nordstrom (Not necessarily in the sale because no one knows until July 3)!

Wine…

By now, I’m sure you know that I love my wine and I’m always looking out for new ones to try! I’m pretty much a white wine drinker and summer is such a great to drink white wine! I’ve discovered two wines that I’m enjoying right now and I’ve also found a wine subscription that I’m going to join as soon as I get home!

The two wines that I’ve been enjoying since I’ve been here are Overstone Sauvignon Blank and Rumor Rosé! The Overstone is a well priced New Zealand Sauvignon Blank and the Rumor is a French Rose! I like to have a few bottles of something reasonably priced for an everyday drinking wine that goes well with cheeses and lighter summer fare and Overstone is great for that!

The Rumor Rosé is a little more expensive but still at $30 a bottle, it doesn’t break the bank! I typically am drawn to a French Rosé because they are light and dry and perfect for afternoons on the porch…at the beach or at home!

The wine subscription that I’m planning to join is Dry Farm Wines. Dry Farm Wines has a very specific criteria for the wines that they sell which I absolutely love… these criteria are - sugar free, not toxic additives, lower alcohol, organic farming, lab tested and vegan, keto, non GMO and paleo friendly! Dry Farm Wines has partnered with over 600 small farms that nurture the land, organically cultivate healthy soils, and grow wines with a beautiful sense of place.

Summer Recipes

As some of you know, I’ve recently partnered with Heritage Foods and have been busy cooking/grilling/eating their fabulous meats! They recently sent me an amazing box filled with pork tenderloins and pork chops. The farmers that partner with Heritage Foods grow 100% heritage breed animals that are raised humanely, outdoors, on pasture.

This collaboration is thrilling for me as it’s my first one as a “food blogger”! The Brown Sugar Roasted Pork Tenderloin above is a recipe from How Sweet Eats and I’m planning to make it soon!

Frozen Lemonade Pie was something my mother made when I was growing up! I loved it so much and I especially loved the graham cracker crust. I was scrolling through Instagram recently and saw this recipe from The Domestic Rebel, and summer memories of eating this pie came right back! I can imagine the tart lemon combined with sweetened condensed milk and it makes my mouth water! I cannot wait to try this recipe, but there’s no way you can go wrong!

On My Radar…

I’ve know about the brand & Other Stories, for a while now, but I’ve never really looked into it…what in the world was I waiting for! There are so many pieces I want! I would describe the aesthetic of & Other Stories as updated, well made classics…things you’ll keep for years to come and always feel stylish wearing them!

I would pair this striped sweater with these beautiful linen pants for a sophisticated beachy look! I also have my eye on this striped midi dress as well as this gorgeous tiered midi dress! I’m obsessed with this jumpsuit which would be great dressed up or down! Lately, I’ve been wearing long sleeve blouses in the evening because I get cold and this one is perfect for chilly summer nights. I’m loving this gorgeous blouse paired with these shorts!

I really hope you’ve enjoyed reading today! I’m including a boutique below with everything in the post to make shopping easier! PLEASE…leave a comment and tell me what you’re cooking, reading, drinking and shopping for this summer!

[vlindervin7]

All I really have to say about this is that, considering the fact that I spend all my time thinking of both druck and the get down, it’s a miracle this didn’t happen sooner. You don’t need to have seen the get down to read this, but I would recommend watching this because it’s pure art. Enjoy

Read on ao3

David closes the door behind them. Matteo doesn’t immediately register what he’s seeing. David hadn’t exactly told him where they were going, just that he had something to show him. This isn’t what Matteo was expecting. 

He feels David come to stand next to him, but he can’t take his eyes off what he’s seeing. It’s a room, empty save for the lone mattress in the corner, and a few pots of paint and spray cans scattered all over the floor. And on the walls, from floor to ceiling, there is colour. Matteo immediately recognizes David’s signature art style that he’s been getting increasingly familiar with over the last few months, and it never fails to take his breath away. There’s so much of it, everywhere and Matteo’s eyes don’t know where to stop, each time they find something to take in, they find something else that demands their attention. It’s more colourful, bigger, and louder than most of David’s other art, almost like a living, breathing thing. It’s overwhelming in the very best way. 

David shifts next to him and it snaps Matteo back to earth and it occurs to him that he should probably say something. It’s a testament to how overwhelmed he is that all he can find to ask is: ‘What do you do when there’s no more space?’

He looks at David for the first time since they entered and oh, in all his awe he’d momentarily forgotten the most beautiful sight he’s still ever seen is standing right next to him. He’s heard some people say that art is always more interesting than the artist, but Matteo has everything he needs to prove that claim wrong right here. 

David breathes out a small laugh, looking a bit relieved to have Matteo responding, even if he’s amused at the direction Matteo’s thoughts have gone. ‘I paint over it.’

‘But then it’s all gone?’ 

The thought almost hurts, that all the beautiful things he can’t get enough of right now, might one day be gone because David needs to start over, and that he’ll never be able to see the however many layers that exist under this one. But then again, Matteo’s never been good with change. 

David shrugs. ‘Sometimes I take pictures, but it’s never really been about that. This is where I come to just feel. It’s not about making something aesthetically pleasing or whatever. I have my sketchbook and other projects for that. This is just where I let off steam.’ 

And Matteo can sort of see that. There’s no real harmony or continuation between the art on the walls, it’s a mix of colour and figures seemingly placed at random. With a jolt he suddenly recognizes his own face, and that’s a lot, the thought that David comes here to let his feelings do the talking where no one can hear, and he painted Matteo bursting with loud colours. 

Matteo reaches out to touch the wall closest to him, a sun or a big flower or maybe a disfigured face. He doesn’t know, but it’s pretty. 

‘I’ve never brought anyone here before’, David says, making Matteo turn around. ‘Not even Laura.’ 

His cheeks are that lovely red colour they are sometimes, and he looks nervous, unsteady on his feet and taking in Matteo’s movements. 

Matteo realizes how precious this is, how big of an honour it is to be shown this, essentially David’s soul on display, which is why he really doesn’t know what to say. He’s scared to say something that will ruin this moment that feels so delicate, or worse say something that won’t accurately convey how much this means to him. 

He pats his pockets and says a silent thanks to his past self for not returning the bright purple marker he’d borrowed from Mia. David looks at him in question when Matteo steps closer to one of the walls again, but he doesn’t stop him so Matteo keeps going. He finds an unmarked space in between swirls of blue, and in blocky letters, writes down ICH LIEBE DICH, before putting the marker away and turning to face David, self-conscious suddenly. He didn’t even ask. He hopes he hasn’t ruined his one chance to read the book of David’s heart, but no. When he catches David’s eye again, he’s beaming, so wide, and powerful enough to wake the butterflies that have been residing in Matteo’s belly permanently since a few months now. It really hasn’t been that long, no matter how much Matteo feels like he’s known David for years, and saying I love you still feels new, exciting although a familiar warmth has joined that feeling lately, making Matteo think that maybe this doesn’t have to wear an expiration date he hasn’t found yet. 

David doesn’t answer, not that he has to, it’s written all over his face and the walls around him. Instead, he bends down to pick up a red spray can. He shake it while coming to stand next to Matteo, an all black apparition contrasting with his bright art, and looks at the wall a moment before spraying, with such ease and comfort that it makes something hot unspool in Matteo’s belly, a bright red heart around Matteo’s words. It’s the sort of cheesy thing David himself would scoff at in movies, but coming from him it feels like the most special gesture in the world. 

Matteo feels like he’s going to catch on fire with all the love he’s feeling. 

For a moment they just stare at each other, laughing giddily. It reminds Matteo of that first time they hung out, like being a little kid again. 

David shakes himself out of it, and picks up a brush this time, before refilling his colour palette. Matteo watches him do it, wondering where this is going, but knowing he won’t mind if it’s not more than David doing his thing and letting Matteo watch, but when he’s done he turns back to Matteo and makes a sweeping gesture over the floor. ‘You’re free to use whatever you want.’

He feels warm at the permission, again feeling the weight of David letting Matteo free in the place that’s most his in the world. He doesn’t immediately take him up on the offer, though, distracted by the flecks of paints that have started appearing on David’s hands, his black shirt. He’d thrown his jacket and beanie in a corner when he entered the space and Matteo wonders if he’ll be careful with the state of his clothes or if he doesn’t care if they get dirty. 

He’s still just watching as David applies the brush to one of the blank spaces left, as he smiles without turning around and says, ‘Are you just going to stare at me, ‘cause you might want to get comfortable if that’s the case.’

‘Shut up’, Matteo mumbles, but he’s smiling at the smug tone David’s using. 

He doesn’t really know where to start, but he does want to try something. It’s always seemed fun to him to do graffiti, except the whole hiding from the cops thing sounded like too much of a hassle. This seems like something close to it, enough to be fun, even though he has very little artistic talent. It reminds him of doodling in David’s sketchbook, knowing it could never add up, but figuring it might make David smile later, the way he did when he watched him that first time. 

In the end he picks up a few spray cans and goes to sit down on the other side of the room where almost the entire lower wall is still a bright white. He shakes one of the cans like he’s seen people do in movies, and David earlier, and tries to vaguely spray the shape of one of the aliens in David’s movie. It’s not as easy it always looks to be, the easy way David had sprayed the perfectly shaped heart earlier. It’s messy and Matteo has trouble enough creating clear shapes as is, the can that feels too big in his hands not making any of that easier. He also didn’t know the paint would drip that heavily when holding the can slightly wrong. He tries his best, but the alien still comes out looking more like a grey green blue coloured blob than anything else. If anything, he gains a deeper appreciation for David’s art. 

The paint has dripped all over the floor and his arms and hands. 

Even if it was harder than it looks, Matteo was right in thinking it would be fun. He’s gone too long being in the same room as David without having his attention, though, and that’s significantly less fun. 

When he pushes himself up and turns around, David has his back turned to him like Matteo didn’t just catch him looking at him, silently laughing before turning away. He’s not even painting anything, just stands there in front of that half-painted forest view, innocently holding the palette in hand. 

‘Something funny?’

David slowly turns around, pretentiously holding the palette up with an innocent look on his face. ‘You talking to me?’, he asks.

Matteo pretends to play along, hoping to catch him in the act. “What do you think of my alien?”, he asks, pretending to be genuine. 

When David sets eyes on it, he laughs like he can’t help it. At Matteo’s raised eyebrows, he tries to hold it in, and holds up his hands, but he doesn’t entirely manage. ‘It’s… It’s very cute’, he says, morphing his face into a serious expression again. 

‘I’ll show you cute’, Matteo exclaims, launching himself at his boyfriend and smearing the paint on his hands all over David’s black shirt, and in the process accidentally knocking the palette over too, so that, now, the front his shirt is stained in a mixture of at least ten different colours.

Some of it’s even gotten on his pants. David gets very quiet for a moment, looking down at his clothes like he’s contemplating getting angry. Suddenly Matteo gets nervous. It had seemed like a good idea in the moment, something close enough to their usual play fighting, but maybe wasting David’s paint and ruining his clothes is taking it a step too far. After all, just because Matteo won’t spend more than five euros on an article of clothing, doesn’t mean David won’t either. 

The noise he makes when David grabs a large paint brush and smears it all over Matteo’s face, he decides to blame on the fact that he was worried his boyfriend would suddenly decide to break up with him, and not that he’s a big baby. Once he’s over the shock, he doesn’t hesitate to retaliate, though, and before he knows it, they’re both throwing smearing aiming paint at each other. Matteo’s laughing so hard he feels light, lighter than he’s maybe ever felt before, like every new drop of of paint that lands on his skin lifts him that much closer to unperturbed peace and he can feel it approaching, that happy state of mind where everything else becomes a blur and he’s able to simply give himself over to it and live in this moment with David forever. 

After a while, they’re not really battling anymore, instead have joined forces. They’re still using each other as a canvas, but it feels like art this time. The closest Matteo will probably get to making art as he picks out colours to addorn David with, and David does the same to him. 

The walls aren’t spared in their outburst, they’re being equally pelted. 

At one point, Matteo needs to stop because David, as lost as Matteo is in all of this, is almost dancing in the way he’s still creating beautiful things on these walls, all the while bringing his hands through his hair and messing it up, drawing Matteo close to him just to touch, and smiling through it all, never ceasing to smile. Sometimes he closes his eyes like he wants to soak in the rays of his invisible happiness, but he never stops moving. Matteo hasn’t prayed in a long time, but moving through this room with David, makes him think this is what it’s supposed to feel like. 

It makes sense now, what he’d said before, about coming here to feel because that’s what he’s doing. Matteo is this close to seeing the walls he holds around himself when he’s outside this room fall away, can see him come alive in a place in which he feels free. Freedom found in between these four walls. It should seem like a contradiction, but it’s not really. What both David and Matteo have in common, is that burning desire for a home, a place to simply exist as they are without the weight of the entire world’s gaze on their back, where they get to be part of something bigger without having to explain. 

That’s this room. 

There’s a moment David opens his arms wide like he’s standing in a sudden downpour and all Matteo sees is that bird he’d shown him when they’d just met, finally taking flight. 

He’s so full of light it feels like it should be dangerous to look at him directly, something that’s too bright to be observed by the naked eye, and a few months ago Matteo would’ve looked away in fear of catching on fire and having the whole world see him burn, but he’s not anymore. He’s so in love it feels like diving headfirst off a cliff, but he’s not afraid. Let the world watch as he falls and then, right when they’re all holding their breath watching him pummel to his death, take flight and surpass them all. 

They end up making out on the mattress, and Matteo loses his shirt but he can’t remember how it happened. All he can think of is David and his all-encompassing need to feel him against him. He shivers and is about to start whining when David gets up for a moment, but then he’s back, straddling him this time. He brings the tip of a paint brush to his shoulder and traces all over his collarbones and neck before reaching the other one. Then he picks out another colour and starts tracing figures on his stomach, arms, ribs, chest, waist. The paint is cold against his skin and it makes him shiver, but David is holding him down gently with one hand, and looking at him like he’s the best thing he’s ever seen, and really he’s mostly shivering with the weight of David on top of him and what it’s doing to his body. There’s nothing except David that could make him move right now. 

