#and fingers crossed ill sleep better on the weekend

[phagodyke]

leaving work early feels sooo good they should let me do this every day..

[mudskip-muses]

@ult-mechanic​ 

As soon as the trip was announced, Gundham knew he was going to hate it. He was only going to please his mother, the angel worrying about his lack of friends at the school, so this was used as a way to ease her mind with the promise that he would at least try to speak with his classmates. There were very few that were worth his time, but Gundham didn’t say as much to his mother, knowing very well she would just scold him, say that you couldn’t judge a book by it’s cover, and he needed to give them a chance. He had scoffed at all this, but there was a smile none-the-less, the breeder knowing very well her worry came from a place of love.

So he had agreed to the trip, and by some humorous twist of fate, Gundham was assigned to be “buddies” with the one person who loathed him the most. 

...Alright, perhaps that was a bit much with what the breeder knew now. Kazuichi...wasn’t all that bad, he simply...

No, it was bad. Any comradery the two had while hunting for his lost pet was surely that of convenience and nothing more. They had hardly spoken after that, so Gundham could only assume his usefulness had come to an end for the mechanic, and now here they were, thrown together by an ill will of causality to spend an entire weekend at each other's side with hardly a hope of reprieve. 

They hadn’t even arrived at the motel yet and already the breeder was on edge, teeth grit and fingers dug into the sleeves of his coat where his arms were crossed as he seethed in his seat on the bus, every noise from his overexcited classmates grinding on his nerves. The only saving grace was his Devas, Cham-P popping out from his coat with what looked to be earbuds in his little mouth. Gundham was confused at first, knowing very well they weren’t his, but he wasn’t about to complain for a moments peace in a maelstrom of sounds. 

The ride after that had been relatively fine, save for having to watch the mechnic out of the corner of his eye to ensure his motion sickness didn’t get the better of him. And if Gundham handed him a bottle of water from his bag when he started to look a bit ill? He simply didn’t want to get thrown up on, was all.

Music playing loud enough that it was a miracle the little speakers hadn’t blown, Gundham almost missed the stopping of the bus, jumping as he was snapped from his day dream when everyone started to exit. The next set of instructions was uneventful, the city was theirs to roam so long as a teacher knew where they were, and they checked in with one every few hours. Curfew was eleven, and groups could pair up, but you had to stay with your buddy to ensure no one got lost. 

The last bit, though, caught Gundham’s attention: There had been a mix up with the hotel, a few rooms that were meant to be doubles were instead booked as singles, and with the full capacity of the hotel, there wasn’t much that could be done about it, save for extra pillows and blankets to be given if someone wished to sleep on the floor instead of sharing a bed. He should have known then and there that the fates weren’t done with him, the sight of a single bed upon opening the door stopping the overlord dead in his tracks, eyes staring blankly at it for several long moments before his bag was dropped inside the door with a rattle of its contents. 

Turning to Kazuichi, Gundham took the mechanic’s bag from his hands, tossing it into the room before pushing him out into the hall and closing the door behind them. “I desire a coffee.” Was the only explanation that Kazuichi got, and since the breeder still had both keys to their room, he didn’t have say in the matter...

[episkystyles]

Diabolical // H.S. [PART FOUR]*

Summary: Y/N never was one to believe in supernatural beings — even with the many mysterious cases of missing people starting to pile up in her hometown. But when she catches the attention of one peculiar man during a winter trip to see her parents, she soon uncovers things she thought only existed in books and movies. [PART ONE, PART TWO, PART THREE]

Warnings: Mature content [mentions of blood]

“Mom, do you really have to go?” Y/N pleaded, watching as her mother zipped her suitcase. “I don’t think whatever doctor you’ve found is going to be of much help.”

“I understand your concern, Y/N, but Dr. Winston had been emailing me profusely about his theories on your father’s condition. He’s proven to be an expert in his profession, and I trust that he’ll be the one who figures this whole mess out.” Her mother walked over to her daughter and pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll only be gone for the weekend. I think you’re perfectly capable of handling your dad on your own.”

She sighed. She wished she could tell the truth to her mother about her father’s “illness” that no doctor could possibly cure, but she cannot. At least, not now. She wouldn’t believe her anyway if she had; she’d think that she had gone crazy, accusing her own dad of being a vampire. It also enrages Y/N that some scammy doctor on the other side of the state is filling her mom with false hope so she could throw money at him. This Dr. Winston guy doesn’t know shit.

Once her mom left, Y/N went to check up on her father, still in a pretty comatose state as his body twitched and throttled against the bed. She could it now, as his mouth opened slightly; two fangs starting to grow, and she wondered if her mom had noticed it at all.

A loud thud is heard from the living room, making her jump in a panic. Had someone broken in? Was it one of those vampires who thirsted for her “pure” blood? Ever since she had spoken to Harry, she was nonstop paranoid about everything and everyone. She was basically a walking target now and there was nothing she could do about it. Y/N took a step into the living room, eyebrow raised as Harry stood before her, inspecting the family photos that lined up the wall.

“Lovely family,” he murmured, tapping his finger against a picture of her from when she was about three. “You know, you should really learn to lock your door, especially after what I told you about this town. I just walked in.”

“I thought vampires are supposed to be invited in,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Common misconception… and stereotype,” Harry stated, now walking over to her. He placed his hands on top of her shoulders and leaned in, kissing her gently. He pulled away and whispered, “How’s my favorite human?”

She rolled her eyes. Leave it to him to point out her mortality. “Worried. My mom’s gone to some doctor who thinks he can cure my father, and my father’s just grown fangs. He also can’t stop contorting in his sleep.”

“He must be hungry then,” he said, now walking over to a bag she just noticed placed on the coffee table. He pulled out an enclosed styrofoam cup. “Luckily, I came prepared.”

“Is�� is that blood?”

“No angel, it’s tomato soup,” Harry chuckled sarcastically, shaking his head at her sour expression. “This is the only way that can help your father come to a lot sooner. His body is in pure agony from all the physical changes and feeding him will make him a little more comfortable. He must be starving.”

Y/N chewed on the bottom of her lip nervously. “I don’t know, Harry…”

“It’s better than him waking up randomly in the middle of the night and him feasting on you or your mother. Newborns are especially vicious and uncaring, blind by their thirst,” he said pointedly. “I do not want that happening. It’s a miracle it hasn’t happened yet.”

“Okay fine, follow me,” she said, trembling at the proposed thought of her potential fate. Her father being too consumed with the thought of blood and murder that he wouldn’t stop to recognize his own daughter and wife.

She led him to the room where her father rested in. Harry took off the lid and it was like her dad’s body became immediately aware and absolutely ravenous. He shook vigorously and made monstrous noises, and Harry quickly walked over and handed him the container of the blood, God knows where it came from but she didn’t dare ask. As if his unconscious state knew exactly what to do with it, Y/N’s dad brings the cup to his lips and he downs it rather fast, his body soon relaxing afterwards when he puts the empty container down. The blood appeared to have been incredibly helpful, as he settled down and stopped moving about. Like he was really sleeping.

It felt so nice to see him look a lot more like her father again.

“Thank you Harry,” she whispered, smiling lightly despite how messed up this all was. “He looks a lot better now.”

“I’d like to take you somewhere, angel,” Harry said, grabbing her hand with his own. “Let’s go out for a little while.”

“I’m not sure if I can leave my dad all alone…”

“Don’t worry darling, I’m certain he’ll be fine.”

Not needing much convincing, Y/N agreed to go out with him. Another misconception about vampires, she learned, is that sunlight doesn’t bother them all that much. They just prefer the darkness and cold weather as it’s a lot easier for them to hunt and run about.

Harry had led her into the woods, venturing through the trees which she’d feel uneasy with if she weren’t with him. She trusts him though, and trusts the fact that he would do anything to put her life at risk. While they haven’t known each other for all that long, she cannot help but feel a strong pull towards him, even after everything he has told her. It’s crazy because she knows she should stay far away from him. He’s a blood-thirsty vampire who could take her life any time he wants to — hell, he could be doing exactly that right now. Leading her into a vast forest so that nobody could hear her screams while he feasts into her flesh. But Y/N knows that he won’t do that. He would never.

She just knows.

He abruptly stops, and turns toward her with a smirk before holding out his hand. “Give me your hand, angel.”

Y/N does so, and almost instantly she feels herself being hoisted onto his back while he climbs a very large tree. She squeals very loudly and Harry chuckles, pushing past branches as they made their way to the top. Once doing so, he placed a firm grip on her waist as they gazed at the wondrous view beyond them, Arringdale being somewhere amongst all those trees and hills. She could see a large expanse of a lake glistening just a few miles away, and she sighed in delight as a breeze flew through her hair.

She truly felt alive.

“Are you scared?”

She looked at Harry, and she wasn’t sure if he was referring to the insane height they were currently standing in or him, but she still answered, “No, I have no reason to be.”

He smiled. “I truly think we belong together, Y/N. Something about you calls to me, and I’ve never been so enchanted by someone as I do with you before. You’re… you’re a rare creature.”

“Says you,” she teases. “But I feel the same way about you, Harry. I mean, I think it says a lot that I just do casually agreed to come up all the way here. I’m typically afraid of heights.”

He furrowed his brows. “I thought you said you weren’t scared.”

“I’m not,” she said. “At least, not when I’m with you. I feel safe with you.”

That’s when Harry leaned in and kissed her deeply. He pulled her close against him as their mouths intertwined perfectly, careful to not miss a step otherwise he’d lead them — well, her — to their demise. Y/N pulled away and whispered with a glint of mischief in her eyes, “Take me to your cabin, Harry.”

The second they stepped through the door, Y/N was all over him. He had slammed her up against the wall kissed at her neck, making sure not to graze her skin with his sharp teeth. His hands tugged off her shirt, exposing her bra-covered breasts in a lacy fashion, which made his eyes darken in delight. Harry dragged their bodies over to the bedroom, where he laid her down and began kissing all over her bare skin.

“Is… is it… is it dangerous for a vampire to have a sex with a human,” Y/N breathed out in heavy pants as he slid her bottoms right off, his lips now dangerously close to a particular area of her body.

“No, not really, but it can be if we’re not careful,” Harry murmured, pressing a warm kiss to her inner thigh. “I promise to be real careful with you though, angel. M’gonna make you feel real good.”

“Harry,” she hummed, leaning upwards to unhook her bra, flinging the material away before laying back down and spreading her legs slightly further apart. “You don’t have to be too careful with me. I can handle you.”

“Are you sure?” You’re tempting the devil.

“Yes, I am.” I don’t care.

That’s when his head leaned forward and he takes the material of her underwear between his teeth, immediately snapping it apart and sliding it down her legs. This made a shiver crawl up her spine, turning her on even more than she already was. Harry grinned in satisfaction at the sight of her, naked and needy underneath him. He pulled off his own shirt, throwing it back behind him as he pushed himself up against her, his fingers gently wrapping themselves around her neck.

“Ready, darling?” He planted a kiss against her collarbone. “I can feel you shaking underneath me.” His one hand removed itself from her neck and placed itself right between her thighs, making her most quietly. “You’re so wet for me, you have no idea the things I want to do to you.”

“So do them,” Y/N murmured, looking right into his beautiful eyes. “And do them well.”

That was enough for Harry to rip her legs right open, removing every last article of clothing her had worn before pushing his length right inside of her. She gasped and her fingers clung his back as he started to move, showing no mercy as he rocked his hips against hers back and forth at a rapid speed. The bed underneath them creaked and slammed against the wall, and she briefly wondered why he had a bed in the first place when he most likely doesn’t sleep a wink.

Oh right. To do things like this.

“Is it too much for you, angel?” Harry whispered in her ear as she whimpered from his thrusts, her nails burying themselves into his pale skin. “Need me to stop?”

“No, never. In fact, I want it harder,” she begged, swearing loudly when he did just that and really started fucking her right into the mattress, merciless as he swung her legs over her head and drilled himself right into. “Fuck! Harry.”

“I like it when you say my name like that,” he murmured lowly, staring right into her wide open eyes. “It makes me feel alive.”

When they finished together, Y/N was an absolute exhausted mess but Harry made sure to take care of her. He helped cleaned her right up in his bathroom, massaging gentle circles into her sore legs as he kissed her upper temple. She sighed in content as she leaned against his body, “How many lovers do you have, Harry? If you don’t mind me asking.”

She’s not sure why she hadn’t bothered to ask before they did anything, but now, she was curious. She never considered that he’d have potential past (or, unfortunately, current) suitors other than her. Were any of them like her? Human? Or were they like him, vampires?

“You,” he answered, taking a washcloth and rubbing the warm water over her stomach.

“What about before me?”

“Only you, Y/N. You’re the only person I’ve been with in… about a hundred years,” he said, not seeming to want to keep up with the subject. “Does it hurt to walk?”

He’s deflecting. Clearly he doesn’t want to address his one-hundred-year celibacy, so she doesn’t push the matter any further, but there were still so many questions roaming in her brain. “No, not too badly. But you still did a little number on me.”

Harry chuckled, and she leaned over the counter to grab her phone. Surprisingly enough there was cell service, so when she turned the device on, she was met with a few text messages.

Mom: Ugh, forgot my wallet. Have to come back early.

Mom: Y/N, where are you? You were supposed to be watching your father.

Mom: Your dad is acting strange… a lot stranger than usual. Please come home soon

Mom: Oh my God he’s awake. He’s looking at me

Mom: HELP

“Oh my God!” Y/N belted, pushing herself away from Harry to gather all of her clothes. “I have to go home right now. My dad woke up!”

Harry’s eyes widened and the two of them hurried to get ready before leaving. Her mother’s last text was sent over an hour ago, and by now, it’s dark outside. She hope her mother was okay — as well as her father. He couldn’t possibly harm her in any way, right? They fed him already, and he seemed satisfied.

However, when they got back to her house, everything was completely silent. The pair tiptoed quietly, noticing all the broken and shattered vases and glasses, living room and dining room furniture thrown about, and… traces of a red substance all over the floor that led to her parents’ bedroom.

“Mom?” Y/N called out, shaking in complete and utter fear.

Her and Harry shared a glance before going into her parents’ room, discovering her unconscious mother laying limply on the floor, looking drained of blood.

And her father was nowhere to be found.

a/n: sorry if this was bad LOL ahhh

[sooibian]

Catch These Hands

Pairing: Baekhyun x Fem!Reader

Description: Living with Baekhyun comes with its own challenges

Themes: Fluff (surprise!!!!), established relationship, make up artist and masseur Byun, a little bit of byuntae, and one (1) Eminem reference lol

Prompt: @/notyourenglishprofessor : You SAY you didn’t eat in bed but these crumbs say differently.

A/N: Happy Birthday @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt​ !!!! here’s your biggest pet peeve woven into a bbh fic! Hope you enjoy it XD

Word count: ~ 1.7k

Nights out have never agreed with you. It’s 2 a.m. and your feet hurt from the heels, your head hurts from the drinks, your little black dress (your best friend sure does have a penchant for party clichés) is mocking your food baby, your makeup feels clumpy - maybe you overused the setting powder but you wouldn’t know because the complex art of blending cosmetics has always eluded you. How do they make it look so easy in YouTube tutorials?

As you’re keying in the passcode to your apartment, despite all the malaise, a sudden surge of comfort courses through your veins at the thought of your adorable boyfriend asleep in a clean, cozy bed, engulfed in warm and fresh sheets that exude the fragrance of a spring meadow - courtesy of your brand new laundry detergent. You imagine he is dressed in his snuggly pajamas, with his lips slightly parted, dark hair tousled, and your ostrich plushie clutched to his chest. Ever since you started living with him, you’d never spent a night away from home but the one time you returned after a weekend long Neuroscience conference, you found your plushie resting in the comfort of his arms. The next morning he insisted that he didn’t know where it came from.  

‘Time to catch him red handed’, you smile to yourself.

Kicking off your heels and scraping your hair up in a bun, you tiptoe to your bedroom and the faint melody of Baekhyun singing in a highly expressive croon falls upon your ears.

Tell me you’ll love again, come back to me again..

He should’ve been long asleep and while you can’t wait to crash out either, you allow yourself the pleasure of eavesdropping on his heavenly vocals that always sound especially sweet when he’s wrestling sleep. Until..until you hear it.. the sharp crunch of plastic which sends you barging into the bedroom with exasperation painted across your features. 

Baekhyun clamps his mouth shut. 

Instead of jumping out of bed to wrap you in his arms, he uncharacteristically stays burrito-ed in his duvet, fixing you with an apologetic gaze. Elbow crushing the pillow underneath him, shoulders crouched, lips pursed, hair dishevelled, pajama bottoms scrunched up to his calves, he tries to blink away the very apparent guilt in his eyes. Your ostrich plushie lay on your side of the bed as if its neck had been snapped like a popsicle stick. 

As you loom over him, lower lip wobbling, he pushes his weight further down the pillow but the tail end of the red Orion choco pie wrapper teasingly peeks from underneath it, glimmering in the cozy golden lighting of the bedroom, already chuckling at the drama that is to ensue.

You’re too tired for this.

Without a word to him, you grab a bunch of blankets from the dresser, shut it with a loud bang and stomp out of the room while Baekhyun’s bearing is that of a frozen frame. As you’re questioning your life choices and are about to vent your frustration on the irreproachable couch, your weary gaze finds the bane of your existence again - crumbs. White, inelegant fragments of food conspicuous against your tan sofa.

They say the more you try to avoid something, the more you create it. This was unequivocally the worst quote you’d ever read. You created nothing! You were not the one to leave this slew of crumbs on the sofa neither did you leave a pile of crumbs on the bed! It was all Baekhyun! 

You’re way too tired for this.

Drowsy, you lie down on the floor, curled up in the many blankets, although still cautious as your piercing eyes doggedly probe for more evidence of Baekhyun’s insolence. Surprisingly, the rug was clean-ish. It was almost as if he had planned on you sleeping on the floor tonight. This thought fuels the rage bubbling in the pit of your stomach so you force your eyes shut to avoid a shouting match this late in the night. 

The shuffling sound of footsteps grows closer and you’re determined not to give him the satisfaction of even a glance. The sound comes to a halt and you feel a gentle caress of warm fingers ghosting over your cheeks which is quickly replaced with a smooth and cool touch of a cotton pad against your eyelids, cheekbones, jaw line, with a distinct scent of micellar water wafting in the little to no space between Baekhyun and you.

You continue to play dead as he’s quietly and deftly taking your makeup off while delicately holding you up by the back of your neck and you coyly move your face from side to side to allow him better access to every inch of your skin.

“Too much setting powder”, he whispers.

Darnit!

“Still so pretty”, he remarks in his dulcet voice. Your head now rests in his lap and he’s gently moving his thumbs in tiny circles under your brows, working his way from inside out and continuing the movement all around your eyes and ending back at the bridge of your nose, almost lulling you to sleep.   

At this point every cell in your body is waging a war against your now weakened spirit that’s continuing to disregard him yet you find yourself revelling in his mellow affections.

“It’s a rookie mistake. Not to worry, baby, I’ll help you get it right the next time.” He reassures, planting a soft kiss on your pout.

“Right”, eyes still wilfully shut, you chastise him, “maybe when you find the time from eating in bed.”

“Yah! Don’t be like that.” Baekhyun whines, prying your eyes open with his fingers, not-so-gently.

You smack the back of his hand and sit up cross legged facing him. He stretches his hand out to pat your head and you smack it again invoking a look of pure confusion in Baekhyun’s soft features. His hand is now barely an inch away from your lips and he commands with a raised brow, “Now kiss it better.” 

“Ew!” Your hand strikes the back of his, again. “How many times do I have to tell you not to -”

“Not to eat in bed!” Baekhyun completes your sentence with a deep sigh, “I know and I wasn’t -”

“Do not lie to me Byun Baekhyun!” Warning him, you wag your finger as annoyance betrays your voice, rendering your pitch shrill. Dusting the corners of his mouth with the pads of your fingers, you sneer, “These crumbs say otherwise. You know I hate it when you eat in bed! It’s ...It’s….disgusting! And -”

“And?” 

“You always ignore my post-its!”

Baekhyun huffs and runs a hand through his hair. Letting on a forced smile, he reasons, “We’ve been living together for three years now. I think it’s time you stopped leaving ‘do not eat’ post-it notes on everything you buy!”

Tilting your head to the side, you explain animatedly, “First of all, you won’t let me buy snacks on our grocery runs because they’re unhealthy or whatever and you want to bring about a stupid dietary reform in the household which, by the way, is failing miserably - ”

“Yah!! We’re still in January, don’t be such a pessimist!”

“Do not interrupt me! The few that I do manage to sneak into the cart are mine and mine alone!”

“It’s just that..the ones that you buy taste better”, he mumbles, unveiling the most powerful weapon in his artillery - the pout.

“That is the most ridiculous thing that’s come out of your mouth today aside from the crumbs! I imagined you’d be...”, it’s nearly 3 a.m. and you’re starting to descend into a fugue state, “you’d be...curled up in bed like a...like a... cooked shrimp with a plushie clutched to it’s chest!”

Visibly offended, he flicks your forehead and bellows, “Cooked shrimp!? It’s called the fetal position. Look it up!”

“I know what it’s called!” Your livid expression eases into a rather ill meaning smile, “My apologies, I took you for a grown man.”

“What in the world - I am a grown man!” His lips stretch into a wide grin and the tips of his fingers tease the sensitive spot on your neck, “would you like to see?”

“You’re disgusting, Byun Baekhyun! A grown man does not eat in bed!” You smack the back of his hand. Again.

“Strike four! You’re obligated to kiss it better now!” 

Tears start to well up in your eyes at the sight of his hand dangling so close to your face. “I’m tired”, you cry, burying your face in your hands as exhaustion and exasperation take over, “I really need you to stop eating in bed.” 

“Babe, I -” His eyes grow into large brown circles at the sight of your distressed state and he freezes.

“I feel like the crumbs will, like, turn into ferocious ants and nibble at my skin while I’m asleep”, you break into full blown sobs and Baekhyun takes you in his arms, holding you tight against his warm and comforting frame and patting your head to calm you down.

“Hush, baby”, he sing-songs, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! You go get changed into something comfortable and I’ll dust the bed, okay?”

“Can you change the sheets instead?” Sniffling, you ask him with wide, pleading eyes, a sly smile playing at your lips.

His eyebrows shoot upwards and he exclaims, “It’s three in the morn-”

“Please?” You sing-song, a little too loudly.

He lets out a deep sigh, “Okay! I’ll change the sheets.”

With his slightly dispirited face sandwiched between your hands, you ask cheerfully, “And you promise to never eat in bed again?” 

“I promise to never eat in bed again.” A dejected Baekhyun says to his knees. 

“And you won’t steal my snacks?”

You had now started to push your luck with him, but it was a risk you were willing to take.

He flicks your forehead a little harshly this time making you squeal. “Can you stop with the stupid post-its, already?”

Rubbing your forehead, you surrender and get up. “Fine! I’ll go shower now.”

Baekhyun wraps his arms around your waist. Nuzzling your neck, he coos seductively, "I’ll join you.” 

“Byun Baekhyun!”

[allthebooksandcrannies]

Life With You Makes Perfect Sense (You're My Best Friend)

TimKon Fanfic

Read on AO3 or Read my other works here

For context: this takes place during the time when Stephanie Brown was Robin after Tim's dad figured out his identity and made him retire. In the comics, Conner finds this out by coming to Gotham to look for Tim when he fails to show up at Titan's Tower and bumping into Robin Steph. Batman refuses to give Conner Tim's address but tells him that he has all the same skills Superman has to find him himself. Conner tracks down Tim's voice and confronts him in his bedroom. In the comics, he ends up leaving and doesn't appear to hear from Tim again until he comes back to the Robin role. This fic takes place as a sort of "what-if" to fill in that missing time.

I took the dialogue in italics from the first and last scenes directly from my copy of the TPB Teen Titans: Beast Boys & Girls (2005), though the body language that goes with the dialogue and everything else in the fic is mine.

Title comes from Tim McGraw's "My Best Friend"

Tim woke up clinging to the whisps of a dream that fled from the screeching of his alarm. As he blinked himself back to consciousness, he grasped vainly for the subject of the dream and was left feeling inexplicably wistful.

His fumbling fingers managed to silence the alarm, but there was still the unfortunate matter of having to heave himself out of bed, his limbs feeling heavier and more uncooperative than they had in weeks. Apparently, all the extra sleep he’d been getting since he retired still wasn’t enough to make Monday mornings suck any less.

He pushed away the traitorous voice in the back of his head that suggested that maybe his exhaustion had something to do with his conversation with Conner the other night.

Conner had shown up unannounced and asking questions Tim hadn’t expected to have to answer again. “Why didn’t you show at the tower yesterday? And what’s with this new Robin? The girl?”

“Last week…” Tim paused, trying to decide how best to make Conner understand. “My dad found my costume. He found out I was Robin, and he went a little—” Tim paused, unsure, “—overboard. I’ve been wanting to tell him for months anyway.”

Conner turned his head towards where he could hear Jack moving around, easily locking onto his vitals. “He seems totally relaxed now. His heart rate is normal and—”

Tim glanced back at Conner nervously, but still refused to look at him head on. “I quit.”

“You what?” Conner exclaimed.

“I’m not Robin anymore. I gave it up.”

“Why?” Conner couldn’t wrap his mind around what he was hearing.

Tim tried to explain, needing Conner to understand. His approval felt vital in that moment. “I never liked living two lives. I never planned on doing it for this long. And I never wanted to lie to my dad. Now I don’t have to anymore.”

Conner shook his head in denial. “Come on. You can’t do this to the Titans. That girl isn’t… She’s not Robin.”

Tim wanted to stop thinking about that night, but no matter how hard he tried he just couldn’t. The look on Conner’s face when Tim told him he wasn’t coming back to the Titans, how Conner refused to meet Tim’s eyes when he talked about how much he and the other Titans needed Tim, not just Robin. All of it. After all, what right did Conner have to come in and tell Tim how to live his life? Conner was born into this, he didn’t have a Before to compare the hero life to. He didn’t understand what it was like to be torn between two halves of himself.

At that thought, Tim paused about halfway through pulling on a shirt, and immediately felt guilty for even thinking it. Conner had just found out he was half Lex Luthor after all. He was probably the only person Tim knew who would understand exactly how Tim felt being stuck between his Dad and Bruce since the truth came out.

Tim pulled the shirt on the rest of the way with a mental sigh. He wasn’t really mad at Conner. Things had changed really quickly, and the other boy had made a lot of good points. As he ran through the rest of his morning routine, Tim’s mind continued its highlight reel.

“Let it go.”

“You’re my best friend, Tim. How can I? The Titans aren’t the Titans without Robin. They just aren’t.”

“Just because I’m not wearing a cape doesn’t mean we can’t hang.”

For the first time since Tim had explained his motivation, Conner finally met his eyes again. The resignation there made Tim’s throat tighten. “It won’t be the same. I’ve heard that from too many friends. Friends I never talk to anymore.”

And Conner wasn’t wrong. When was the last time he had talked to Cissie? Sure, he still got the occasional update on what she was up to from Cassie on Titans weekends, but that wasn’t the same. It was so easy to lose touch with people who left the hero game. Hell, he hadn’t even spoken to Dick since he quit, and they had supposedly been brothers.

Conner had every right to be worried. But what else was he supposed to do? There was nothing else he could have done to protect everyone’s identities, and it wasn’t like his Dad was about to let him go to group hangouts with a bunch of superteens.

Tim mulled it over as he mechanically choked down a bowl of cereal. His dad had been pretty adamant about the no contact thing, and Tim was trying to be the respectful son his dad deserved. But Conner wasn’t something Tim was willing to sacrifice for his new mission. Besides, what was the harm in just staying touch, it’s not like he was putting himself in danger.

Still, it was probably better safe than sorry. If he got his hands on a computer at school, it wouldn’t be hard to track down the Kents’ phone number. Then it was just a matter of waiting for Dad and Dana to be out long enough for him to have sole access to the landline.

Yeah, Tim thought as he threw his bowl and the sink and headed out to catch his bus, that would work. It would be enough. It had to. Tim just wished he didn’t feel like he was betraying his dad all over again.

-0-

If anyone could read his mind right now, they would be impressed by the amount of self-restraint Conner was exercising to control his strength as well as he was despite how frustrated he was. Unfortunately, poor Lottie the Cow could not read his mind, and, unlike Krypto, she wasn’t hiding any secret Kryptonian powers of her own.

After the third time he used just a tad too much pressure in his attempts to milk her and she shied away from him yet again, he had to concede defeat. As he swapped out with Pa (who was all too willing to pass off the stall mucking), Conner let himself feel the indignation he hadn’t been able to get out of his head since he spoke to Tim.

It just wasn’t right! Anyone with eyes could see how much Tim loved being Robin. Conner knew how much pride he took in being able to hold his own against some of the most powerful people on the planet. How Tim’s heartrate still sped up with excitement every time he swung off a building or when he flew with Conner.

His dad wanted him to be normal so bad? What was more normal than a teen managing to sneak out without their guardian knowing or taking their dad’s car out for a joyride with their friends. So what if the car was a Batmobile or if the adult he was sneaking past was a Tamaranean princess?