When David is satisfied with his work, he puts the paintbrush aside and lets his eyes sit heavy on Matteo’s bare skin, flicking up and down to his face, from his stomach, looking so serious like Matteo’s the piece of art he’s been working on for years, his magnum opus.   

Then, after Matteo is this close to making a sound because the undivided attention is on the verge of being too much, David bends over and then they’re kissing again. Less hurried, less frantic than before, but soft like the gentle music that plays at the end of an action-packed movie when the heroes finally find the peace they’ve been fighting for. That moment after an impossibly high note when the audience is silent for fear of breaking the magic, right before the star receives all the applause they deserve. 

It doesn’t last as long this time, a mutual declaration of trust. David settles his head on Matteo’s shoulder and they just breathe in the wake of all the beautiful chaos the room has had to endure. The toxic smell of the paint hangs heavy in the air, but Matteo feels like he’s never properly breathed until this very moment. 

When he deems it safe to speak, he says what’s been on his mind ever since he walked into the room. ‘There’s so much colour.’

Compared to David’s sketches and the art he posts online and the one he hangs on his wall, this room is so bright. Matteo wonders if it’s because David thinks he can’t afford to show his inner colours to the world for fear of having them tainted or if it’s something else. 

David must understand why Matteo decides to comment on that because he makes a small humming noise Matteo feels more than hears, before slightly turning his head so his mouth is free. ‘I’ve been really happy lately.’

They fall asleep right there, until hours later when they’ll have to face the outside world again. For now, they don’t think of what’s to come, though, too busy living in their homemade dreamscape. 

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Words: 2,084 Triggers: Anxiety, spiraling thoughts, medication withdrawal, death mention, feeling ill, food, and talk of gross things in food. Characters: Virgil, Logan Ships: Analogical (but not actively) Universe: Generic College AU Genre: Friendship (and a hint of hurt/comfort)

   Virgil felt… off. He wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling. It wasn’t like something was wrong or he was forgetting something. It was more like… everything was just a little to the left. He felt fine this morning. Well, as fine as he normally feels, anyway. This just… felt odd. Weird. Off. Virgil absentmindedly tapped his forefinger to his thumb a few times trying to think if he had forgotten something or missed something. He pulled out his phone to check his calendar. Nothing. Notta. No reminders. No missing appointments. Already working on the homework that was due. Maybe he could just chalk it up to anxiety, though it didn’t exactly feel like anxiety. Virgil went back to doodling in the margins of his homework while he stared at the problem. This percentile shit is supposed to be the easy part of Statistics. The professor just breezed over it in the lecture. Why couldn’t he wrap his brain around it?

   “Good evening, Virgil,” Logan nodded to Virgil sitting on the floor at the coffee table as he stepped into the apartment.

   “Hey, Lo,” Virgil mumbled and gave him a weak salute. He started chewing on the end of his pencil while he read the textbook’s explanation again. He tried plugging the numbers in and once again got an answer that barely made any sense and certainly didn’t match the textbook’s answer key in the back. How was he supposed to do the real homework if he couldn’t finish the practice problems? Virgil leaned back and stared at the ceiling. He was actually starting to feel a little dizzy. He put the back of his hand to his forehead and things felt normal, though his hands were a little clammier than usual. Actually, when did they start shaking? Why are his hands shaking?

   “Are you alright with soup for dinner?” Logan asked from the tiny apartment kitchen and Virgil looked over to Logan bustling about in the kitchen. Why was he blurry? Why did he feel a little left now, too? Virgil waved his hand in front of his face, and that looked odd, too. Like it was going at the wrong speed and the wrong height somehow. How could it be the wrong height? Virgil looked around the living room. Was everything at the wrong height? Virgil looked down and stared at his hands, trying to figure it out, but his brain felt like it was burning with too much input. But even that feeling was just out of reach.

   “Virgil,” Logan tapped Virgil’s shoulder, but it sort of felt rubbery instead of the way it should. That’s weird. Virgil chuckled slightly and shook his head. Feeling his bangs hit his face was fun, so he did it again. His bangs stuck this time, and he reached up to push his bangs off his sweaty forehead. Was it always so hot in here?

   “Hey, Lo. Is it hot in here to you?” Virgil said, shifting out of his hoodie and folding it up slowly.

   “Virgil, I asked if you are alright with soup for dinner? A Vegetable minestrone?” Logan asked, sounding annoyed.

   “Yea~ah, dude, that sounds nice,” Virgil said breezily and carefully finished tucking the sleeves in and placing his neatly folded hoodie on the coffee table next to his work. He attempted to pick back up his pencil. He kept missing and laughed again. That’s so dumb. Why can’t he pick up a pencil? Was it to the left?

   “Virgil, are you alright?” Logan asked, leaning down to Virgil’s height on the floor- wow, he was so tall- and looking concerned.

   “Peachy-keen, Laura Jean!” Virgil chirped and raised his arms victoriously into the air. Logan just pursed his lips and felt Virgil’s forehead with the back of his hand.

   “Virgil, you feel very clammy, are you sure you’re alright? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say anything even resembling the sentence you just said in the past,” Logan said, looking confused. “Are you… ‘trolling me’?”

   “Ugh, that sounds almost wrong coming out of your mouth,” Virgil tittered and dropped his arms to the floor like limp noodles.

   “I don’t think it’s nearly as uncomfortable as you saying that you are ‘peachy-keen’ or calling me ‘Laura Jean’ without even a hint of sarcasm,” Logan furrowed his eyebrows. Virgil stared at his face and it looked like Logan was tilting oddly.

   “Lo-bro, why you tiling down low?” Virgil said lazily and blinking slowly as he looked at Logan’s face slowly shifting to an angle.

   “Virgil, you are the one tilting,” Logan said, putting his hand on Virgil’s shoulder and straightening him back up against the couch. Virgil laughed at the sudden sensation.

   “So I was! Crafty me, very crafty,” Virgil chirped and popped his lips without really knowing why. That’s weird, too. “This is weird,” Virgil said lackadaisically.

   “That is an understatement, to say the least,” Logan huffed and balanced Virgil against the couch again. He didn’t even see the world tilting that time, he only noticed when it was upright again.

   “You know I can never look at condiments the same way after reading that one article about the amount of rat feces allowed in table condiments. Like, would you like some tomatoes with your rat-shit slurry?” Virgil said, flicking his fingers in an alternative pattern as his brain started to fret about the homework he wasn’t doing.

   Virgil tried to pick up the pencil again, but his hands weren’t paying any attention to him. But the homework was due in two days and he didn’t understand it in the least. He needed both days to do it. Why was he so dumb? He was going to do a terrible job and lose his scholarships and have to drop out of college all because he couldn’t understand calculating percentiles. He barely understood what they were used for, he was so dumb. He was going to be homeless.

   “Virgil! Look at me!” Logan said loudly and Virgil’s eyes shot back to Logan.

   “Wha’?” Virgil asked, his tongue feeling weird now, too. Oh god, was he dying? Because he couldn’t do percentiles? What the fuck?

   “Virgil, you’re shaking, breathing hard, and cool to the touch. I don’t think you are well. Please go lie down in bed,” Logan said, sounding concerned.

   “I’sso hot! There’s warm in the bed!” Virgil objected, now struggling out of his shirt.

   “I will get you some ice water,” Logan said firmly and got up. Virgil’s view started tilting again. He was now staring at the shirt in front of him wadded up on the carpet. Virgil was pulled back upright and a cold glass of water was pressed into his hands and he sighed in relief. Logan’s hands stayed wrapped around Virgil’s and the glass. He carefully pushed it up to Virgil’s face and he drank some water. It was so cold it hurt his teeth, but after a few strained blinks he felt like he could think just a little straighter and his tongue felt less weirdly heavy.

   “Thanks,” Virgil drawled and looked over to Logan.

   “Virgil, can you walk me through your day?” Logan asked, looking Virgil right in the eye.

   “Uh. Banana. For breakfast, I mean. And, um… bus to class? Took notes. Literature. Other class. Stat. Worked at craft store. Came home. Homework after shower,” Virgil recalled, though he struggled to remember the little details and the order of things. He tilted his head and made a mental tally in front of him.

   “Did you eat lunch?” Logan asked, taking the glass from Virgil’s hands. Virgil let his hands drop to his lap.

   “Um, no. Talking to professor. Running late,” Virgil admitted, feeling kind of stupid and looking down to his hands.

   “Did you take your medication?” Logan asked seriously.

   “Oh, shit,” Virgil deadpanned. “Pills?” Virgil asked, looking desperately up to Logan.

   “I’ll get you a yogurt for your empty stomach,” Logan nodded and got up again, leaving Virgil on the floor. Virgil leaned forward to press his head against the cold glass on the coffee table while he waited. Logan came back with a yogurt cup and a spoon and peeled back the lid before handing them both off to Virgil. It took another few blinks for him to be able to take them and start eating. Virgil’s stomach turned as he ate it, maybe from letting it run on empty for so long and maybe the dizziness that still pervaded the back of his head. He wasn’t sure. After Virgil finished as much as he could, Logan twisted off the cap of his anxiety medication and placed a pill in Virgil’s hand. Virgil reached out for the water and tossed the pill in the back of his throat to swallow it.

   “Um, thanks,” Virgil mumbled, slowly and shakily putting the glass back down on the coffee table.

   “Please lie down on the couch and I will monitor you while the medication starts working again,” Logan said, helping Virgil off the floor and up on the couch.

   “Do you think when they say the coffee beans are inspected they mean checking every individual bean or do they just like stir the batch and bit a shrug like ‘good enough’? Because maybe we should buy raw beans and roast and grind them ourselves if that's how they do it. I don’t want to have like ground weevil or whatever in my coffee. It’s so gross,” Virgil rambled mindlessly as Logan pulled a throw pillow under Virgil’s head and made sure he was solidly on the couch before standing up again.

   “We would have to buy a roaster and a grinder for that, Virgil,” Logan said plainly as he headed back to the kitchen.

   “Yeah, well, that’s the cost of not drinking weevil juice. Oh, we should make our own ketchup!” Virgil said excitedly.

   “That’s an excellent idea,” Logan commended him as he turned into the kitchen. The silence was filled with the sounds of can openers and the things being poured into a pot on the stove.

   “Did you ever see that photo of the other side of the moon? It was so boring,” Virgil said and played with his bangs, trying to see the strands of hair in front of his eyes.

   “It was still an impressive photo. The definition was very high,” Logan stated, sounding amused.

   “Yeah, but how cool would it have been if there was something there?” Virgil asked, leaning up on the couch to look at Logan bustling in the kitchen, but gave up quickly when it made him dizzier.

   “It would have been very interesting. Do you want rotini or rigatoni in the soup?” Logan asked candidly.

   “I want the big fucks,” Virgil said brightly. “I hope there’s not rat poop in the pasta too. Don’t let me look that up. I couldn’t take it if I couldn’t eat pasta anymore,” Virgil said.

   “I always wash the noodles of residue if that helps,” Logan supplied from the kitchen.

   “Yeah. You’re cute. I like that about you,” Virgil smiled and reached his arms up, scratching at the ceiling in his head.

   “You’re delirious and confused, Virgil,” Logan sounded exasperated and Virgil listened to the sound of dry pasta being poured. It was a very satisfying sound.

   “You being cute and me being a little to the left are completely unrelated,” Virgil said staunchly and adjusted to lie on his side and hold the pillow.

   “A little to the left? What does that mean?” Logan asked, peeking over the open view from the sink to Virgil.

   “You’re just avoiding me calling you cute, huh?” Virgil asked, feeling a little offended.

   “I’m genuinely curious what ‘a little to the left’ means,” Logan said with a raised eyebrow.

   “You know,” Virgil said. “I’m here,” Virgil held up his right finger. “But I’m also here,” Virgil held up his left finger and drew them apart slightly.

   “That explains absolutely nothing,” Logan furrowed his eyebrows and went back to prepping dinner by washing the noodles.

   “And you claim to understand quantum physics,” Virgil scoffed, crossing his arms lazily.

   “Understanding theoretical photon interactions and the potential implications differs completely from whatever you’re describing,” Logan huffed.

   “You’re cute when you use big words,” Virgil smirked and Logan blushed. He turned away from the sink to the stove and Virgil maybe wasn’t entirely sure where he was or why his shirt was off, but he knew Logan was flustered and he wanted to see more of that. 

[lenniewip]

Unknown (A Sterek Wrong Number/Celebrity AU)

11.09 PM Unknown Number

>I’m writing songs about you again.

11.20 PM Unknown Number

>its stiles btw.

>in case you deleted my number

>I did.

>I mean I deleted yours.

>but I still remember it apparently

11:41 PM Unknown Number

>I only have 2 lines so far

11:57 PM Unknown Number

>I bleed you from my veins.

>I grieve you like I love you.

>alone.

>its better with the chords.

>u were always better at writing lyrics than me

12:34 AM Unknown Number

>u were better everything than me

2:00 AM Unknown Number

>I hate that I miss you

2:07 AM Unknown Number

>do u want to hook up?

>I promise not to propose again

2:15 AM Unknown Number

>im sorry.

>ignore me.

>im drinking

Derek blinked bleary eyes. His phone screen was the only source of light in his room, as he read through the flurry text messages.

What the hell is a Stiles?

2:17 AM Unknown Number

<I think you have the wrong number

>Lydia?

<no

>oh thank fuck

>I mean

>I’m sorry

>for disturbing ur sleep

>but im just glad I didn’t drunk text my ex all of this

>bullet dodged right?

>is this what near death experiences feel like?

<I wouldn’t know.

>of course

>hey

>seeming as I have you here can I ask you a quick q?

>all my friends are asleep

<probably because its 3am

<everyone’s asleep

>2.39

>and ur not

>asleep that is

>so?

>I’ll take your silence as a go ahead

>what do you think?

>of the lyrics

<im the wrong person to ask

>never experienced heartbreak?

<no

<all song lyrics just look like bad poetry to me

>oh

>yeah I guess it does

>not everyone can be Rupi Kaur tho right?

<do you want to be rupi kaur?

>sure

>not to be dramatic or anything

>but

>I want to be anyone but me

>think id rather be someone like regina spektor tho

<regina spektor?

>singer/song writer

>shes my fucking inspiration

>her lyrics are like poetry to me

>you should listen to her music

<I dont really listen to music

>what the fuck?

>are you an alien?

<no?

>nice fucking try ET

>thats exactly what an alien would say

<…you got me there

>akdjfen

>is this you admitting I was right?

<no

<but this is me going to bed

<because its now 4AM

>already?

>fuck

>ive got an early start tomorrow

>good night random stranger

>and thanks

>for listening

>or reading ig

<good night

//

“You’re late.” Laura frowned, arms crossed.

“Are you going to let me in?” Derek grumbled, still feeling the affects of having stayed up until 4AM the previous night.

Laura didn’t argue she just stepped aside to let him through into her flat. “You’re grumpier than usual.” She noted.

“Didn’t sleep well.”

Derek hated the look she gave him then.

The look that said he was broken. The look that said she wanted to fix him.

“Is…Is it the nightmares again?” Laura’s voice dipped to a whisper, like the question alone would be enough to send him over the edge.

“No.”

An awkward silence defended over the two of them, neither knowing what to say.

Derek clung to the silence like a blanket, wishing things could go back to how they used to be. Back to when they knew how to speak to one another.

But this was enough.

It was enough to know that they were both trying. Failing. But trying.

//

2:40 PM Laura

>I’m here if you need to talk.

//

Derek isn’t good at art, but sometimes it’s the only way he can express himself. Words had never been his forte.

So instead he doodles.

Shitty toddler level doodles that he never shows anyone.

Sometimes he thinks if he could bring himself to show Laura she would like it. Maybe she would even understand it.

But there was a bigger chance that she wouldn’t, and he would feel even more like a stranger to his own sister than he already was.

//

10:18 PM Unknown Number

>I don’t remember it anymore

<You have the wrong number again

>No

>This is ‘not Lydia’ right?

<right

>So here’s the thing.

>I always thought if I needed to text her I could

>And I thought maybe I got her number wrong because I was drunk

>But I can’t remember it anymore

<Oh.

>I have some of her things still

>I don’t think I’ll ever get to return it now

>Unless she messages me first

<When did you two break up?

>Last year

>and I know what you’re thinking

>’it’s October’

>and I should be over her by now

>Trust me I know

>So you don’t need to lecture me

<I wasn’t going to

>Oh

<Stiles?

>That’s weird

<what is?

>I forgot I told you my name

<You should throw away the stuff she left behind.

>you’re right

>I don’t like it.

>but you’re right

>…thanks

<What for?

>for listening

>reading**

>my friends are pretty sick of hearing me complain

>so this is nice

<sure

<anytime

>dope

>no take backsies

<am I going to regret this?

>for definite

>you’re stuck with me now

//

That night Derek saves Stiles’ number as ‘Bad Poet’.

//

Stiles keeps messaging after that.

Stiles messages like they’ve been friends for years, and Derek very determinedly does not analyse why it is he always responds.

Even when there are messages dated from Laura from three days ago that he hasn’t even been able to bring himself to open yet.

He also ignores how when he’s messaging Stiles the gaping pit that had made residence in his chest feels just a little less inescapable.

//

Derek can’t bring himself to tell Stiles his name. He can’t bring himself open up, even though there’s a large part of him that wants to.

He’s not above admitting he’s scared.

//

Derek draws Stiles sometimes.

More accurately he draws a vague pair hands texting on a phone, because he has no idea what Stiles actually looks like.

Derek refuses to let himself dwell on that though, because they are happy drawings.

The pictures of Stiles are pretty much his only happy drawings right now.

//

They don’t always talk about Lydia.

Sometimes Stiles messages Derek song lyrics he’s working on.

Other times it’s memes, or just a bunch of emojis.

Once Stiles had just messaged him what Derek could only assume was a list of everything he had eaten that day.

Sometimes Stiles messages in rambles - and Derek can’t always keep up with the boy’s run away thoughts, but even then he never feels lost the way he does when he’s trying to interact with literally anyone else.

And sometimes it’s 2AM. Those are simultaneously Derek’s favourite and least favourite texts.

//

2:02 AM Bad Poet

>sometimes I feel like too much

>and too little

>at the same time

>u ever feel like that ET?

<not really

>its like I’m infinite, and meaningless

>like a never ending echo

>or a recurring decimal

>I just stretch on and on forever but theres no point to it

>I have no depth

<youre not meaningless

<you’re a rhythm.

<like breathing

>…

>was that a regina spektor reference?

<it might have been

>I thought you didn’t listen to music?

<well someone said her lyrics were like poetry

<so I thought I would check out a few songs

>well fuck

>what did you think?

<she’s good

>you spelt ‘amazing’ wrong

<I still prefer poetry

>of course you do

Derek stared at the texts an ache filling his chest.

Derek was the opposite of infinite. Everything he touched turned to flames.

//

10:30AM Bad Poet

<my sister bought me flower seeds

>I didn’t know you had a sister?

<she’s everything I have

>oh

<and I think she’s trying to trick me into therapy somehow

>…with flower seeds?

<yes

>you sound extremely paranoid

>maybe therapy wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world for you?

<shut up

>noted.

>keep me posted on how your gardening goes

>also

>as a side note

>you know you have me too right?

>if you ever need to talk or anything, I’m right here for you

<thanks

>anytime

//

On Derek’s birthday Laura insists the two of them spend the day together, and Derek knows better than to argue.

She buys him a cake and they spend hours sat next to one another silently. Two strangers desperately trying to keep hold of one another but with an ocean dividing them.

Once their family had been so alive.

And it was all Derek’s fault that was gone.

They both knew it.

Sometimes Derek wondered if Laura hated him as much as he did.

He was too scared to ask.

//

That night Derek chased the ache in his chest away with a drink.

And then several more followed.

//

1:14 AM Bad Poet

<seh haars me

>sorry bud, you’re going to have to try again

>try spell checking before hitting send

<she.hates mee

>who?

<larn

>are you drunk?

<yeh

<tyongs ndrf

*Out Going Call: Bad Poet*

The phone rings twice before being picked up. “Sorry. Stupid keyboard is so small. Impossible to type.” Derek mumbled, his words slightly muffled by his cheek being pressed into the sofa cushion.

“Wow. You’re really sloshed huh?”

“No.” Derek denied. “Just tipsy.”

“Right. So what was it you were trying to tell me? Someone hates you?”

“Laura.”

“Who’s Laura?”

“My sister.”

“Oh.”

“She looks at me like she wishes she could fix me.”

“That doesn’t sound like she hates you, bud.”

“She should. I can’t be fixed.”

“You’re right, because you’re not broken.”

Hearing Stiles say that Derek could almost believe it to be true.

“I mean it. You’re not broken. You’re just a different shape than you used to be. But the shape you are now is beautiful.”

Derek closes his eyes and lets the words wash over him. “Do you sing?” He finds himself asking.

“What?”

“I know you write songs, but do you ever sing?”

“Oh…” Stiles sounds uncomfortable. “I guess… Yeah. I do.”

Derek hummed in the back of his throat. “I bet you have a nice voice.”

“Th-thanks.”

Derek tried to say something else, but all that comes out is a yawn, which makes Stiles let out a jittery laugh.

Derek tries to memorise the sound of It, but it’s so fleeting, it’s already slipping away from him.

“I think you need to go sleep, ET.”

“Yeah.” Derek agrees.

“Goodnight bud.”

“Wait.”

“Yeah?”

“Could you stay on the phone? Just for a bit longer.” Derek clutched on to the phone like if he could grip tightly enough it would make Stiles stay.

I don’t want to be alone. The words die on Derek’s tongue.

“Sure.” Stiles didn’t hesitate. “Of course.”

“Thank you.”

Sleep pulled at Derek’s consciousness, unravelling his grip on reality.

“Stiles?”

Stiles hummed in answer.

“Your shape is beautiful too.”

A small whimper came from the other end of the phone. “Thanks.”

//

7:50 AM Bad Poet

>how are you feeling today?

<better

>good <3

Derek holds his phone tightly and wishes that he had more to say. Just to keep the conversation going.

He also wishes (not for the first time) that Stiles was more than a faceless entity on the other end of the phone.

But it’s the first time he feels the want like a physical ache in his chest.

Derek had never been good with words, but if Stiles was here in front of him Derek would probably give him a hug.

But everything Derek touches eventually dies, and a larger part of him is relieved for the distance.

//

Derek plants the seeds his sister got him that day.

//

9:48 PM Bad Poet

>would it totally weird you out if I wanted to do another phone call?

>don’t feel like you need to say yes

>I just enjoyed talking to you

>and hearing your voice

>ugh.

>why are words so hard?

<I wouldn’t be opposed to a phone call

*Incoming Call: Bad Poet*

“Hey.” Derek feels breathless as he answers the phone, anxious excitement clawing it’s way up his throat.

“Hey.” Stiles sounds equally out of breath, and that helps.

Derek chews on his lip, scrambling for something to say. “What did you want to talk about?”

“I don’t know.” Stiles admitted. “Anything.”

“Helpful.” Derek said sarcastically.

“I mean. There’s one thing. I didn’t want to ask when you were drunk because it felt a little like taking advantage. And I don’t want you to think you have to answer-”

“Stiles.” Derek interrupts before Stiles could break into a full blown ramble.

“Tell me your name.” Stiles breaks. “Please.”

Anxiety grips his heart. But… he couldn’t stay scared forever.

“It’s Derek.”

“Derek.” Stiles repeats his name in a reverent whisper, as if committing it to memory.

And hearing Stiles say his name makes everything worth it.

//

Phone calls become a regular thing between the two of them over the next month. Always between late in the evening and the early hours of the day.

//

The next time Derek spirals he doesn’t drink before he calls Stiles, but he does cry on the phone.

The next morning he wakes up to a text from Stiles.

6:42 AM Bad Poet

>you need to talk to your sister

And Derek knows he’s right.

//

It’s not easy confronting Laura. He has two separate anxiety attacks on the walk to her apartment alone.

But he forces himself to take the dive.

“It’s okay if you hate me.” He tells her, even though it’s not okay. Laura’s hate might be the only thing in the world that could break him beyond repair.

Laura looks horrified as she stares at him. “I don’t- Obviously I don’t hate you Derek.”

“It’s my fault that they’re gone.” Derek addresses the elephant in the room.

If he hadn’t fallen in love with Kate.

If he hadn’t broken up with her, just to try and prove a point when she refused to say ‘I love you’ back…

There never would have been a fire.

Their family would still be here if it wasn’t for him.

“Fuck that!” Laura let out a harsh noise. “Derek, none of this was ever your fault. You were a kid, and even if you weren’t… You never set the fire.”

“I might as well have.”

“No. If anyone… I was your big sister- am your big sister. But I was so fucking wrapped up in myself. I didn’t even know about Kate.”

The last time Derek had seen Laura cry it had been at the funeral, so it took a second to fully sink in what he was seeing.

He found himself crying to.

“I’m so sorry, Der.”

Derek stumbled forwards pulling Laura into a crushing hug. Laura hugs him back just as tight.

They spend hours refusing to let go of one another.

//

He realises he fell asleep on Laura’s sofa when he woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. But he had no idea where it was, and he was too tired to move.

He feels Laura moving and the sound of the phone ringing gets louder before cutting off abruptly.

“Hello?”

“No - Derek’s asleep.”

“Maybe call at a more reasonable time?”

“Who is this?”

“Your voice sounds familiar.”

“Right.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Derek let sleep over take him once more.

//

2:29 AM Bad Poet

>sorry for calling so late

>you’re asleep so I’ll just take to you tomorrow

//

9:07 AM Bad Poet

<sorry, I was really tried

>no worries man

>you’re allowed to have a life outside of me

<was something wrong?

>no I was just bored, and didn’t realise how late it had gotten

>im fine

>how are you?

<im good actually

<I spoke to Laura

>yeah?

>I’m proud of you

>how’d that go?

<we both cried

<a lot

<and I ended up falling asleep on her couch

>look at you, opening up and shit.

>think I might cry now

<shut up

>literally never

>better men have tried and failed to silence me

//

2:40 PM Laura

>Want to see a movie on Friday?

<sure

//

One night Stiles calls Derek just to say his name in stupid ways, and laugh himself stupid after each one.

“Duhreek.”

“Doreck.”

“Fuck. I’m getting a stitch from laughing.”

“You’re so fucking dumb.” Derek is smiling as he said it.

“Deeruk.” Stiles wheezes out.

Derek just closes hie eyes and listens.

“I’m so fucking glad I know you, Stiles.” The words fall out of Derek’s mouth without much thought.

He only realises the weight of his words when Stile’s laughter pulls to a stop.

“I uh-” Stiles stammered. “Me too. Fuck. You’re the best thing to happen to me in…so fucking long. I’m glad I know you too Derek.”

//

Derek finally admits to himself that night that he’d fallen at least a little in love with the stranger from the unknown number.

//

He keeps trying to draw Stiles, but he can’t. Vague shapes just don’t cut it anymore.

He wants to map Stiles out with his eyes and translate it onto the page.

He wants to be able to see the smile behind the laughter.

He wants.

//

1:58 AM Bad Poet

>do you think you day we’ll actually meet?

>maybe not intentionally

>maybe one day we’d pass each other in the streets and not even know

>maybe we already have

Derek couldn’t imagine a scenario where he wouldn’t notice Stiles.

<is there ever a moment when you’re not talking?

<I think id recognise your voice and know it was you

>maybe your face would make me speechless ;)

<I think id still know

<but if you want to be sure… I could send you a picture?

<of me

>dkfajd

>for reals?

>you would do that?

>you?

<well…not for free

>there’s always a catch

>what do you want?

>my soul?

>a blood debt?

>you can have whatever it is

<I meant you’d have to send me a picture too

<geez stiles

The next text takes an unnervingly long time to come through.

>I could do that

>a photo for a photo

>I kind of look like shit rn

>so no judging me

Derek spends the next two minutes fussing and fidgeting to take a good photo. No matter what angle he took it from the bags under his eyes were noticeable, and so was the week’s worth of stubble he had yet to shave off.