And the worst part was that he wasn’t even mad at Tim, not really. Sure, he had been pissed in the moment, but mostly he was just hurt. They had all finally gotten back to normal, and now Tim was leavingagain. It just wasn’t fair. Conner just wanted his best friend back, but every time they got over one hurdle another one showed up. And this was something Conner couldn’t punch.

“If you shovel any harder, you’re going to snap the end off again.”

Conner whirled around, barely managing not to break the poor tool in his surprise. Martha just raised an unimpressed eyebrow at him, a full basket of chicken eggs resting on her hip. “You want to tell me what’s eating you?”

Conner didn’t meet her eyes, just grabbed the now full bucket of manure to take it to the compost. “It’s nothing, Aunt Martha.”

Her brow wrinkled in concern, which was not what Conner had wanted at all. She took another moment, clearly choosing her words carefully. “Well… I know you don’t owe me your thoughts son, and I don’t pretend to know what it’s like to do what you and Clark do.” She started walking alongside Conner before continuing. “But I have raised one Kryptonian and I can listen with the best of them. So, if you need to get something off your chest…”

Dumping the bucket into the compost, Conner almost refused out of habit. Instead, he hesitated, casting his eyes to the side as he grasped for an answer. The sun was just beginning to peak over the horizon. “It’s kinda a long story…” the note of disappointment in his voice seemed to surprise both of them. Martha didn’t miss a step as she steered them back towards the house. She too glanced at the rising sun and then sent Conner an appraising look. “hmmm… School is important. It would be a shame if you had woken up ill this morning and couldn’t attend.”

Conner felt himself gaping like a fish as he followed her inside.

-0-

Tim was pretending not to notice Dana hovering when the doorbell rang.

And wasn’t that a fun situation. Tim wasn’t quite sure how much Dana knew. He knew his dad hadn’t told her about Robin, as per the arrangement. But he wasn’t sure what story she’d been given instead, or, more likely, if she’d just been left to draw her own conclusions.

Regardless, she clearly knew Tim had been hiding something because she had been acting strangely ever since. Making excuses to keep him in view, asking much more probing questions about his day and who he was spending it with, checking out parenting books on “troubled teens.”

She hadn’t said anything to Tim about whatever it was she thought was going on, but she had always been over-protective of Tim. Sure it could occasionally cross over into infantilizing, but, after a lifetime of people only worrying about Tim’s wellbeing when it affected them, it was kinda nice to have a parent care so openly.

Still, this was starting to get ridiculous. It wasn’t like he was running a drug empire from the kitchen table, and writing an English essay while someone keeps sneaking glances at you while cleaning the stovetop wasn’t exactly easy.

So, the doorbell was a welcome distraction.

While Dana rose to answer the door, Tim tried to focus back on his paper, as if he could make it write itself with the force of his glare. However, there was no amount of effort that would ever keep him from recognizing that voice.

He was at the door before he even realized he’d made the decision.

“—don’t know why he didn’t mention it, ma’am, we made these plans last week.”

“Well, I don’t know if I’m really comfortable with letting you boys go without clearing it with Jack fir—"

Tim peeked around Dana’s shoulder to see Conner Kent, glasses and all, staring up at his stepmom with an almost comically earnest expression. “Dana?”

She glanced back at Tim, not letting go of the half-open door. “Your friend—”

“Conner,” the boy in question supplied helpfully.

“Right,” she said with a forced smile, “Your friend, Conner, was just telling me that you two made plans to get together to study tonight? Tim, honey, you know your Dad wants you to let him know before you make plans to go out with people we don’t know.”

Tim did know. It was one of many new rules that his dad had decided to implement after he found his Robin gear. The restrictions chafed, but, as his dad pointed out, he definitely deserved the lack of trust at this point.

But when he caught the cocky “play along” grin over Dana’s shoulder, Tim stomach filled with warmth at the familiarity. He quickly schooled his expression into an appropriately sheepish smile. “Sorry Dana, I guess it just slipped my mind.”

Dana softened, her grip on the door slackening just a tad.

“If it helps, Mrs. Drake,” Conner broke in, “we can just study here.”

Tim wondered if Conner had learned the earnest and polite young man routine from watching Clark or if it was just natural talent. Either way it was enough for Dana, leading her to relax and open the door completely.

“Oh, that would be perfect! Tim, honey, why don’t you get you and your friend set up at the table? Will you be staying for dinner, Conner? We’re having Chinese tonight, and it’d be no problem to order an extra serving.”

“That would be great, Mrs. Drake!”

Dana headed back towards the kitchen, presumably looking for the takeout menus, leaving Tim and Conner in awkward silence. Tim decided to break the tension first.

“I’m sorry, Conner, I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I know you were just trying to help.”

“Wait, that’s supposed to be my line! I’m sorry, Tim. I didn’t mean to make it seem like I didn’t think you could make your own decisions.”

“So, still friends?”

“Please! You didn’t think I’d come all the way to Gotham to ditch you now, did you?”

“Why did you come? If that was it, why not just come in the window?”

Conner shifted his weight, hand tightening minutely around the strap of the backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Well, I was talking to Ma earlier, and she helped me realize that even if Robin can’t hang out with Superboy, that doesn’t mean Conner Kent can’t spend time with Tim Drake.” He looked up from his shoes, his blue eyes putting the Gotham sky to shame. “That is… if it’s okay with you?”

If you had asked Conner, Tim’s answering grin could have lit up even the darkest Gotham alley.

-0-

Fifteen minutes later found Tim and Conner side by side at the kitchen table, various homework from various subjects strewn out about. Leaning over under the guise of checking Conner’s math, Tim murmured under his breath for only Conner to hear: “So Conner Kent wears flannel now?”

Conner snorted. “I’m pretty sure it’s the only thing they sell in Smallville,” he whispered back. “Why? You a fan?”

“To be honest… I miss the leather,” he replied thoughtlessly.

“Is that so?” Tim realized what he’d said out loud a moment too late. “I guess I’ll have to keep that in mind,” he smirked.

“Oh, shut up,” Tim replied with a little shove that did absolutely nothing but prompt Conner to break out into full body laughter so loud it drew Dana in from the living room to see what was going on.

When she found a blushing Tim whispering back furiously and sending her embarrassed looks, she let out a chuckle of her own before leaving them to it. She had a good feeling about this kid.

-0

It quickly became routine for Conner to come by after school to do homework a few days a week. Tim had worried that it might have been getting Conner in trouble, but Conner had assured him that he had worked things out with ‘Ma so that he still got all his chores done in spite of the extra hours he was putting in Gotham. And as for Batman, well, if he didn’t want him coming to Gotham to see Tim, he shouldn’t have told him how to find him.

And at least he wasn’t dangling the latest Robin in mid-air anymore.

Whether by fate or weird coincidence, however, he still hadn’t managed to run into Jack Drake while he was monopolizing his son’s time yet. The first night Conner stayed for dinner had ended with them all waiting for half an hour after the food arrived before Jack remembered to call and let Dana know he would be working late. It wasn’t the last time either. And the nights he did come home for dinner were the nights where Conner had already planned to head home early to have dinner with his own family.

Not to say Conner minded. He had some thoughtsabout Jack Drake and the way he treated his son. It was probably better for everyone that Conner spent as little time with the man as possible.

But there was only so long that could last, especially since Tim was practically dying to get out of the house for more than just school or Jack’s father-son excursions.

Unfortunately, as time went on Jack had only gotten more paranoid about where Tim was going and what he was doing, not less. Lately, Tim was practically on lockdown since it was such a pain to get permission to go anywhere without his dad or Dana. The last time he had gone out to the diner with Bernard and Darla his Dad had “just happened” to stop by for a to-go coffee. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he had been making sure Tim really was where he said he was.

His only saving grace was Dana. While she still enforced his dad’s rules (apparently not wanting to undermine his parenting), Tim had overheard her arguing on his behalf with his dad on multiple occasions, insisting that Tim was a good kid who had earned a little bit of freedom. Granted, these conversations rarely accomplished much besides getting Jack to dismiss her concerns as a lack of understanding due to not having children of her own. Still, Tim appreciated the support. Particularly since Dana had clearly decided that she liked Conner and essentially left them to their own devices while they were “studying.”

Now in addition to actually doing their homework, they were able to spend time talking about the rest of their lives, especially the normal civilian stuff they never seemed to have time for during Titans weekends. Everything from friendships, to TV shows, to their relationships with their parents was fair game. Tim had felt like he knew Conner before, but this was a whole new level. And the more he learned, the more he wanted to know.

And that’s why he had recruited Dana.

It hadn’t been hard. For once in his life, being completely honest with an authority figure about what he wanted was enough. It probably shouldn’t have felt as weird as it did.

Dana had given him a strange look when he mentioned he wanted to hang out with Conner outside of studying, but she had agreed that she didn’t see a problem with it. After all, if his father was alright with him spending time with Bernard (who Dana knew firsthand was not exactly the best of influences) then surely he would be okay with Tim spending more time with “a nice young man” like Conner. He just needed to meet him first.

It would be fine. Probably.

And that was how the two of them had ended up setting the dining table while Dana put the finishing touches on what she assured Tim was Jack’s favorite meal.

“Dude, you’ve got to take a breath,” Conner whispered as he reached around Tim. “I’ve heard your heart beat slower going up against literal mercenaries.”

Tim snorted. “I’ll take Deathstroke over this any day.”

“Hey now,” he shot back with a scandalized hand to his chest, “I’ll have you know I am delightful company!”

Tim’s futile attempts at a mock glare were interrupted when he could no longer hold back the urge to giggle at the absurdity of the situation. He could go up against the worst the world had to offer without thinking twice, but the idea of his dad and his best friend in the same room had him on the verge of a panic attack.

He shot Conner a grateful smile. “I just really need this to go well.”

Conner slung a careless arm around Tim’s shoulder but spoke with a level of seriousness he rarely let people see. “And it will, I promise. We make a good team, remember? We can handle this.”

Tim nodded and drew in some deep breaths to calm his racing pulse. Conner didn’t say anything else, just let him take the minute he needed. Just as Tim had gotten a hold of himself and was about to gently shrug off Conner’s arm, Conner pulled away of his own accord with a parting squeeze of Tim’s shoulder.

“He’s here,” he explained, gesturing to the front door with his chin as he finished off the last place setting.

Sure enough, a moment later Tim heard the telltale click of a key in a lock. There was a very slight possibility that his breathing may have quickened again just a bit if the bemused look Conner sent him was any indication.

Tim most definitely did not stick his tongue out at his friend before heading to the entryway to take his dad’s coat.

Conner and his snicker followed a beat behind Tim. When Jack’s gaze finally landed on Conner, Conner felt his spine straighten involuntarily. Jack didn’t say anything at first, and in the stretching silence Conner felt himself trying to channel every bit of the big blue boy scout he had in him.

Jack’s eyes cast over every bit of Conner’s appearance, from his glasses to his button up to his clean but scuffed sneakers. Conner was uncomfortably reminded of being a literal lab specimen under observation.

Suddenly, Jack’s expression morphed into a charming smile Conner didn’t trust for an instant. He stuck out a hand, and Conner was so caught off guard by the sudden transition that he almost forgot to shake it.

“You must be Tim’s friend. Carter, right?”

“Er—”

“It’s Conner, Dad.”

Jack waved Tim’s correction away. “Right, right, Conner then.” He started walking off to the living room, clearly expecting them to follow. “Dana tells me that you’ve been coming over to study quite a bit lately. I hope your grades have seen a better uptick than Tim’s have.”

Conner sent a questioning glance Tim’s way but didn’t get a response other than the visible tension in the other boy’s jaw.

“Not really sure what the point of a study group is if it doesn’t actually raise your grades any,” Jack continued.

Assuming that the biting comment was rhetorical and feeling supremely awkward, Conner didn’t respond right away. But as the three of them each pulled up a chair, Jack’s impatient expression clued Conner in on the fact that he was actually supposed to answer.

“Er…yes sir. I’ve been really lucky to have Tim’s help getting caught up.”

Jack was saved from responding beyond a noncommittal hmm by Dana’s arrival with the food. As she placed the casserole dish of what looked like enchiladas on the table, Dana gave them all a forced smile.

“And it’s been so nice getting to know one of Tim’s friends, Conner.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Drake.”

“So how did you and Tim start hanging out?” Jack questioned absently.

They had prepped for this question. Conner used the opportunity to launch into an overdramatic retelling of a group project they had worked on together and how they realized that they worked well together. Like all the best lies, it included just enough details not to be suspicious while still having a kernel of truth.

His story succeeded in breaking the ice enough to get conversation started, and Conner felt himself relaxing. He had meant what he said to Tim earlier, but he didn’t exactly meet that many new civilians. But Tim had prepared him well, and this wasn’t his first undercover op. He skillfully navigated around dangerous truths and gave the performance of his life as the perfect All-American teen.

Maybe he should have felt guilty about lying to these people who had opened their home to him. Clark probably would have had something to say about it. After all, on paper Jack had every right to be upset. His son had literally been throwing himself in front of bullets for strangers for years behind his back. Not only that, but he’d been doing it alongside another adult he had trusted to have his son’s best interests at heart. Surely any good parent would have been just as upset, right?

But Conner was very aware that Jack Drake was not the parent he believed himself to be.

Good parents didn’t ship their kid off to boarding schools from the minute he was old enough to attend, and then never show up for the few weeks their kid is home.

Good parents don’t look at everything that makes you you and try to sand it away so that you’ll fit some perfect ideal they have in their head of what you should be.

Good parents don’t look at the emotional scars and bruises they’ve given to their child and tell them that its their own fault for making them do this, for not being enough or for being too much.

Jack Drake may not have laid a hand on his son, but he’d still done plenty of damage, and Conner was forced to watch Tim thank him for it.

So, no. Conner didn’t feel an ounce of guilt for lying to the man who constantly left his favorite person more confused and conflicted than any mystery Batman had ever handed to him.

Tim may not realize that he deserved better yet, but that was alright. Conner would flatter and charm and play meek and responsible without feeling a single thing if it made Tim’s life easier.

As the conversation shifted to what was new with Dana’s sister and her kids, Conner met Tim’s eyes again. Tim subtly tipped his glass approvingly toward Conner, and Conner sent back an answering wink.

Well, he corrected internally, maybe he’d feel one thing after all.

-0

Gotham wasn’t exactly known for its tourist attractions. It was kind of a risky financial decision to try to open anything that encouraged a lot of people to congregate in a city where crowds drew Rogues like killer moths to a flamethrower. And that went double for anything that could be construed as children’s entertainment.

Luckily, Gothamites were both stubborn and spiteful, so there were a few places, like the traveling carnival currently set up near the harbor, that popped up every now and then with that brilliant fuck you energy that so clearly defined the city.

After last week’s dinner got off to its admittedly awkward start, Conner had hit his stride. Seamlessly switching between the perfect “aw shucks, me?” smile when asked a question about himself and then an earnest “tell me more about…” to turn the conversation back to Jack’s interests, Conner would have earned even the Batman’s reluctant approval.

By the end of the night, Jack was riding the high of getting to speak about himself to a willing audience for so long. It was all too easy to get Jack’s permission for Tim to hang out with Conner outside the house… as long as he still made sure to call and check in on the hour, of course.

Tim hadn’t hesitated to get them tickets for the second night the carnival was in town (not wanting to tempt a Rogue’s attack on the first), and the night had finally arrived.

Now, sharing a seat on the ferris wheel with the other teen, Tim couldn’t understand why he’d been so worried. He’d always been the first to insist that there was so much more to Conner than people gave him credit for.

Tim found himself glancing at Conner out of the corner of his eye. Luckily, the other boy was too busy leaning over the railing to watch the sun set behind the city skyline.

Most people looked at Superboy and saw a brash, arrogant, and (if he was lucky) comical teenager. They dismissed him as the brawn to other Titans’ brains. They couldn’t understand how he could be so different from Superman.

Tim knew better than that. Sure, he could be all those things, but what teenager wasn’t? Especially considering all the shit the authority figures in his life had put him through. And yeah, he was funny too.

But Conner was also a damn good friend. He was loyal and brave and empathetic and fiercely protective of the people who had earned his respect. He paid attention to people, and he cared so deeply, even though he tried to cover it up with nonchalance and a confident façade. He might be bulletproof, but Tim would protect that vulnerability he saw until the day he died.

“Alright. Where’d you go?”

Pulled back into the moment rather suddenly, Tim was startled, but he didn’t have to worry about coming up with a suitably mysterious response here. “What?”

Conner snorted and raised one hand to slide his sunglasses just far enough down the bridge of his nose that he could meet Tim’s eyes.

“You’re looking at me weird. What’s up?”

As Tim tried to decide how to answer in a way that wasn’t completely cheesy, the ferris wheel paused again, this time with the two of them at the very top.

“I just—I’m just really glad you’re here. Thanks for coming to Gotham.” He didn’t just mean today either. He meant all of it. The first time he came to find out why Robin wasn’t at the tower, the time he showed up at Tim’s door even what would have chased anyone else away, and every other time they had hung out since.

He didn’t have to specify that though. The blinding smile that broke out over Conner’s face made it clear the message was received.

Conner took a moment, trying to school his expression into something a little smoother, but it was a lost cause. Eventually he just settled for clearing his throat. “You don’t have to thank me, Tim. There’s no place I’d rather be. Besides,” he continued as he casually threw an arm across the back of Tim’s seat, “everyone knows Gotham has the best sunsets.”

His heart pounding, Tim took a deep breath and let himself sink into Conner’s side. For a second, Conner stiffened and Tim worried that he’d made a horrible mistake, that he’d ruined everything.

It was only when he felt the comforting weight of Conner’s arm move from the seat to wrap around Tim’s shoulders, pulling him closer, that Tim let himself believe that this could be okay. They could have this.

The leather of Conner’s jacket was cool against the side of Tim’s face. The sky was a brilliant mess of golds and reds and purples. And Tim was with the person who made him feel safer and more himself than anyone else on the planet.

“Yeah, I suppose we do, don’t we?”

-0

That evening, Tim sat down on his bed, pulling his camera out of his bag. He was looking forward to developing them. Maybe he’d give Conner a few of the shots if they were any good.

knock knock

Tim looked up to see Dana leaning up against the doorframe she had knocked on.

“Hey, Honey. Did y’all have a good time?”

Tim couldn’t have held back the smile if he’d tried. “Oh yeah, it was awesome!”

Dana smiled back just as warmly. “Oh, I’m so glad!” Tim believed her. That was the best thing about Dana, she was one of the most genuine people he knew, and for some reason Tim couldn’t fathom, she had always seemed to care so much about Tim.

“Do you mind if I come in, sweetheart? There’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about…”

-0

“I swear to god I used to be good at keeping secrets,” Tim groaned as he allowed his head to thunk dramatically against the diner table.

Conner didn’t look up from his menu, but he did use his TTK to save their waters from tipping over. “Sure you were,” he deadpanned.

“I was literally trained in deception and resistance to interrogation by one of the best detectives in the world.”

“Yup.”

“She still doesn’t know I was Robin. Neither of them have made the very obvious connections between you and a certain Boy of Steel for some reason.

“It’s the glasses.”

“It is not the glasses.”

“It is,” he said. “Conner Kent wears glasses, and Superboy doesn’t. Therefore, obviously different people.” His forehead crinkled. “Do you think a sweet potato milkshake would be any good?”

“It wouldn’t be the weirdest thing I’ve ever eaten.” Tim squinted back up suspiciously from where he was still sprawled on the table. “Also, I feel like you are not being nearly sympathetic enough to my plight.”

Conner finally gave up the pretense of looking at the menu and dropped his chin to rest on his hands on the tabletop, so his face was only a few inches from Tim’s long-suffering expression.

Unfortunately for Tim’s dignity, Conner’s crooked grin was infectious. “How long did it take her to figure it out?”

“Ugh, she apparently she knew the minute she saw me, but at least she promised not to tell Dad.”

Conner snickered.

“Don’t laugh! She tried to give me the talk, Conner!”

That just sent Conner into full-body cackles. Tim watched him throw his head back and couldn’t help but feel proud. He did that. But he wasn’t done pouting yet either. It was the principle of the thing, after all.

“Sorry—” Conner gasped, “Sorry babe!” He leaned forward to place a kiss to Tim’s forehead, reveling in the way his boyfriend blushed so immediately. “You can hide just about anything else, sure, but you’ve got absolutely no poker face when you’re happy.”

Tim grumbled good naturedly like the absolute gremlin he was before finally deciding to sit up when a rather unimpressed waitress stopped by to take their order.

When she walked off, Conner turned back to Tim, casually taking one of Tim’s hands in his as though they weren’t both still completely in awe of this new development.

“So…” Conner started. “You were supposed to get together with your Wizards & Warlocks friends over the weekend, right? How’d that go?”

Tim’s eyes lit up as he started telling Conner about the most recent developments to their current campaign. Conner did his best to make sense of all of the characters and jargon he had no reference for, since it clearly meant a lot to Tim. Though that was made a little trickier by how much fun he was having just watching Tim.

He rarely got to see him so animated, due to the expectations constantly heaped on Robin and Tim Drake alike. When talking about something he enjoyed, however, Tim came alive. So, Conner listened, asking real questions that sparked off another tangent every time he started running out of steam.

Conner wondered if Tim’s eyes had always sparkled that much when they were hidden behind a mask. He didn’t think so, but either way he was just grateful Tim trusted him enough to let him see.

-0

“So then Ives—oh, Dana, can you pass the bread? thanks—Ives ended up rolling a Nat 20 on persuasion, which completely messed with my pla—”

“Alright, alright, I’m about tapped out on Witches & Wizards—” Jack interrupted, his hands raised in a timeout gesture.

“Jack!” Dana admonished.

“It’s actually Wizards & Warlocks, Dad.”

“Whatever it’s called! There’s only so much of this I can hear before my brain rots.”

Tim forced an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Dad.”

Jack waved away the apology with his buttered roll. “Forget about it. Hey, how’s your school’s basketball team this year? I was thinking we would go to the game this Friday, just the two of us.”

“Oh,” Tim said, “I don’t really know. Umm… what time is the game? Because I already made plans to go see a movie with Conner on Friday before he has to go away for the weekend for some family stuff.”

Jack frowned and Tim found himself straightening up involuntarily. “You’ve been spending a lot of time with that Conner kid. What’s up with that?” he asked accusatorily.

Wary of stumbling into a trap he couldn’t see, Tim tried to feign a casualness he didn’t feel. “I don’t know, I guess I just realized we have a lot in common, but I hang out with a lot of people. Why do you ask?”

This apparently wasn’t enough for Jack because he didn’t let it go, even putting his fork down so he could make sure his full attention was on Tim. “You don’t though! You almost never talk about Bernard anymore, or that Darla girl! The wizards thing was weird enough, but now if it’s not that then it’s Conner this or Conner that! If you’re not careful, you’re gonna give people the wrong idea about the two of you.”

The tightening in Tim’s throat would have been painful if it weren’t for the numbness he felt sinking into his bones.

“And now you’re suddenly too good to hang out with your dad anymore? I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I’m concerned about the person you’re becoming lately.”

“No! No, Dad it’s not like that—”

Tim looked at a wide-eyed Dana desperately for help. Ever ready to defend Tim when he needed, Dana didn’t disappoint.

“Oh, Jack, honey,” she laughed a little too loudly, “leave the poor boy be. He’s a good kid, and it’s healthy for a teenage boy to want to spend more time with his friends! I don’t see the harm in it. Honestly, shouldn’t we be proud of him for honoring his commitments?”

Jack’s glare was as hard as steel and just as cold. “Don’t tell me what I should and shouldn’t be proud of. I think I know how to parent my son.”

Dana broke eye-contact first, and Jack seemed to be the only one immune to the rising tension. Eventually he paused his meal consideringly. “Though I suppose you do have a point, Dana. Tim and I will just have to go to the next game, hmm?”

Grateful for the out, Tim nodded quickly. “Sounds great, Dad.”

-0

Tim had been looking forward to seeing this movie since he’d seen the first preview, but he hadn’t been paying attention at all for the last ten minutes. Oh well, he could come back and watch it again later, maybe with the guys in his W&W group.

In the meantime, it was definitely worth the sacrifice. Kissing Conner in the back row of the theatre, Tim had never felt more like a normal teenager in his life. This might be just as fun as running over rooftops.

-0

Conner swung Tim’s hand back and forth between them as they walked, feeling a bit like a little kid. Most people probably would have been on edge walking through the streets of Gotham right after sunset, but most people weren’t literally bulletproof.

As it was, Conner would have been content to stay out there all night if it meant he got to keep holding Tim’s hand while he chattered about the photos he had taken on their last outing to the botanical gardens and how they had turned out. Conner had learned more about camera lenses in the last ten minutes than he had in his life, and he was loving it.

Unfortunately, the Titans would be expecting him in an hour or so, and Tim’s dad would probably take exception to his son being out all night under mysterious circumstances. So, it was with a heavy sigh that Conner finally arrived at the Drake’s brownstone.

The boys came to a stop before reaching the front steps, neither ready for the night to end. Conner leaned forward to press his forehead to rest against Tim’s.

“You know,” he whispered, “I know I said I wanted Robin to come back to the Titans —and don’t get me wrong, I would still love that— but I’m also kinda loving having you all to myself.”

Tim chuckled and when that laugh turned into a crooked grin that made Conner’s stomach flutter, he couldn’t resist kissing it back off.

WHAM

Tim and Conner jumped apart as the door to the brownstone slammed open. Jack glared down at them.

“Tim. Get in this house, right now.” When Tim hesitated to move, Jack’s tone only grew even more demanding. “I said get in this house Timothy Jackson Drake.”

The sound of his full name seemed to spark Tim back to life, as he scrambled back towards the house. Conner gently caught one of Tim’s hands just before he was out of reach, and the other boy looked at him like a started deer.

“Do you want me to…” Conner trailed off with a meaningful hand wave at the side of his head. Do you want me to listen in, he was asking.

Tim thought about it for a second before shaking his head. “But maybe don’t go far?”

Conner nodded decisively before meeting Jack’s hateful gaze defiantly for just a moment. He shoved his fists into his jacket pockets before storming off to the corner. As soon as he was out of view, however, he took advantage of Gotham’s perpetual lighting problem to fly up to the roof of the house next to Tim’s, ready to be there the minute Tim needed him.

He settled in to wait, trying to focus on anything but the shouting coming from the Drake residence.

It was probably took longer than it should have for Conner to realize he wasn’t alone, but, hey, he was distracted. Sue him.

“You can come out. I can hear your heartbeat.”

Black Bat unfurled from where she had blended perfectly into the shadows cast by the air-conditioning unit.

“What are you doing here?” Conner asked.

Cass joined him in sitting on the edge of the roof to watch the brownstone. “A while ago…there was a killer…hunting the last robin. I still check in.”

“Every night?”

“No…but most nights.”

Conner considered that for a moment. “So, I’m guessing you saw…?”

“Yes.” Conner thought he could detect a playful edge to her voice. “You are not very subtle.” Okay, no, he was definitely being teased.

trying to play along, he bumped her shoulder with his own. “Well, we can’t all be bat-level sneaky. The universe couldn’t take it. Some of us have to be showy enough to balance the rest of you out.”

Cass hummed consideringly. “That’s fine. Batman will… train it out of you.”

Conner let himself fall back dramatically in mock horror, and Cass giggled. The sound did not match the mask at all, but somehow the juxtaposition seemed fitting for a member of the bat family.

“It’s how he shows his love, promise.”

Conner smiled, the tension of the moment briefly eclipsed by the mental image of the Batman trying to mother-hen a super. Clark would never let him live it down.

Suddenly, movement drew his eye, and Conner saw Tim. Ready to hear the verdict, Conner rose to fly back down.

“Thanks,” he turned to say, only to find himself met with an empty roof.

Bats, man.

-0

Tim followed Jack into the house, his heart pounding so hard Clark could probably hear it in Metropolis. His lips and fingers felt weirdly tingly before going slightly numb. His brain was going a million miles an hour but his body just felt slightly distant.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen at all. He wasn’t ready for this, it was supposed to be on his terms. But it was happening and it was happening now.

Jack stormed into the living room where Dana was half-risen in concern. She froze at the thunderous expression on his face as Jack being to pace the room like a caged lion. Meanwhile, Tim was a stone statue standing just in the room’s entrance. He felt a little bit like one of the artifacts his parents had brought back as souvenirs from their travels, just another relic meant to show off to friends that just ended up cluttering an empty house. And were Tim’s ears ringing?

“What the fuck did I just see, Tim?!” Jack burst out.

“Dad, I—”

“Don’t you fucking dare try to talk yourself out of this. Do you think I’m some kind of idiot?!”

“No! Of cour—”

“Jack, honey, whatever this is about, maybe we—”

Dana’s attempts to calm Jack only seemed to enrage him more, and she was cut off by the CRASH that came from Jack pitching one of her vases across the room. She froze, her eyes darting between Tim and Jack.

“Do you want to tell her what you’ve been doing behind our backs, Tim, or should I?”

“I—Conner and I--We” Tim sputtered unintelligibly, but Dana got the gist. She closed her eyes for a moment too long in sympathy, and Jack’s fury turned on her in an instant.

“You knew? You knew what was happening, and you didn’t put a stop to it?”

“Jack! There’s nothing wro…”

Her voice trailed off as Jack stalked closer and closer to her chair until he towered over her. She shrunk down. Jack leaned down over her and braced himself on the arms of the chair, effectively trapping his wife.