And maybe this was a terrible, awful, idea.

But Derek would send one hundred bad pictures if it meant getting to see one of Stiles.

He forced himself to press send on the last picture he took.

As he pressed send another photo came in.

Derek’s fingers shook as he hit the button to download the image.

His heart stopped.

Stiles was beautiful in every sense of the word, and Derek found himself unable to look away. Even when he heard the small dings of incoming messages.

But he couldn’t ignore them for long, because it was Stiles. And when ever Stiles messaged Derek had to answer.

>Fucking hell

>are you for real?

>you gave me a heart attack

>am I being catfished right now?

>when do you think you were going to tell me you’re the most fucking beautiful man to exist ever?

>how the hell to you look like that as 2AM!?

>Derek

>oh my god

>you gotta respond my dude because I’m freaking out a little bit

>still there?

>did my selfie scare you away?

>I would have tried harder for a nice photo if I knew I was talking to an adonis

>Derek?

<still here

>of thank fuck

>so…

<so?

>come on

>your going to give me a complex

>the selfie…was it okay?

>I know it’s not much

>but we can’t all be greek gods

<its beautiful

<you’re beautiful, stiles

>oh

>thanks

//

Derek is so far gone that he makes the picture of Stiles the home screen on his phone.

//

9:49 AM Bad Poet

<Laura wants me to meet her boyfriend

<this is all your fault

>how is this my fault?

<because she never wanted to introduce us before

<and then you got me to talk to my sister

<and now she wants me to meet him

>…and this is a bad thing?

<yes

>because?

<I don’t make good first impressions

<it’s going to be awkward

>yeah probably

<you’re not helpful

>I wasn’t trying to be ;)

>have fun, Derek!

//

Meeting Laura’s boyfriend wasn’t as awkward as Derek thought it was going to be. But it was strange.

Derek hadn’t been expecting to meet someone so soft and kind. He was nothing like any one that Laura had dated before.

But he also wasn’t used to seeing Laura smile as much as she did around him.

Maybe not all change was bad.

//

Derek tells Laura about Stiles by accident. Or more accurately he mentions Stiles once by accident (not even by name) and Laura had badgered him until he admitted that he had made a friend through a wrong number.

“There’s a lot of weirdos out there.”

“I know.”

God did Derek ever know.

But Stiles is different.

“Just…be careful.”

“I am being. I promise.”

Laura reluctantly lets it go after that. “So…what’s he like?”

“He’s…he’s like bad poetry.”

“Oh god. You’re in love with him aren’t you?”

Derek can’t bring himself to deny it, but he does tell Laura to shut up.

//

Derek fully embraces being in love with Stiles on the day he tells Stiles about his drawings. He’d never told anyone about them before - not even Laura. But telling Stiles had been easy.

‘It reminds me of line art’ Stiles had said when Derek had sent him a photo of the doodle he had been working on. “I love it’.

A warmth flutters through Derek’s veins.

//

It all goes sideways on the day Laura goes on Derek’s phone to check the time.

She’d raised one eyebrow at him looking amused.

“I thought you didn’t listen to music?” She said, a teasing note to her voice.

“I don’t.” Derek shrugged.

“A huh. So why do you have a picture of Stiles Stilinski as your wallpaper?” She asks.

It’s so startling to hear Stiles name coming out of Laura’s mouth that Derek’s brain refuses to function properly. “How do you know Stiles?” He asks weakly.

Laura laughs. “He’s not exactly a niche celebrity Der. He was a really famous YouTuber before he started selling albums.”

Derek doesn’t know what to say to that. He blinks as his world slowly unravels before him.

No.

She had to be wrong, because Derek couldn’t be in love with a celebrity. Stiles couldn’t be…

“Hey are you okay? You look really sick?”

“He’s famous?” His throat is dry.

“Yes? Are you okay? What’s wrong? You’ve got to speak to me Der. Use your words.”

Derek just shakes his head because he can’t.

“It’s him.” He manages to get out.

“What are you talking about?”

“Laura. It’s him.”

It takes a moment to click but Derek knows when it does because a look of thunderous wrath takes over Laura’s face.

“I’ll kill him.” She seethes, shaking with anger. “What kind of fucking punk thinks that this is a good prank to play?”

“What?”

“No one is getting away with catfishing you, Der. I’m going to hunt this fucker down, and then I’ll rip him so many new ones that he going to look like SpongeBob when I’m done with him.”

And god, Derek hadn’t even considered the thought that Stiles might not even be Stiles. The thought of Stiles being a liar…

The gape in his heart grows a little bit bigger.

And it all falls apart.

//

It takes hours before Derek can convince himself to confront Stiles.

11:08 PM Bad Poet

<you’re stiles stilinki

>fuck

(And yeah, it was really him).

>how did you find out?

<Laura

>I was going to tell you

<Were you?

>Yes

>I’ve wanted to for ages

>It just never felt like the right time to bring it up

<I wish you had decided on the right time was sooner

>Me too

>I’m sorry

>Please don’t hate me

Derek did not think it was possible for him to hate any part of Stiles.

<I don’t

>Thank fuck

>seriously

>can I call you?

<sure

Derek closed his eyes after sending the text and waited for Stiles to ring. A heartbeat later his ringtone sounded off.

“Hey.”

“You believe me right?” And Stiles sounds more frantic than Derek had ever heard him before.

“I believe you, Stiles.”

“Are you sure, because I can prove it if you want? I can do a video call? Or I can tweet literally anythi-”

“Stiles.”

“Yeah?”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Stiles lets out a small whine, that reaches through the phone line and yanks at Derek’s already tattered heart, unraveling him just a little more.

“Meet me.” Stiles said, taking Derek by surprise.

“What?”

“Please. I meant to throw a please in there, I’m just really fucking nervous right now. Meet me please. In real life. I uh- I was going to ask when I finally told you about the whole being a celebrity thing. It’s still weird to say that out loud. That’s part of why it was so hard to tell you. But the point was you beat me to the punch with the whole reveal thing, but I still wanted to ask.”

“Stiles…”

“And it’s not that I was trying to use my influence or fame to pressure you into meeting me. I just wanted to be in a space where we were one hundred per cent honest with one another before I asked you. You can still say no. Of course you can, I don’t know why I’m- my point is I hope you don’t say no.”

Derek feels his heart break in two.

“Stiles…I can’t.”

“Oh.”

He hadn’t fully realised just how many worlds apart the two of them were when he had fallen in love with Stiles. It felt even more impossible than it had before.

“I’m sorry.” The words leave him feeling hollow.

“No. Don’t apologise. This is just me getting carried away. It’s okay.”

I love you. The words never leave Derek. They can’t leave him.

There was no way this could work, and he was far too scared of breaking the tentative connection they had with his useless words.

It was better for him to just… fall out of love.

//

6:17AM Laura

<it’s really him

>are you sure

<I’m sure

>what are you going to do?

<nothing

>Derek you’re in love with him

<I’m aware

<it doesn’t matter

<it wouldn’t ever work

>I’m sorry

<don’t be

<I’m going to be fine

>Im coming over with wine

//

That night Derek fills pages and pages of his notebook with drawings of Stiles.

When he gets a message from Stiles at 11PM- for the first time since they started messaging- Derek leaves it unopened.

//

He never ignores a message again after that, and life moves on. Stiles still messages him all the time, but he never asks to call anymore.

Derek misses his voice so much that he goes onto youtube and listens to his music.

He buys all three albums Stiles released and it still doesn’t feel like enough.

//

He fills an entire notebook with doodles of Stiles.

It’s still not enough.

//

1:11 PM Bad Poet

>I wrote you a song

>I know you don’t listen to music

>but it felt weird to not a least send you a link

>bad poetry at 2:00am

The link leads Derek to a youtube video of Stiles holding a ukulele and staring with a soft smile at the camera.

“Hey guys. It’s been a while, huh? But I guess I finally found inspiration. So here we go.”

The song is beautiful, but even more beautiful than that was Stiles.

When the song reached the end Derek doesn’t hesitate to hit replay.

He listens to the song ten times before he realises he’s crying - and he knows that he’s never going to ‘get over’ Stiles because he doesn’t want to.

//

3:00 PM Laura

>have you seen the video?

<he sent me a link

<he wrote a song for me Laura

<I love him so fucking much and he wrote a song for me

>fuck

<what do I do?

>what do you want to do?

<I don’t know

>I think you should look at his twitter

<?

>I wasn’t going to say anything because you said you wanted to get over him

>but I think you need to see it

>@stilesstilinki

//

@stilesstilinski

I want to hug him

@stilesstilinski

Get you a guy that will stay up with you until 4AM talking about literally anything

@stilesstilinski

Why do I alway fall for people so far out of my league? rip me I guess.

@stilesstilinski

He makes me want to write poetry

Derek spends hours scrolling through Stiles’ twitter.

He scrolls far enough back that he gets to the part of his timeline where his twitter is littered with pictures of Lydia, which causes the ache in Derek’s chest to grow. But he can’t stop looking because Stiles looks so happy.

And Derek falls impossibly more in love.

He lets himself acknowledge for the first time that Stiles might love him back.

And everything else?

It’s worth it.

Because Stiles is worth everything to Derek.

//

2:00 AM Bad Poet

<so I looked at your twitter

>fuck.

>how much did you see?

<all of it

>tight

>please excuse me while I go die now

>bye

<don’t leave yet

<I had something I wanted to ask you

>did you want me to delete the tweets?

>I can do that

>I’ll just delete the whole account

>I am my own worst enemy so this won’t be a problem

>actually Jackson Whittemore is my worst enemy

>but I’m a close second

<stiles?

>yup?

<Will you go on a date with me?

>alkdjf

>yes?

>Ofc yes?

>are you being serious?

>because this would be a cruel prank if you’re not serious

<I’m serious

>yes.

>yes. yes. yes. yes. yes. yes.

>holy shit

>theres no fucking universe where I say ‘no’ to that question from you

>im so fucking in love with you

>is it too soon to say that?

>I don’t even care

>I’m speaking my truth

>you obviously don’t have to say it back

>im going to woo you so hard Derek

>you’ll have to love me back eventually

>I’m going to write you poetry

>hell I’ll even read poetry for you

>ill give the whole fucking moon to you

<why would I want the moon?

<im not gru?

>despicable me

>that was a despicable me reference.

>you don’t listen to music, but you watch despicable me?

>you’re such an enigma to me Derek

>god I love you so much

<stiles?

>too much?

<no

<I don’t think I could ever have too much of you

<I love you too stiles

<so much

<I just don’t want you to get your hopes up

<I might not be able to live up to it in real life

>impossible

<seriously stiles

>I am being serious

>I’m already in love with you Der

>you don’t have to do anything more than you’ve already done

>you could wear a potato sack, and spend the whole night not saying anything at all

>and I would still be in love with you

>all you have to do now is show up

<…I can do that

>perfect

//

TWO YEARS LATER

@stilesstilinski

Hey @JacksonWhittemore, remember when you told me I would die alone? Well I just got engaged to the love of my life. So checkmate fucker.

[flyingblackhawk]

Lists

Clintasha fic

1,359 words

-

The room isn’t exactly as he left it. Clint isn’t surprised, given that it’s been five years. Someone’s been through and picked everything up off the floor, neatened the shelves, even the long-forgotten clothes in the hamper have been laundered and put away. There’s only been one person at the facility for years now, so it’s not much of a stretch to guess that Natasha is the one who’s been in here. The thought twists his chest, and out of sheer instinct he shoves that emotion down, works it into a cold knot of anger. Then he stops. He doesn’t have to do that here. Not here, and not with her.

He showers, and gets into bed. After five years of sleeping rough most nights, it’s a pleasant feeling to be somewhere he knows he’s safe, and to be able to lie here without planning his next assassination. Without those processes, though, his mind drifts, and after an hour of tossing and turning Clint gives up on sleep and sits up in bed.

He flicks on the lamp, and reaches out to open the drawer in his nightstand. He has a vague recollection of a novel he was reading all those years ago. Maybe it’s still here. He grasps something book-shaped, and pulls it out of the drawer. It’s not a novel. It’s a notebook, and there’s a pen clipped to the cover. Clint blinks, trying to remember if this is his. He opens the cover.

The first page is a list of names, with his right at the top. Several are crossed out, some are circled. His own name is circled heavily and followed by three question marks. As he reads down the list, he realises that this is Natasha’s handwriting, and it’s a list of the dead. He turns the page, and the list goes on. It takes up the first eight pages of the notebook, front and back. She must have written this in the first days of the Snap, Clint realises. He imagines what it must have been like - writing out a list of all the important people in her life, and finding out one by one that they were gone. Each page of the list makes his heart sink further. He flips to the page after the list.

Canada??

Sighting at Montreal, report from Quebec border agent - matching description.

No fake passport reported.

Belarus Airport - CALL ALIAKSIEJ.

Kiev??

Where next?

He knows what this is too. She must have been charting his movements. There are no notes after Kiev, and he knows why. He dumped every fake document he had into a furnace, and walked across the Russian border at Nikanorovka. There would have been be no way to follow him after that, not even with the best technology the Avengers had access to. Clint turns another page.

Central comms room.

Move tables into storage & set up conferencing center against South wall.

Call Tony?

Reroute security feeds to CR.

That matches the changes Clint noted when he arrived earlier. He feels guilty reading this. It’s clearly Natasha’s notebook. So why was it in his nightstand?

Marigolds

Ox-eyes

Milkweed

Cardinal Flower (Laura’s favourite)

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. Even if it’s just lists, it’s personal.

Ask Steve about moving everyone to the same building

Help Steve pack

Help Bruce pack

Call Rhodes?

Clint bites his lip.

I wish you were here.

Close off unoccupied block

Call Pepper

Baby shower present?

Conference call

Where the hell are you?

A couple of subsequent pages are filled with little shapes and doodles. Clint recognises them as the product of Natasha being on a phone call and not being able to say what she wants to say. Lots of the little drawings have been scribbled over so heavily that the pages underneath are indented.

5 7 mile run

SHIELD drills

Gym back room - pull up mats (could be a studio?)

He knows she only dances when she’s in turmoil. He knows that because he’s the only person on this planet she trusts to know everything about her. Reading these pages, and knowing she was doing all this on her own - it’s a lot to take in. He reads on.

Birthday present for Morgan

Plant out cardinals for Laura

Call Steve (Brooklyn cell)

Clint

2 years, Clint. Not one message.

Bring extra monitors up from Bruce’s lab

Order coffee beans

2020, then, he thinks. Three years ago. Even then, he was barely thinking of her. He hates himself for it.

This is the longest stretch I’ve had no visitors.

Steve called the city ‘home’ last time he called.

Rhodes has info on you- Korea, this time.

I miss you.

Clint blinks. For the first time in a long while, he has to swallow a lump in his throat.

The last time I could do this many push-ups, I was in the Red Room.

The cardinals are blooming. I checked up on the farm a few days ago. Everything’s fine.

You left clothes on the floor. I washed them for you. Your hoodie is mine now.

The next few pages are blank. Then-

18.6.21

Happy Birthday. You’d better come back before next year. I don’t think I could make fun of a man in his forties in good conscience.

I saw what you did in Riyadh. I probably would have done the same.

If you’re worried about what I’m going to think, don’t. I just want you to come back.

I’ve been the only one here for two years.

I miss you.

Clint blinks away tears. He knew he’d feel guilty if she caught up with him. He didn’t expect to feel so ashamed.

8.2.22

Security footage from a bank in Seoul. It’s only the back of your head, but it’s nice to know you’re alive. At least, you were alive four days ago.

He remembers Seoul. He wishes he didn’t, but he does.

29.7.22

I slept in your bed last night. Some nights I sleep in the lounge. It doesn’t matter. There’s no one here to worry about me. Steve still comes once every few months. He’s busy now. I call Pepper on her birthday, and on Morgan’s. Tony made me her godmother. How weird is that?

I realised today that I haven’t said anything out loud for three days. I only talk when the conferences are up and running, and we don’t have much to report these days. Rocket mostly emails. Carol tries, but she’s busy most of the time. I can’t ask anyone to come and live here. They’d be crazy to.

He wants to stop. This isn’t right.

17.10.22

Clint, I

Clint

If you knew how it felt to be alone in this giant empty compound, you’d be back here in a heartbeat.

He can’t change what he’s done. He wants to cry.

“Clint?”

He looks up. Natasha is standing in his doorway, frozen at the sight of the notebook in his hands. He sets it down on the nightstand, and gets out of bed.

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, but her voice wavers for a moment. Clint crosses the distance between them like it was never there at all, and wraps her in his arms. She doesn’t hesitate, and hugs him back as tightly as she’s wanted to for five years. It’s not over yet, and they have so much left to do, but just for a moment, everything is alright again.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“It doesn’t matter now,” she tells him, finally pulling away enough to breathe. “We can talk about this after we’ve done what we have to do. Just… get some sleep, okay? We’ve got work to do in the morning.”

She goes to his nightstand and takes the notebook, then she leaves him alone in his room. She’s right. Tomorrow they will attempt what no human has ever done before, and if they succeed, well- Clint doesn’t want to think about that just yet. Hope is not a feeling he’s felt in a long time. He settles down to sleep. Nothing can go wrong tomorrow, not as long as Natasha is by his side.

[queerchoicesblog]

A  Life So Changed (SC Titanic, Zetta x Adele Series, Ch. 15)

So, folks, here’s the new chapter of the series. Thank you so much for your support, hope you enjoy it!

Little disclaimer-favor: especially since the tags don’t seem to be working anymore, if you do enjoy it, please consider supporting the author & sharing this. A little gesture that means a lot!

Also, this chapter contains reference to THIS FIC I wrote about James and Zetta inevitable confrontation not showed in the original book.

Word Count: 2000+

Zetta x Adele Tag: @storyscaped​ ​ @storyscapefanficarchive​ @marmolady​ @animus-and-anima​ @hayley-carter19 @escako​  @everlastingchoices​ @indescribablechoices​ @ahrielstuff​ @bornonawdnsday​ @nazario-sayeed​  @h-doodles​ @adele-serda​ @marlcasters​ @brightpinkpeppercorn​  @michelleconnoly​ @charliejane-blog​ @ghost-of-yuri​  @choicesgremlin​  @lanzhansguqin​ @orange-elephants​ @wonder-falcon​

Zetta x Adele Series Tag: @eternal-langdon​ @nydeiri​

➡️ Ch. 1, Ch. 2/1, Ch. 2/2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8/1, Ch. 8/2, Ch. 9, Ch. 10/1, Ch. 10/2, Ch. 11/1, Ch. 11/2, Ch. 12, Ch. 13, Ch. 14

____________________________________

What follows that night is a feverish dream. The following months flow in a haze as days blend into each other. New York, my apartment...all is familiar yet ever distant. As if I'm back home and somewhere far away simultaneously. I'm here and I'm not here.

Moving on is tougher than I could have possibly imagined. Sabine and Richard take care of me with tender compassion, doubling their usual efforts: it's heartwarming, truly. It leaves me wondering what I have ever done right in my life to deserve such adoration and, most importantly, affection because it's genuine concerned affection what I see in their eyes when our eyes meet. Sabine immediately added a newfound touch of sweetness to her proverbial efficiency and joins me at the breakfast table more often these days: sometimes it happens that I am not in the mood for talking and we sit together in complete silence. At first it made me nervous but my little Napoleon doesn't seem to mind: she would offer me a smile and gesture to the coffee pot or the plate filled with slices of my favourite bread and my nervousness melts away replaced by a sense of comfort. Richard visits me more than usual and invites me to join him for a walk at Central Park: "you always say how much you love that place, let's go together...it will do you good" he suggests, smiling sheepishly and offering me his arm. Just like Sabine, he doesn't mind that at times I fall quiet and melancholy takes over me. He would gently stroke my hand resting on his arm and keep walking at my side. One day, as I took a seat on a bench, he picked a flower, a gorgeous little daisy, and pinned it to my hat. He smiled at me and gave my hand an encouraging squeeze before taking a seat beside me. He's surprisingly sweet, sweeter than I deserve, and more mature than I thought when we first met. Richard never once mentioned nor complained about James. He would have every reason and right to question me about him after the secret letters my nephew sent him, asking for money. He never did: the day after our arrival, he even asked his friend John to make sure Mr. Eisler and his valet were safe in their New York apartment. Richard is probably waiting for the moment I'm ready to have that conversation. How could I never be ready for it? Yet, I must, I must confront my nephew: what he did is too hurtful and serious not to come with harsh consequences. Before I send a note to James, I share with Richard my decision: as much as I have little desire to see him now, he's still family and I have at least a moral obligation to him, the old oath I made to Theresa, so I will grant him a generous monthly income. I will set a few conditions, which include no more letters or inappropriate requested to Richard and no more interferences with the marriage under the treat of a legal action from my lawyers. I explain my fiancée the hideous scheme my nephew planned, omitting some details, and I assure him that I was in the dark about the letters: I knew nothing about them and I'm deeply ashamed and sorry he went this far. Richard listens to me carefully and gives me a painful smile as he take my hand into his. "I knew, Zetta. I always knew and I didn't suspect you when I received them, not even for a split second" he sighs. "I trust you, my darling". He just worried about me and he is still concerned because as much as it pains him to say that, my nephew seems dangerous and he has no sympathy for him. I assure him we won't see him anytime soon: after what he did, the things between James and I will never be the same. I don't even know if I will ever be able to forgive him. I repeat the same words to Jaime a few days later and having such a conversation with him is one of the toughest thing in my whole life. I'm angry and disappointed as I speak, wounded in the deep yet tortured by the familiar affection refusing to die inside me. When he close the door behind him, full knowing I don't know when we will see each other again, my heart breaks and I fall sobbing on my knees. My little prince is gone. There is a big fuss in town about the Titanic hearings: American and British authorities are investigating the disaster and the White Star Line company is covered with shame. The hearings are held in New York at Waldorf-Astoria Hotel so I try to keep updated. I spoke to a committing magistrate too: he asked questions about that night to see if I could provide valuable information for the official investigation. It turned out I had none or at least very little to offer him, aside from reporting the questionable decision of lowering half-empty lifeboats and the stubborn refusal to go against it of many officers, like the one I yelled at on the deck. I sign my deposition, which adds up to many others he gathered since the inquiry started. I don't need to testimony at court, he said, he has tons of other witnesses reporting the same issue and he will just add my deposition to the documents to be sent to the judge. "You can go, thank you for your time, Miss Serda" he smiles, vigorously shaking my hand. He praises my heroism but I don't know what he's talking about. Apparently, other witnesses claimed that they owe me their life or saw me protesting on the deck. I'm no hero, I think as my mind runs to the young steward who stayed behind, down in the belly of the sinking ship to keep the light on and give us all a chance to survive. I think his name was Charlie. A few weeks after the beginning of the hearings, about the end of May, I receive a letter from Lucille. She hadn't hear from me since our arrival and she's worried about me, she writes. She had sent me letters but I answered none. She profusely apologises for not waiting for me as she promised but "they had no choice, the chaos was mounting": she hopes this won't be the end of our friendship. Hoping so, she renews her invitation: Richard and I will be her most welcome guests if we fancy joining her and Cosmo for dinner at their apartment whenever it suits us. I don't know how to feel about this. Under different circumstances, it would have filled with joy, maybe relief after all we've been through, now...now things are more complicated than that. Unlike me, Lucille and Cosmo were asked to appear at court during the hearings to verify certain details. They had been all over the press ever since the news spread and I wonder if I'm being a bad friend "abandoning" her in a time like this. The press predictably feasted and is still feasting over the disaster: tragic stories, eye catching headlines, shocking revelations, heartwarming and heartbreaking pictures from the pier: ça vien sans dire, the touching embrace between me and Richard - "reunited lovers" as the caption said - made it to the front page. As weeks went by, my brief appearance was replaced by the new scandal involving nothing less than the Duff-Gordons, not only my personal friends but also a couple of incredibly famous socialites. When I first read it, my heart sank while Richard declared himself disgusted by what journalists write these days. Rumor has it that Lucille, sitting with her husband and secretary on Lifeboat No. 1, commented to her Laura something like, "There is your beautiful nightdress gone" in the aftermath of the sinking. When the Titanic disappeared to the bottom of the sea and poor souls were freezing to death in the ocean, begging us on the lifeboats to come back and save them. I still hear their screams in my nightmares. There's more though: reportedly Cosmo had bribed the lifeboat's crew not to return to save swimmers out of fear the vessel would capsize; he handed checks to them on board of the Carpathia. But Lifeboat No. 1 was designed to carry 40 passengers. Only 12 people were on board when it was lowered unlike the one I was on, filled beyond its capacity. How could an half-empty boat capsize? They could have saved so many lives that night! The thought made my stomach turn to the point that I feel almost nothing when I see the pictures of them during the inquiry: Cosmo looking grim and tensed in his seat and Lucile dressed in black, a mourning dress with a veiled hats, entering the court. I know better than to trust rumours blindly...but I know them. I've known her for ages and, as much as it hurts to say, I can't completely rule out the possibility that for once the press was right. Maybe I'm wrong but I can't vouch for them this time. And doubt is an uncomfortable thing... The final report by the inquiry is more generous than me and clear their names, even if - I'm sure - the general public will be less forgiving. Anyway, Richard is quite fond of the couple, we will surely go visit them... I do not pretend to be fine after what happened on my birthday's night -the sinking, James' betrayal, but I can conceal. I know how to conceal, if need be, in public, in front of people who cannot understand. I'm an actress, a great actress after all. But I feel numb, a ghost of my usual self. During the day I try to keep myself busy. My renaissance requires hard work and commitment as well as a good plan. Sabine and Richard are excellent helpers: I need new projects to work on to make my comeback and an efficient daily schedule to prevent me from drowning in my sorrow. I may conceal it but I dread the time when I have nowhere to run and my mind races back to that memory that fills me with excruciating sadness and guilt. My sweet revolutionary. At night I drink sherry and write letters to Adele. They're passionate, melancholic, tearful. I throw them away in the morning: my words flow on the paper but they ring hollow in the daylight. I don't know what I am supposed to write her. What should I tell her? What could possibly excuse my silence as times go by? I wish I could speak freely what's inside my mind but it's unbelievably difficult. More than she deserves, probably. For some time I tried to convince myself that our little romance on the Titanic was mere attraction, a secret affair favoured by the circumstances: two women growing close, Adele's protectiveness, my heart susceptible to women's beauty and charm just like hers. We found each other and it happened. That's all. But her memory lingers, it never fades away. Never. She always finds a way back to me. At night or during the day, by accident. She's everywhere even if this isn't a place she belongs to. She's in the announcement of a referendum for women's suffrage in Michigan: I read the news and think how excited she must be about it. Maybe she knows it already but I feel a silly urgency to send her the page of the newspaper: your dream may come true after all, see, my love? She's in a gorgeous dress I see hanging on a mannequin in a boutique and I know would fit her perfectly. I have to refrain myself not to buy it and send it to her with a sweet note because I don't care if she needs it, I just want her to have it. She needs beautiful things in her life too. She's in a witty joke I hear in a fancy cafe: I laugh and turn towards Sabine to say "Oh Adele would love this humour" but words die in my throat. When I turn, my cheer has turned into a grimace. Adele isn't here. I don't even know her address here. The thought pains me. I could ask Sabine to find it, I could visit her...but I find myself wondering if it would be the better judgement. I'd give up half my fortune or even more to know about her, even just a quick update. Is she fine? Is she still hurting? Did she and her sister settle down safely? Does she have nightmares at night? She looked so defeated and forlorn on the Carpathia, it pains me to remember seeing the light in her eyes flicker. But maybe this way it will be easier for her to move on. To forget me, if that's what we must get to, no matter how much it hurts. Sometimes I drink myself to a stupor to break the spiral of such thoughts and I'm quite ashamed of myself when Sabine finds me like that in the morning. I mutter nonsense excuses I don't owe her - but I feel like do, she's not a maid, she's my friend - as I hold onto her since I can barely stand on my feet at times and I burst into tears whenever she says: "You have nothing to apologise for, Madam" I do, though. I should - no I must apologise to Adele and Hileni too for disappearing and abandoning them on that pier. I must tell Adele how things really are, how I miss her, it's unbearable... So it's no surprise then that when Richard announces me his idea to postpone the grifter story project I've been working on in favour of a new one, "an homage to the Titanic tragedy", my mind comes find her once again. The project is a wise mix of ambitious opportunism - the sinking is still the talk of the town and people will love it - and genuine concerns. He says I'll not only play the main heroine but also pick the subject, he will just help assessing the script but he wants me to be the one calling the shots on the story to tell. I believe he feels it might be somehow therapeutic for me, aside from the alluring detail of having the star Zetta Serda co-writing an announced success. I consider it for a while, but in the end I write down the Carrem sisters story. I'm fully aware that the picture will hardly be able to bring back to life what it truly happened, the grandeur and the terror. I'm experienced enough to know that the audience can take only that much of the tragedy: they wanna cry and say that they felt as if they were there but they would scream and leave the room if I showed them the truth. A giant ship collapsing in front of you, officers shooting to maintain orders, stewards stubbornly denying desperate passengers their only chance to jump on a lifeboat and to survive, the screams of those who floated in the chilly waters and the dreading silence that followed their unmerciful death. They will never take that much. On the contrary, they will likely enjoy the story of two sisters separated and reunited, prevailing over the impending tragedy threatening to kill them both. It's an heartwarming story with an happy ending and the right amount of pathos and hope. It's also the story of my love that I'm writing down on paper and hand to the posterity. When I present it to Richard, he loves it. He himself couldn't have found a better story, he says, barely containing his excitement. I explain quietly that it's a true story, I just changed the names in respect of the real protagonists of this story. I can only hope Adele won't hate me for this when she sees it. Hate me even more than she's probably doing right now, I frown. I can only hope she will understand.