“Do you even care about what this could do to us?” His voice had gone low and picked up a dangerous quality that reminded Tim of the way Batman spoke to criminals he interrogated. But Tim had never been afraid of Batman.

He went on, his head tilted mockingly. “Or, are you just too stupid and selfish to realize how this reflects back on me?”

And, as he watched Dana start to shake, something in Tim snapped.

He was across the room in an instant, wrenching Jack’s arm behind his back so that he was forced to step back and turn around to keep it from breaking. The second Jack let go of Dana’s chair, Tim shoved him stumbling in the opposite direction.

“Leave her alone.”

Jack spun back around. “Did you just shove me?” he asked in pure outrage.

Tim’s chin raised defiantly. “I told you I could, didn’t I?”

At the reminder of the night Jack found out about Robin, Jack’s face twisted back into something ugly.

“So what?! I risk my life to save you from those freaks the first time, and this is the thanks I get? How the hell is anyone supposed to take me seriously when my son is—”

“I didn’t ASK you to save me, Dad!” Tim shouted. Years and years of bottling his resentment and frustration had led to an inevitable explosion, and Tim didn’t care who got burned. “I loved being Robin, I loved getting to help people, and getting to show what I can do. I worked so hard to earn Robin, and I gave it up to make you happy and I still can’t do anything right for you. I am so sick of pretending to be someone I’m not in the hopes that maybe someday it’ll finally be enough for you.”

“Tim—”

“No! It’s my turn now!” Tim’s words were acid. If he didn’t get them out now, they would burn him from the inside out. “I will never be the perfect kid you and Mom thought you deserved. I get that now. But I am enough. Bruce thinks so. Dick thinks so. And Conner thinks so too. I am more me with him than I am with anyone else. You already took Robin from me. I won’t let you take this from me too.”

Jack puffed up in rage. Seemingly having forgotten his lesson, he stormed into Tim’s space. Tim took a few steps back on instinct before he came back to himself and planted his feet, forcing Jack to stop to avoid a collision. Their faces were only a few inches apart as they glared at each other.

Tim realized he was almost as tall as his father.

Stubbornly trying to regain the control he could feel slipping through his fingers like water, Jack summoned every bit of authority he had in his body into his tone. “You aren’t seeing him again. This never happens again. Do I make myself clear?”

It was a good effort, but Tim had fought the Justice League. He regularly stared down the worst Gotham had to offer and said not here, not today. There was a lot he was willing to do to keep the peace. But Tim was fed up, and this was one thing he refusedto compromise on.

“No.”

There was nothing as immovable as a Bat who had made up their mind.

Maybe Jack finally recognized that because, for just a moment, Tim thought he saw something like sadness in his father’s eyes before they hardened like steel.

“Then get out.”

Tim blinked, his confusion enough to break through the bubble of anger that had been clouding out all else. “What?”

“I said get out of my house. And don’t come back.”

“Dad—”

“I don’t know who you are anymore. But you aren’t my son. I guess Batman ended up killing him after all.”

Tim’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure whether it was the grief or betrayal that cut worse, but he kinda wished the numbness would come back. He drew in a deep breath, pulling what was left of his anger around him like a shield. Or maybe a cloak.

He spun around on his heel and marched back toward the front door.

The movement seemed to break the trance of confused horror that had held Dana like a vice as she watched the argument unfold like a demented tennis match.

“Tim!” she called after him. She reached out vainly as if that would be enough to close the distance that had opened up between them like a chasm. “Tim, sweetheart!”

Tim couldn’t turn around, but that didn’t make Dana’s heartbroken tone any less painful to hear.

He didn’t stop once he was out of the door until he was halfway down the street. And then, it was only because Conner landed right in front of him.

“Hey, what happened?”

Tim couldn’t answer. He couldn’t make eye contact right now either. But Conner didn’t press him.

“Okay,” he reassured, “that’s okay.” He raised one hand for Tim to take if he wanted. “Can I give you a lift then?”

Tim took the hand.

-0

Tim directed Conner to touch down at the Manor’s front door, not wanting to risk the possibility of Bruce having changed the security codes by now. Even still, he was certain they had tripped some sort of alarm when they flew over the property.

He was proven correct when Alfred pulled open the door before he’d had the chance to knock. If he noticed that Tim still hadn’t let go of Conner’s hand, the butler didn’t say anything.

“Master Timothy! What an excellent surprise!”

Despite everything, Tim found his mouth pulling into a fond smile at the old man. “Hi Alfred. Is Bruce home? I need to talk to him.”

“Right this way, sir!” Alfred said, already pulling the door open, and Conner allowed himself to be pulled along with nothing but a supportive hand squeeze.

Tim felt his heart pounding as he followed Alfred towards what he quickly realized was Bruce’s study. Suddenly unable to bear the silence anymore, Tim burst out: “Alfred, have you met Conner?”

Alfred’s face twitched into what only the bats would recognize as the butler suppressing a fond smile of his own. “I have not, sir. Though I must admit I had guessed.” Addressing Conner directly this time, Alfred continued, “My name is Alfred Pennyworth. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Kent.”

“Oh, uh…” Conner stammered before Martha Kent’s training kicked in. “It’s nice to meet you too, Mr. Pennyworth.”

Alfred hmmd approvingly but left it there. Luckily, Tim was saved from further attempts at small talk by their arrival at the study doors. Alfred bid them goodbye before slipping away with a subtlety Conner had only thought attainable by bats.

Tim drew in a deep breath before knocking hesitatingly on the ornate doors. The “come in!’ came barely a moment later, and Tim pushed them open with the resignation of a convict approaching the gallows.

On any other day, Conner would have been looking around at anything and everything in the office appreciatively. But today he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Tim who had gone ramrod straight, his own gaze locked onto the man standing up from his desk at the other end of the room.

Bruce Wayne rose from his desk, in that moment somehow managing to look twice as intimidating in a tailored suit as he ever did as Batman. His eyes roved over both boys, taking in everything from their still intertwined hands to Conner’s civilian garb to the way Tim looked like he might be on the verge of passing out. His face was inscrutable the whole time.

Eventually, Bruce’s gaze met Conner’s own defiant glare. “So…” he drawled in perfect deadpan, “are the glasses genetic, or is the entire caped community conspiring to drive me prematurely gray.”

Tim let out a sudden laugh so strangled Conner was mildly concerned he was choking. Conner could empathize.

Apparently amused by their reaction, the Batman smirked,and Conner’s soul left his body for a moment.

When it became clear that they weren’t going to say anything on their own, Bruce continued. “Well, Conner, something tells me that Tim and I need to have a conversation. Will you be joining us, or do you have somewhere to be,” he asked mildly.

Conner gave Tim a sideways glance, under no delusions about who’s comfort Bruce was really concerned with here. Tim squeezed Conner’s hand one more time before finally letting go, and Conner took that as the dismissal it was.

“Actually, sir, I think better head to San Francisco before Victor starts to wonder where I am.”

Bruce nodded turned his attention to Tim. Conner made sure to supportively squeeze Tim’s shoulder back on his way out. He tried to ignore the part of himself that made him feel like he was abandoning Tim to the lions.

-0

Once Conner had pulled the door shut behind him, Bruce let go of the bit of Batman that had made its appearance the minute the proximity alarms had let him know that someone had flown over the property boundaries.

“Tim.”

Tim still wasn’t making eye contact, his gaze getting no closer than Bruce’s mouth. Bruce resisted the instinct to drop into the Batman voice. While it would be a sure-fire way to get Tim to look at him, it also would do nothing to actually make the kid more comfortable. Tim would assume that it meant he’d done something wrong, and that would just make everything ten times worse.

Instead, Bruce fought to keep his tone as even and gentle as possible. “How about we sit down,” he asked with a gesture toward the twin armchairs by the fire.

Tim nodded stiffly but still wouldn’t speak. Bruce held in his sigh. Just as he reached his own chair, there was another knock on the door, and Alfred pushed his way in without waiting for a response.

“Forgive me for interrupting, Master Bruce, but I thought some soothing tea might be helpful.”

Bruce smiled at the older man. “Thank you, Alfred. That would be great.”

Alfred nodded and brought his tray over to the side table before pouring each of them a cup. As he turned to leave, Tim’s quiet “thanks” was almost inaudible, but Alfred caught it anyway.

“You are most welcome, young man” he replied, making sure to send Bruce a pointed don’t screw this up glance on his way out.

Bruce settled down into the chair next to Tim, their knees almost close enough to touch. Tim’s hands were wrapped so tightly around his teacup that Bruce worried he might shatter it, but he didn’t take so much as a sip.

“Tim. Can you tell me what’s going on, son?”

Tim finally looked up from his cup again, his gaze settling on Bruce’s mouth again.

“I’m not really sure where to start.”

Okay, Bruce could work with that. “Does your Dad know where you are right now?”

Tim snorted humorlessly. “I really don’t think he gives a shit where I am or what I do at this point. He—” Tim broke off to clear his throat before trying again. “He kicked me out.”

There was pure defeat in Tim’s voice, as if he’d always known it was a matter of time, but he still managed to be disappointed anyway. That more than anything filled Bruce with a level of rage rare even for him while simultaneously breaking his heart.

Not trusting himself to speak at first, Bruce instead gently pulled the poor teacup out of Tim’s grasp and took his hands in his own. Tim’s fingers were trembling.

“Because he found out about you and Conner?” he clarified softly, not wanting to risk a faulty assumption when everything was so fragile.

Tim nodded again anyway. “We fought about some other stuff too, but… yeah, it was mostly about that. He saw us together, and—”

Again, Bruce really wanted to shake Jack Drake senseless. It was bad enough he always seemed to take this wonderful kid for granted, but to see a father intentionally hurt his child over something so inconsequential? It was unforgiveable.

“I’m so sorry, Tim. I know how much you wanted this to work out.”

Tim’s eyes filled with tears, and Bruce was pulling him against his chest even before he consciously recognized what he was seeing. As his son fell apart in his arms, Bruce found tears coming to his own eyes as well.

It had always been obvious how desperate Tim was for his father’s affection and approval after being starved for it for so many years. This was the final deathblow to the hope that one day it would be enough.

So, Bruce held his son, running his fingers through his hair. Eventually, Tim had cried himself out and pulled away, his embarrassment clear on his face. Bruce pulled a clean handkerchief (courtesy of Alfred, of course) from his pocket and handed it to a grateful Tim. Once he had pulled himself together, Tim looked back at Bruce, finally meeting his eyes.

“Does this…Does this mean I can come back to the Manor?”

“Oh, chum…” Bruce reached out to cradle one side of Tim’s face in his hand, his thumb reaching out to brush away another rogue tear. “I promise, you will always have a place in my home. Got it?”

“But what about Stephanie? You already have a Robin…”

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Well, first of all, your place in this family is not contingent on whether you’re wearing a mask or not. And I’m so sorry if I’ve made you think otherwise. You are just as welcome here if you never put a mask on again as you would be if you went out tomorrow.

And secondly,” here he grimaced, “I may or may not have fired her for putting herself in danger after I told her to stay put. So… Robin’s yours if you still want it.”

“And you’re really okay with me dating a guy?”

Bruce chuckled. “Tim, I’ve taken in three boys by now. You think I never considered the possibility that at least one of you might bring home a boy someday? Granted, I would have put money on Dick being the first, but the point still stands. It makes absolutely no difference to me if you’re gay, buddy.”

“Umm… I think I’m bi actually.”

“Alright then, but my point still stands. I trust your judgment, and I don’t care who you date, as long as they make you happy.”

Tim gave a watery smile. “Thanks, Bruce.”

“Anytime, kiddo.” Then fully out of emotion points, Bruce cleared his suddenly tight throat. “Now, mind coming with me to the cave?”

Confused, Tim cocked his head, but rose accommodatingly. “Sure, what do you need?”

Bruce shook his head as he spun the clock hands and opened the secret passage. “It’s not what I need, but what you need.” He beckoned Tim to follow him down the steps, which he did obligingly. “I need to grab some more Kryptonite.”

“Bruce!” Tim squawked in shock and indignation. His brain immediately went into panic mode, thinking about all the ways Bruce trying to shovel-talk Conner might go horribly wrong, or at least be horribly embarrassing.

Bruce turned back, completely baffled by how adamant and unexpected the refusal was. “Tim,” he started. And oh no, that was his I don’t know why you’re arguing with this perfectly reasonable request voice that always managed to piss Dick off.

“If the two of you are going to be spending time together in Gotham as civilians, you need to be prepared in case the two of you get caught up in one a Rogue attack.” He turned back around and continued on over to the vault where he kept the Kryptonite. “Oh, and don’t let me forget to give him one of these new rebreathers I’ve been working on next time he comes over. The last thing Gotham needs is a Kryptonian getting dosed with Fear Toxin or Joker Gas.”

Kryptonite in hand, Bruce spun and nearly walked into a frozen Tim who was looking at him with a dumbfounded expression. “What?” he asked, the smallest bit of defensiveness bleeding into his voice.

Tim’s voice turned slightly skeptical. “And that’s the only thing you want the Kryptonite for?”

Now it was Bruce’s turn to be confused. “Yes???” he asked, mind whirling to figure out what he was missing.

Tim realized he had definitely misread where this was going and felt torn between laughing at Bruce’s complete confusion and the urge to hug him.

He decided to go with the second one, and if Bruce still had no idea what was going on when he hugged Tim back, well, that just made it better.

-0

Conner was happy enough to take the call that saved him from having to help seed the backfield. He was twice as happy to hear it was from Tim, who he hadn’t heard from since Conner left him at Wayne Manor three days ago.

“Tim?”

“Conner…”

“Tim, is that…you?”

“It’s me.”

“What’s up? What’s going on? I hear gunshots.”

“Tell the Titans not to give up my room. Tell them I’m back.”

Conner grinned. “I knew it.”

[bedbellyandbeyond]

Call A Friend

(Story Post)

“Are the kids alright?” Nari asked. “Yeah, Korsgaard said they were angels, but I have a feeling he's lying...” Nathan sighed. “I bet they bit someone...” “You can't assume that.” Nari was sitting outside the library talking to Nathan. Nathan had told him to check in if his search lasted more than a week and since he still had no luck, after spending seven days in the expansive library, he took a break to call his friend. “Can you believe he compared me kissing Kent to him literally sleeping with him?” Nathan huffed. “And we're back to that... I don't think I'm allowed to have an opinion on that,” Nari said. “You know, considering my previous relationship to your partner...” “But I'd like your opinion,” Nathan said. “I'm still really fucking lost...”

Nari sighed. “All I know is that it doesn't sound like Dax's behaviour. Cheating on someone just isn't in his nature. One-night stands aren't his thing as he needs time to get to know someone before he'll have sex with them. He's incredibly loyal and he loves you very much.” “I know, I know...” Nathan groaned. “I'm just so confused...” “I would believe that this was something out of his control,” Nari said. “I wouldn't believe it's something out of Kent's control, however, I don't know him.” “Right, I figure Kent's been bullshitting me on a lot of things,” Nathan said. “Like, the guy is so obviously gay, or bi or whatever, but he won't admit it and instead hides himself behind homophobia and ill manners.” “I’m not surprised.” “I mean, we know why he won't come out, it's so...” Nathan groaned. “It's so frustrating. Like, I get that what happened to him was really fucking tragic, you know, losing his girlfriend and his kid, but it was twenty years ago!” “Nathan, I know you're not trying to be mean, but twenty years is not a very long time,” Nari said. “The pain that comes from outliving your children never goes away.” Nathan let out a long sigh. “Right... I suppose you would know... Sorry.” “No, but I understand your point,” Nari said. “He is allowing the pain to prevent him from being himself and opening up to people. That is something that happens to a lot of vampires who get stuck in their feelings... I read a book about a vampire who strictly only drank the blood of red heads because his dead wife had red hair. I didn't like that book.” “Shit,” Nathan cursed. “I haven't asked you about how the search is going... And it’s 11pm here, it must be really late over there. I'm sorry.” “I'm literally a vampire and I called you,” Nari stated. “Right, I'm stupid. Sorry.” “Anyway, this has proved a much more complex task than I had originally thought,” Nari said. “A lot of literature about vampires is written like fiction, in storytelling and such. I naïvely expected I was just going to find a textbook on vampire reproductive systems, but it's just been novels and more novels on vampires giving birth to demons and dark beasts and all kinds of nonsense... Finding fact in fiction is incredibly exhausting, and that's only after finding the books in the first place...” “I'm sorry... Have you asked a librarian or someone to help you look?” Nathan asked. “No... I have no interest in talking to these bloodsuckers... These monsters still use the familiar system around here!” Nari said. “Which system?” “Familiars. You know, human servants promised to be turned one day.” “Ah. Slavery.” “That's what I said.” Nathan sighed. “Well, keep your chin up... You're brilliant and tenacious. You'll find what you need, I'm sure.” “I don't know,” Nari said. “I’ve left Diederich alone quite a while now. I feel maybe I should start looking for the magic books he's been asking about and then we can just go home...” “Aw, don't give up like that,” Nathan said. “I'm sure Diederich is fine on his own and he's there to support you. You just need to keep looking.” “Maybe...” Nari said. “I feel like I'm going crazy. Only thing helping me keep track of time is that more vampires are in the library at night time. The library is completely enclosed during the day, but most of them go home to sleep.” “So, you haven't slept at all?” Nathan asked. “Well, one time I got really bored and nodded off on a couch for about two hours...” Nari said. “Just because you can stay awake for days and days without end, doesn't mean you don't need sleep,” Nathan said. “How do you know that?” Nari said. “How do you I need sleep at all?” “You've told me,” Nathan said. “You told me, the longer you go without sleep, the harder it is to focus and your memory starts to fail you. Like literally right now.” “Oh... Right. That's true,” Nari said. “I suggest you go back to your hotel for a day, get some sleep, at least twelve hours, and then come back in a fresh set of clothes to try the library again where you left off. You need a fresher mind for this. You're tired.” Nari nodded. “You're probably right... Anyway, I'm done with me. Back to your problems.” “Uh, I don't know what else there is to say,” Nathan said. “Did the bear guy see his kids yet?” Nari asked. “Yes, well, we did a video session earlier tonight,” Nathan said. “It's really really hard to hate him when you see him get all emotional from just the kids...” “Did he cry?” “Like a baby,” Nathan snickered. “Hopefully he can compose himself when he sees them next weekend in person.” “And you're comfortable with that?” Nari asked. “Well, yeah... I mean, he's their dad and I'll be there,” Nathan said. “He'll have to promise not to argue with me in front of them... I've made it pretty clear I have full authority over his connection to them.” “Hm... And Dax won't be there this time?” Nathan paused. “No, I don't think so...” “Do you have anyone else you can bring?” Nari asked. “I'm not sure I like knowing it'll just be you and those babies out there in the woods...” “I don't think Kent is a threat to us...” Nathan said. “But I get what you mean. APID’s keeping an eye on him. He usually avoids them, but it'll be part of the condition that he can only see them if he cooperates with APID agents.” “That’s good, yes. Bring an agent with you,” Nari said, flexing his claws. “I'd go with you if I could...” “Well, maybe you'll get lucky and find exactly what you're looking for before the weekend,” Nathan said. “Then you could do the trip with me.” Nari scoffed. “I doubt it... This place is an abyss. If you see me next weekend, it's because I gave up and decided to adopt or something...” “Well, I believe in you,” Nathan said. “You can do it.” Nari sighed. “Well... I’m still on the escort thing. Doesn't your case worker have a field agent for a son? Kingsley or something?” “Korsy, yeah,” Nathan said. “The agent who went with us last week was named Hanover, but he was a bit gun happy, and Korsy might be a better fit... I'll ask Korsgaard if he's available. I know he flies across the country and into the states sometimes on assignments, so he could be busy.” “Well, I'll cross my fingers for you that he's available,” Nari said. “Anything else you want to talk about?” Nathan took a deep breath. “Well, all this started because I hosted Wano in my home... I get upset just thinking about it, but I can't tell if I'm being a bit of an asshole about his situation.” “You haven't shared the situation,” Nari said. “Long story short, he's getting deported but he started seeing this guy from my pregnancy group to have a baby, and they did it in my house when I wasn't home, without my consent...” “Um. What? Of course, you're not the asshole. He is being disrespectful to you and your home. Has he apologised?” “Err... Maybe when I transformed... I scared the shit out of him.” “Hm... Well, yes. You don't have to keep him around. It's not fair to you if you're housing him out of your own goodwill. And if you don't even have your own home, why would you have a baby?” “Right? Both of them live out of other people's places. I can't imagine Jeffrey's cousin will be happy with another baby in his apartment.” “Who's Jeffrey?” “Wano's new partner, I guess... In my opinion he's still a baby himself. Both of them are.” “But they're both consenting adults?” Nari asked. “Yeah.” “Nothing you can do but kick them out. It's not your problem. You have your own problems.” “Yeah... Anyway, I should let you get back to it. I need to sleep. And so do you.” Nari sighed. “I'll think about it...” “No, seriously. Sleep. You'll do better if you do. Can you promise me?” “...Okay.” “For real though?” “Yeah, yeah, I'm tired of this stupid library. It's so medieval.” “Ha, alright.” “So, you should do what you have to do too,” Nari said. “Kick out that Wano guy, give Dax a break but don't throw him out entirely, and kiss the twins for me before you go to bed.” Nathan chuckled a bit. “I will.” “Okay. I'm hanging up now.” “Haha, okay. I'll do the same.” “Bye.” “See you soon.” Nari hung up and sighed. He looked back at the library, considering hitting the books a little bit more, but the thought of having to deal with getting through security again was enough to turn him away for now. He got up and headed back to his hotel. At the very least, he had read a magic book about purification that he could tell Diederich about. Maybe it could be used to lower the blood alcohol levels of a drunk wizard. Hopefully he wouldn’t have to test it out when he got back.

[sserpente]

A/N: Request from anon. At the end of the day, I do love fluff! ♥

Words: 1642 Warnings: fluff! but it gets a little smutty at the end

“Ugh, work sucked, my day sucked, everything sucked! I hate my life!” Indignantly, you kicked your bag with a pout after dropping it to the floor carelessly. A muffled thump echoed through the dark flat. You sighed. Loki never bothered to switch on the lights once it got dark outside. He had almost given you a heart attack the first few times he had surprised you in the pitch-black hallway.

“Now, now… whatever is the matter, little minx?” Loki was leaning against the threshold with his arms crossed.

“Would you mind turning my boss into a frog?” You suggested, a bitter smile playing on your lips. He raised an eyebrow as he smirked in response. “He’s making me cover my colleague’s shift on the weekend. I’ve not had a single day off this week! Does he… does he think I’m a machine?! I’m exhausted and you guess what? I was supposed to be on holiday next week. He postponed it all the way to June. I’m pretty sure that is illegal. We had plans!”

“And have you told him that?” He questioned when you gasped for air.

“For Heaven’s sake, no! He’d have me fired in an instant.” The God of Mischief frowned.

“Can he afford to do that, losing an employee? You told me you are currently the only full-time worker.” Loki knew little to nothing about work life on Midgard but he was a fast learner. You nodded.

“Exactly, that I am.” Tired, you leaned your forehead against his chest and closed your eyes. His heartbeat was calming—even more so when he wrapped his arms around you. “And if I kick out against him, he’ll find two dozen people to hire who will not. That’s how work life works. I’m replaceable.” It was a bitter life society forced you to live, come to think of it. You were about to get your period for sure—Loki seemed to notice the tears swimming in your eyes without even looking at your face. Mutely, he scooped you up into his arms and carried you into the bedroom. He could be so sweet and gentle and with you, he always was, even in bed unless… unless you requested otherwise. He was still in doubt about showing you his most primal side, especially when he lost control and revealed his Jötun form to you during sex… but you loved it. You loved him. All of him.

“Why don’t you find a workplace where they appreciate what you are doing?” He suggested gently, sending tingles down your spine as he stroked your cheek with his fingertips—a light touch, like the wings of a butterfly. Smiling up at him drowsily, you curled up on his lap like a kitten. Loki purred in response. So vulnerable… you made him downright possessive. He would positively kill everyone who ever dared harm you physically or mentally, slowly and intimately. Perhaps he should heed your request and turn your atrocious boss into a frog or even better, a rat.

“I need the money, Loki. This flat costs money, food costs money, insurance costs money… I didn’t grow up as an Asgardian princess, remember?” Sighing once more, you snuggled into him. You were far too lazy to take off your clothes. Maybe Loki would undress you once you were asleep. “Sometimes I really feel like I should be a stripper. Life would be much easier that way.”

It was then he arched an eyebrow, pushing you an arm-length away from him so he could face you again. “Now, whatever is a stripper, little minx?”

You giggled. “You don’t have strippers on Asgard? Well, probably not… strippers dance in nightclubs or more specifically… adult amusement clubs—and throughout the night, they keep losing more and more clothing until they’re dancing entirely naked.”

“In front of whom?”

“Everybody. They take money for that, and tips. Maybe that’s what I should do.” You joked. Nevertheless, Loki stiffened.

“That is absolutely out of the question. The only one you will ever strip in front of is me.” He argued seriously, making you giggle once more.

“Don’t you worry, Trickster. I’m all yours.”

The God of Mischief smirked. “That you are…” In fact… a wicked idea came to your mind. Loki had quite obviously never seen a strip performance—and here you were, sitting on his lap and relaxing after a long day at work. What better way was there to distract yourself than to drive the God of Mischief a little crazy with lust and desire for your body? There was only one issue: You had never done anything like this before. How would you know if you looked seductive or plainly ridiculous?

In any case, Loki elected to simply take that decision from you. Gently pushing you an arm-length away from you yet again, he smirked—devilishly. “Strip for me.”

“Excuse me?” Raising an eyebrow in feigned indignity, you watched him cock his head at you.

“Strip for me.”

“But… I don’t have any music!” You complained half-heartedly. What followed was Loki waving his hand and your phone started playing one of your favourite songs—perfect for a little dance performance for him. “Oh…”

You rose with a shy blush on your cheeks. Maybe you were not as badass as you thought you were but then again… this was Loki. The man, pardon, god, who even found you sexy and alluring with greasy hair, chipped nail polish on your toes and an oversized sweater on a lazy Sunday.

Still, when you started peeling off your shirt, you wished you had put on some sexier underwear today.

“God, this is so stupid…” You uttered with a giggle, resisting the urge to bury your face in your hands.

“Oh no… this is ravishing. Keep going, little minx. I want to see all of those clothes coming off of that lascivious body.” Loki leaned back, fingers crossed behind his head and his mischievous smirk widening. His boldness made you brave. Grinning at him despite your timidity, you undid the buttons of your trousers and slid them down your legs, making sure to move your hips along with the rhythm of the music until you could step out of them, and then tended to your bra. You unhooked it casually but held the cups in place so you could slip your arms through the straps. Loki’s blue eyes widened when you finally dropped it, all the while dancing seductively. Your breasts, nipples hardening from the cool air around you as well as your growing arousal, bounced with every movement. He was already breathing heavily—but so were you.

Demandingly, his heated gaze wandered up and down your body until it came to rest on your knickers. The silent message was clear—they had to go. Once again slowly, you rolled them off your legs until you could step out of them, leaving you entirely naked in front of him.

Gosh… this was hot! You kept dancing, always making sure to make use of the body parts you liked about yourself the most—you even kneeled down at some point, revealing your glistening petals to him.

“You know… sometimes, for a little extra cash, strippers will dance on someone’s lap…” You mused as innocently as you could muster.

“Hmm… be my guest, little minx.”

Smirking a little, you sneaked towards him, making sure he would remember every single step to admire your naked skin. You were trembling by the time you straddled him, placing your hands on his shoulders for support as you tried to copy what you had seen in films, moving and circling your hips, arching your back… you felt so incredibly sexy it was almost surreal and soon enough… soon enough you were riding his thigh, whimpering quietly all the while still moving to the music playing in the background and turning your dance into something else entirely. If you didn’t stop…

“Keep rocking.” He growled darkly. You resisted the urge to moan when you noticed the wet spot that had formed on his leather trousers. He grabbed your hips when you stopped, urging you on to continue. Breathing heavily, you dug your fingernails into his shoulders as your arousal kept climbing up into dizzying heights, driving you closer and closer to an earth-shattering orgasm. That was exactly where Loki wanted you to go. Biting your lower lip, you rubbed your clit against his thigh, picking up the pace until you were on the verge of climax, ready to fall into the abyss. He wrapped his arms around you tightly when you began to shiver, pleasure electrocuting your veins like a hot lightning. You came on his thigh, muscles contracting again and again until you had ridden out your relaxing high—and relaxed you were, wasting not a single thought on your job or your annoying boss anymore.

Tenderly, almost as if he was worried you would break like a porcelain doll, he lifted you onto the mattress and tucked you in all naked before joining you swiftly, switching off the lights and pressing a light kiss to your temple.

He was hard when he pulled you into his embrace, almost painfully so, and he wanted nothing more than to bury himself deep inside your core—but that could wait until tomorrow. Right now, you were exhausted and you needed sleep.

“I turned off your alarm clock.” He announced quietly.

“Loki, no, I have to be up at six tomorrow.”

“Your boss has just received notice that you are ill and will not make it to work tomorrow. Mental exhaustion is a reason for sick notes as well, my little minx.”