[shhhhyoursister]

uhhhh so.....wasnt planning on writing a proposal fic ever wasnt planning on writing a wedding fic EVER but here is my @theyellowcurtains​ approved take on this topic......

pt 1!!!!!

They don’t tell anyone when they do it a year later, except Matteo’s mom and Laura, and they are only told because David and Matteo don’t want to be killed the day they sneak away to the courthouse to get married.

They get all the official paperwork and everything done and are pronounced husband and husband, and they slide the matching wedding bands onto each other’s fingers as they’re leaving, both holding back tears and laughter. Once they’re on the street again David can’t stand it anymore and even though they’re still walking, he tugs Matteo in for a tight hug, and shoves his teary face in his fiancé, no, husband’s shoulder, and the thought of that only makes him laugh out another rush of tears.

Matteo isn’t faring any better. His face and his eyes are red, and wet, and he clings just as tightly to David as they stand in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing people to step around them. They only start moving again when someone yells cheerfully, “Keep it moving, lovebirds!”

They let their friends know in the funniest way they can think to; Matteo posts a new #florenzifriday (decided to keep their own last names for the time being), featuring his and David’s hands each wrapped around a beer bottle, their rings visible, with the additional hashtag #sorrywewantedtoelope.

Both of their phones starts buzzing within seconds, and they giggle and sip their drinks as they watch them ring, Jonas’ face popping up on David’s and Amira’s on Matteo’s. They cuddle on the couch and laugh every time a new text or voicemail comes in, and when David stumbles out of their room the next morning, feeling like hell after the beers they drank turned into drinking way more wine than they had intended, he grins when he checks both their phones and sees at least 30 missed calls on each.

They have their pre-planned biweekly double-date with Amira and Mohammed a couple of nights later, and when they meet outside the restaurant, Amira hits them both before pulling them into tight hugs, her eyes filled with tears that everyone pretends not to see. Mohammed hugs them both too, and looks at them with tears in his own eyes as he says, “Welcome to the best years of your lives, boys!”

They get teased mercilessly by the two when they’re begged to talk about how the engagement happened, Amira saying that she’s not surprised in the slightest by the way things went down. David jokingly complains about how annoyed he is that he didn’t take the ring out first, and Matteo rolls his eyes and kicks him under the table and says, “At least I had something planned.”

Jonas and Hanna react similarly; they both smack each of the boys before hugging them, and David misses whatever it is that Jonas whispers into Matteo’s ear that makes them both pull away teary-eyed, and he wraps his arm tight around Matteo’s waist as Jonas exclaims, “You didn’t have a wedding, but you fucking bet we’re throwing you a party, bros.”

The party is at the lake the next week, and Matteo is dreading it a tiny bit. He doesn’t know exactly what Jonas has planned and he didn’t know how to explain to him that the reason they didn’t have a wedding was because they didn’t need one. They didn’t need to force everyone into a room to watch them stand there in uncomfortable suits and sob about how much they love each other when everyone already knows. 

David can tell that Matteo is a little lackluster as they get ready for the party, and he watches as Matteo stares in their mirror, fidgeting with his hair. He walks up behind him and wraps his arms around his waist, hooks his chin over Matteo’s shoulder, and presses a quick kiss to his jaw before saying, “It’s still just for us, baby.”

Matteo nods and they leave for the party both feeling a little more excited, promising each other that the second either of them wants they’re leaving, even if it’s only after five minutes, because it’s their party and they can leave if they want to.

David watches Matteo’s jaw drop as they walk up to the gathering, the area near the lake decorated similarly to how it had been when Amira was going to a Australia, and they both blush and try to shove the other forward when they hear Laura call out, “They’re here!”

They’re greeted with hugs from everyone, and by the time they both make the rounds and are back in each other’s arms, he sees David grin and feels a finger poke into his back. When Matteo turns, David points out a figure walking towards the group, and Matteo gasps and feels tears well up in his eyes the second he realizes that it’s his mom.

Matteo’s mom had fallen in love with David almost faster than Matteo had, and David loved her back the same. She could see the natural connection they seemed to have immediately, and during their first phone call after she had spent the afternoon with them, she had laughed a little after listening to Matteo go off about David’s new movie idea, and told him that he was lucky. When he asked why, she had sighed, and said, “Most people don’t find their forever at your age.”

David bites his lip to hold back a grin as Matteo speedwalks forward and grabs his mom in a hug. They had all been too busy to get together after the “wedding”, and David watches her grab Matteo’s hand and stroke a finger over the ring, and he grins when she looks up at him and drags Matteo over. She grabs David in a hug, too, and then pulls Matteo in, and in a watery voice laughs out, “Oh, my boys.”

After the three spend enough time clinging to each other barely repressing tears, David yanks them over to Laura when he remembers that she and Matteo’s mom haven’t met yet. Matteo’s mom pulls her into a hug immediately, and they start chatting the second they pull away. Matteo is barely paying attention to their conversation, more focused on where he can see Jonas and Sam not-so-secretly trying to slip a cake onto the table with the rest of the food. He’s jerked back and he hears a laugh as David ducks away from Laura, who had reached her hand out to ruffle his hair, and just as David is about to jokingly yell at her they hear Jonas screaming, “Hey, husbands, get over here!”

They walk over with matching blushes on their faces, Jonas and Sam tug them until they’re standing in front of the cake, and they both burst out laughing when they see the beautiful, obviously high-quality cake, with Fuck yeah, Davenzi! written out in sloppy green frosting, along with various little doodles that prove that while they all might have gotten older, they’re still just as young and dumb as they feel on the inside.

Jonas shoves a knife into David’s hand and claps him on the shoulder before shoving Matteo into his side.

“This is the only wedding thing we’re going to make you guys do, we promise!” Sam says as she walks around the table and holds her phone out, waiting to take pictures. Matteo rolls his eyes at David’s barely hidden grin and grabs his hand over the knife, and they messily cut a huge piece, and laugh and blush when their friends cheer. 

David slides it onto a plate and grabs a fork, planning on completing the stereotypical act by feeding Matteo the first bite, but before he even gets cake on the fork he feels Matteo’s finger smearing a glob of frosting across his cheek. He laughs in shock before grabbing Matteo’s wrist, and manages to wrestle him into getting some on his own nose. They’re friends and family are all rolling their eyes, not shocked at the silly actions of the two, and some of them groan when Matteo yanks David in by the back of his head to lick the frosting off his face.

“You guys got us the cake and are making us cut it, you can’t complain about how we eat it.” And with that Matteo grabs a chunk with his already messy fingers and holds it up in front of David’s mouth. He raises his eyebrows and grins when David laughs a bit before leaning in, and sucks the frosting off of Matteo’s fingers when he pulls his hand away after shoving the cake into David’s mouth. 

“You too are fucking gross!” They hear Abdi call out, and everyone laughs as David turns to the crowd with shocked face and says, “Hey, no cursing, my mother-in-law is here!”

Everyone laughs and starts filing away, most of the show over. Sam starts cutting pieces for everyone else and Matteo drags David by the hand to a quieter, more private area. David is still holding the plate with the cake on it but he uses his free hand to press Matteo up against a tree, and kisses the frosting off his nose.

“Having a good time?” he asks, and knows the answer when he sees Matteo’s grin, and how bright his eyes are, and he can’t help but grin back.

“Yeah,” Matteo says, looking over David’s shoulder at the crowd, and then back into his eyes with a softer smile on his face, “the best.”

[halefamilyfic]

2005 Laura 18, Stiles 9

Stiles was pretty sure he was going to die today. He held tight to Laura’s hand as she pulled him down the block along a small one way side street in the “historic” district towards a place he’d dreamed of but sworn to his Dad never ever to enter. But here he was not even getting to goggle up at the marquee that simply read Valhalla in bright teal and hot pink neon.

The door didn’t ring or jingle or anything normal, instead a tinny “EXCELSIOR!” announced their entry. Not that Stiles heard it; he was busy feeling his spirit leave his body and ascend to singing angel choirs as in all directions his gaze was full of comics, maquettes, action figures, and just about enough nerdery to make him feel faint. “Oh my god...” he whispered, awestruck.

Laura dragged his mostly limp form forward to the large glass counter that contained original art, trading cards, and countless other delights. Stiles pressed his whole face to the glass and ogled what was labeled with a post it as an Artist Sketchbook from Comic Con. “Holy god...”

“Face off the glass kid.” A voice snapped from above him as a hand slapped down on the countertop. Stiles recoiled quickly and was shocked to find himself alone and staring up into the narrow eyed gaze of the one person in all of Beacon Hills his Dad had forbade him of even making eye contact with on penalty of losing comics, Scott, and the Hales. Panic washed all the color from his face. “Greenberg!”

The older woman snorted and smirked as she stood up from her lean across the counter. “Geraldine, kid. And you are....?”

“Leaving!” Stiles squeaked as he tried to command his body that had turned to liquid in his joints around to flee.

“Even though Laura brought you to me for an important reason?” Geraldine tilted her head, blue streaked ponytail shifting from where it was stuck out of the PAX Peace Force ballcap to swing across her shoulder.

“What reason?” Stiles asked quietly, like if he didn’t speak loudly it wouldn’t count as breaking his promise to his Dad.

Geraldine stared at him silently from behind thick glasses before gesturing to a row of stools against the window of the shop, each had a seat with a different logo. “First, you must choose a seat.” She intoned ominously, “Choose wisely for you will be judged.”

Stiles swallowed roughly, trying not to grimace at the pain in his split lip that had only barely started to heal after three days. He was still jumpy because Laura had just ditched him here apparently but he trusted her. There was really no contest in the chair he’d choose though, he selected the one with a Batman logo beautifully embroidered on it and pulled it towards the counter.

“Ugh.. really?” Geraldine sighed.

Affronted, Stiles snapped. “There’s nobody better over there!”

“Excuse you!” Geraldine groused, coming around the counter to grab an all white stool with a crescent moon on it. “There’s MoonKnight right here!”

“You mean knock off Batman?” Stiles sassed uncontrollably.

“Knockoff...” Geraldine gasped. “MoonKnight is more epic.”

“Not more epic than Batman.” Stiles interrupted.

“Well there’s no way I can take you on then, anybody who thinks a Batman is better than MoonKnight...” Geraldine laughed disparagingly as she sat beside Stiles at the counter.

“Take me on?” He asked in a worried soft voice.

He watched as Geraldine took a deep breath, took off her cap, and look at him seriously, like he was an adult. It was in this serious air that he really noticed more than her hat and wow is that a homemade JAWS shirt that is some awesome airbrushing, but he looked at her broken arm in a cast with the names of all the Hales written on it and doodles of dogs and he wondered what was going on.

“So. Werewolves.” Geraldine stated sending a jolt through Stiles so strong he almost slipped off his stool with the urgency of checking that there wasn’t anybody else in the store. She was smiling at him when his attention returned to her. “Ok. I can see it.” Geraldine chuckled and continued. “Werewolves always need somebody. A human somebody, to deal with the human somebodies of other wolves to not like... have a big supernatural rumble over goofy crap their instincts start demanding.”

“Okayyyy.....?” Stiles prompted.

“That’s me. I do that for the Hales, for Talia. The technical term is emissary but none of us really, y’know, get that formal.”

“But why am I...?” Stiles started to ask.

“Laura wants you to do that for her. She brought you here because she wants you to be her emissary, her best friend, her confidant, her stalwart counsel, and the bearer of her will.” Geraldine impaired seriously then raised her eyebrows at him as he sat there gobsmacked.

“Me? She wants...me? But I’m not....” Stiles burbled anxiously.

“Anything but loyal. Clever. Smart. Stiles Stilinski, if you want to take this responsibility on.... I’m willing to mentor you. Despite your absolutely wrong opinions about MoonKnight.”

Stiles sat in silence long enough for Geraldine to go back around the counter to start pulling books for subscriber boxes and Laura to reappear and sit next to him, taking the MoonKnight stool.

“You ok Flibber?” Laura asked, her hand softly stroking over his buzzcut.

“This.... this emissary thing sounds really important... why me?” Stiles whispered, his hands knotted together as his knee bounced anxiously.

“Because you’re important to me. I probably wouldn’t‘vet sprung this on you so soon except for your absolutely bananas idea I only wanted to hang out because I was being paid.”