“Wait, how did you even… oh, you know what, never mind...” You fell asleep on him before you could even begin with starting a half-hearted argument, with a content smile on your face.

-

A/N: Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my  first (to be) published novel! If you enjoyed this story, I would  appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente ♥

[morgana-ren]

Come Down to the Black Sea

Summary: The sea seems to call to you, but it’s not the tumultuous clash of the waves you should fear. Something lurks deep beneath the black waters, something sinister with a piqued interest and ill intent. 

Rating: Teen, unless I chose to post the later chapters. Then things get all dirty and stuff.

Warnings: Siren!Shigaraki. So, there’s that. Foul language, as always. Slight struggle.

Hello, please take my garbage. This was originally a discord exclusive ficlet that ended up too fucking long. I meant to post it a while back but got distracted. I’ve read over it and I hate it a lot more than I did originally, more than I can really convey, but I feel bad for not posting anything story related for a while and maybe some folks will enjoy this. I promise I edited, I swear. Never thought I’d write something like this. Ever. and by ‘like this’, I mean no filth less than 500 words in. Either way, here it is. 

“What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark? It would be like sleep without dreams.”

The sea is as much a constant to you as the gentle breeze that blankets your little port town. Every action you take daily in some small way reminds you that not so far away, the unforgiving tides are lapping hungrily at the shore and the restless ocean waters stir miles from the coast. Every breath you take is somewhat tinged with the briny smell of sea salt and slight sulfur. Seafood stalls and restaurants dot the coastal region, making up a large portion of the diets and employ of the folks who make their homes here. 

Yet, for as big of a part of their lives as it is, there is so little known about it. 

The ocean’s mysteries are as vast as her expanse and as deep as the trenches that lurk within her depths. 

Children are raised on cautionary tales, made acutely aware of the ever-present dangers of life near the open water. Rip currents and drowning, sailors lost at sea and boats that never make it to harbor. Hostile creatures that make their nests within the darkened deep  beyond the pale of human experience. These things are often as mysterious as they are tragic and leave behind loved ones mourning not only the loss of lives, but the answers they’ll never have.

Sometimes, you can’t help but wonder if your kind has gotten just a bit too comfortable near the seaside. 

You’re not the only one that thinks so. 

It’s not by any stretch of the imagination to consider humans a loud and overwhelming presence. They dominate any space they come across, often having little to no regard for any other living creature and imposing their will on anything unfortunate enough to cross their path. Once tranquil steads are trampled, native creatures baited and hunted, and soon there’s no semblance of the beauty that once existed. Humanity leaves behind an impossibly large footprint that destroys whatever is caught beneath its crushing boot.

The ocean is no exception. 

Sailors, whalers, and fishermen blot the waters, disrupting the natural cycles of the creatures that make their homes beneath them. Garbage, rot, and other various forms of filth are callously dumped and left to drift. Human hubris has seen the death of the coral reefs, the extinction of entire species, and even radiation left to leak and poison everything in its path. 

The only place safe from the fecund shadow of destruction that looms wherever humans may roam are places far too treacherous to facilitate their survival. 

You’ve come to believe that maybe beings that are forced to breed in that darkness grow to harbor a grudge against that which pushed them there.

Your little seaport city has always been relatively calm. It attracts enough tourists to keep it economically stable, but not so many as to make it a cultural hub. The signature beaches are only mildly clogged with tourist trap giftshops, and while the sands are busy, there’s not so much foot traffic as to make it unpleasant to visit. 

Things have run relatively smoothly for your hometown, at least for the majority of your life. There’s the one-off oddity every now and again, but for the most part, it’s a fine place to live. The native folk are kind enough, and there’s decent opportunity for growth. Still, life always left something to be desired; some greater need that tugs at you and calls you toward the ocean.

Watching the fishing vessels come to and from the bay can be calming. What started as a time wasting hobby as a child has turned into a nightly practice. The marine layer makes it difficult to see early mornings, and the incessant chatter of tourists and their screeching younglings make it difficult to think during the daylight hours. It didn’t take long before the boats mattered little, and it was the time alone you valued. You’d curl up in the still-warm sand, gazing out into the horizon and watching the moon rise high above the waves, listening to the sound of the ocean and losing yourself in its subtle song.

Even as adulthood inevitably sought you out, you found time for your solitary moments that existed between no one but you and the horizon. 

It brought you a sense of peace. No matter how much time passed, a part of you stayed anchored to the beach. 

Yet, nothing stays peaceful forever, especially near the rocky shoreline.

It started with a missing boat.

It was the talk of the town. A small schooner had gone missing just off the coast and never returned. A band of brothers had set out for a weekend voyage and by Tuesday, no word of them had returned to shore. It had made the local news, pictures of the men aboard flashed across the screen, all smiling faces and sunburned skin. They were experienced sailors, raised on the waves and having spent more time in a boat than they did on land.

Surely, they were fine. Everyone hoped for the best. 

At least until pieces of the boat washed ashore a week later, no sign of brothers anywhere.

That incident was the first of many.

Early morning swimmers began to disappear without a trace, divers vanishing without warning. More and more boats failed to make it to harbor despite calm conditions, and soon some people rejected the water all together. The missing persons board was filled with more macabre grinning faces that served as reminders than ever before, and inevitably, people became paranoid.

Superstition gained favor over logic, and tales spread of a malevolent being plaguing the coast began to spread. Children were warned against playing in the tides and tourists begin to shy away from the port. Locals and witnesses talk amongst each other, claiming to see a pair of vicious, glowing red eyes from deep within the water after dark.

Those who denied the possibility shunned those who fell into the myth, claiming that it was clearly boat lights and that folks were too finicky. There was no mysterious sea monster, only misfortune and the loose lips of idle handed fools. 

Still, that didn’t account for the sudden surge in disappearances nor did it explain why no remains were ever found. 

The mysteries intrigued you, but you worry little for the danger. While you weren’t entirely sure what to think, you never stepped far into the ocean on your nightly visits, mostly only skirting around the water’s edges and observing. Superstition be damned, this was the one place you felt a sense of utter calm and peace. You’re not disturbing the sea or her inhabitants; only sitting by her and admiring her beauty.

You mind your business along the beach and you think that keeps you safe, but that doesn’t spare you his wrath.

A lonely night walker, you loiter along the sands and drag your feet through the wetness. You never let the water flood past your ankles, opting to squish the damp muck beneath your toes instead. He watches you, just out of his reach and still so close. Rage simmers in his chest and his fingers twitch, longing to rip you apart, feel your heartbeat as it slows and ceases beneath his fingertips. He doesn’t dare try his luck against the surface, but you infuriate him. 

Time and time again, he’s tried to lure you out.

You never fall for it, though he can tell by the way your eyes linger on the ocean a tad too long that you're curious. If he cared enough to place it, he'd say you look sad, maybe a little forlorn. After all, who comes to a deserted beach alone at night that isn't?

Always the same section of sand, always the same look on your face. You kick at the particles stuck to your grimy feet like it'll sooth whatever repressed emotion you're stewing in, and he can't help but scoff. 

Humans are completely ridiculous. 

Still, he watches, determined to see you inhale deep the waters around you while what little light you have left in your eyes leaves, same as the rest of your kind that has fallen prey to his deadly actions.

Night after night he waits, and night after night you resist. You don't fall for his tricks, even the ones that beguile the seasoned sailors. It's curious, he'll admit. No matter how longingly you look at the ocean like it could offer you something you need desperately, you never give into the temptation to wade just a little deeper, just take a few fucking steps forward. Perhaps you come from a sea fairing family who had elders that warned against the seduction of the low night tides, or maybe your primal human brain still holds an inkling as to what dwells deep beneath your world, but either way, it agitates him more than he'd like.

He's always had a wanderlust and never sticks around the same sections for long, but the fact that you've been evading the watery grave he dug just for you grates at him. He finds himself waiting moonrise after moonrise to see your form emerge, wracking his brain for ways to trick your feeble human mind into his waters. He's better than you, in every sense of the word. This shouldn't be this difficult. 

If he didn't know better, he would say that you know. You never quite look directly at him, but your head is always turned in his direction, as if you have some sixth sense of his location. He doesn't like it. Even though you're the one in the sights of a predator, it makes him feel like a goldfish trapped in a tank. You piss him off.

But eventually, one night, his patience finally pays off.

Warily, you perch yourself on some rocks that stray into the ocean. You don't even dip your feet in, which, while not ideal, would have been enough for him to work with. Instead, you sit with your arms crossed over your knees, same distant grimace on your face that you sport every night. You seem hypnotized by the reflection of the moon on his waters, hardly blinking or even really breathing except for the occasional despondent sigh.

The thing that stirs you from your daze is a flash of silver just under the water beneath where you're sitting. At first you think it's a fish, since it's not uncommon to see them around when all the beachgoers retreat for the day, but the eerie luminescent glow is unlike any fish you've ever seen before in a life almost wholly occupied by the sea. You watch intently for a moment, hoping to see it again, but give up when all that greets you is the deep, murky blue of sunsetted waters. 

Still, once you pull your eyes from the gently splashing waves, it catches your attention once more. You're curious if you're just seeing strange broken reflections of the moon, but that wouldn't explain why once you offer it your attention, it disappears.

You keep your eyes down and stare long into the water, and eventually it appears again. Long and stringy, it’s definitely unlike any fish fin you've ever seen. It's incandescent almost, reflecting the silvery light of the moon with an oddly hypnotizing pearlescent glow. You’ll admit, it’s strange, but what alarms you the most are the two crimson eyes staring up at you from beneath the tangle of silvered webbing.

You almost recoil, but you're anchored in place by some hybrid mix of fear and curiosity. The urge to scream becomes paralyzed somewhere deep in your throat when a thin, gangly arm reaches up and grasps at the craggy surface of the rock before your feet. It looks… human... or at least it would, if it wasn't for the slight iridescent sheen of the skin- if you look closely, you can almost make out what appears to be scales and a thin fin that runs the expanse of the forearm. Thick, slimy webbing coats the inside of each finger, becoming more apparent as long claws stretch and crawl toward your retracted legs.

Those maliciously alluring eyes draw closer and closer to the surface and soon enough, you can make out what appears to be a face somewhere just under the waves staring right back up you.

Another hand joins the one currently clinging to the rock and the figure hoists itself up partway from the water, and soon you're face to face with... 

Well, you can't really say what. 

You were right, it's human. He's human. At least… half human?

Drenched white hair slicks back just below his shoulders and clings to the sides of his face, beadlets of water sliding down from the wintery strands down to what appears to be a pair of gills that encircle the rounds of his neck. There's something akin to black fins parting the slicked hair where his ears should be, but even that's not enough to pull your attention from the perverse scarlet eyes burning into yours from behind the severely salt-chapped flesh of his face. 

Unnatural hue aside, they’re utterly petrifying, and while something deep in your body tells you that you should run, you can't bring yourself to move from the spot. 

He pulls himself up a bit, lithe torso exposed as he lazily rests his head on his finned forearms by your feet. His body language is completely contradicted by the obvious hate in his expression, which only makes it even more difficult for your brain to try and decide what in the fuck you're supposed to do in this situation. 

What the hell is he?

You try to ask, but the shock of seemingly stumbling upon a possibly malevolent supernatural creature in the dead of night has caused a severe regression in your speech capabilities. The only thing your mouth is capable of producing is a series of incoherent babbles and sounds, hands shaking as your resist the urge to touch him to see if he's real or if you've been slipped some form of extremely powerful hallucinogen.

He studies you briefly through pale lashes and you could swear you see him roll his eyes before a prolonged blink. 

I'm sorry, is this not the expected result? He's looking at you like you're the weird one in this scenario?

Regardless, he lets you stare at him and allows your feeble human brain to come to terms with what you're seeing. Amazing, how quickly your kind forgets you don't exist alone. He draws the line, however, when you finally find the ability to go to poke his fins. He swats you away with an unnaturally quick movement from his slippery, wet hand and you stare at the water spots he leaves behind like it's the strangest shit you've ever seen.

"Are you often so rude as to touch strangers, human?"

You skitter back on your ass, eyes wide and disbelieving even as the truth stares you back with a mocking expression. His voice is raspy and graveled, cracking from what you assume is disuse. It takes you a moment to process his words, despite being absolutely certain that you’ve heard them.

 "Holy fuck, you're real!"

"Just grasping that, are we?"

"What the fuck are you?"

His face contorts and his lips lift in a snarl, revealing the extremely sharp looking fangs on either side of his mouth. Okay, so that might've been extremely rude. He's obviously sentient, so maybe saying something so brash and offensive wasn't really the way to go.

"Sorry, I mean -fuck - I've just never, uh-" You clear your throat awkwardly, still trying to decide whether or not to bolt. He watches you through tautly narrowed lids, and you get the feeling you should tread very carefully. Whatever emotion it is you see in his face, it certainly isn't patience.

"Are you a..." What would you call him? A mermaid? A fish-man? A sea spirit? It doesn't quite matter, since he doesn't give you time to finish your line of thought.

"Your people have no word for what I am." He speaks the words almost bitterly. "But just because your kind doesn’t acknowledge me doesn't mean I don't exist."

You're not entirely sure if you should apologize on behalf of the human race or admit yourself into a psych ward.

"What, uh, what should I call you... Um, sir?" Smooth. But you're not really sure what to say here. What exactly are proper honorifics when it comes to situations like this? 

"My name," He sighs again, as if it's some great chore to introduce himself. "Is Shigaraki."

"Okay, Shigaraki," You say his name, trying to get the hang of it as it rolls off your tongue. "It's nice to meet you- I think?"

He pays your attempt at polite conversation no mind at all. 

"What are you doing here, human?" 

Okay, he's curt and to the point. Good to know. He seems to have very little consideration for your bewilderment, despite being the one that demanded your attention in the first place, which isn’t necessarily a good thing when you don’t really know how to answer his question between the confusion and the sheer oddity. To be frank, you can’t muster much of a response. 

"Just... sitting here?" 

"No, I mean what are you doing? Every single night, you come here, you look at the sea for hours. Why?"

His pointed tone demands an answer, seeming irate or even provoked by your harmless nightly activity. 

"I don't know." For some reason, the question frustrates you as well, mainly because you really don't know. The ocean soothes you, even if you're just spectating it. It's too busy during the day, packed with tourists and teenagers yelling and bounding around in the sand, and while you're happy they're having a good time and all, the voices are impossible to drown out. Even the sea seems to protest their presence, the tide becoming higher and higher and more rambunctious until it almost forces the invaders out. More than once, folks have almost drowned for being too stubborn and refusing to cut their beach day short despite the obvious danger.

It seems to calm itself at night, waves gently washing ashore instead of slapping angrily at the feet of anyone treading the sand as if it's trying to coax them deeper only to pull them under. 

"You don't know?" It seems more like a statement than a question, and it's an unimpressed statement at that.

"Yeah. I don't really know. I just like being here, I suppose." You shrug, letting your arms fall limp at your sides. It could be the shock, but somehow, you’re actually managing to carry on the conversation with him. "Is there something wrong with that?"

Something flashes in his eyes, and it sends a shiver down your spine. Once again his body language drastically contradicts the vibe you're getting from him. He leans back casually in the water, and just beneath the edge, you see something slick and shiny flutter where you're certain his legs should be. "I guess not. But if you like it here so much, why don't you ever come in?"

"I-I don't know... The water is dangerous at night..."

“Is ‘I don’t know’ all you know how to say?” He gives you a derisive smile, mocking your tone while swimming graceful circles back and forth in front of the rock with an inhuman grace that sets you on edge. "Don't tell me you're scared, little human."

"I'm not scared, I'm just not stupid."

He runs his tongue over his fangs and something akin to a smile crosses his features. "Sure you're not. A little girl like you could never be afraid of a little water."

He's taunting you and you know it, but the way his eyes stay locked with yours as he swims around and around and around is making you feel a little dizzy...

"I'm not afraid-" 

"Come in then."

He dips into the water and disappears, and despite knowing better, you find yourself leaning over the rock to see where he's gone. He's waiting for you just under the waves. You can see the fluid flap of an ebony tail glimmering in the moonlight, silver hair haloed around his head. One clawed finger beckons you toward him, and you can feel yourself leaning further and further.

You're willing yourself to draw back, but the closest you can come is ceasing your forward movements. Even as you try, you can't pull your eyes away from his, staring unblinkingly up at you and glowing that foreboding sanguine shade that cuts even through the darkness of the waves.

'Come in, little girl. Show me you're not scared.’

His webbed hand threads up through the rippling surface, ready and waiting for yours. 

You can't help it. 

You reach.

You feel the slippery surface of his scaley skin interlocking with yours before something in his expression morphs into something wholly ominous and knocks you from your stupor. His magnetic eyes darken, sinister snarl hinting through the smile he’s straining to keep. This isn’t a serene sea creature playfully helping you face your fears; the ill intent is written on his face too prevalently as his mesmeric movements lure you toward the water. 

This is a predator, one determined to sink his teeth deep into your neck and steal the life from your still beating heart. You can feel it as his grip begins to tighten on your own palm.

Whatever spell he might have been casting has been broken if only just enough for you to shake yourself free. He's almost fully closed his fingers around yours before you jerk sharply, yanking your hand away. In anticipation of your movements, he thrusts up and out of the water, sharp claws digging hold into the skin of your forearm. You cry out from surprise more so than the pain even though the tips of his pointed talons slice open your skin with little to no resistance.

Fangs bared and enraged, he’s clearly livid now. All facade of relaxation falls away as his tail flaps furiously trying to pull you into the water with him. He's strong, but your will to live is stronger. The layered skin of your knees breaks as it scrapes against the jagged rock, body thrashing and desperately try to release yourself from his unyielding grip 

"Let go of me!" 

"Get in, you little brat!" 

"No!"

Falling backwards and trying to use your weight as leverage, you do your best to kick the creature off. You land a few good hits on his lean chest, but it's not enough to fully dislodge his grip. It takes a well-placed, hard slap to the side of one of his headfins to finally stun him. It was a last-ditch effort, but oddly enough, it works. 

He instinctively releases you in favor of cradling his tender, damaged fin. It isn’t long before he realizes his error and comes to his senses, but it gives you just enough time to pull away. He snaps forward several more times in pure, seething rage, fingers clamping around nothing but air in his failed attempt to seize you once more.

Sputtering and hissing, he even crawls partway onto the rock as you're furiously backpedaling away from the water to save yourself, giving you good look at where his hips meet the sleek scales of his pitch-black tail. It’s fascinating, beautiful even, but your body knows better than to slow to give yourself a better look. The split-second flash in your memory will have to suffice, coupled with the sheer and utter terror that will no doubt be permanently ingrained in your memory from this encounter. 

His inflamed face and vividly gleaming red eyes that watch you with palpable hate written in his expression are the last thing you see before pushing yourself up on your haunches and sprinting away from the sea as quickly as your little human legs can carry you. 

He watches you run, slamming a fist down on the rock in frustration and spitting out curses. He almost had you. He was so fucking close!

Once he manages to calm himself, he allows himself to coax the sore fin on the side of his head. Its thrumming in pain, overly sensitive to the touch. It was like you had known just where to hit him to make it hurt. Yet, as angry as he is, he can't deny that you're interesting.

"You can't escape me, girl. You'll be back."

The sea calls to you, and you can’t resist that call forever. You can’t resist him forever.

[janekfan]

IF you are still taking prompts...would you consider something precanon with Jon and Tim? tim's been trying to befriend an isolated/lonely researcher jon that no one's a fan of, sees him sick or being bothered by someone or any one of our usual terrible scenarios and is immediately like 'is anyone gonna take care of this man??'

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27650999

Tim flipped his pen around in his fingers, internally cheering when he executed the trick shot over his thumb, and kept an eye on Research’s newest recruit. The tiny man, stuffy and pompous and peculiar, had only been with them a little over a week and from day one Tim marked him as a challenge.

He would become this angry and diminutive fellow’s best friend, so help them both.

Currently, one Jonathan Sims was balanced on the tips of his patent leather brogues, stretching up for a volume he could never hope to reach and Tim, seeing his moment of opportunity, allowed his shadow to fall over him as he easily retrieved it for him.

“Tim. Tim Stoker.” He gave over the book along with a beaming grin and an introduction, holding a hand out for him to shake and lifting a brow when all Jon did was glare skeptically at his open palm, arms tightening around his prize.

“Sims.” Imperiously, with the slightest lift of his chin. “Jon. Thank you for your assistance, Mr. Stoker.” If Tim had been quicker on the uptake, he would have replied with the customary that was my father, but as it was he found himself faced with the stiff line of his back as he walked swiftly deeper into the stacks.

He was awkward and prickly, for sure, there was no getting around that, but knowledgeable and worked hard at his job, harder than Tim currently was anyway with this quest to focus on. Jon kept his head down, literally, at his desk he was nigh folded in half for most of the shift, not even stopping for lunch most of the time unless something broke his hyperfocus and he caught sight of the clock. No wonder he was so scrawny, just skin and bone beneath his crisp starched shirts and prim jumpers. So Tim began leaving snacks behind; a piece of fruit, bottle of water, cereal bar, a bit of chocolate, and it gave him no end of amusement each and every time Jon noticed. Feet up on his own desk, Tim would watch Jon glance around, ignoring the irritated looks of their coworkers while he tried to puzzle out who kept doing it and the first time he actually took a bite tasted of sweet, sweet victory.

Time passed, Tim finally convinced Jon to call him by his first name and was soundly told off for attempting to call him Jonny. He learned of his preference for tea over coffee, that he was raised by his grandmother, and feared spiders absolutely, having been the unfortunate recipient of a harmless office prank. It was no secret that Jon was not well liked and didn’t seem to care. He became the butt of many a joke and impersonation. That posh accent, put on or not, was too good to pass up and his lack of social acumen didn’t help his case even though he was smart as a whip and picked up any slack by virtue of staying late.

“Bags under your eyes are looking heavy today.”

“Hm? Oh, Tim.” Jon rubbed a knuckle under the rim of his glasses. “Yes, I. I haven’t been sleeping well.” He dropped into his chair heavily, pressing fingertips against his temples and massaging them.

“Take a sick day. You’ve put in enough over time.” Jon craned his neck, blinked up at him with a confused look, as though he were trying to figure out a difficult puzzle.

“M’alright.” Mumbling, the wood grain suddenly seemed very interesting. “You should get to work though.”

“Whoa! Not my boss there yet, Jonny-boy!” It elicited a familiar, nettlesome response and put Tim’s heart at ease. Jon probably was just tired.

“Oi, you daft twit, watch where you’re going.” Tim turned the corner on his return from lunch to find Jon scrambling amongst a sprawl of papers, frantically trying to collect them up.

“S’sorry, I’ll help--”

“Done enough, sod off.” Jon froze, muttered another apology and handed off the pages he’d gathered together.

“You alright?” Sidling up to him, Tim did him the favor of ignoring the trembling line of Jon’s mouth. “Guy’s just being a prick ‘cause his wife’s leavin’ him.”

“Fine, m’fine, Tim.” And in a moment he was, back at his desk and pointedly thumbing through a file and pretending to cross check his notes.

The next morning was no better and Jon arrived under the wire, hair unkempt and tie just slightly crooked. Very unlike him and this time he watched as Jon let his head tip forward for a few seconds, bracing himself on the arms of his chair before retreating into the forest of bookshelves. If left to his own devices, Tim was sure he’d end up ticking the librarians off again. He tended to leave a mess in his wake when searching for what he needed and when he didn’t reappear by noon, Tim went off in search of him, expecting to find him leafing through some manuscript or another and instead discovering him cross legged in the shadows, eyes closed, head tipped back and resting on a shelf. There was a short stack of books pertaining to his research by his knee but his hands were empty and still in his lap.

“What’s wrong?” Jon made a vague gesture. “Headache?”

“Mm. Didn’t mean to, to...uh.”

“End up on the floor?”

“Mm.

“You should go home.” The very suggestion drew his features into a frown and he cracked open dark lashes just enough for Tim to catch a glimpse of glassy brown.

“I’ve barely worked here a month, I. I can’t. I can’t skive off.”

“You’re ill, Jon. That’s not--Look, look.” Tim crouched beside him. “It’s okay to call off sick.” It had the opposite effect, and Tim had to steady Jon after he struggled to his feet with his armful of books. “Jon.”

“No, no. I’ll be over whatever this is by tomorrow.”

Tim sighed. Jon was, in fact, not over whatever he’d come down with, and was now stifling a series of wet, breathless coughs in the crook of his elbow, unaware of the dirty looks the other researchers were throwing his way. The harder Tim tried to make him see reason, the harder Jon resisted, insisting that he was fine, it was allergies or something else but he wasn’t feeling ill enough to miss work.

“I’m holding you up as we speak.” Sluggish, Jon’s eyes tracked Tim’s arm from where it was attached to his shoulder all the way down to the firm grip he had on his bicep to keep him from listing even further.

“Jus’...bit dizzy…”

“Yeah, that’s not a good thing.”

“I can, I can still do my job.” And Tim wasn’t quite sure who he was trying to convince. “I can.” Tim allowed him his arm back, not commenting on his barely controlled fall into his desk chair or the soft groan of pain that ended in another fit, weaker than the last.

“I know you can, I just want to see you take care of yourself.”

“Why?” Bloodshot eyes narrowed in suspicion and Tim didn’t know what to make of it.

“We’re friends?”

“We’re not.” Tim didn’t let it discourage him or take it personally. Clearly, Jon wasn’t well, was trying to convince himself that he was, that he didn’t need help. Besides, Tim looked on the bright side, Jon didn’t sound completely sure.

“Alright. Well, as your not-friend, I’m advising you to at least make yourself some tea.”

“I’ll take it under advisement.”

“Christ, Sims!”

“I, I’m sorry, let me, let me help.”

“You’ve done quite enough.” It seemed to Tim that wherever Jon was lately he was in some sort of trouble and when he veered into the breakroom to check on the situation his heart went out to the Lilliputian researcher. Jon had dropped and shattered a mug full of hot water, apparently splashing the man currently yelling at him. Tim took in his trembling hands, the flush high on his vacant face, and the unbearable vulnerability, feeling those big brother instincts rise like a tide. He caught him up again by the arm, drawing him away from the mess and the mumbling.

“You’re like a furnace, buddy.” Gently, with a cupped hand, Tim lifted his jaw and tried to catch his slippery gaze. The heat cradled in his palm was scorching.

“M’not.”

“Now you’re just being contrary.” He led him away with his fingers just at the small of his back stopping at their desks long enough to gather up his things and call for a cab. He balked, hesitating before stepping in and Tim encouraged him with another careful push, helping him back out again when his knees threatened to give. Guiding him inside the flat he dropped their stuff by the door and looked around with a pensive hum. “Next time we’ll go to mine.” Under his breath. Jon’s was cold and not well lit, sparsely furnished with a second hand couch and mismatched tables. It was clean if spartan and somehow very Jon.

“Tim?” Thready, tired, sinking into the couch where Tim deposited him.

“Hey, there. Back in a tick. I’m gonna get you that tea.” Assuming he had any. Assuming he had anything at all. But there was a bottle of paracetamol on the kitchen counter beside an open box tea and a bottle of honey. “Take these, drink this down.” Dimly, Jon followed his instructions, tugging at his buttons and Tim shooed him away to change, surprised when he returned in soft, overlarge clothes. For as prim and proper as he tried to be at work, Jon was a complete bum at home. “Should go to sleep.” Petulant, Jon shook his head, flopping back on the couch and wrapping himself up in a knitted throw like a burrito. “Why not?” This side of his coworker was so soft and unexpected and Tim couldn’t stop himself.

“M’not tired.” Soft, unexpected, and childish.

“Uh huh.” Tim ordered in, something spicy and brothy, and praised Jon’s progress before tugging him, cajoling him into lying his head in his lap. Bad telly droned on, half lidded eyes blinked slow, and Tim was reminded painfully of nights and weekends and mornings spent this exact same way with someone else. Someone gone.

“Why’re you doing this?” Tim dug his fingers into unruly curls, grinning stupidly when Jon melted like a scruffed cat.

“We’re buddies, buddy.” Jon laughed, just an exhale between parted lips.

Mid afternoon the following day Tim proclaimed his work done, confirming it when Jon’s cactus like demeanor made a reappearance with all his fussing. After inputting his number into his cell phone himself, he ruffled already sleep mussed hair, smirking at Jon’s futile attempt to set it right.

“Call if you need anything.”

“I will.” Tim knew he wouldn’t, but it made him feel better anyway. It was the weekend. Jon looked miles better, and he was set up for success with all his tea and meds and snacks within easy reach. Leftover soup waited in the fridge for him to heat later. “Stop fretting, Tim.” But he could hear the thread of affection buried under all the exasperation.

And if he was imagining it, well. He was ever an optimist.

Monday. And Tim was sat on the corner of Jon's desk shoving chocolate digestives into his mouth and rifling through his notes having already ignored one request to leave off.

“You don’t have many friends, do you Jon?” Jon pushed his glasses up from where they’d slipped down the bridge of his nose and selected a biscuit for himself.

“Never needed many.”

“Do you have any?” Jon snatched the pages out of his hand and brushed away any stray crumbs, offering Tim a shy smile.

“I’ve you, don’t I?”