Stiles shrunk in place which only made it easier for Laura to scoop his gangly body up and plop him into her lap for a cuddle. “You’re the smartest guy I know. I love you stupid much, and I think you’d not just be good at it but you’ll love it.... Aaaaaand Auntie Ger and you will probably super get along. You just have to love me most.”

“I’ll always love you most.” Stiles said seriously and hugged her tight.

“GREAT!” Geraldine startled them out of their moment by slapping her hands down on the counter beside them. “Then step one: write down your pull list.” She slid a Superman pad and pen to him.

“I get comics!??!” Stiles gasped, grabbing the stationary and feeling giddy.

“Well yeah, it’s how you’re getting paid for working here while I mentor you.” Geraldine shrugged.

Stiles was starry-eyed at the idea he was working in a comic shop and missed completely Laura’s grimace as she felt maybe just a little bit bad for the arduous training she knew her Stiles would be facing in the years to come.

[reading-while-queer]

Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up With Me, Mariko Tamaki and Rosemary Valero-O’Connell

Rating: Great Read Genre: High School, Realism, Graphic Novel Representation: -Lesbian protagonist -Asian American protagonist -POC as secondary characters Note: Characters have sex, non-explicit Trigger warnings: Break ups, toxic relationships, cheating, unplanned pregnancy, abortion

Laura Dead Keeps Breaking Up With Me is a great piece of fiction, and I can’t recommend it enough.  As YA, it is perfectly balanced - it doesn’t talk down to its audience with tacky “teen speak,” or reflect on an LGBTQ experience more accurate to the author’s high school years in the 80s or 90s than to teens today.  Nor is it an “issues” book about coming out or self-acceptance.  Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up With Me is a realistic high school story that has something new to say.

The novel takes place at a high school in liberal Berkeley, California - being out at school is a fact of life for the main character, Freddy, and her friends.  That is not to say that it is a non-issue, as homophobic bullying exists even in the most progressive places - and the novel makes sure to hold onto that thread of reality.  Freddy’s school isn’t a fantasy world, but a real pocket of American culture.  As someone who came up in one of these pockets, I was always seeking a reflection of that experience in the books I read - Laura Dean is that book.

Freddy is dating Laura Dean, who, as the title suggests, keeps breaking up with Freddy.  Yet they keep getting back together.  Laura leaves Freddy for periods of sexual exploration with others, then inevitably shows up again, only for Freddy to accept her back and begin the cycle anew.  From the start, Freddy knows something is wrong.  Yet the elation of Laura Dean wanting her back draws her into Laura Dean’s sphere again and again and again… even when Freddy isn’t having fun.  And even when her relationships with her friends begin to suffer.

Laura Dean is what I look for in realistic high school fiction.  Tamaki puts in the effort.  It is all too easy to say “Here’s my book about a lesbian.  Her character traits include… being a lesbian.” But Tamaki makes sure that Freddy is a real person, even though the plot of the book is so intrinsically tied up in Freddy’s romantic life.  It’s in the little details: Freddy uses tabletop gaming terminology less than fluently because her friends are into it, but she isn’t.  She cultivates weird hobbies (cutting apart stuffed animals and sewing together the mismatched parts with her friend, Doodle).  She even talks to the stuffed animals and gets imaginary responses as a cute quirk to her character, which again, makes her feel much more real than your average protagonist.

Part of what makes Freddy such a good character isn’t the quirks and detail, though - it’s her flaws.  Freddy is so starved for positive attention from her neglectful girlfriend that she drops responsibilities to her friends, either forgetting dates or straight up abandoning a hard conversation because Laura Dean wants to hook up.  It’s not glamorous - but it’s real.  And it makes Freddy’s redemption all the more sweet, knowing how hard it was for her to get there.

Laura Dean’s character is also incredibly real.  There is a part of her that is larger than life, as seen through Freddy’s eyes - she’s drawn on the page very dramatically (which also has an element of reality to it, if you’ve ever been 18).  Having a crush on someone can paint their every movement or “Hello” into something special.  Laura Dean delivers lines like, “That’s right.  And you’re going to say yes.  Because I’m irresistible.”  But while Tamaki and Valero-O’Connell make Laura Dean a Casanova, they also bring her back down to earth.  Laura Dean makes dorky jokes that don’t land, calling Freddy “My lady,” as she gives her a french fry.  And of course, she’s a chronic cheater who breaks up with Freddy whenever Freddy becomes inconvenient.  While Laura Dean is not given a sympathetic eye by Tamaki, she is still much more nuanced than an ordinary villain.

The cast of side characters is also rich, their traits and flaws shining through just as brightly as Freddy’s and Laura Dean’s.  Doodle’s arc especially.  Doodle’s arc might have seemed too much like a “twist” if not for the prolonged attention Tamaki and Valero-O’Connell give to the gaps in Freddy’s knowledge about her friend.  “I have to talk to yous” that are never followed up on, long, lonely glances across the cafeteria - we know something is up with Doodle long before Freddy does.  The fact that Doodle’s “twist” is a “twist” at all is really only a condemnation of how far Freddy has let her friendship deteriorate.  The other side characters have their own worlds in motion, too - the girl who works at the donut shop is saving up for college.  Freddy’s coworker is an older lesbian with a bone to pick with certain lesbian celebrities who never officially came out.

Freddy’s friend Buddy is especially interesting.  He’s gregarious, high energy, effeminate.  He invents new slang, and appears to be ruled by whim - but he, more so than anyone else in the friend group, puts effort into maintaining group cohesiveness - joking around after he’s targeted by homophobic bullying in order to put his friends at ease, but also taking it upon himself to be the one to tell Freddy the hard truth, that she has not been a good friend to Doodle.  What makes Buddy even more compelling is that, while Buddy is the voice of reason and positivity to his friends, Buddy is not necessarily able to see reason when it comes to himself.  His relationship with Eric isn’t developed (not that it has to be!) beyond one or two snippets, but the biggest scene they have together is a fight.  Eric is going to a family event and doesn’t want to bring Buddy because he doesn’t want to focus all the attention on himself and his relationship.  Buddy, meanwhile, is out and proud, and feels hurt (perhaps insecure?) that Eric is lying by omission.

So much of my attention was focused on Buddy, despite his role being fairly small, because I was not sure if I was going to like him.  At the beginning of the book, he’s the playful, fun friend - all his lines are funny.  Since he’s also the only fat and only Black character in the main friend group, it seemed clear that he was going to be the “clown” - yet Tamaki and Valero-O’Connell put in extra effort with his characterization that Eric, for example, doesn’t get.  Buddy sits stony-faced across from the school bully as the bully is read the riot act by a teacher - but through text message, he’s his cheerful self (or facade?), texting “GAY POWER!!!!!”  His fight with Eric reads much the same - a way to contextualize and humanize a character verging on stereotype.  For me, I was ultimately satisfied with Buddy’s characterization - but I would love to hear other takes on the character.

All this to say that Tamaki and Valero-O’Connell put the effort in for the sake of creating a realistic world for Freddy, and their effort makes all the difference.

One last parting thought: a pitfall of realistic fiction is that, sometimes, the author gets lost in the flow of portraying “reality” and forgets that their first job is to write a story.  Laura Dean has no problem with this - Laura Dean has a satisfying character and plot arc which ends in a huge moment of catharsis.  I fully recommend Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up With Me.  It may the most true to life portrayal of high school I’ve ever read, the writing will knock your socks off, and you’ll want to read the whole thing in one sitting.

Having reached the end of this review, I still haven’t done Laura Dean Keeps Breaking Up With Me justice - this comic is like nothing I’ve ever read before, and I believe it is the herald of a new era of LGBTQ art and writing.  No joke.

For more from Mariko Tamaki, visit her Twitter here. For more from Rosemary Valero-O’Connell, visit her Twitter here.

[epilogue-and-prologue]

To Protect and To Serve - Part II : The Training

Note: Same Drill.

Note/Warnings: Panic Attack. (1848 Words)

Disclaimers: None of these belong to me.

“But she likes to wear dresses!”

You could not believe what Clint’s kids had done to the poor dog.

July was nowhere to be seen, as was Steve, probably doodling somewhere in peace but leaving you and Bucky on your own with Clint and Tony’s barbecue shenanigans.

You were not supposed to be here in the first place, but you began to know a little bit more about the Avengers spending so much more time with Steve and Bucky as you organized illegal training sessions with Dori—Dorito started to get long after 4 hours calling after her. The training was hard, since the dog itself was traumatized and often it was the one getting help from Buck and not the other way around. Dori turned out to be a pretty big goof, running after pigeons even as she approached the age of one.

This was your typical Sunday barbecue only it was to introduce you to the team. Yeah, introducing your “friend who works with therapy dogs for veterans” to your superhero co-workers, nothing wrong there. Steve had insisted but you would not budge. It was when Dori and Bucky intervened that you had to say yes. Who could say no to two strays with the most beautiful eyes you had ever seen?

A beer in one hand and sitting on the porch with Bucky at your feet Wanda, Natasha and Laura—Barton’s wife—at your left you were admiring the skills of two grown-ass men bickering over barbecue.

“I don’t think they’ll be over soon enough. I’m starting to get hungry.

 —Don’t worry. It’s a family tradition. They’ve got it nailed down to the last minute.

 —The sausages will be ready first then chicken and then steaks. And before it’s over there will be marshmallows ‘for the kids’ and more bickering over who makes the best marshmallows.”

You nodded, impressed by the whole plan. Watching the kids play, you pushed Bucky in the shoulder a little. He turned to you, a few strands of hair falling in his face as the rest were tied up in a small bun.

“Well, Buck aren’t you gonna say something? Dori is run at by children who want to dress her up.

 —But look at her! She’s having fun. And I’m tired of running after her when she runs after pigeons.

 —This is not you, Buck. This is Dori. She loved to run after pigeons and any animal that has an ability she hasn’t—you saw her run after Vision for an hour, haven’t you?—but you also know she is scared as hell of kids. So let me tell you it does not help her. Just pick her up and feed the poor animal already. Then the kids can play with her and you.

 —Why me?

 —She’s your dog to take care of, Bucky.

 —... Good point.”

Leaving his bottle behind, he patted your knee, smiled at you and left to get his dog. You smiled fondly at the gesture. From afar you could see the kid gathering around him and talking to him. Bucky with Dori in his arm seemed less frightened than she used to before. He smiled at the kids before taking the dog to the car and feeding her giving him her medicine carefully. He was being affectionate with the puppy.

Wanda snapped you out of your thought.

“I’m going on a training weekend with Laura next week. It is taught by a retired SHIELD agent. Self-defense classes style. You wanna come?

 —Me? You sure about that?

 —Well, you’re one of us now. Better learn how to defend yourself, don’t you think?”

It was not something you had thought about. You had not thought the thought through. Helping Dori and the boys was fun, but it was your job anyhow. You could always tell yourself you had a way out of this, letting one of your colleagues take the lead.

The whole Avengers thing, on the other hand. It was not something you asked for. Not that it bothered you, but you never realized you could be a possible target because of your relationship with them.

Laura intervened.

“Don’t let yourself be pushed. Take your time. I could not get myself to learn when Clint joined the Avengers. Only when I saw on TV and what was happening I realized had to do something other than just sit around, especially after the pregnancy. It takes time to really understand the meaning of what it is to be surrounded by super-enhanced-power-wielding people.”

You gulped down a bit of beer before nodding slowly.

You turned to Wanda.

“I’ll let you know. Do you think I could have your email or something to tell you?

 —Yeah. Give me your phone I’ll give you my number.”

And before you could know what was happening your phone went around and you had Natasha and Laura’s number too. You did not know why Natasha left you her number, but you did not dare question it. Laura, on the other hand, told you directly why she had done so.

“If ever you need a day or two out of the city. Or someone to talk to. The line is open.”

She smiled, and you could not help but do the same. She left to check inside the house.

“Hey girls! Have you seen Buck I need him to help set the table?

 —You need him to set the table?

 —Yeah. Laura asked, and I could not get myself to say no.

 —Liar.

 —Natasha...

 —She’s right you’re a shitty liar.

 —(Y/N) et tu?

 —Come on Captain don’t act like a child set the table. You don’t need your best buddy for that!”

He sighed heavily, not even bothering to respond as he walked back into the house. You looked at the two other women and laughed. Dori arrived at your feet on that a toy sneezing in her mouth every time she chewed on it. Bucky was not far behind.

Suddenly he started clutching his chest visibly trying to calm his breathing. The dog did not drop the toy as she made his way toward him. You followed the noise with an eye and you landed on Bucky’s. His pupils were wide, and you could see the anxiety invading his features. You jumped to your feet and quickly jogged up to him. Dori was beside him as he closed his eyes slowly breathing in and out. It was all in slow motion to you but ever more to the dog. The attack would not dissipate. Bucky sat down in the grass as Dori climbed up his lap and nestled against his chest. You did not try to say a word or draw attention to you in any way. Even with that the Labrador went to you, barking to get your attention and draw you nearer. Maybe she had felt your tension. Maybe she had felt that his owner needed someone close by. You could not say but as you came to Bucky’s feet he let out a whimper. He was crying as he felt anxiety and derealization rise in his throat. You reached out on instinct, stopping yourself midway. Your heartbeat was in your ears making you deaf and blind to everything around you but him.

He finally allowed his body to relax a little as the worst of it had passed, then he raised his eyes to you.

Tears went down his cheeks as he nodded almost imperceptibly for you to get closer.

Your hand was shaking as you placed it on his head, slowly letting him fall against your chest. You felt him tense under your fingers. He was still, not moving except for his thumb slowly petting Dori.

July arrived with Steve in tow.

Your hand slipped from the hair to his back, your other hand cupping his cheek with just the tip of your fingers before letting the palm of your hand completely meet his skin. He did not seem to notice the gesture until he turned his face into the small embrace and ever so lightly left a breath and a kiss in your palm making your heart jump. If you had not been so worried, you would not have noticed the way his lips curled when he let his cheek rest into your hand. You were on the verge of crying, wanting nothing but to fully embrace him, fully take him in, not ever letting him go out of your sight.

After a few minutes, he broke the touch, and Laura accompanied you inside the house.