[inkyhorror]

The installment of Trust Exercise is taking longer than expected because the first draft wasn’t quite the tone I was looking for. In the interim I wrote and edited this. It didn’t turn out quite like I wanted but at this point I’m a little tired of looking at it. Posted here and on AO3.

Touch Starved

Warnings: None

Pairings: MC/Diavolo

Word Count: 1408

The distant roll of thunder gently pulls you from your slumber. You bury your face in the pillow and let out a groan, taking a few moments to listen as another low rumble reaches your ears. Face still firmly planted in your pillow, you swat lazily at the space next to you in search of your DDD. Upon finding it you peek out and press the ON button. You immediately regret your decision. The light from the screen blinds you and you have to take a moment to let your eyes adjust. Checking the time you realize it is nearly 4 in the morning. Way too early to be awake. 

A sudden flash of lightning illuminates the room, drawing your eyes to the open balcony doors. You push yourself up on your elbows and squint in the darkness to get a better look. There is a figure on the balcony silhouetted by the dim light of the outside world. Whoever it is is tall and muscular, their hands braced against the railings as they stand with their back towards you watching the rain fall. It only takes you a second to recognize it as Lord Diavolo. The demon prince had invited everyone to spend another weekend at the royal palace and through pure luck you had ended up rooming with Lucifer and Diavolo, much to Mammon’s displeasure. A quick glance revealed that Lucifer was still fast asleep in his own bed. With a sigh you drag yourself out of bed and join Lord Diavolo on the balcony. 

“Relaxing, isn’t it?” He does not look at you as he speaks. 

“Yeah, it is. I think this is the first time I’ve seen it rain here in the Devildom.” You walk up next to him and lean forward to rest your elbows on the railing. 

“Yes. It doesn't rain here very often. This is quite a treat.” He smiles serenely as he continues to watch the falling rain. You hum in acknowledgement of his answer and the two of you fall silent as another flash of lightning arcs across the sky. You shift your weight from one leg to the other and accidentally bump into him. Diavolo flinches and pulls away from your touch. His sudden reaction startles you. 

“Sorry! I’m so sorry Lord Diavolo, I didn’t mean to do that.” You straighten up and take a half step away from him, suddenly nervous that you have done something to make him uncomfortable. 

“No! It’s fine, really.” He flashes you an apologetic smile before turning away quickly. You swear that you can see a tinge of pink in his cheeks even in the dark room. “You know, there’s really no need to speak so formally around me.“ A sharp laugh escapes you before you are able to suppress it. Diavolo shoots you a puzzled look. 

“I was under the impression that if i didn’t address you by your full title Lucifer would quite literally murder me.” Diavolo blinks. Once the sarcasm of your response registers he chuckles, a deep sound that you can almost feel reverberate through the air. 

“He’s always so protective. If I’m honest I sometimes wish he would lighten up just a little. Maybe then people would be less hesitant to approach me.” His honestly catches you completely off guard. In all your time in the Devildom you would ever have expected to hear Lord Diavolo speak ill about his closest friend. He seems to suddenly realize what he said and clears his throat to dispel the tension. 

“You’ve mentioned that before. About the other demons being too scared to talk to you. Is it really that lonely for you?” 

“It can be, yes.” He closes his eyes and sighs heavily. You are not sure how to respond. You have not spent as much time with the Demon Prince as you have with the brothers but over time you have come to find his presence quite comforting. Despite his size and status the man is genuinely kind. Without thinking you reach out and place your hand on his. He flinches once again but does not pull away.

“You know, humans have this thing where we crave physical contact.” You lean into him, pressing your shoulder against his arm. It is quiet, but you swear you can hear him gasp. “It can be anything from hugs to hand shakes, but we seek contact with others” With your free hand, you run your fingers lightly up and down his forearm. Diavolo shudders. “If we don’t have enough of it we can start to feel sad, lonely, isolated.” When you pull away from him you hear him whimper quietly. Glancing up you catch the sad, pleading look in his eyes. You reach up and stroke his cheek. He presses into your palm, desperately seeking more contact. Closing his eyes and sighing as he savors your touch. “I wonder if it’s the same for demons.” 

“Yes, I think it might be.” He sighs. This level of vulnerability is so uncommon for the demon prince. It makes your chest ache to see him so sad, so desperate for any form of physical affection. You glance over to Lucifer’s bed once more. Still asleep. Good. 

“Lord Diavolo, if you’re ever feeling lonely you can always call on me. It doesn't have to be a special occasion. We could watch movies or just sit together while you work. I know I’m not anyone special, but I would love to spend more time with you.” Your voice is even and your words are sincere. His eyes well up with tears and he takes a shaky breath. It takes him a minute to collect himself enough to respond. 

“I would love that. Thank you. However, can I ask for one more favor?” You tilt your head quizzically. “Please don't use my full title, not when it's just the two of us.” You glance nervously in Lucifer's direction. Diavolo notices and follows your line of sight. “I won't tell him if you wont.” You consider his request for a moment then nod in affirmation.

“Alright, deal.” You hold out your hand and extend your pinky. Diavolo is only vaguely familiar with the concept of a pinky promise, such silly human rituals. He hooks his pinky with yours and with that you are both sworn to secrecy.

“It’s pretty late, we really should get back to sleep.” As if to emphasize your point you are overtaken by a yawn. Diavolo nods and the two of you reenter your shared room and he closes the balcony doors behind you. As you begin to walk to your bed Doavolo catches your arm to stop you. When you look back at him he looks uncharacteristically shy, head turned away and eyes averted.

“Would you... Um... Would you mind terribly if I slept next to you? I wouldn't want to trouble you if you don’t want to. It’s just that these beds are so big it can get a little…” He lets his sentence trail off. The request is a little shocking to say the least, but given your previous conversation you do not have it in you to deny him this one indulgence. 

“Of course, Dia. It's no trouble at all.” A look of surprise crosses his face. It is quickly replaced by a look of utter delight.

“You called me Dia, is that my nickname?” You are suddenly very aware that this might be the prince's first time being given a nickname. He looks absolutely ecstatic. 

“Only if you like it.” He nods enthusiastically.

“I do! Thank you!” He takes your hand and pulls you deeper into the room “We should sleep, I have a big day planned for all of us tomorrow and I want you rested up.” He leads you to his bed and lays down, gesturing for you to join him. You try to keep some distance between the two of you as you lay down, however Diavolos weight creates an indent in the soft mattress that pulls you towards him like a black hole. Accepting your fate you sigh and snuggle closer to his chest, feeling his strong arms wrap around you.

“Goodnight. Sleep well.” Pressed against him as you are his words are more of a rumble in his chest and as actual sounds reaching your ears.

“Goodnight Dia. Sweet dreams.” You feel his embrace tighten as the two of you drift off into sleep. 

AN: I cannot help but imagine that in the morning Lucifer is just standing at the foot of their bed staring disapprovingly. He’s gonna give MC one hell of a lecture once he gets them back to the House of Lamentation. 

[gallowswhump]

Blue Eyes

The Start of Cirelc's story. In this he is still named blue. This is a look into his joining of the theives guild.

CW: Child Abuse, Child Abandonment, Homelessness, Theft, pickpocketing, broken bones, implied prostitution, starvation, attempted murder, serious injury, swearing, torture

It had always been like this, just barely scraping by on hand outs and sticky fingers. There was no reason for his fate that Blue could think of. Charity had left him barely enough for a slice of bread today, a couple of coppers in the mid week was nothing new. No holy day that would make people feel more charitable. No leftover coin from stocking for the week. Just tried people who had better things on their mind than the poor Aasimar boy begging for rations on the streat. Luckily, around the end of the day that meant lots of people with pockets heavy with coin would be walking from their place of work to their homes. He just needed the right mark.

A dwarf walking to the bar was a clear mark but Blue could already tell the man kept his purse close to his chest, patting it as he walked by the dirty urchin whose heritage is usually enough to make people think he isn’t a thief. A bad mark, okay the next one. A woman showing a little too much of her chest, the marks on her told Blue a different story of how her pockets came to be filled. Bad mark, no targeting the downtrodden even if they might have more. A man with dusty hair, rushing through the market. A bad mark, he knew the man, a coal worker seen carrying around a new baby on the weekends. The evening wound to a close and there was the sinking feeling of hunger setting in and the idea that his belly would go unfilled. There is a spectacle though, people moving out of the way of a group. Normally, a bad mark, people traveling together. The flashy clothes are what makes him take note. The two men to the side are dressed in clean black tunics, humans. The one to the left of their group leader is light skinned, bald. A nasty scar accents his general demeanor as he glowers at people who walk too close. The other one has dark skin, dark curly hair, not common to the area. He looks bored, his eyes lingering from shop entrance to shop entrance like he’s looking for some sort of entertainment. The leader, he is the attention grabber. A heavy large coin purse lies on his hip, that sort of gold was always too good to be true. He’s a tiefling, red skin dressed in very brightly colored flashy robes but Blue can see the hint of dark leathers under it. Ill gotten gold. No qualms about taking from other thieves, not ones with that kind of money. Blue circles the men for a bit, keeping out of sight as the leader peruses from shop to shop. He’s calm and confident talking up shop keeps about their wears. He buys an expensive knife with part of his gold. Blue waits in the shadows for the shopping to be done.

When they start heading for the tavern that’s when he pulls it. He runs through the marketplace, pretending like he didn’t see the brightly dressed man and runs head first into him. He doesn’t make the interaction long, taking the time of shock from the impact to pull the bag of gold from the tieflings belt, hugging it to his chest, covering it with his tattered cloak. He pretends to be hurt and shocked as he pulls away clutching his chest. He knows hands are coming for him, a reaction to push or to comfort he knew from adults but he dodges it. “Sorry, mister,” He voices in his best kid tone to make himself seem younger. Then he is off running like he has somewhere to be and now he does. A huge score was in his arms and he knows that the men aren’t likely to take his actions kindly. He needed a place to hide.

The woods were not the ideal sleeping space, especially with how much gold he had but he knew he couldn’t stay anywhere in town. He needed to move on and quickly. Trekking through the woods at night though was a dangerous prospect alone. One cold night out in the woods would be worth it just to get away with the gold. So, he finds a tree with a wide enough branch to sleep in and climbs into it. He could rest easy knowing that this would be the last cold night, the last hungry night. Those thoughts sit with him and let him sleep for a few hours.

Jerked out of sleep by feeling pain hit his leg and spine. He tries to raise his head. He had picked a wide enough branch that he shouldn’t have fallen out. His head is spinning but he can make out shouting in his sleep ridden mind. He feels a sharp kick to his side and he curls in on himself crying out as his brain catches up with the world around him, “Where is it you little shit!?”

“What?” Pain and sleep muttle his mind, forgetting about the actions he had taken only hours earlier. He’s grabbed by the collar and shoved back into the tree. He cries out his delicate wings taking the brunt of the blow. There was a snap and pain shot through his bones and up unto his spine.

“Don’t act like you don’t know I saw you take the gold!”

Tears start flowing from the young boy’s eyes, “Please I’ll tell you just let me go.” Smack. He’s hit across the face, hard. His cheek stings and the taste of blood wells up in his mouth.

“That’s not how this works you’re going to tell me.” Blue finally gaining control over his own muscles again struggles getting his hands up and trying to support himself on the bald man's arms. The force on his collarbone and into his misplaced wing is too much.

“Okay okay!” He cries out struggling. “It’s in my bedroll up there. There’s a false pocket sewn into the inside front.” He takes in a breath of relief kicking away from the man when he is let go. He pushes himself with his feet inching further and further away. The adrenaline starts coming down as he takes in deep breaths and the sharp piercing pain of a small broken bone hits him. He had broken fingers before, no big deal. A part of his wing though wasn’t going to be so easily patched up by himself. He wants to strain to look at it but his eyes keep focused on the man with the glower look as he comes down with gold in hand. More tears flow at the thought of what he just lost. No more security, back to hungry cold nights. Back to begging and thieving for every little luxury. He fights back a sob, he’s not a little kid he can’t act like one.

The man looks over, a smirk crosses his face as he pockets the coin into the front of his shirt, “You have no idea who you stole from do you?” Blue doesn’t answer, he just scoots back a bit more trying to get away. He knew that he could run and end it all but what little he did have was left in that tree. The man walks forward jerking his body in a threatening manner feigning another hit. “Answer me!”

“N-no, I don’t.”

A small tisc of his tongue comes, “Doubly bad for you.” Blue turns over and tries to get up when the man rushes for him but he’s grabbed by the legs and pulled back. They’re pinned underneath the man and he cries out.

“Please! Please you have the gold back, haven't spent a lick of it swear!”

He cringes away as the man whispers in his ear, his breath hot with the stench of liquor, “Boss doesn’t know that. I’m gonna get a gold bonus and catch the thief that stole from him.” The sound of a knife coming from a leather sheath is heard and Blue screws his eyes shut. “We’re all alone out here and I’m going to enjoy this.”

“Please stop! Get off of me.” His beg is met with the knife’s edge running straight along the exposed part of his back.

“Good for nothing street kid doesn’t even have manners.”

“Somebody please help!” Blue shouts as loud as he can knowing there was no reasoning with the man he had to hope someone would hear him. He struggles trying to get his legs free but the other man is almost double his size. His mouth is quickly covered and the blade is pushed up to his neck and his breath hitches. He didn’t want to die, not here, not like this. He gives muffled pleas for his life and the man on top of him lets it go on. He’s enjoying watching the boy beneath him cry and squirm. A large grin on his face and eyes that hunger to see someone’s life in his hands knowing full well he’s going to kill them no matter what.

“Cahir!” In a second the knife is pulled away from Blue’s neck. “Get off of him.” Blue can’t see who it is but his heart is racing. As soon as the weight is lifted from him he tries to bolt away but is quickly caught by the back of his shirt collar. He gives a gargled cry of pain reaching up for his neck.

“Oh no you don’t.” He’s thrown and pushed in front of the man who had him pinned down. He stumbles and comes face to face with the tiefling from earlier. His brow is furrowed and frown lines cross his face. Blue cowers away trapped between the man he stole from and the man who assaulted him.

“What is the meaning of this?” He talks past Blue keeping his voice steady but it’s ready to tip into full anger any second.

“He stole from you sir!” The man argues like he doesn’t understand what he’s done wrong.

“I am aware of that fact.” Blue looks between the two men wondering if he can make a run for it but decides against it. He wasn’t sure he could out run them even if he hadn’t just taken a beating. “I told you to stand your ground and stay at the inn.”

“We can’t let street rats get away with things like that!”

The tiefling glares the man down, “I gave you a direct order. I do not need to explain myself to you. Now hand me the gold and go back to town. I better not see you until morning.” Blue watches as the man walks up and he hands over the gold. He mumbles something under his breath as he walks away. He’s glared after until he’s out of sight and Blue takes the opportunity to try and slowly back away. He knows how to hide in the shadows, maybe he could get away that way.

Amber eyes fall on him before he can execute his plan. They don’t burn with anger anymore. They soften and brows now furrow in worry instead of anger. “You’re hurt. Let me help.” Blue pauses; he can’t trust this man.

“I’ll be fine.”

“In your state something is going to get infected and it’s my fault I don’t have better control over my men.” Blue bites his lip as he turns his head and stretches out his hurt wing to see the state of the damages. It’s hard to see between matted black and white feathers. Blood is coming from somewhere but he can’t tell where or what is broken. The red skinned devilish man is pulling something from his coat pocket. Blue looks over quickly but is surprised when it’s not a weapon but some kind of small jar. “I can help.” The man’s voice is slowly turning from strained calm to an actual soft worried tone.

Blue crosses his arms over his chest and pulls back, “Why would you help me?”

“You got my gold fair and square. I fell for one of the easiest tricks in the book because I wasn’t paying attention. That’s my fault. You taking my gold was entirely preventable on my part. I’m sure you can tell me every detail about that.”

Blue stays quiet before watching eyes make it clear that the man was serious for him to tell. “You kept it on your hip. Either you think that you could catch any thief or that much gold is a deterrent to any potential one. You were lost in buying and taking in the market. You could have seen me at any point in time and guessed that I was marking you. You let me run into you and the knot on the bag wasn’t very secure. Something stopped you from grabbing me when I first hit you, letting me run off.”

“Very good.” The man smirks, almost seeming proud. “Someone teach you that?” Blue shakes his head. That elicits a frown, “How long have you had to study that then?”

“My whole life.”

“How long has that been?”

“Dunno.”

“Best guess?”

“At least twelve years.”

“Where are your parents?”

“I don’t know.” Blue shrugs off the question, he doesn’t have any memories of anyone taking care of him.

“Will you let me help you?” Blue turns, looking around for his options of escape but he needs the bone set at least and he isn’t sure he can do it on his own.

“Fine…I have some bandages in my things” He moves, pushing through the pain to climb a couple of steps up the tree to pull down his bag and bedroll.

“Do you have a name?”

“Most people call me Blue.” He motions to his eyes the color for which he got his name sake. Tensing as he pulls out a roll of old cloth from his bag. The tiefling had come closer and he still didn’t have faith that this wasn’t a trap.

“Remy.”

“What?”

“People call me Remy.” Blue nods and he turns his back facing the gentleman. He can tend to the other minor scrapes and bruises himself. “You haven’t been taking care of these.”

Blue winces as a hand touches his wing, “It’s hard all on my own.” There is silence for moments where the man seemed to be focusing. Carefully moving matts and feathers out of the way trying to take a look at the damage without causing more pain.

“You know you surprised me.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t even notice you until you ran into me. That isn’t common.”

“Yeah well.” Blue shrugged, he doesn’t want to talk, he just wants this to be over.

“Pushing these bones back into place is going to hurt.” Blue grits his teeth but finds himself unable to hold back a scream as a swift unwarned movement sets the bones of his wing back into place. He whimpers and stumbles forward but he’s caught around the chest with a full arm. It was clearly to try and prevent causing anymore pain. He wants to be strong but a sob wracks his body as he is gently pulled down to the ground. Everything of that night just washes over him. All of the pain from the broken bones and the beating, the loss of hope that a bag of gold could give, the tiredness from being uprooted from his sleep, the pain of hunger in his belly. He sobs. He turns into Remy and he just sobs. There isn’t any move to push him away or continue the pain; there is just a warm embrace surrounded by the scent of wood fire and paper.

Blue is allowed to let his emotions out, Remy figuring that the kid hadn’t really much time to just let go. With the bone set the minor scrapes and bruises could wait. Pulling the kid close and placing his chin on the top of the boy’s head in an attempt to comfort. Time passes eventually the sobs even out into shallow breathing. The tiefling isn’t surprised the kid fell asleep, childish but Blue was just a child. He shifts the sleeping boy around taking a look at his cheek. It would bruise if nothing was done. He sets the pot that’s been in his hand down on the ground, opening it with one hand the other, keeping the small boy close. The ointment would heal bruises and close wounds. He dips his fingers in before carefully applying a layer to the boy's cheek. He moves on checking and applying to other bruises and cuts he has. The wing would need time to properly heal. Remy wants the kid to sleep proper. He pulls away gently laying Blue down in the grass.

It doesn’t take him long to wake though, he lurches up looking around in a small panic. Remy holds out his hands motioning for him to calm down. “How-”

“Maybe half an hour.” The man waves it away and Blue can see the bags under his eyes. Judging by the sky it was deep into night and he guessed that the man must usually be asleep.

“Thank you.”

There is a small nod, “You know it doesn’t have to be like this.” Blue turns away. He knows there are people who would take him in but he’s scared. Adults have always been mixed in their kindness. That and he didn’t want to burden anyone with his pain. He could take care of himself. “You’ve clearly proven yourself as a thief. There is room in my guild for people like you. We have enough gold to make sure that our brothers and sisters don’t go hungry. You’d have a home to return to. A soft bed to sleep in.” Blue sits up looking over him for a movement. He seemed genuine. He pulls out the coin purse from earlier handing it over. “And there is a lot more where this came from.”

“Guild…” There is a small moment of realization. “You mean you’re a-” He covers his mouth knowing for sure now that this night should have ended very differently.

Remy though gives a good natured laugh, “You stole from a leader of a thieves guild? Yes.”

“But.” Blue looks to where the man from earlier left, then down to the gold, “What about…” That man had to have had a high ranking position. He can’t imagine himself being welcomed.

“Cahir?” Remy sighs, running a hand through his hair. “The man has a temper but knows how to behave in the guild. Besides, most aren’t like him. Most came to me lost, hungry, and hurt like you. They’re family. We protect each other.” Blue knows he doesn’t have to take it. The gold in his hand is more than enough to start a life. He doesn’t know what he would want to start though. What Remy was offering him sounded so appealing. A place in the world, with people who he could trust. He had already proven himself to be better than most people Blue had met.

“Okay. I want to join you.”

Remy stands up welcoming out a hand, “I won’t promise it will be easy but I have a feeling you already know that.”

[firesoulstuff]

Captain Canary + “you’re not safe here.”

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27544165/chapters/71160003

Sara can feel her stomach churning, and tears burning beneath her eyelids.

She has hated Lewis Snart for a long time now. The only comfort she has ever been able to take with the thought of him is that he is dead, and it was a very painful death.

Or at least, that was his fate before an aberration appeared.

She and Leonard were in the training room this morning, each doing their separate exercises. She’d been going through some of her forms whilst Len had been behind her across the room and hitting the punching bag. Eventually she noticed she hadn’t heard him in awhile, but she hadn’t heard him leave either. When she turned around he was gone, and before she could start looking for him Gideon called her to bridge.

She found out what happened, and immediately she had wanted to throw up.

It was the same thing that happened with Ray on the mission that brought them to the 80’s. There’s an aberration, and a past version of Leonard died.

That aberration? An extra crewmember for Lewis being free on the weekend of a heist because turns out the Time Masters pulling strings had been what kept him away. The heist still failed, but instead of getting busted this extra crewmember was able to get a very ill tempered Lewis out and home free. Where he took out his anger on his pregnant wife, and then his nine-year-old son who ran in to protect his mom and baby sister.

Little Leonard didn’t stand a chance.

Leonard – their Leonard – is back for now, because they’ve traveled back to before Lewis returns home and so the timeline isn’t yet set.

“You ok?”

No, she is not ok.

She’s with Mick, heading to the Snart household to get Little Leonard and his mom out. Their Len is with Ray and Amaya, staking out the heist and making sure the police come early, which they will so long as they act on the tip Zari is sending them.

She glares over at Mick, her expression saying for her how she is very much not ok, and then she sets her eyes forward again.

“His mom is pregnant.” She says as they come up on the house, and Mick hums.

“Yeah.” He agrees, “Time keeps on track, Lisa will be here and pissing everyone off in ‘bout a month.”

“That’s not the point.”

She doesn’t look, but she can feel Mick eyeing her. He gives it a minute, until they’re at the front gate made of rotting white-picket-fence, and he sighs as he nudges it open.

“Believe me Blondie, nothing would make me happier than putting that asshole eight feet in the ground, especially before he hurts Lisa. But if we do that her and Snart become different people.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” She mumbles before she can stop herself.

Mick rumbles at the back of his throat and eyes her, but he doesn’t say anything about her choice of words; he knows what she means.

They get up to the front door and he reaches for the knob, but his hand hovers above it, his eyes locked firmly on the door.

“Snart will get his chance.” He says, almost more to himself than to her, before he finally looks at her. “If Lewis shows up here, he made the choice.”

She… She knows he’s right. She still feels sick, and like she isn’t going to be sleeping for a long time after tonight, but he’s right. This is Leonard’s life and his decision. Unless he comes over the comms and tells her otherwise, if Lewis shows up here she won’t kill him; no matter how much she wants to.

Mick opens the door and it creaks open, and right away there’s the sound of movement coming from the kitchen. Its dishes rummaging around, glass, and given the time it’s a safe bet it isn’t a third grade Leonard Snart looking around for a late-night snack.

“I’ll get her.” Mick says, and then nods to the stairs next to them. “You get him.”

She nods; content to let him make the plan this one time, and hurries up the stairs. She doesn’t take enough precaution to keep her footsteps quiet, she wants him to wake up. She does, however, keep them light and quick; because what she doesn’t want is to take the risk he might mistake her for his father.

The upstairs hallway is small, barely five feet long and with two doors on each wall. The first is propped open, a dark bathroom on the inside. The second is closed, but the plush L hanging on it being a soft white color with tiny pink flowers clues her in that it might not be the dwelling of a nine-year-old boy. The next door, however, it has a nameplate with Leonard spelled out on it in crooked stickers and it’s frame is decorated with the images of astronauts and aliens.

She allows herself a tiny smile; letting herself forget for just half a second the reason she is here and instead bask in the peek into Leonard’s childhood.

Then her half-second is over, and with a gentle hand on the knob she turns it and lets herself into the room.

It’s dark, not even the dimmest of nightlights to offer comfort. She wonders, idly, about that. She knows Leonard now prefers to sleep without a hint of light, but she doubts he became that way this young of his own accord.

She decides not to dwell on it, not now anyway. Instead she pads across the room and kneels down next to his bed. His adult self would have heard her by now. He would have opened his eyes; he might even have jumped. But this Leonard is still snoring softly and it breaks her heart that she has to wake him.

“Leo.” She whispers, her hand coming to ghost over his back.

He stiffens, his entire body giving a jolt as is eyes snap open.

“Shh… It’s ok.” She hurries to say. “It’s ok, I know you don’t know me, but I’m a friend of your mom’s. She called me, you guys are going to come with me and my friend for a sleepover.”

God, she hopes little Snart hasn’t been well taught in the art of not getting kidnapped.

He sits up; looking at her in very much the same way her Leonard does when he’s trying to determine where her plan is going to land them.

“Why?”

Her breath hitches as she tries to think of a lie. Except what’s worse is she realizes he’s nine. Leonard has told her Lewis first came after him at the age of eight, and while he didn’t earn himself a permanent scar until eleven, at nine he already knew it was best to avoid daddy when he was angry.

“You’re dad called from work.” She says, watching his eyes for some kind of sign of fear, and she sees it. A flicker, a faint tightening of his body, and it makes her gut twist even more. “Something went wrong tonight, and he’s very angry about it.”

There’s another tightening of his body. His shoulders close in and his eyes flit away from her, and automatically she spreads her fingers out on his back.

“It’s ok.” She promises him, and licks her lips to force herself to continue. “But you’re not safe here.”

He shifts by only the tiniest amount, but it’s towards her, and she needs him to hurry but she doesn’t want to rush him.

“Boss!” Mick’s voice suddenly shouts from downstairs, and Leo jumps where he is. “We gotta move, you coming?”

She looks back to Leo, and she almost wants to call back and see if his mother will yell up that it’s ok, but it’s Mick in charge if getting her. She’s probably unconscious by now.

She dares to put a little more pressure forward with the hand on his back, and he follows it. He lets himself fall into her and wrap his arms around her neck. He’s a little awkward to stand up with and carry, tall enough that he should be walking himself. But she isn’t going to put him down unless she absolutely has to.

.

.

“You didn’t kill him.”

Leonard – her Leonard – looks up at her, and after holding her eyes for a long moment he sighs and puts his partially assembled cold gun on his nightstand.

“Raymond wouldn’t let me.”

She raises her eyebrow, not that he’s looking anymore. His eyes are downcast, his mouth a firm line, and she gives him time but she’s starting to think he isn’t going to elaborate. That’s fine, she can’t expect him to want to share anything. She’s about to bid him goodnight and then go spend the next six to ten hours sharpening her knives and imagine them carving into the flesh of Lewis-

“I couldn’t.”

His words are quiet, so much so that a part of her thinks she might have imagined them. But then he sighs and leans over to the nightstand again, this time picking up his famous deck of cards and beginning to shuffle them mindlessly.

He glances up at her, and she takes the hint and steps into his room and closes the door behind her.

Even so, it’s some time before he speaks.

“I wanted to.” He finally says, “And you know I could’ve gotten through Raymond.”

He finally looks at her with that, waiting for her to acknowledge his attempt at humor, and she gives him a smirk.

Then it’s back to shuffling the cards.

“But… If I had… then I wouldn’t be here would I?”

He brings his eyes back to her, and she looks away.

“No.” She agrees, “You would’ve had a different life.”

A better life, but she doesn’t need to say that.

“No telling what that might have brought.” He acknowledges, “You wipe the memory of little me?”

She nods, “And your mom.”

He nods this time, and gives the cards another shuffle.

“My and Lisa’s childhoods were… awful.” He says, “Not a day goes by I don’t wish things had been different. Getting the chance…”

He trails off, gathering his thoughts, and she’ll give him that. She’ll give him all the time that he needs.

“Lisa’s happy now.” He finally says, “She has Ramon, and all those other idiots. And I…” He swallows, “I have some idiots of my own. Couldn’t risk that.”

She smiles, and she wants to tease him. She wants to taunt that Captain Cold does have a heart and she’ll never tell. Maybe tomorrow she will, but not right now. Right now he has unshed tears in his eyes, and his face is pale. He’s even less likely to sleep tonight than she is.

So she crosses the room and without a word crawls in to sit next to him on his mattress. He scoots enough to give her space, but she still presses right into his side and lays a hand down over his wrist with hardly any weight to it.

“Good.” She finds herself saying, and she runs her fingers up is hand until she dips them between his knuckles. “Because these idiots would be lost without you.”

[mldrgrl]

Safety in Numbers

by: mldrgrl Rating: R Summary: The Hanella in quarantine fic some of you have been waiting so patiently for.

It happens so quickly and it’s shocking, even if she suspected it might happen.  Overnight, everything just stops.  An emergency conference call is held and just like that, she’s teaching in a virtual classroom and toilet paper is suddenly one of her biggest concerns.  And the nightmares come, stealing her sleep and leaving her restless.  It’s only been a week.

Unable to sit still to give a lecture, she creates a station for herself on the butcher’s block in the kitchen area.  If her students only knew the things that had happened on that butcher’s block, but she could say that about nearly every wall and surface of the loft.  They’d probably never imagine she was capable, not in a million years.  She’s heard stories of other classrooms turning this new landscape they were in into entertainment - wearing silly hats, creating silly backgrounds on their screens, wearing pajamas - but not her.  She makes it clear from day one, criminology is a serious study and they are to treat it as such.

She’s just ended a discourse on crime scene containment when Hank emerges from the bedroom.  He hasn’t showered or shaved yet, even though it’s noon and she knows he’s been up writing since before she began her lecture.  His eyes are squinted and his lip is curled up as though he’s just eaten something distasteful.

“What timing,” Stella says, closing the lid of her laptop.

“Yeah, I…”  Hank pauses and rubs the back of his head so that his hair spikes up.  “Uh…”

“Something the matter, Watson?”

“Karen just called me.”

Stella is immediately awash with concern.  “Everything alright?  Is someone ill?”

“I don’t know.  She wants you to call her.  Said she would’ve actually called you herself, but she wasn’t sure of your teaching schedule and didn’t want to interrupt.”  

“I’ll ring her now.  Any idea what it’s about?”

“None.  She assured me no one was dying, but that it was important.  I’ve been climbing the walls in the room waiting until your class was over.”

“Well, you were quite prompt.”  Stella crosses the room to the coffee table where her mobile is charging.  She unplugs it and unlocks the screen.  She pulls up Karen’s contact card and initiates the call.

“Oh good,” Karen answers immediately.  “Hank told you I called.”

“Yes, he’s pacing the room like a caged animal.  Do you mind if I put you on speaker?”

“Please, I want to run something by the both of you, actually.”

“Alright.”  Stella sits down on the sectional sofa and puts the call on speaker.  She holds the phone in her palm and points it towards Hank who’s biting his thumbnail and shuffling back and forth along the other side of the coffee table.

“I’ve been trying to get Becca to come up here once this whole quarantining, shelter-in-place thing started happening.”

“We tried as well,” Stella says.

“I know.  And I totally get that she’s an adult and has her own life and all that, but she finally agreed this morning.”

“That’s wonderful.”  Stella glances up at Hank.  “It’s been a concern for us.”

“Well, what I was thinking is that you guys should come up too.”

“Us?”

“What do you mean?” Hank asks.

“I mean, you should come stay in the guest house.”

“That’s a very generous offer-” Stella starts, but she’s interrupted.

“I’m worried about the two of you as much as Becca,” Karen says.  “Have you been outside at all?  Can you even go outside?”

“Not since Hank’s birthday, actually.”

“See.  You guys can be here and Becca will be here and then we won’t have to worry about you.  Stella, Fish said he’ll set you up in his office for your classes.  He’s turning the garage into a studio anyway and isn’t even using it.”

There was muffled shouting in the background.

“And he says the barbeque is ready,” Karen adds.  Hank rolls his eyes in response.

“I think it’s something we’d need to discuss,” Stella says.  “This isn’t likely to last just days or weeks.  We’re looking at months.  It’s possible travel even between states could be restricted.”

“Exactly,” Karen says.  “That’s even more reason why you should come.  If it gets that bad, you may not be able to get here.”

When, Stella thinks.  Not if.

“When are you picking Becca up?” Hank asks.

“Saturday.  Probably mid-morning.  We can just pop over after that and grab you two before heading back.”

“You’ve certainly given us something to consider,” Stella says.  “We’ll have a chat about it and get back with you.”

“I just really think you guys should be with family, you know?”

It’s that statement that tightens Stella’s chest.  She’s been without a proverbial family for most of her life and still lacks experience with feeling accountable to another person, let alone others.  But, she does feel accountable now and though she’d like to write Karen’s offer off as being a polite, albeit meaningless request, she knows it’s not.

They have a few more minutes of lighter conversation and then they hang up with Stella promising they’ll seriously consider Karen’s offer and get back with her.  There’s a few moments of silence after Stella disconnects the call and she watches Hank.  He’d slumped down on the sofa before they’d hung up and began chewing the inside of his cheek and staring out the window.

“Thoughts?” Stella asks.

“I don’t even know what to fucking think right now.”

“Are you inclined to say no?”

“Are you inclined to say yes?”

“I’m not inclined to say anything until we discuss it.”

“You didn’t think it was weird?”

“No more strange than being invited for weekends, really.  And we’ve certainly done that.”

“So you want to go?”

“I’m merely positing that I don’t believe it was a strange or disingenuous offer.”

“I wonder how she wore Becca down.”

Stella shrugs and then slumps back beside Hank.  “I’m glad she’s going.  It’s a better place for her to be instead of cooped up in her flat all alone.  Or here, really, where privacy would be limited.”

“And what if something does happen, like Karen said?  How would we get there.”

“That may not be an option.”

Just as Stella drops a gentle hand on Hank’s knee, he jumps up from the couch and begins to pace again.  She folds her hands over her lap to give him the time he clearly needs to put together his thoughts.

“I can’t fucking believe I’m living in a world where I have to consider moving in with my ex and the guy she’s shacking up with.”

“And your wife.”

“I mean ‘I’ like the royal ‘we.’  There is no ‘I,’ there’s only we.  Us.  Whatever.  You know what I fucking mean.”

“So then we’ll not consider it.  It sounds as though you’ve made up your mind about it already anyway.”

“Feel free to chime in with your thoughts at any time.”  He puts his hands together as if in prayer and bows towards her slightly.  “This feels like a rather one-sided discussion.”

“I could think of dozens of reasons to stay, but weigh that against one very good reason to go and, well...”

“Becca?” Hank asks.

“I know what it’s meant to you growing closer to her since we’ve been back.  It’s actually meant something to me as well.  And, I think I have an idea of what it might be like for you to go from seeing her so often to not at all, with no idea when the next time may be.”

Hank puts his hands to his face and pulls his skin down as he rubs at his cheeks and forehead.  

“What has your knickers all in a twist over this, Watson?” she asks.  “It’s only an offer and we can respectfully decline.”

“I don’t know.”  He shakes his head and drops his hands.  “I just...Karen and I were together for a long time and we’ve been through a lot of shit together.  I love her, but there are times...I suddenly remember how much I fucking resent her and the chain events she started.  And I realize that might sound like...I mean, it doesn’t account for the actual contentment and happiness I have at this time in my life.  I just can’t fucking forget sometimes.  It’s easier to do that when we’re apart.”

Stella is not a coddler by nature.  Offering comfort isn’t something that comes naturally or easy for her, but there are times when the inclination to soothe comes over her.  She stands and takes the few steps necessary to reach Hank.  First she takes him by the hips and then slides her hands up to his chest and then over his shoulders to link her fingers behind his neck.

“Are you thinking you’re sorry you married such a pussyass bitch?” Hank asks.

“Strange as it sounds, I was actually thinking about how much I love you,” she answers.  

“Stop it, Sherlock, you’ll make me cry.”

She pinches his nape lightly.  “Don’t be such a pussyass bitch.”

“And suddenly I’m very turned on.”

“You’re always turned on.”

“Pot.  Kettle.  Black.”

She shrugs.  “I’m not going to give Karen an answer until tomorrow.  I want you to think very hard about what you want to do because it’s not something we can change our minds on.”

“Do you want to go, Sherlock?”

“I told you, I can think of one very good reason to go and many reasons not to.”

“Yeah, that’s what you said, but I feel like that’s an ambiguous answer.  Do you want to go?”

Stella loosens her fingers at Hank’s neck and let’s her hands slide back to his shoulders.  She isn’t quite sure how to express the depth of the anxiety she feels about the situation to Hank or how hard she’s fought to suppress it.  The pages of her dream journal are rapidly being filled though.

“I think,” she says.  “For once, I might like to escape from danger instead of staring down the barrel at it.”

*****

They have one more discussion about Karen’s offer and though Hank still seems torn about what to do, he tells Stella he thinks they should go and asks if she’ll call Karen.  Before she can even grab her phone, he goes up to the roof and so she places the call by herself.  Karen is thrilled.  Stella can feel her elation through the phone, if that’s possible.

“This is so great,” Karen says.  “Bring whatever you need and even if you forget something, I’m sure we’ll have it.  Or we can get it.  You don’t have to worry about anything.  You know, honestly, I expected to have to sell you guys even harder than I did Becca.  I’m so relieved.”

“How did you manage to convince Becca to come up and stay?  She seemed very adamant about remaining on her own when we spoke with her.”

“I think I opened her eyes a little to how isolated she might be.  I also may have shamelessly reminded her that the pool was heated and all her meals and laundry would be taken care of, which was going to be my next tactic with you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that.  Well…”  Stella hesitates for a moment.  “Actually, I feel I should warn you that I’m rubbish in the kitchen.  We always order out.”

Karen laughs.  “Well, then you’re coming to the right place, honey.  I love to cook, and it’s way more fun when it’s for more than two.  Or three.”

“My fear is that you’ll tire of us.  I don’t want to be an added burden in any way.”

“Hank, maybe.  You, never.”  Karen laughs again.  “And, honestly, if Hank and I start to piss each other off, it never lasts long.”

“His fear is that the two of you might quarrel.”

“He does get on my last fucking nerve sometimes, but it’s been a really long time since we’ve sworn we’d hate each other for the rest of our lives.  A lot has changed since then.  For the better, obviously.”

“You sound quite certain.”

“The only thing I’m certain of is that if we haven’t killed each other by now, we probably won’t.”

“I do suppose the odds are favorable in that respect.”

“Listen, I want you guys here, I really do.  Maybe I’m being silly or overreacting to this, but I think if we can be together during this, we should.  I think we’ve talked about this a little before, but Hank and Becca, they just function better when they remain in each other’s orbit.”

“Yes, I agree.”

“So, I think this is really in the best interest of all of us to do this.  I know what I’m like when I’m crazy worried about Becca and I know what Hank is like.  But, then it’s you and Fish that have to suffer for it.”

“Well, I wouldn’t call it suffering.”

“But, you know what I mean.”

“I’ve never been a parent-”

“Bull shit, Stella.”

“Pardon?”

“That’s bull shit.  You might have come around later in her life, but you’re a Mom to Becca.  Don’t worry, I’m not one of those women who can’t deal with the idea of their kid having an extra parent.  I only wish you would’ve been here sooner.”

Stella blinks, stunned into a sudden silence.  Her throat tightens a little and her nose stings with the onset of tears, but she swallows them back and takes a calming breath.

“I was going to say that I’ve never been a parent, but having had Becca in my life for these past few years, I can understand the inclination to want to protect and prioritize one’s child.”

“I know you understand.  That’s why we’re all so lucky to have you.”

“Thank you for that, I…”  Stella stops and pinches away the burning sense of emotion between her brows.  “I feel as though I’m the lucky one.”

“Let’s call it mutual.”

“We can do that.”

“And honestly, one of the selling points for getting Becca to come up was that I told her I’d have the two of you on board as well.  You can’t make a liar of me.”

“No, I suppose we can’t.”

“Okay, so we’ll see you guys on Saturday.  I’ll call when we’re leaving Becca’s.  Everything will be perfectly fine, I promise.”

“Alright.  We’ll see you soon.”

Stella hangs up the phone and then sits quietly for a few minutes before she goes up to the roof to find Hank.  The sun has gone down and grey twilight has set in.  Though it was an unusually warm day, it’s gone a bit chilly.  She pulls her thin silk robe a little tighter and crosses her arms over each other for warmth.  Hank is reclining in one of the lounge chairs, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Did you tell Karen the happy news?” he asks.

“I did.  She was very pleased.”

“Mm.”

“I don’t think there will be anything to worry about.”

“No?”

“No.”  Stella straddles Hank’s lap over the lounge chair and sits on his thighs.  He puts one hand on her hip and takes a sip of his whiskey.

“The world is so fucking weird right now,” he says.  “I don’t know how to comprehend it.”

“No one does, I’m sure.”

“Even you, Sherlock?”

“Even me.”

He tips his head back to look at her and brushes the hem of her robe aside to slide his hand up the outside of her thigh.  They gaze at each other for a long while, he rubbing the top of her thigh and she plucking mindlessly at the black t-shirt covering his chest.  Her robe slips down her shoulder a little and he reaches up as though he’s going to slide it back in place, but instead he caresses the back of her arm and pets the strap of her tank top with the back of his hand.  Eventually, he sets his whiskey glass down on the little table next to the lounge and unties the knot holding her robe closed.

“Still fantasize about fucking on the roof?” he asks.

“It was never a fantasy, just a fleeting thought.”

“Is it crossing your mind right now?”

“It might be.”

“It’s definitely crossing mine.”

“I can tell.”  

She reaches down to cup the rigid bulge straining the fly of his jeans.  He grunts slightly and rubs the strip of skin showing below her navel with his thumb, between the loose edge of her tank top and lace edge of her panties.  Her skin becomes rippled with gooseflesh.  Within seconds, she’s swollen and pulses with arousal.  

Deftly, Stella pushes the buttons free along the fly of Hank’s jeans, from top to bottom.  He adjusts his hips as she brings him out into the closed heat of her fist.  It doesn’t take but a few strokes and strategic swirls of her thumb to have him panting and groaning under her.  

“Quiet,” she whispers, leaning close enough so she can flick her tongue out and catch his bottom lip.

“Make me,” he murmurs.  

She strokes him a little harder and then stops to raise up onto her knees.  Still gripping him tightly, she hooks her panties to the side and sinks down in one swift motion.  If he misses any extended foreplay, he doesn’t show it.  It’s a shut up and fuck me moment for her where all she wants and needs is his cock inside of her at just the right angle and she can handle the rest.  And he knows her well enough by now to know when to lay back and enjoy the ride.  She’ll make it up to him later by letting him fondle her in the shower, perhaps surprising him by requesting he wash her back, and then her front.  

For the most part, Hank just holds onto the flare of Stella’s hips and lets her set the pace.  She grips his shoulders and uses them for leverage to lift up, to arch her back, to roll her pelvis forward, and then to relax her thighs and do it all again.  They both know, from time and experience, just how quick and effective this particular move is for both of them.

“So fucking good,” he purrs.  He reaches up and grips Stella’s hair at the back of her head and pulls her down for a brief, but deep kiss.  She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip before she pulls away.  He licks the sting of it away.

When his little grunts of pleasure and encouragement grow too loud, she slaps her hand over his mouth and slips two fingers inside.  He bites down lightly and slips his tongue along the seam between her fingers, and she burns just a little more painfully with desire for him.

“Come on,” she says, slipping her hand down from his shoulder to root out his nipple over his shirt.  When she finds the taut little pebble, she gives it a tweak between her thumb and forefinger, grinding her pubic bone down against his as she does.  

Hank gives a muffled cry from under her hand and his hips jerk up.  The muscles in his neck strain when she does it again and his fingers dig roughly into her ass as he holds her in place.  She squeezes him boneless and moves his hand out of the way as he tries to help bring her over the edge to do it herself.  When the tension finally breaks and she splits apart with a terrible tremble, she gives a long moan of relief and then slowly brings herself down to rest against Hank’s chest.  He puts his arms around her and his chin on her shoulder.

“You’re all that makes sense to me right now, Sherlock” he says.

She doesn’t answer, but she finds the spot on the left side of his chest where she can feel his heart beating and presses her lips to it.

******

Saturday afternoon, they’re packed and ready.  Stella took the lead on preparation, experienced in planning for extended time away from home.  Becca and Karen’s arrival is awkward as no one quite knows what the protocol is for both reuniting and remaining distant at the same time.  They’ve talked about keeping cautious for the first week or so and keeping masks and gloves on for safety.

The ride up to Connecticut is gloomy.  It’s drizzled off and on for a few days and today it finally culminates into a steady downpour.  No one knows quite what to say, and even Hank, who normally can’t tolerate silence, doesn’t say much.  When they arrive, they take their bags out to the guesthouse which has been transformed once again with a nautical theme.  The last time they were there, at Christmas, it had a distinctly rustic flare.

“I’m seasick just looking at it,” Hank says, pulling his mask free from his ears.  “I might vomit.”

“The accent wall is a lovely shade of blue.”

“Tell me again we made the right choice.”

“We made the right choice.”

“And this will all work out.”

“It’s going to work out.”

“I’m the best sex you’ve ever had, none can compare.”

“I’m the best sex you’ve ever had,” she parrots.  “None can compare.”

“Smartass.”

“You walked right into that one.”

******

The first week feels endless and strange.  Stella has to utilize the upstairs office in the main house for her lectures and they all gather for dinners outside on the patio, but conversation is stilted and there is tension in the air.

It’s quickly apparent that the situation has brought underlying anxieties to the surface.  Stella’s strange dreams start to bring on episodes of sleep paralysis, something she hasn’t dealt with in some years.  Hank also seems to cling to her more tightly and for longer periods of time when they go to bed.  He doesn’t even try to initiate sex, prefering to hold her than fuck her.  It would bother her, but she also discovers something about herself that gives her pause and makes her re-evaluate her stance on cuddling: when faced with the reality that she is now in the same room on a daily basis as the people she loves most in the world, but is simply not able to embrace them, the ache it brings puts the importance of touch into perspective.  And if she’s feeling this way, she knows it’s exponentially worse for Hank.

Her birthday approaches and she asks Hank to please not mention it, to please make sure it comes and goes without acknowledgment.  Aside from waking that morning with Hank’s face between her thighs and the double chocolate brownies that are served after dinner, it passes unnoticed.  She’s grateful for that.

As the second week comes to a close, everyone seems to exhale and begin to relax.  The turning point seems to come when Fish unexpectedly asks Hank to come and have a look at the studio he’s been working on.  With Hank occupied, Stella asks Karen if she could help in the kitchen.

“You’ll have to instruct me on what to do,” Stella says.  “And don’t assume I know the difference between dicing and chopping.”

“Lesson one,” Karen answers.  “We start with a glass of wine.”

Thus begins the evening cooking lessons.  Becca joins in when she discovers what they’re doing and the three of them spend those few hours a day drinking and laughing while also trying to give Stella a handle on the basics of simple meal preparation.

“What’s your favorite meal?” Karen asks Stella one evening.  They’ve gathered around the kitchen island, making lists of recipes to try.  Karen is looking everything up on her phone, elbows on the counter.  “Something you love,” she adds.  “But that you wouldn’t think you could make for yourself?”

“Oh, that’s a rather difficult question,” Stella answers, but gives it some thought, sipping her glass of wine.  “It isn’t really a meal, but I do miss the Cornish pasties I used to get from time to time at a shop back in London.”

“Mmhm.”  Karen taps Cornish pasties recipes into Google while Becca looks over her shoulder.

“They look like empanadas,” Becca says.  “Wait, go back, there’s a vegetarian one too.”

“We could totally do these.  Put skirt steak, leeks, and rutabaga on the list.  We’ve got enough onions.  And potatoes.  Check to see if there are any carrots left.”

“How did you first learn to cook?” Stella asks.

“Oh, I don’t know, I was studying all the time and stuck at home with this one,” Karen answers, pointing her thumb back at Becca.  “Hank would be at his typewriter and the noise of it would make me insane so I’d put some music on and look at recipes I’d torn out of pages from magazines.  Not because I cared much about what it was, but because I liked the pictures of them.”

“You were trying to design food when you couldn’t design interiors.”

“Yeah, pretty much.  And then I just decided to actually try some of them.”

“She makes the best spinach ravioli,” Becca says.  “I went through a phase where I would only eat Italian food when I was little.”

“Must be because of the garlic,” Stella adds.

“I do love garlic.”

“I know, your dad told me the story of it once.”

“What story?”

“How you were ill one night as a toddler.”

“I don’t know this story.”  Becca looks from Karen to Stella and then back to Karen again.  “Mom?”

Karen looks slightly confused.  “Yeah, I don’t...I’m not sure what story that is.”

“I’m not going to have all the finer details,” Stella starts, suddenly feeling rather embarrassed for having knowledge of an event that Karen and Becca seem unaware of.  “Your dad was telling me once that he’d been genuinely terrified one night when you were a toddler and you’d had a rather high fever.  A neighbor woman, someone in the building you lived in with many children, came up and used some oils on you, one of which had a strong odor of garlic.”

“Holy shit,” Karen says.  “Yeah, that’s...yeah I do remember that.  Kind of.  Oh god, what was her name.  Melanie, or something close to that.  She used to call Becca ‘Pretty Baby’ all the time.”

“I don’t remember this lady,” Becca says.

“You were really little,” Karen says.  “She also moved out of the building by the time you were two.  But, yeah, she put all this oil on you and this little t-shirt and socks.  It smelled terrible, but it did the trick.  And holy fuck, did you smelled like garlic for a full week.”

“I wonder where she is now.”

“That was always the thing about New York.  People were there one day and then they weren’t.”

This subdues the trio for a few moments.  The current reality is that there are a lot of people who have been there one day and then not there the next, and not just in New York, but everywhere.

“And perhaps that’s why you love garlic,” Stella says softly, finally, breaking the silence that followed.

“Interesting.”  Becca contemplates her glass of wine and drums her fingers against the kitchen counter for a few moments.  “I have some writing to do.”

Karen leans forward and stretches her arms across the kitchen island after Becca leaves and covers one of Stella’s hands with both of hers.  “I love that you know that story,” she says.

“It’s something we used to do back when we were still long-distance.  Tell stories.  Mostly Hank, though.  I’m sure you’re aware that he has a need to fill any silence.”

“That’s an understatement.”  Karen laughs.

“Indeed.”

“Oh god, can you imagine if this had happened while you were still doing long-distance?  Or even when you guys were still in London.”

“No, I really can’t.  It would be…”  Stella can’t even think of a word that’s fitting.  Difficult.  Strange.  Unfathomable.  The thought of it actually makes her feel a bit anxious.  Karen nods and squeezes her hand.

Fish and Hank suddenly emerge from the studio and stroll into the kitchen.  Fish stands just behind Karen and squeezes her hips.  Stella reaches out and takes Hank’s hand in hers and brings his arms around her.

“So, what do you ladies have up your sleeve for tonight?” Fish asks.

“Salads and a cold pasta tonight,” Karen answers.  “We’re going to get experimental next week.”

“I like experiments.  I’ll be whipping up some more marinade tonight for the steaks this weekend.  Where’s Beckster?”

“She wanted to do some writing.”

“I can learn a thing or two about discipline from her,” Hank says.  “That’s exactly what I need to be doing.”

“Go on,” Stella says, patting his arms.  “I’ll let you know when dinner is ready.”

Hank kisses the side of Stella’s neck before he leaves.  Karen starts to pull items out of the refrigerator as Fish comes up next to Stella and leans against the kitchen island.

“Your hubs been telling you about his guitar lessons?” Fish asks.

“You’ve been giving him lessons?”

“Refreshing what he already knows.  He’s been helping me teach my group.”

“Has he?”

“He’s gonna duet with one of my kids for the concert comin’ up.”

“Are you still holding that?” Karen asks, lining up mixing bowls along the counter.  “How can you?”

“We’re gonna Zoom it.  That’s how they’re all doing their school now anyway.”

“That’s how I’m doing my lectures as well,” Stella says.

“Well, you ladies are of course invited.  It’s on Saturday, in two weeks.”

“I’ll have to check my calendar,” Karen answers.  “So many places to go right now.  So many plans.”

“Hah!”  Fish comes around to the other side of the island and pinches Karen on the side before giving her a bear hug from behind.  “Funny lady.”

Later that night, after they’ve had dinner and Stella and Hank are lying in bed, she turns to face him and he plays with the strap of her tank top, running his finger over her shoulder to the top of her breast and back.

“I hear you’re playing in a concert in a few weeks,” she says.

“Yeah.  The Trout roped me into that before I knew what was happening.  He’s got me plucking out Blackbird with some 12-year-old.  Supposed to be a confidence booster or something.”

“For you or the kid?”

“He didn’t specify.”  Hank leans over and bites the top of Stella’s shoulder lightly and then rubs the spot with his thumb while he places kisses across her chest to her throat.

“Mm,” she answers.

“Actually,” he says, and pulls away.  “I didn’t know this, but The Trout is like, a gazillionaire.”

“I presumed he was fairly wealthy from his family history.”

“Yeah, but no.  He actually made a shit ton of money on investments after designing some landmark building and so he retired and now he doesn’t have to do anything and his money just makes more money.”

“Why did he retire though?”

“He didn’t like being an architect and just went with the flow of the family business, but he wanted to be a musician.  So he quit and all the lessons he does now, he does it for free with this community program.”

“That’s lovely.”

“I know.  When this whole shitshow started, he actually made sure all the kids he taught for had iPads so they could continue their lessons.  And then because he wants them to still have their spring concert, he’s making sure all their extended families that were going to attend have iPads to watch it.”

“He has a generous soul.”

Hank flops onto his back and blows out a sigh.  “And we’re just sitting here doing fucking nothing.”

“What we’re doing is equally important.”

“What are we doing?”

“Not going out and risking exposure.  For ourselves and for others.”

“It feels like nothing.  Just sitting, doing fuck-all.”

“What would you rather be doing?”

“I have no idea.  I’m barely qualified to exist.”

Stella scoots closer to Hank and drapes her arm over his chest and her leg over his thigh.  He tips his head towards hers and holds onto her wrist as he falls asleep.

*****

In the middle of the third week, Stella is taking attendance at the top of her lecture, as she always does.  She makes note of a student’s absence and starts in on the chapter outline.  At the end of class, she does another attendance check.

“Mr. Diaz, would you please indicate your presence if you’re at today’s lecture.”

A moment of silence passes and then another student’s window comes into her screen.  “Hector tested positive, Professor,” the student tells her.  “He’s in the hospital.”

In her years of training, Stella has conditioned herself to remain emotionally neutral in all varieties of situations.  However, she is out of practice.  She blinks once and then nods slightly, but feels her chin begin to wobble.

“Thank you for telling me,” she says, and pauses for a moment to keep her breathing steady.  “Please be sure to complete the chapter exam prior to Friday’s lecture.  We’ll be starting on new material next week.”

She signs out of her lecture platform to a chorus of ‘yes, Professor.’  After closing her laptop, she places her hands on the lid and breathes deeply.  It’s just like the conversation they were having the other day.  Someone is there one day, and gone the next.  

When she comes downstairs, she finds Hank, Becca, and Fish in the sitting room, tuning guitars.  They’re smiling and laughing about something.  She turns to take the long way around to the side door so they don’t notice her, but runs into Karen in the front room, who asks her to form an opinion on some fabric samples.  She obliges her and then excuses herself under the pretense of needing to review assignments.  

Later in the evening, she musters the enthusiasm to assist Karen and Becca in preparing kebabs for Fish to grill, feigns engagement in the discussion about a Netflix documentary over dinner, helps with the nightly emptying and filling of the dishwasher, and begs off a dessert of sliced fruit to go to bed early.  No one questions her, but she can see the concern on Hank’s face as he looks up at her and kisses the inside of her wrist as she’s leaving.  Karen, too, seems to know that something is amiss, but doesn’t say anything.

Deep into the night, she’s not sure what time it is, but she wakes with Hank breathing hotly against her shoulder.  The ceiling is shimmering with silver light and she has to rub her eyes to see clearly.  She hears a noise, like the soft paddling of a boat on a river.  Carefully, she extricates herself from Hank’s arms and out of bed.  She steps outside and takes the extra time to silently close the door behind her.

The kitchen in the main house is dimly lit with the muted glow of the overhead light above the stove.  She moves towards it almost like a beacon, but stops when she hears the paddling once again and then a soft splash.  Stella blinks into the darkness and is able to make out the silhouette of someone in the pool.

“Karen?” she whispers.

“Oh shit,” Karen whispers back.  “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I...no.”  Stella steps cautiously towards the pool.  Her eyes are adjusting more to the darkness and she can make out the dark shape of Karen swimming towards her from the opposite side.  She reaches the edge just as Karen does.

“You should come in.”

“I’m not sure where I put my swimsuit.  I’d probably wake Hank trying to find it.”

Karen laughs quietly.  “Who needs a swimsuit?”

“I’ve never skinny dipped before.”

“It’s fantastic.  Especially after midnight.”

“Is that why you’re out here at this hour?”

“Sort of a habit of mine if I can’t sleep.”

“Why can’t you sleep?”

“If I knew, I’d probably be able to sleep.”  Karen suddenly dunks her head underwater and then comes back up and clears the water from her face.  “Come in.  I always bring extra towels down, so don’t worry about that.”

“Alright.”

Stella considers the available options of entering the pool.  She decides to use the stairs in the shallow end and leave her nightclothes on one of the deck chairs nearby.  She undresses with her back to the pool, but doesn’t hesitate to turn around and descend the steps.  Initially bracing herself for a sudden chill, she’s pleasantly surprised that even though she knows it’s heated, it’s still warmer than she was expecting.