Dori was snoozing in Bucky’s arms and July was at Tony’s feet enjoying the scraps she could get from him as he was still dealing with the whole barbecue thing. Steve sat down on the couch next to his friend, with several cups of tea on a tray.

The sun was shining so brightly outside. The kids were back outside playing ball. As if nothing happened.

You were staring through the window when Natasha approached you.

She gave you somewhat of an apologizing smile and a steaming mug.

“I’m sorry you had to witness this. Don’t beat yourself too much though, Bucky is strong he can handle it.”

She saw your questioning look and came closer to you as if she was telling you a secret.

“It’s not the first time this happened.”

On that she cut you off before you could answer.

“I’ve seen many relationships start and end with what you two have. He feels he can trust you and you feel like you can save him. Maybe you’re right maybe you’re not. Maybe it’s the other way around. No one knows but you both. Let me warn you though: He’s barely out of his shell yet. He has a hard time looking people in the eye or going out on his own. Make a choice about this relationship. Start or end it. Soon. Before you get your hopes up more preferably. Before it hurts both of you.”

You nodded, a bit dazed by what she just told you. You did not really understand but figured it would make sense later. She kept talking.

“Oh, and be careful I might have spiced up the tea a bit. To give you strength.”

She slapped your shoulder and went back to the living room.

What the hell were you supposed to do with this? Damn it! You were an acquaintance, a friend maybe not anyone he would see as more than that, right? He could not, he did not have the time nor the thoughts for that. He was... Crumbling down and you were helpless. You wanted to help. You just did not know how. You wanted to be there for him. You wanted to be there. You only wished you could.

You only wished you did not listen to a word she said. But you did. Because you cared. You knew for weeks, it just did not seem fair to admit it but how were you going to say goodbye to Bucky Barnes if you had already fallen for him?

[smokinholsters]

Moving on

This one shot takes place during Episode 12:9, The Long Road back.

“Amy, you upstairs ?”

“Excuse me Ed,” she said into the phone and then covering it “I’m on the phone.”

“Ok, that’s great, not right now Ed” Amy said laughing “I’ll talk it over with Ty and let you know. Yes, Ed I understand. Come on Ed, we’ve known each other for a long time, not quite as long as that positions been open. Well it sure feels that way. Of course.”

Ty had come up, checked on Lyndy in the playpen and grabbed a glass of water while Amy got off the phone. He looked down at the sheet she was now doodling on. $100K, 3%, apt, 2br, win, trk, nny.

“What’s up ?” Ty asked. “Client ?”

“Job offer.”

“Job ?”

“That was Ed Halprin at Hillhurst. The head trainers job, I called him for the details.”

“What about us ?”

“I’m thinking like you, this won’t work.”

“When did I say that, is this over before ?”

“Before is part of it but a few days ago you drove off and said you don’t think this is going to work out, I agree and I’m out of time, we’re out of time. The Hillhurst job is what Lyndy needs right now and us not working together is what we need.”

“We’ve have issues over client horses before we were partners Amy, this is just growing pains, look I’m sorry, I told you, the stress, I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Amy closed her eyes for a second and took a breath her voice was even but low. “We’ve never had issues over our client horses before, we’ve have issues over my client horses. I’ve had issues with Scott and Cass too and after all the information we had was between us, I decided. I’m quite willing to decide on the treatment of our clients with you, I don’t think you are.”

“You don’t think we can work through this, we’ve always worked though our difficulties before ?”

“Actually, we never have. From the day we told each other we loved each other we have always split up when things got bad. We’re no good like this especially if you feel you can’t leave, that’s your pressure spout, time to think, months sometimes, we can’t do this Ty.”

“So Hillhurst ? That life, those people, that’s who you’re going to work for ? You can stay here and still have your business.”

Amy turned to look at him, “That woman, that horse,” Amy said pointing down the stairs “are Ahmed and Zeus, don’t you get it ?”

“What ?”

“You heard Laura right ? You know it’s true too, this happens all the time, any trick to win. They’re rich, spoiled, entitled, just like the Westfields and the Stantons, the Polo guys, you’ve met them , heard them, they have no scruples, no moral balance, are any of these people better than Ahmed ? That’s what this is right, my decision to not train high end horses, but that’s what I do Ty. A jumper won’t jump or jump high enough they come to me, a runner won’t run or they need it to run faster, they come to me and when Georgie wants to jump I train her, for Val, who’s also Ahmed. It’s just a job.”

“And me, us ?”

“You think I’m breaking up with you ?”

“Ty it’s a new two bedroom apartment with parking and a kitchen and a door and walls that separate spaces. So that Lyndy can learn to be with herself and sleep by herself and have privacy, so that we can have privacy.”

“And while you’re working, what happens to Lyndy ?”

“We hire a nanny, just like we were going to do here, except there Ed has offered me a studio apartment for our nanny. One that we can afford because the salary is $100,000 plus a profit share a year. Go back to the clinic Ty, be a partner and one day, very soon hopefully, we can buy a spread.”

“And Heartland ?”

“Heartland is not ours, it’s Grandpa’s, there is no space for us here Ty, not now.”

“The land ?”

“Is a fantasy. How long do we live like this until we settle for the house we can afford or do we wait even longer ? What’s the plan, a realistic schedule, two years, three ?”

“A nanny.”

“It’s not like that Ty, it’s a nanny basically at home where I work with horses on the same property, just like here. I’ll see her all the time, it’s head trainer, everyone works for me. Feel free to schedule hours at home during the day, I’m sure the nanny would love the break and I’d love to see you. You can even sneak by for afternoon trysts like normal young couples. Doors Ty, imagine the possibilities.”

“Leave Heartland, how’s Jack going to react ?”

“Grandpa will be fine, Lou will be fine, everyone will be fine, we’re just down the road.”

“So you’ve decided ?”

“No, I’m discussing it, I wouldn’t take a job without telling you, I don’t make decisions concerning us and our well being without you. If you have an alternative I’d love to hear it or any real objection to my taking the job, Ed will wait, he might even up the ante.”

“What happens now ?”

“Now we deal with the fallout from the fiasco we’re in and get Star healthy. Provided we’re not all arrested, tomorrow I’d like us to visit Hillhurst, get shown around, see the apartments and then you can take Lyndy home and Ed and I will talk through duties and expectations and then you and I will decide or maybe discuss it with the family and move forward.”

“Seems you’ve already decided.”

“No Ty, already decided is I talked to Scott and cut back on my hours so we could be partners in a business you thought I’d somehow forgotten about.”

“This is an adult conversation between two people. They come before rash decisions in some parts of the world. In fact many couples might end a conversation like this with a kiss of reassurance, personally I think making love right now would reassure us both, care to step over to the bed and pull the curtain ? I’m tired of living like this Ty.”

“I get it Amy, I do.”

“Then act like it rather than being resigned to it and do not internalize it.”

“I won’t”

Oh bull, you already are, we’re in this together Ty we’re both responsible for this.”

“Somehow I think you’re the only one who’ll see it that way.”

“Is that what this is ? Testosterone?”

“No.”

“Then what Ty, you went away too many times ? Put yourself in front of your family’s needs ? You think I bear no responsibility for that ? It was easier to let you go then do this, but that time is done. I don’t want to raise Lyndy on my own or be without you so we need to learn to live together, actually live together, and we need to communicate.”

“Look at me Ty, Lyndy and I aren’t going anywhere and we both love you so much, spend some real time thinking not blaming, it works.”

“Never has before.”

“Then maybe it’s time you talked to someone other than yourself.”

“Seriously ?”

“It’s just talking Ty, it doesn’t come with a stigma.”

“I’m no good at that stuff.”

“You’ll get better.”

“Can we talk about this ?”

“How about you think about it all sweetheart;  think, talk, decide.”

“You’re Ok not doing this if that’s the decision ?”

“That will only be the decision with a viable alternative to it or this Ty, doing nothing is not an option. Lyndy is going to be 3.”

“Let’s go check on Star. Lyndy want to come see the horses ?” Ty asked

“Ya, hossies Dada”

Any smiled and walked over to her “come on then sweetheart, maybe there’s hope for a little brother or sister yet huh ?”

“Is that where we’re at ?”

“Look around you Ty, see room for a bunk bed ? I’m not looking to stall our life sweetheart, I want more kids and a place for them to be at home, a place for us, the real dream.”

“So we won’t work together anymore.” Ty said.

Amy laughed, “pick up my phone and go to V and hit vet. That’s your number Ty, I’m not calling another vet.” “So you’re Ok working together as long as I work for you ?” He asked poking at her side.

“See, that wasn’t so hard.” Amy said leaning in for a light more than sensual kiss.

“Maybe later we could ?” Ty asked following.

“Major reassurances later handsome, provided of course.”

“I get it, I get it.”

The End.

[aikainkauna]

“OC asks that reveal more than you think”

...part the first. From here. I decided I will do this for everybody, so I will not get too carried awa--oh, what am I saying? I mean that I did want to do Laura after all, but I also want to do some others, and doing them all at once should help deter depression that might result from analysing the darkficcier-than-darkfic stuff. And since this will be long, I’ll just post a few answers at a time. So, here we go.

***

1. Do they sleep with a stuffed animal? If they have multiple, who's the favorite?

-Laura: She sleeps with a living sex panther. I expect she had LOADS of toys as a kid (Lars-Erik in the movie is drowning in tons of fancy, expensive toys, the pampered little nipper he is). But I don't see her being that much into playing with traditional dolls--except for those fucked-up bondage/dark ritual games she bonded over with Birgitte.

-Fadl: I bet he slept with several as a child. And gave them swords made of stix. His favourite was a stuffed horse. When he has to spend nights in tents, he sleeps next to his horse, in true nomadic Arab warrior fashion. (The reason they kept the horses in their tents were because tribal raids were rampant, JYSK. All those "oh, those curious foreign customs!" anecdotes never tell you that bit.)

-Zainab: she sleeps with several soft, warm living lesbians she has been stuffing with dildos beforehand. If it's too hot to share a bed, she just hugs a big pillow so she won't suffocate on her own tits and stomach during the night. The pillow quite likely has embroideries of naked ladies, too.

2. Can they take care of a plant? What about a pet? What about a child?

-Laura sucks at plants. Torsten is an avid gardener and faps over his orchids (probably literally. Improves the alkalinity of the soil). Pets? I don't think she really is a pet person, even if she probs had the token pony all little rich girls have. But she had stable hands to take care of it. Torsten, weirdly, would get along with animals, I think, and would be all cuddly and not at all evil in his interactions with them. He strikes me as the sort of person who hates most humans but loves animals, and that pet-owning is one of the few things about him that he does "normally," when the rest of him is batshit insane. It's not an unusual pattern with mental people (the cat lady said somewhat defensively). A child?! Well. If you've read the fic, you know how they deal with children. Don't ever let them near them... please. Especially Uncle Torsten.

-Fadl: I suspect he's actually a really good gardener when he puts his mind to it! Perhaps, in his old age, that's what he starts to fill his days with at Thousand Suns--after all, the house was named after the orange trees growing in its gardens and courtyard. So maybe he decides to make it a matter of personal pride that the oranges turn out as smashing as possible. (Omg, I need to use this in a fic! Jaffar shows up and juggles with the oranges; Salsabil and her mother develop a press, Anwar glugs the juice to fuel his dance practice :3) Animals-wise, he is really, really, really big on those horses, as previously established. As a youth and in his early adulthood in Raqqa and Baghdad, he would go to the horse races with Jaffar and cheer at the Barmakid horses he had himself brought up and co-trained. And kick everybody's arses at polo, likewise with horses he'd helped bring up. Children? Don't bring it up with him if you value your life (cf. The Earth's Turning--you'll have to read that one to know why).

-Zainab: sucks at plants, abhors kids, only just gets along with animals, but doesn't really form particularly deep bonds with them. She only has domestic/work animals like horses and camels and donkeys and chickens and hounds and cattle, and has, at some point, had at least one elephant to show off with.

3. Ask them to describe their love interest.

-Laura: “My Daddy is mad, bad and dangerous to know. And I love him; I don't know what I would do without him. And he most certainly wouldn't know what to do without me, either, the aimlessly drifting cad that he is.”

-Fadl: “Zainab is a heathen goddess. And just as capricious and cruel. But I cannot help it--the marvels of her soft, ample curves, golden hair and Hyperborean blue eyes hold me captive. This Viking bitch has well and truly conquered me, and I might as well admit it. But not to other men besides my brother; God, no. A man has to retain at least a façade of dignity, even if in his mistress's bed, he may be as a slave.”

-Zainab: “Lina? She is my little mouse-mouse, my little golden pearl, my everything! She completes me, in possessing all that I lack: a calm and steady temperament and a head for numbers and books. She keeps me sane, cheers me up, is a good conversationalist and on top of that, she is insatiable in bed. I never grow tired of lapping at that delicious little cunny of hers until my mouse-mouse squeaks--what's that? Oh, you wanted to know about *Fadl.* Well, he has his uses, does my bold stallion. But he needs a fair amount of training still. But I am nothing if not an expert at the art of breaking in unruly colts...” *cracks bejewelled, plump little knuckles*

4. Do they look good in red?

You know, at first I thought I'd Photoshop these, but then I realised it'd take me an entire week. So you just get quick and dirty (literally) doodles doodles I  ended up fixing in Potatochop for two fucking hours because fuck the messiness coloured pencils engender :P

Laura:

(She doesn‘t wear her hair like that for most of the time in the fics, but I still love drawing her with Bunny’s ginormous Nancy Drew/The Beloved Brat-era cloud of golden curls. And unlike Bunny, she has Torsten’s nose.)

Fadl:

I... kind of got carried away by what Clone Brush/Burn Tool could do, there. He ended up looking as colourful as a medieval European jester. Well, he is a fucking clown, though, so... what the hell.

Zainab:

Glorious red frock over sapphire-blue, diaphanous shalwars! I reckon the belt and the trim on the sleeves is actual gold. Because she could afford it.

But, yeah. I think the girls win this round. Maybe I’ll ‘shop Fadl in red if I find a good bodyshot of the right kind of chap in the right kind of red sherwani or something. But now, I’ve definitely done my arms and hands and back in for the day as far as Photoshop goes, so that’s it for tonight, folks!