As she wades in further, past her knees, past her hips, up to her shoulders, she’s amazed at how different and exhilarating it feels to slip through the water completely bare.  She had no idea the absence of a swimsuit would make such a difference.  Towards the deeper end of the pool, Karen floats silently on her back and Stella glides closer.

“You’re right,” Stella says.  “It is fantastic.”

“Mmhm.”

Doing a half-turn, Stella lays her head back and pulls her legs up before natural buoyancy takes over and she relaxes, floating next to Karen, but in the opposite direction.  There is no moon that she can see, but the longer she stares up into the sky, the more stars appear.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Karen says.  “But, you didn’t seem like yourself at dinner.  Everything okay?”

Stella could easily lie and tell her everything is fine, but even the thought of it feels wrong to her and she doesn’t want to risk putting up walls between herself and Karen.  Not when all she needs to do is share such a small piece of herself.

“No, it isn’t,” Stella says.  “I had a student that was absent from my lecture this afternoon and found out at the end of class that he had tested positive and is in hospital.”

“Oh, shit.”

“I don’t know what the proper thing to do is.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve been thinking over it all evening.  I’ve been...reflecting on certain experiences in my life.  One in particular, which was quite challenging.”

Stella doesn’t realize she’s drifted so far until she bumps the side of the pool.  She pushes lightly away until she’s back to center.

“What was it?” Karen asks.  “Or, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”

“One of the last cases I worked as an active investigator was a serial rapist and murderer.  It was extremely taxing for a variety of reasons, but when we had the suspect in custody, he managed to overpower one of the guards and attack me during an interrogation.”

“Jesus!”

“It was vicious and brutal and to put it bluntly, I was severely beaten.”

“Oh my god, Stella.”  Karen finds Stella’s hand in the water and holds it tightly.

“I’m quite alright.  It was many years ago now.”  Stella gives Karen’s hand a reassuring squeeze, but Karen doesn’t let go.

“I had no idea.”

“It’s alright.  The reason it’s been on my mind is because whilst in hospital being treated after the incident, I had a very kind doctor who sat with me because he didn’t like the idea that I was alone.  It occurred to him, but it did not occur to me, that I might need someone.  I had no close friends, no family, no relationship to speak of because I could not and would not let anyone close to me.”

Karen let’s go of Stella’s hand.  The water ripples around them as Karen comes out of her float and treads water beside her.  Stella also comes out of her float and begins to tread water.

“How did you get from there to here?” Karen asks.  

“I’m a work in progress.  Do you know that it took me years just to be able to hold Hank’s hand in public?”

“No, I didn’t.”

Stella breathes deeply and lifts her left hand out of the water to flex her fingers.  Her wedding ring twinkles softly.  “I called Hank, actually,” she says.  “After the case was closed and I returned home, just a few days after being released from the hospital.  I called him.  I didn’t tell him what had happened, I only asked him if he would come to London to see me and he came straight away.”

“That certainly sounds like Hank.”

“We had only met twice before that.  And both times...to be perfectly frank, our only connection was sex.  I asked him to come to London knowing full well there was a strong possibility he would be angry with me for luring him out under false pretenses.”

“I’m guessing he didn’t do that.  And not just because you guys are where you are today, but because I know Hank.”

“I didn’t know him.  Not at that time.  I only knew that I did not want to be alone and he was the only person I could think of that might not judge me for it.”

“Do you know, that’s something that used to piss me off so much about him?  I always felt like he was such a selfish prick because he would drop everything for anyone at any time, no questions asked, regardless of how I felt about it.  But, really, I was the selfish prick because what I really wanted was for his full attention and to make me his only priority.”

“I had to learn how to bth be a priority and to prioritize someone else into my life.”

“The funny thing is, even when I was his only priority, I still wasn’t happy.”  Karen shakes her head suddenly and then dunks herself underwater.  She comes back up, slicking her hair back.  “Let’s come over to where we can stand.  My arms are getting tired.”

Stella follows Karen towards the shallow end of the pool.  Where Karen can stand with the tops of her shoulders exposed, Stella is still chin deep and moves back just a bit.

“Back to your story,” Karen says.  “I don’t think you were finished.”

“It’s just that what we’ve seen, what we’ve read, I know that those that have fallen ill and are in hospital are alone.  And not by choice.  There is no option to have a loved one sit by.”

“It fucking sucks.  I don’t even like the thought of it.”

“I know.  But, it makes me think back on the training I went through and how it was instilled in me to be calm, rational, to think critically, to compartmentalize my emotions to be able to do the job.”

“You were a really fucking good detective, weren’t you?  Hank said you were.”

“I was.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Yes.  And no.  When I began teaching, I saw it as an opportunity to mold my students into the kind of detective that I was.  I think I may also be guiding them towards the same mistakes.”

“What mistakes?”

“It took me a very long time to learn compassion and empathy, and how to use it appropriately.”

“Is that something that can really be learned?”

“I think so.  I told my students at the start of all of this, we were going to proceed as though nothing has changed.  That this would be a lesson in adaptation to swiftly changing circumstances.”

“And now you’ve changed your mind.”

“I should have stopped to consider the effect this might have on their mental health.  Stressed the importance of self-care.  All I’ve wanted is to prepare them in the way that I was, but I should also be preparing them in the ways that I wasn’t.”

“What do you think you should do?  To prepare them?”

“I don’t know.  What do you think I should do?”

“Maybe just ask them how they’re doing.”

“I thought of that, but in my head it sounds so very superficial.  When I thought about the student that’s ill, it occurred to me that I don’t know anything about him.  Any of them.  I don’t know why they’re in my class except that it’s a required course in the criminal justice curriculum.  I don’t know where they are now or who they’re with or even if they’re alone.  They’re all so much younger than Becca.  I’m...worried for them.”

“I think you’ve got the hang of the compassion thing pretty well.”

“I think I preferred being emotionally stunted.”

“No, you didn’t.”  Karen chuckles a little and then tips her head back.  She slips easily into another float.

Stella pinches her nose and takes a deep breath.  She dunks herself and stays under the surface of the water for as long as she can hold her breath and then rises slowly.  She goes under again, this time doing a front stroke, gliding as far as she can before twisting while still underwater and coming up to her back.  She grows drowsy as she floats somewhere in the middle of the pool, under the stars.  She can finally see the half-moon, cresting high to the east.

“I’m pruning,” Karen says after what feels like hours.  

Stella is slow to follow, only just coming out of her float as Karen is taking the steps up out of the pool, moonlight glowing off her hair and shoulders.  Stella glides to the shallow end, accepting a large, soft towel from Karen even before she’s half-way out.

“Let me know if you ever feel like a midnight swim again,” Karen says.  “It was nice to have someone else with me.”

“Fish never comes down with you?”

“How’s this for irony, Fish doesn’t know how to swim.”

“Oh.”  Stella laughs lightly.  “That is...unexpected.”

“He does come down sometimes though.  Sits on the edge and gets his feet wet.”

“Well, if you’re feeling the need as well and want someone to join you, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“Sleep well.”

“Good night.”

Stella retrieves her nightclothes and heads back to the guest house.  She enters as quietly as she left and tosses her clothes off somewhere in the dark.  It isn’t quietly enough though, and Hank shifts in bed.

“Stella?” he murmurs.

“Go back to sleep,” she says.  She towel-dries her hair and hangs the damp towel up on the hook in the bathroom before she heads to bed.  When she slips under the sheets, Hank rolls towards her and drapes a heavy arm over her.

“Your hair is wet,” he mumbles against the back of her shoulder.  “And you smell like chlorine.”

“I went for a swim.”

“Mm.”  He grunts a little and his hand makes a path from her hip to the back of her thigh.  “You’re not wearing anything, Sherlock.”

“No.  I didn’t know where my suit was and I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Are you saying you went skinny dipping?  Without me?”

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“If nudity is involved, you should always wake me.”

“It was rather spontaneous.  Karen was-”

“Karen?”  Hank picks his head up and peers over her shoulder at her.  “You and Karen were out there skinny dipping?”

“Is that a problem?”

“No.  No, no.  Nope.  Not a problem.  There are a lot of thoughts running through my mind right now and none of them are a problem.”

“Don’t get any ideas.”

“Well, too late for that.  My ideas even have ideas.”  He pushes his hips lazily into hers and rubs her hip.

“We had a nice swim and a chat.”

“What about?”

“A student of mine tested positive.  He’s in hospital.”

“Fuck.  Really?”

“Yes.”

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

“I don’t know.”

He snuggles closer to her and sighs.  She pats his arm for him to ease his grip on her and then shifts onto her back.  He rolls over as well and they lay in the dark on their backs, similar to how she had just been floating in the pool with Karen.  She reaches blindly for his hand and twines her fingers into his.

“Thank you,” she says.

“For what?”

“The second life you’ve given me.”

“Same.”

She turns and curls towards him, too tired to keep her eyes open any longer.

*****

The pasties don’t turn out quite like how they’re supposed to, but they make her feel nostalgic.  She ends up sharing a few anecdotes from her childhood over dinner that she hasn’t thought about in years.  Then Fish tells a few tales, then Karen, then Hank, and then Becca.  It feels normal and like for a few short hours, the problems of the world fade away.  It gives her an idea.

At Friday’s lecture, instead of wearing work attire, Stella dresses in more casual clothes: a white linen button-down tunic with the sleeves rolled up her forearms to the elbows, and jeans.  She doesn’t curl her hair, merely clips it back out of her face, and doesn’t wear any make-up.

“Good morning,” she starts.  “We’ll begin momentarily, but first I would like you all to know that I believe I was wrong when I told you that we should proceed with this course as though nothing has changed.  We are all living through an unprecedented time that is characterized by fear and uncertainty.  You may be feeling anxious or overwhelmed right now.  You may not even understand how you feel.

“What I would like you to know is that your emotional and mental well-being is just as important as your training.  There isn’t enough schooling in the world that’s going to fully prepare you for what it’s like, emotionally, when you walk into your first crime scene, or speak with someone who’s just been through a trauma, or have to face the mother, father, husband, wife, children of someone who was the unfortunate victim of a homicide.  Or what it does to you after many years.

“We need to be mindful, I think.  More mindful now, more than ever.  If you are struggling in any way, I would like to know.  And I don’t mean just with the course, I mean in any way.  I will help you.”

Stella stops and assesses the gallery of students on the screen.  There is silence in the classroom.  No notifications for messages.  Someone unmutes themselves to give a brief ‘thank you, Professor,’ and others follow.

“In lieu of starting our next chapter on Monday, when we resume after the weekend, the assignment I am giving to you is to think of the place you would most like to be right now.  Any place at all.  Change your background for the day into that place.  For the hour and a half we convene that morning, I want to hear from all of you why you’ve chosen that particular place.”

“Will you be changing your background too, Professor?” one of the students asks.

“Yes.”  She pauses again to glance through the gallery.  “The last thing I’d like to request before we begin the lecture is that you keep Mr. Diaz in your thoughts.  If anyone has any updates on his condition, please share them with me as well.”

Over the weekend, two students will email Stella with the anxieties they’ve been experiencing and one reaches out to tell her that Hector Diaz has been put on a ventilator.

*****

At dinner that night, over lemon herb chicken and grilled asparagus, Stella tells them her plans for Monday’s class.

“Where you gonna pick?” Fish asks.

“I’ve been trying to come up with the answer to that question all day,” she answers.

“Does it have to be somewhere you want to go or somewhere you’ve already been?” Becca asks.

“Any place.  No restrictions.”

“I’ve always wanted to go to Morocco,” Karen says.

“I really liked Japan,” Becca muses, stabbing at a spear of asparagus.  “I think I would go back there.”

“Bora Bora,” Hank answers, reaching under the table to slide his hand over Stella’s knee.  “Hands down, favorite vacation ever.”

“Oh?” she says.  “Not Switzerland?”

He chuckles and gives her knee a shake as he shakes his head.

“Karebear, soon’s this is over and things open up, we’ll go to Morocco.”

“Where would you go, Fish?” Stella asks.

“I like it here.”

“That’s cheating,” Hank says, ratting the ice cubes in his whiskey glass.  “You have to name another place.”

“Why?  I got my BBQ and I’m surrounded by beautiful ladies, not to mention your ugly mug.  Why’d I wanna go any place else?

”He has a point,” Stella answers, leaning into Hank’s side.  He pinches her knee and she slaps his hand in retaliation.

“I also want to go to Greece,” Becca says.

“Greece is lovely,” Stella tells her.  “Definitely go when you get a chance.”

They move on to another topic, but Stella continues to ponder where she’d choose to be, if she could be anywhere.  The sun is setting as they clear the dishes and it reminds her of her wedding day at the clearing behind the woods.  She pauses in rinsing plates and stares out the kitchen window.

Becca waves a hand in front of Stella’s face, breaking the light trance she finds herself in.  She blinks and hands Becca the plate to load into the dishwasher.  “Sorry,” she says.

“You totally zoned out there for a minute,” Becca says.

“The spot through the woods where your father and I were married, do you know the way there?”

“Sure.  It’s down the back path.”

“Can we go there?  Right now?”

“Yeah.”

They leave the rest of the dishes in the sink.  Karen is wiping down the table and Becca calls to her that they’ll be right back to finish up.  Stella follows Becca down the path away from the guest house.  The woods are more lush and overgrown than they had been in the fall of her wedding.  They step carefully so as not to trip over tree roots that have come unearthed, but finally they come out of it onto the other side and it’s just as she remembers it.

The sun is still above the treetops and the sky is a myriad of pastel shades of blue and pink and purple.  She steps onto the manicured lawn and pulls her phone out of her pocket.  She takes her time setting up the shot that she wants and then snaps a few photos.  Becca stands beside her and after a few moments, lays her head on Stella’s shoulder.  They stand quietly and watch the sun go down.

“I’m really glad you guys decided to come up and stay,” Becca says.  

“I am as well.”  Stella puts her phone in her pocket and links her arm with Becca’s.

“I thought I’d be cool being alone.  I like being alone.  And then after a week of it I was already...I guess I don’t like being alone as much as I thought I did.  I like to be by myself, but with other people around.  Does that make sense?”

“It does.”

“Why’d you want to come out to this spot?”

“Because I think that I already am where I want to be.”

“Like Fish.”

“Yeah.”

“I really hope that kid in your class is okay.”

“I do as well.”

“Do you think this will be over any time soon?”

Stella shakes her head lightly.  “Not any time soon.”

*****

Monday’s class goes well.  She starts off the informal chat by sharing that the photo she took over the weekend is where she was married and leaves it at that.  A majority of students have chosen tropical locations as their preferred destination.  One chooses his grandparent’s farm.  Another has a cabin in winter.  She’s surprised to see familiar scenery in one background that pops up.

“Am I mistaken, Mr. Peterson, or is that Kensington Gardens?” she asks.

“Yes ma’am,” he answers.  “My mother is from London.  Her parents lived in Bayswater and we would visit every summer when I was little.”

“Is it safe to say you likely read Peter Pan just as often?”

He nods and laughs.  “I was convinced the more time I spent there it might increase my chances of meeting him and being able to go to Neverland.”

“I have very fond memories of the park from my youth as well.”

The hours fly by and class comes to a close.  She reminds her students to start on the next chapter and submit any questions ahead of the next lecture.  When she closes her computer, she feels lighter.

At dinner, they ask how it went and though she would be able to recite to them every story she heard that day, she limits it to the most interesting or humorous.  It’s a good start to the week and it makes her feel optimistic.

*****

The weekend comes and Hank spends most of the day with Fish, in preparation for the children’s concert.  There are last minute practice sessions and testing of equipment to be done.  Stella is both surprised and amused that Hank has taken such an interest in helping Fish with his students.

At the prescribed time, Stella, Becca, and Karen gather in the sitting room where Becca has set up the Zoom link to appear on the television somehow.  Because the concert is early in the evening, dinner is postponed until later.  Some of Fish’s students are quite young, only five or six years old, and they have strict bedtimes.  The littlest one is a girl that plays Twinkle Twinkle Little Star on a pink guitar so small it’s hardly bigger than a ukulele.  

As the concert goes on, the kids progress in skill.  Hank’s duet with the boy named Dylan is towards the end.  It’s clear the boy is exceptional, but lacks confidence.  There’s a tremble in his voice when he introduces himself and the song.

“My name is Hank, I’ll be joining Dylan tonight,” Hank says.  “Any wrong notes you might hear belong to me and not the kid.”

The first few bars come slowly and haltingly, but once Dylan gets going, the song seems to pour out of him fluidly.  His eyes stay fixed on the screen like he’s following along with Hank, keeping in sync and on tempo.  When the song ends, the boy puffs his cheeks up and lets out a huge breath and his shoulders loosen.

“Virtual fist bump, D,” Hank says, holding a fist out and leaning towards the eye of the camera on him.  “Bring it in.”

There are three more students after Dylan, one other boy and lastly, two sisters on electric guitar playing I Love Rock ‘N Roll.  Even without knowing much about modern music or rock, Stella is quite impressed by the whole thing.

Dinner feels festive that night.  Fish floats high on the success of the concert and fields calls from happy parents as he grills steaks.  Becca reminisces about her time in a band and how much she used to love playing.  Karen finds some videos on her phone from a few of those concerts.  Hank tells a story about buying Becca her first guitar, and Becca follows with a story about Hank getting her an even better vintage guitar from a man that was clearly having a hard time making ends meet.

“He was trying to sell it back to the guitar store,” Becca says.  “He had a little kid with him and you could really tell things weren’t going great, otherwise he would not be getting rid of a ‘61 Les Paul Special.”

“Beckster, I hope you still have that guitar,” Fish says.  

“Of course I do.”

“Pete Townshend plays that guitar.”

“Who?” Hank asks.

“Wiseass,” Fish retorts.

“Anyway, the guy at the shop wasn’t interested,” Becca continues, and Stella recognizes the adoring look on her face as she tells the story.  “But, since we were there to get a guitar, we really didn’t care where it came from.  Dad stopped the guy on his way out and handed him an envelope of cash.”

Hank shrugs it off.  “Dads gotta stick together.”

They part ways for the night after dinner.  After finishing her nightly rituals in the bathroom, when she comes out, Hank is sitting on the edge of the bed with a guitar in his lap.  She stands before him, rubbing lotion into her hands and arms.

“It’s been a long time since I’ve heard you play,” she says.

“Guess I just fell out of the habit.”

“You’re quite good.”

“I’ve been practicing something for you.”

“Have you?”

He nods and plucks the guitar strings softly as he adjusts the tuning pegs.  “Forgive the singing, I can barely carry a tune in a bucket.”

“A full serenade?” she asks with a smile.

“Goin’ all out for you.”

He starts playing and she doesn’t immediately recognize the tune, but just before he starts singing she realizes it’s Elton John’s Your Song.  He’s right about not being the world’s greatest singer, but she doesn’t hear any imperfections.  She only hears the man that loves her playing a song for her.  Never in a million years would she have considered herself to be susceptible to something so cliche and sappy, but she is.  It makes her chest ache in the best possible way, filled with how much she feels for him that she never thought she was capable of.

When he finishes, he looks up at her and smiles.  She takes the guitar out of his hands and sets it aside.  In two steps, she’s back before him and then straddles his lap.  He pulls her in close and she cups his face in her hands.

“Go slow,” she says.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Despite the request, he leans back just a little and takes the bottom of the shirt to pull it off.  He doesn’t remove her bra though, not yet.  Instead, he buries his face in the valley of her breasts.  He traces her peaks and curves with his tongue and then scrapes his teeth over the satin cups before pulling one side down to take her into his mouth.  She threads her fingers through his hair to encourage him, reminding herself that even if this act doesn’t do much for her, it’s a form of worship for him.

Without warning, he takes a hard grip on the backs of her thighs and stands just long enough to turn the tables and have her on her back on the bed.  He’s above her on his knees and reaches back to grab the collar of his shirt and yank it off.  She dips her fingers into the top of his jeans to pull him to her, but he takes her hands, one by one, and pins them to the bed above her head.

“Slow,” he says.

She nods, but arches up and pushes her chest into his.  He eases his weight onto her to keep her in place and she wraps her legs around his hips.  When he kisses her, he goes in deep and she moans her approval.  He releases her hands and she wraps her arms around his back as he cradles her head.

She’s never told him this, but one of the reasons she prefers hard and fast over slow is that she doesn’t like the time that slowness gives her to think.  It makes her susceptible, vulnerable, and opens something inside her like a deep need for more of him.  Not physically, but emotionally.  The slower he goes, the more she needs him and the more afraid she becomes of losing what she has because it’s so perfect.  Perfectly messy and challenging and exasperating and lovely and crazy and perfect.  Tonight, she thinks that if she were to ever lose him, she would lose so much more than just him. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

“Nothing at all.”

“There’s something.”

“I think I just understand what you meant a few weeks ago when you told me I was the only thing that made sense to you.  Everything is right.  Even if the world seems like it’s falling apart, you feel right.  And...for the first time in my life, I am grateful to have someone by my side.”

“All that and you haven’t even been dicked down yet.  I should’ve been singing to you years ago.”

“Rest assured it certainly wasn’t your voice that led me to that conclusion.”

“Ouch.”

She caresses his back lightly and then holds the back of his neck as her thumbs skim along his jaw.  He leans in to kiss her again and again and again.  They rock against each other.  Stella pushes up and pulls him down just as he presses into her and pulls her up.  They’re both breathless before they even manage to start removing the rest of their clothes.  Her bra is the next thing to go and then his pants, her pants and lastly her panties.  His jockey shorts only make it past his hips.  

They both groan in relief when he enters her.  She folds her knees back towards her chest and takes a firm grip on his ass.  He starts off slow and deep, lazily rolling his hips against her.  There’s sweat at his temples, but not from exertion, from the self-control he’s using to make it last.  He pulls out and rolls them over so she’s on top.

“Giving up so soon?” she asks.

“Just giving you a chance to drive for awhile.”

“You’re a very generous lover.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere.”

She holds his gaze as she sinks down onto him.  “I’m already right where I want to be.”

They play with the give and take for a bit, bantering and bartering for dominance and control of the pace, but then it gets serious.  He brings her to her first orgasm with his hands as she grinds down onto him and he waits for her thighs to stop quaking before bringing her to her hands and knees.  The stinging slap of his hand on her ass as he drives into her ushers in her second release.  He soon follows, groaning out his pleasure as he pulls so roughly at her hips that she can already feel the sweet bruises blooming under his fingers.

They both collapse.  He drags her up against him even though they’re both hot and sweaty and slippery.  Her hair is damp and clings to the back of her neck and shoulders.

“In case you were wondering if quarantine had affected my virility, I think you just got your answer,” he says.

“Your virility is always my top concern.”

“Mm.”  He kisses the back of her arm and rests the side of his face on her bicep.  “What do you think about going skinny dipping?  Unless you can only get naked in the pool with my ex.”

“Now?”

“You have other plans?”

“Yes, I’ve a rendezvous with my other husband in an hour’s time.”

“We can make it a quick dip then so you don’t have to keep him waiting.”

She chuckles softly as he presses exaggerated kisses down her arm and hip and belly.  And then he lays his head down on her thigh and she strokes his hair for some time, content to soak in the afterglow.  He finally gets up, goes to the bathroom, and returns with two towels.

“Come on, Sherlock,” he says.  “I want to get my naked in the pool with you.”

*****

Stella wakes in the morning to the sound of rain.  The room is darker than usual, even for the early hour.  She manages to slide out of bed without disturbing Hank and she grabs her robe to wrap up in before opening her laptop and sitting down at the small table in the corner.  She has four emails from late yesterday evening all with the subject: Hector Diaz.  She only opens the first one and then closes her laptop and sits in silence until Hank wakes.

“No fair not being naked,” Hank mumbles as his eyes drift open and shut.  He rolls over and stretches languidly.  When she doesn’t respond, he lifts up onto his elbows and blinks at her, hair spiking up unnaturally at all angles.  “What’s wrong, Sherlock?  Whatever I’ve done to piss you off before even waking up, I sincerely apologize.”

“My student succumbed last night.”

“Succumbed as in…”

Stella nods and steeples her hands in front of her chin.

“Shit,” Hank whispers and then drags half the bedsheets with him as he tries to get out of bed.  He kneels down next to where she’s sitting and looks up at her.  “Stella, I’m sorry.”

“So am I.”

*****

Sunday is brunch day, another meal where they gather together.  And though Stella has no appetite, she heads to the main house with Hank anyway, determined not to sit and wallow.  Besides, the rain has stopped and the sky is beginning to open up.  As they make their way across the soaked grass and around the pool, he hooks his pinkie finger with hers and gives her a squeeze.  She holds on, feeling anchored in that moment.

“Hey,” Karen greets as Hank opens the sliding door and ushers Stella inside.  “I just put a fruit platter in the fridge.  Becca wants waffles so I was looking for the...what happened?  What’s wrong?”

“Is it that obvious?” Stella asks, already weary.

“Her student,” Hank answers.

“Fuck.  No.  Fuck.  Really?”    Karen is on Stella in an instant, smothering her an embrace so tight it makes Stella’s eyes water.

“It’s okay,” Stella murmurs, patting Karen lightly on the back.

“It’s not okay.  I know you’re being polite, but it fucking sucks, that’s what it is.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

Karen sighs and releases Stella from her embrace, but keeps one arm around her shoulder.  “What can we do?” she asks.

“Nothing.  I need to consider what I’ll say in class tomorrow, but I don’t believe there’s anything that will help.”

“Right.  It just feels so senseless, doesn’t it?  All of it.  So…”

“Yes.”

“However you need to deal with it, we’re all here.  For whatever.”

“Thank you, I do appreciate that.”

Stella does appreciate the sentiment very much, but she knows she also has a long way to go when it comes to openly sharing her feelings without thoroughly processing them ahead of time.  She has spent too much of her life alone and had little use for depending upon anyone else.  And the simple fact is, she’s confused and frightened by this situation.  It’s not something she has authority or expertise in.  She can’t control it or delegate tasks on it and hold anyone accountable.  Even if she was still a DSI Gibson of the MPS, she would be futile.

*****

Stella spends Sunday evening in the upstairs office responding to messages from her students.  As word spreads, her inbox fills with hesitant inquiries if her offer to chat informally is still open.  She does her best to offer words of wisdom or comfort, knowing full well anything she says is inadequate.  

Even though Stella has left the door to the office open, Becca knocks on the frame and waits for an invitation before she enters.  Stella removes her glasses and beckons her in, glad for a reprieve from the glowing screen.  Words have started to blur.

“I’m going to make some hibiscus tea,” Becca says.  “Thought I’d see if you wanted some.”

“No, thank you.”

“Don’t trust a Yank with a tea kettle?”

Stella smiles.  “I can’t think of a thing I wouldn’t trust you with, darling girl.”

“I also wanted to ask if you’ve thought of what to say to your kids tomorrow.”  Becca plops down in the chair across from the desk and slouches, linking her fingers across her abdomen.

“My kids,” Stella murmurs, softly.  “Such an unfortunate age to be in your first years university, isn’t it?  Not quite an adult, not really a child.”

“Every age feels unfortunate when you’re there.  And then you look back and think, it wasn’t so bad as I thought.”

“Yes, I think you might be right about that.”

“Teen angst was just becoming fashionable when I went through it.  And I had a lot of it.”

“I can imagine that you did.”

Becca grins cheekily.  “A lot of it was just for attention.  Back then, with those two, they rarely heard anything except for themselves.”

“I’m glad things are different now for you.”

“I’m just glad they’re different.  I don’t know if the me of ten years ago could deal with the situation we’re in today.  Not like your kids.”

“What do you mean?”

“I was pretty ragey.  I felt really destructive.  Like I wanted to scream and yell and break shit all the time.  I got some of it out when I played music.  And then I started college not knowing what the hell I wanted to do.  Your kids though, they’re probably driven.  I can’t imagine anyone that isn’t highly focused or motivated studying criminology.  Wanting to make that their career.”

“Would it surprise you then to find out that I was more like you in my youth than you think?”

“Really?”  Becca looks at Stella with a certain degree of skepticism.  “No, I can’t really picture it.”

“My outlets were...less creative.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re definitely not the artsy type.  That’s for sure.  What were your outlets then?  Breaking shit?”

“Sex.  Drugs.  Self-harm.”

Becca’s eyebrows shoot straight up and she sits taller.  “No way.”

“Very destructive.  Yet, also highly focused and motivated.”

“Then I guess the question is, what would you go back and tell yourself if you were where we are now, but back then.”

“Ah.  That is what I’ve been pondering.”

“It’s like when people say they wish they knew then what they know now.”

“Yes, very much so.”

“I think you’ll figure it out then.  You’re the most intelligent person I know.”

“Thank you, Becca.  For this chat and for the offer for tea.”

“Anytime you want to try my tea, you let me know.  I can be trusted.”

“Absolutely.”

Becca pushes herself up from the arms of the chair and then she comes around to the back of the desk.  She leans down and Stella turns to meet her in an embrace.  Becca kisses Stella’s cheek before she leaves and a calmness comes over Stella.

*****

“I want to start today’s lecture by thanking each and every one of you for being here today,” Stella says.  “For finding the motivation to be present when I know this is probably not how you’d like to be spending your afternoon.  There wasn’t a single one out of all of you who did not reach out to me yesterday in response to Mr. Diaz’s passing.  I find that to be exceedingly remarkable and it speaks not only to your character, but also of the effect that one person can have on your life.”

She pauses, her eyes moving over the kaleidoscope of her students’ faces on her screen.  Tiny boxes holding the weight of grief and despair and disappointment.  

“I wish that I could tell you this soon will pass.  I wish that I could tell you this will be the last time you’ll have to endure what feels so senseless.  But, I also know that you are in my class and on this path because of who you are.

“You are the ones that want to make a difference.  You want to help.  You want to right wrongs.  You want to make the world a better place.  You will only do some of that.  Along the way you will feel discouraged, frustrated, and angry.  What you do with your frustration and anger, your grief over what you can not change, is what will define you, and either make you a better person, or not.

“I want to reiterate my request to you to seek help.  If not from me, from the school resources, from qualified professionals, from family, from friends.  I promise you it is not a weakness, it is a necessity.  And it is something I very much wish that someone had told me when I was in your position.”

Stella ends with a deep breath.  She considers the group in front of her again.  Her kids.  She feels a deep and painful connection with them in this moment that she knows intellectually is a form of trauma bonding, but it doesn’t make it less real.  They are the only ones who know what it’s like to be in this space, together, at this time.  It feels like a watershed moment in all their lives.  She only hopes the ultimate impact will be positive.

“Let us take a moment to thank Mr. Diaz for his contribution to our class and we’ll begin in his honor.”

*****

Stella comes down from her lecture feeling hopeful.  Despite everything, her class was engaged and thoughtful.  She expects to find everyone gathered in the sitting room or kitchen, as they tend to do in the late afternoon, but there’s only Fish, sitting on the kitchen island with a bowl of cereal, gazing out the window.

“Where is everyone?” she asks.

“Beckster and Karebear went for a walk.  Moody took over Dylan’s guitar lesson today so they can continue an argument over who rocks harder, The Stones or Zeppelin.”

“Thank you for giving him something to do.”

“No, thank you.  The kids love ‘im.  He’s helped expand the business.”

“I thought you did this for free.”

Fish shrugs.  “Business is business.  The more the better.”

“I’m sorry I’ve been remiss in thanking you for allowing us to stay with you.”

“Bah.”

“I feel I only ever really speak with Karen about it, but I should be thanking you as well.”

“More the better.  Family’s gotta stick together.”

“Yes, that’s what...I’m learning that.”

“Your class go okay?  Kids alright?”

“I think they will be.  I wish I knew how to do more though.  Actually, I’ve been giving it some thought lately and I think that I might enroll in some psychology courses.”

“Huh.  Would’ve thought with all you’ve done you’d’ve studied some psych.”

“Yes, I have two of my degrees in Abnormal Psychology and Forensic Psychology.  But, I was thinking of studying Child Psychology this time around.”

“How many degrees you got?”

“Hundreds,” she murmurs.  

Fish nods thoughtfully.  “Architecture?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“I got one up on ya then!”

She smiles.  “And I can not play an instrument either.”

“I’ll teach ya.  Come on in the studio some time.”

“I may have to take you up on that offer once the semester ends.”

“Hot dog.  Got a guitar with your name on it even.”

“In two weeks time, I’d be happy to join the ranks of your esteemed pupils.”

*****

The week drags by.  Even the weather seems depressed, raining most mornings and staying overcast throughout the day.  Her students are subdued.  Stella starts sleeping fitfully again, exhausting herself by the weekend.  Sunday morning she wakes alone, which is strange.  She’s usually up well before Hank on any given day and it’s still fairly early.  It’s brunch day, so she doesn’t feel much compulsion to get up, but when she looks at her phone she also realizes it’s Mother’s Day.

Although she wonders where Hank has gone, she’s only mildly curious and not worried.  It’s entirely possible he needed to help Fish with some lessons and forgot to inform her.  She is surprised that she didn’t even feel him slip out of bed or hear him leave.

Stella gets out of bed and opens the closet.  She’s had a gift for Karen stowed away that she’s needed to wrap for a few weeks: a photo of Becca on an evening they’d gone to dinner, back when she’d visited London and Hank and Stella were still living there.  She’d had the photo turned to black and white, printed, matted and framed.  Thank goodness for online ordering.  All she needs to do is wrap it in tissue paper and arrange it nicely in the gift bag she also ordered.

And there’s also the matter of the card.  She’s had it for weeks and has struggled to find the words she wants to write.  It’s times like this that she’s envious of Hank and of Becca and their ability to express themselves so honestly.  She sits at the desk with the blank card and a pen in hand.

Karen,

Thank you for sharing your daughter with me and for welcoming me into her life as well as yours.  You will never know how much I have learned about what it means to be a mother from you.  Thank you for your generosity and wisdom.  You are an inspiration and you will forever have my esteem and my admiration and my gratitude.

Warm regards, Stella

Stella sighs and puts down the pen.  It’s taken her a quarter of an hour to write the card and she’s still not sure if it’s adequate.  It will have to be.  She slips the card into its envelope, seals it, and writes Karen’s name on the front before she tucks it into the gift bag.  And then she gets herself ready for brunch.

It’s surprisingly sunny and warm out.  No rain and not a cloud in the sky.  Karen is sitting at the patio table with sunglasses on, reading a book, when Stella comes up to the house.  She waves her hand slightly as Stella approaches and closes her book.

“We’re banned from the kitchen,” Karen says.  “They’re cooking up some sort of surprise in there.”

“Do we trust them?”

“I think so.  Knowing Fish he would try to grill pancakes if he could, but since we’re not banned from the patio, that’s probably a good sign.”

Stella laughs and sits down across from Karen.  Shyly, she slides the gift bag across the table towards her, grateful that she actually has the opportunity to give Karen the gift while they’re alone.

“What’s this?” Karen asks.

“I wanted to get you something.”

“Oh my god, you’re so sweet.  You didn’t have to do that.”

“Yes, I did.”

“Well, I guess that makes us even because I got you something too.”  Karen reaches down and presents a similarly sized gift bag to Stella.  They both laugh.

“Shall we open them at the same time?”

“Yes.”

Stella rifles through the tissue paper in her bag and Karen does the same.  Since Karen takes the card out first, Stella does the same.  Her name is written on the front in black calligraphy.  The card itself is made of parchment paper and very simple.  There are two birds in watercolor on the front, a large bird and a smaller bird.

Stella - Let me be the first to wish you the happiest of Mother’s Days and know that I couldn’t have asked for a better bonus Mom for Becca than you.  You have enriched her life as well as mine and I am so so so so so so so happy to share this day with you.

Love, Karen

“You’re gonna make me cry,” Karen says, putting the card down and reaching across the table for Stella’s hands.  Stella’s own eyes are watering as she gives Karen’s her hands.

“Words are not my forte like how they are for Hank and Becca,” Stella says.

Karen squeezes Stella’s hands tightly.  “Are you kidding me?  This is an amazing card, thank you.”

“What you wrote means a lot to me as well.”

“Ach, okay.”  Karen lets go of Stella’s hands and then fans her face for a few moments.  “Too much emotion without food.  Let’s see what we got!”

There’s square box inside Stella’s bag and when she slices through the tape holding it closed with her thumbnail, she finds a framed photo of her and Becca from her wedding day.  They both laugh again when they realize they both got each other photos of Becca.

“Obviously, Mom minds think alike,” Karen says.

“That must be it.”

They’re still laughing when Becca comes outside, holding a pitcher.  She gives them both a rather dubious look.  “What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Look what we got each other!” Karen exclaims, holding up her photo.  “Photos of you!”

“You guys are weird.”

“And it’s your fault, Rebecca Moody,” Karen answers, lightly smacking Becca on the backside just as Hank comes out the door with five champagne flutes in his hand.

“What’s she done?” Hank asks.  “Whatever it is, I take full responsibility.  Daughter, I will defend thee to the death.”

“They’re being weird and blaming me.  And now you’re being weird.”

“Actually,” Karen says.  “If you think about it, it really is Hank’s fault.  If he hadn’t knocked me up, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Yes, I will definitely take all the credit there,” Hank answers, placing glasses around the table.  “You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Mimosas?” Stella asks, nodding at the pitcher in Becca’s hands.

“Bellinis.”

“Wow, you guys went all out,” Karen says.

“Thank you,” Stella says as Becca pours her a Bellini, but she looks at Hank when she says it.

*****

Brunch is exceedingly festive.  They eat too much, they drink too much, and laugh a lot.  Becca presents Karen with a necklace and Stella with a bracelet, both of which are sterling silver chains holding three interlocking rings of diminishing sizes in copper, gold, and silver.  When Karen asks if it’s supposed to be the three of them, Becca tells her they’re meant to represent the links between the past, present, and future.  Stella would like to blame the champagne for the tears that spring to her eyes, but she can’t.

Late in the afternoon, she and Hank return to the guest house and she’s full and drowsy.  He lays down with her and she falls asleep to the warm press of his lips on just about every patch of exposed skin he can find.  When she wakes, it’s dark outside and Hank is at the table with half a sandwich in his mouth and papers strewn all over.  He’s shirtless, glasses on, a red pen behind his ear.  He rips a piece of sandwich off with his teeth and chews quickly.

“What’s up, Sleeping Beauty?” he asks.

“How long was I out for?”

He shrugs.  “Hungry?  Made some PBJs a bit ago.”

“Still full from brunch.  You should’ve woken me.”

He takes his glasses off, puts his unfinished sandwich down, and sits back in his chair.  He folds his hands and swivels back and forth a little as he looks at her.  “You needed it,” he finally says.

“I suppose I did.”

“Feeling better?”

“Refreshed, more or less.”  She sits up and slides out of bed with the wobbliness of the freshly woken.  “You editing?”

“Sort of.”

“Mm.”  She rubs her eyes and stretches.

“Promise not to laugh?”

“Yes.”

“I’m writing a song.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  I mean, trying.  I’m doing the lyrics and Fish is going to write the melody.”

“Oh, it’s Fish now?  Are the two of you, dare I say, best friends now?”

“Let’s not go that far.”

“So, you’ve formed a band?”

“Yeah, the new Simon & Garfunkel.”

“Well, I think it’s lovely.”

“Reserve your judgement until we actually manage to piece together a song.”

Stella slides one arm around Hank’s shoulder and sits down in his lap.  He pulls back a little in surprise, but circles her hips and turns to a more comfortable angle in the chair.  She strokes his nape and touches his face.

“Have you thought about returning to New York at all?” she asks.  “Not that we’re able to, but have you thought about it?”

He holds a breath for a moment and then expels it roughly and shakes his head a little.  “No.  You?”

She shakes her head no as well.  “I think it was a wise decision, coming here.”

“I have to begrudgingly agree.”  He tips his head back and looks down the bridge of his nose at her.  “The skinny dipping may have tipped the scales, so feel free to make that a regular occurance.”

She pinches the back of his neck lightly in response and he gasps and then scoops her up into his arms as he gets up from the chair.  She laughs and holds on as he tries to dump her onto the bed so he ends up going down with her.

“Should we test that virility of yours?” she asks, drawing one finger lightly up his spine.

“I could go for a check-up.”

She hums a little and touches his face.  He presses his cheek into her hand and then turns to kiss her palm.  The bracelet Becca gave her slips down her arm a few inches and Stella stares at it as Hank nuzzles the inside of her wrist.

“Karen was right,” Stella says.

“I hate it when she’s right.  About what?  Coming here?”

Yes, but if not for you, we wouldn’t be here.”

“Funny how it sounds less accusatory coming from you.”

“She’s grateful.  You know she is.”

“All that matters to me is how you feel.”

“Also grateful.  You have given me the family I never knew I wanted or needed.”

“Then I take full credit for knocking Karen up back in the day and we won’t even mention how lousy she was at remembering to take her birth control.”

Stella chuckles and closes her eyes as Hank leans in to kiss her face.  She wraps her arms around him and holds on tight.

The End

[eagesoldartblog]

“you brought starbucks to class and i literally begged you to pour some into my empty water bottle and thank you so much hey do you maybe want dinner sometime to make up for it no other reason” vithur maybe? :0c

Vivi was exhausted. She was awake all night, slamming her head against every book she had to read for class today. Chapter sixteen for astronomy, chapter four through six for English, three articles of some voyage in the pacific… all of the words wound up melding together in one big blur and by three am, Vivi called it quits and opted to look up the blurbs in the morning.

Well, it’s now morning, and she can’t even see straight. Trust her, she tried to absorb as much information from the summaries on the bus with. But the whiteness of the pages made her eyes burn and the abruptness of the rocky bus was more than enough to upset her soured stomach.

“How come sleeping can make you feel ill?” She whispers to herself, dragging her feet and climbing up the stairs of the highschool. Thankfully it wasn’t so unusual for a student to amble around like a zombie, but Vivi didn’t want to catch anyone’s gaze and risk being pulled into a conversation. It might wake her up a bit more, but honestly Vivi wasn’t in the mood. 

All she wanted was to get to her class, and take a quick catnap before the teacher came in and put them to work.

And some coffee.

Coffee would be great. 

Then again coffee was the main reason why she stayed up so late. Vivi reminisced bitterly. It sucked so much, but that’s what she gets for trying to choke down cold coffee at midnight to fuel her last minute escapade…

Pulling herself up the last steps, Vivi sighs with relief and plops down on an empty bench. Instantly her head and chest sag forward and if Vivi wasn’t gripping the bench seat, she would have toppled over. 

Again, not an unusual sight, but she wasn’t in the mood.

Closing her eyes, Vivi takes a deep breath. Okay, class should start in fifteen minutes- probably. Don’t fall asleep.

Easy enough, just sit there with her eyes closed. Resting. It’s fun! 

And for a moment, Vivi found her thoughts drifting into a dark… lovely abyss…

...

“Hey Vivi,” a hand claps against her shoulder and Vivi’s eyes shoot open with a jolt. Gasping- coughing as he whips her head to look at who the hell decided to wake her up-

“Oh,” she swallows thickly, “hey Arthur.”

Sitting beside her, in all of his gangly glory was in fact Arthur kingsmen, local insomniac and brainiac… and her class friend. Honestly Vivi wished they talked outside of class more often, but… 

“How are you doing?” Arthur asks, taking a sip from his white cup thing- cup. Cup? Not answering his question, Vivi pointedly glances down at the item and squints her eyes.

“F-fine fine… whatcha got there?”

Arthur follows her gaze and laughs, “Damn I see, don’t wanna talk to me but take my coffee, Huh? Is that it?”

“No!” She spits back, glaring at him, before she falters and sinks back, “...Maybe.” 

Arthur snickers, and hides it beside him, “I can’t believe this. And here I thought you liked me!”

Vivi blows a raspberry and crosses her legs, “Can you blame me? I didn’t go to bed until three am because of school.. I didn’t even finish half of the assigned reading!” 

“Why’s that?”

“I… got distracted by a book about demons. Next thing I knew it was nine and I still was up to my ass in work.”

Another pat against her shoulder, and Vivi was half tempted to smack it away.

“Sounds rough… do you have an empty water bottle?” Arthur snags his cup and holds it up. Starbucks, wow decided to splurge, huh? “You look like you need it more than I do, so I can give you half, sounds good?” 

Vivi wraps an arm around his chest and squeezes, enough to make Arthur cringe. “Yes, please holy shit, I need anything right now..!”

“Where’s your bottle then?”

“Locker,” Vivi’s voice is muffled against arthurs side, still hugging him.

“Well then get up,” Arthur jabs her head with his elbow lightly, forcing her to recoil loosely hug him, “Class is starting soon, cmon.”

“God dammit- always making me move- you suck.”

Vivi huffs bitterly, resetting the lock in a quick, overly rough motion that only seemed to highlight how tired she still was. All while Arthur takes an obnoxious sip. 

“Its getting cold~” 

“Throw yourself down the stairs,” Vivi hisses back. Behind her, Arthur snorts. Just in time for her fingers to cooperate and Vivi almost slams the locker open. Which in turn has several of her empty water bottles clattering out. 

Arthur clicks his tongue as Vivi drops down to snag the bottle from rolling away, “Nice hoard.” 

“Thanks,” Not moving from her knees, Vivi shoves her empty bottle against his leg, “Now be a dear~ I gotta toss some of these…” 

Vivi tosses them quickly into a nearby trashcan, and returns to Arthur with a hopeful look in her eye, hoping Arthur could grant her this one wish and hurry the fuck up.

Making sure to avoid spilling, Arthur fills the bottle a little over half way. He glances up just in time to see Vivi slouching there. With bags almost as deep as his. 

Only for her face to light up when he hands it over. Her exhaustion shifts to weary glee and Vivi immediately takes a swig back- 

And chokes. 

“Oh my god-” She’s muffled by her sleeve, covering her mouth as shock fills her face, “Arthur, what the hell are you drinking? This tastes like gasoline.”

Now its his turn to smirk, shifting his weight and taking another sip. “Its expresso.” 

“God-” Vivi’s eye twitches, and she takes another drink, shuddering as it goes down, “How much did you even pay for this cr- this.”

“Too much. That's for sure..” Arthur says, sighing wearily. He rubs his eyes and suppresses a yawn. 

Vivi huffs, choking back another god awful sip, “I’m gonna take you out, got it? Find you something better then just… expresso.”

“But I like it.”

“Well you’re a masochist. And because you are-” She falters the smallest bit, unable to tell if her brain is muddled because of the drink or sleep deprivation, “... tell you what! Come to my house sometime- maybe later? And I’ll make you something good and we can watch movies. I got an impressive set of horror films from my parents place and I’ve pirated a bunch of others-” 

Arthur tilts his head, scratching his chin, “Don’t you have homework?” 

“We can have it over the weekend,” Vivi shrugs, closing her locker, “...after I finish my presentation. I don’t think my guardian will be happy about me doing shitty.” 

Arthur bobs his head in agreement, “I’ll talk to my uncle if he could drop me off then. Wanna give me your address now or-?” 

“Tomorrow. I’ll make sure to jot it down.”

“Sounds like a date.” 

Vivi snickers, her cheeks warming as she straightens up, “If you wanna call it that~ then by all means! Maybe you’ll even whisk me off my feet!”

“Psh, no, Lewis is more capable of that.” Arthur says, and the two start to amble down the hall to Vivi’s first class. 

“But what if I don’t want lewis?”

“Then you should, you deserve better.”

What? Vivi’s mind freezes, preparing to ask him to explain himself.

But the bell rings. Arthur waves and is walking off, leaving her in the dust and glaring over her drink. Later…

Arthur cant escape forth period.

[writersrealmbts]

Joining His Pack: Trials

Description: Sanctuary Series: Joining His Pack. Things have been crazy since you fell ill, and there isn’t really an end in sight.

Warnings:

Posted: 05/12/2020

Tags:  Hybrid Namjoon, Wolf Hybrid Namjoon, Wolf Hybrid Reader

Angst/Fluff: 2,845 words

A/N: Only one part left after this one!

You looked around with wide eyes, wrapped in a thicker coat than would normally be necessary for this time in May. But ever since your mini-heat reaction to the suppressants—which just meant you’d have a bigger one in a few months, that’s how you always reacted—you’d been a little temperature sensitive. You walked around Namjoon’s apartment wrapped up in blankets, and wore lots of sweaters and all of his sweatshirts (he didn’t seem to mind).

But you were starting to get better, finally. And court dates had been set.

“Where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” Namjoon replied, grinning.

You huffed and leaned back.

He turned down a gravel drive.

You sat up straighter, frowning slightly, until finally a house came into view.

Your house.

Your den.

Home.

You looked at him excitedly. “Is it...?”

“It’s ours, baby. We closed the day after you were discharged, but I wanted to get the windows in before I brought you.” He parked, and turned to grin at you.

You’d still been out of it when discharged, but it wasn’t anything that the doctors were concerned about. Just more side effects from the suppressants, but it had kept you mostly bedridden and groggy and not too aware of the passing of time. The pack had been visiting to keep you company while he was at work and whatnot, especially the pack pups because they helped give you more clarity throughout the day. Plus, who wouldn’t want to cuddle pups?

But this was exciting. This explained why the past couple of days you couldn’t find things that you swore you knew the locations of. This explained why he didn’t want you going to your place to get things.

“We’ve got it fixed up enough to live in, not perfect, but enough. Enough for us to be comfortable. And we moved your stuff in already. My family has been sneaking stuff out of my place all week.” He looked pretty proud of having surprised you with this.

You squealed and threw yourself across the console to kiss him. “This is the best surprise ever. I love you. I love you. I love you.” You peppered his face with kisses, ignoring his embarrassed laughter and finishing with a quick peck on his lips before you hurried out of the car to take in the sight of your house.

Even though he said they’d only done a few things, you could tell it had to be more than that. The windows looked completely replaced, the siding looked like it had a fresh coat of paint, and the porch had temporary supports. Everything looked cleaner, and the garden beds had been cleared of weeds and carefully planted.

“You happy?” He asked softly, wrapping his arms around you.

“Aren’t you?”

He nodded, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “I’d carry you over the threshold, but—”

“You’ll do nothing of the sort. You already re-injured yourself while taking care of me during that mess, I’m not risking your well-being now.” You hit him lightly, then bounced. “Let’s go in!”

He laughed and took your hand, leading you up the porch and to the (brand new) front door, unlocking it and letting you enter first.

You looked around, breathing in air that smelt slightly of your pack, slightly of cleaners like pine-sol, and fresh air. Then lilac, from the bouquet of lilacs on the fireplace mantle. “Just enough to live in, huh?”

He was quiet, and when you looked back, he looked just as shocked at the sight of new flooring, and freshly painted walls. “I…they…must have worked on it more since last time.”

You grinned and wrapped your arms around his waist to just take it all in for a moment before gasping and rushing through to see the kitchen again.

The thorough cleaning made your adorable kitchen even better. They’d replaced the dingy light-fixture with a new one, which was really nice because if you remembered correctly it didn’t even make it to the counter below it.

And the master bedroom had a bed in it—that you promptly flopped on—and the room smelled like you and Namjoon, with subtle undertones of the pack (especially the littlest two of the pack pups, which you figured wasn’t too surprising since this blanket was the softest one you owned.

“Happy?”

“Ecstatic,” You exclaimed into the bedding, breathing in his scent. The way it mixed with yours. The slightly milky smell of pups.

He flopped down next to you.

“But…what are you going to do about your apartment?”

“Oh, well, Jimin’s landlord actually is a jerk and he tried to rip them off, so they’re going to move in there for now. Save up for a place they actually want for a while, and then Yoongi’s said he wants it if he can manage to get a transfer.”

You made a happy sound, and wiggled closer, resting your head on his arm. “So, are we sleeping here?”

He nodded. “If that’s okay with you?”

You nodded. “Do we have clothes here?”

“You definitely do. I’ve got some clothes here. Enough to supply me for work for the next few days.” He sighed as he relaxed. “But I can also stop by after work tomorrow and get more of our stuff.”

“You’re sure they’re okay with you missing as much work as you have?” You asked quietly, resting a hand on his chest.

“They understand, and I’ve been working from home most days where I couldn’t leave you, so I’m not exactly behind. Actually, they seemed pretty happy to let me have Tuesday off because apparently I’m ahead of everyone.” He stretched, making your head drop to the bed.

You sighed, pouting slightly at the loss of your pillow before rolling back to your feet and bouncing out to the kitchen. “Do we have food here?”

“Knowing my family? Probably.”

You opened the fridge and freezer simultaneously and grinned. “Your pack is the best.”

“They’re your pack too, baby.”

“Not yet.”

“You know I couldn’t mate you while you were sick,” He called softly.

“I know. And I do consider them my pack, but it’s still more natural to call them your pack. Oooh! Ice cream!” You grabbed the container and hugged it briefly before putting it back. “So, I was thinking.”

“Uh oh.” He came in and leaned against the counter while watching you pull out one of the dishes someone left for you two.

“Preheat the oven? 375,” You told him, reading the instructions. “Anyway, Ariel mentioned that her one friend just started her own little shop where she sells jams, preserves, candies, and ice-creams and that she was looking for someone to help for the summer. Maybe I could see if she would hire me?”

“Are you sure?”

“I mean, I’m basically fired from the clothing shop, and even if it is just for the summer, it would still be some little bit of income. Enough to help us with groceries, because lets face it, we eat a lot of meat.” You went to him and kissed him gently. “Besides, how crazy do you think I would go without something to occupy my time? I mean, we’re going to have some gardens and I really do want to work on our Christmas trees, but it’s going to take some time.”

He was smiling down at you softly, and his fingers gently brushed your cheek. “This is the most rational you’ve sounded in a while, baby. It’s nice to hear.”

You hugged him. “Sorry I’ve been such a mess.”

He chuckled. “Hey, you put up with the messes I make.” Then he kissed the top of your head. “You’re my little wolf. I would cross the world for you. I can handle a little messiness.”

You relaxed, breathing him in until the oven beeped to let you both know that it had finished preheating.

He put the dish in the oven while you set a timer and got out the strawberries and started washing them.

“But the store thing, good idea or not?”

“As long as it doesn’t become too stressful for you, baby, I think you should try for it. After we settle all of this legal stuff.” He took a strawberry and popped it into his mouth.

“I didn’t take the stems off,” You said, staring at him in surprise. “I mean, they’re edible...but probably pretty bitter.”

He nodded, turning away to pull the stem from his mouth.

You smiled at your mess of a mate. “My dorky baby.”

He chuckled, looking slightly embarrassed.

“Hungry, honey bunch?” You asked, wrapping your arms around his waist. “You ready to eat?”

“Isn’t that why you’re washing the strawberries?” He countered, but he was still flustered as you pressed flirty little kisses to his neck. His hands found your waist.

“Mmhmm,” You agreed, on your toes to nibble on his ear.

“Babe…you’re still recovering.”

You nodded, humming agreement before sliding your hands over his torso and promptly turning away and running with the bowl of strawberries. “Mine!”

He sputtered, then laughed and chased after you, catching your waist and then pulling you to sit down beside him on the couch. Then he stole a berry and took a bite.

You giggled and took your own berry, looking around the room. “This is a nice couch.”

“We needed a second for this room, especially if we’re going to have family visiting. Micheal said he’d get our furniture moved this weekend. He’s got a couple of guys he needs to train, and Becca’s going to oversee it all for us. But I thought it’d be best if we weren’t around. Don’t want to wolf out on them.”

“Maybe we should go visit Yoongi and Taehyung,” You said between bites.

He smiled. “I’ll see if they’re free. We’ll have to take Eunyeong something.”

“Of course, she’s the cutest kitten and deserves all the love,” You chirped, snuggling up to him. “But maybe don’t check until after the meeting with the lawyers and the court stuff on Tuesday.”

He nodded, smile fading. “Yeah. Probably a good idea. Might want to stay home. Near the majority of the pack.”

“In which case we’re going to Emma’s and cuddling the twins.”

He nodded again, but looked distracted.

You watched him, just admiring his face while also trying to guess what he was thinking. “Are you worried about Tuesday?”

He took a deep breath and held your hand. “The last time anyone I loved was part of a court case…it was Emma. And it ended in this town giving the rights back to hybrids. Jin was the only one that went with her, he was certified as an aide-hybrid. Not because Emma really needed him, I mean, she did, but mostly because she wanted to give him as much freedom as she could. Yoongi-hyung and I were watching…but Hoseok, Jimin, Jungkook and Taehyung couldn’t sit and listen. It was taking too long and some of it hit too close to home. They were outside, working in the garden just to avoid it.”

“I remember,” You whispered, squeezing his hand.

He squeezed it back. “That day changed our lives and…whatever the outcome on Tuesday…that will change both of our lives. Again. And I’m hoping for the better, I do trust these people. But…if we lose…I think I’ll lose more than I would have if we lost that day.”

You hummed. “You’re going to have to be on your best behavior.”

He nodded, but he didn’t seem very confident.

“But Namjoon, I think…I think you might need to stay away. Other than when you’re called upon. This is going to be…bad. It’s going to be really bad. And if either of us misbehaves we risk everything.”

He sighed, eyes closing and holding you tighter. “I know.”

“Maybe they can arrange for a separate room for you to watch in?”

“Maybe, I’ll ask Emma later.” He sounded a little relieved, and managed to relax a little as you snuggled in, scenting him a little.

You sighed softly, enjoying this moment, just in case.

His fingers lightly caressed your hair.

You frowned. “The fireplace mantle is crooked.”

He started laughing. “House still needs some improvements, baby.”

“But how is the mantle crooked!”

————

“They can’t prove it!”

“Neither can we,” The lawyer said calmly. “We can deny any false evidence they bring forward and hope our true does as well. We can only hope that the judge is as upstanding as they say and that the jury can see past the falsehoods created by the opposition.”

Emma huffed and sat down again, crossing her arms and thinking.

Jin calmly rubbed her back. “Y/n, is there any sort of concrete evidence you can provide?”

“Bank statements and pay stubs, which would show that I didn’t have any money other than what I was paid when I opened the account, and that she wasn’t originally on my account. The rental agreement with the Sanctuary. That’s about it,” You answered quietly.

Namjoon looked up. “All of these are trumped up charges. Theft? Assault? Public indecency? Disturbing the peace? Prostitution?!” He stood and went to the window, obviously angry.

“These papers will help disprove many of those charges. However, the one I’m most concerned with is the assault charge. We’re countering their charges with our own charge of defamation and wrongful arrest, but the case for the assault is fairly solid.”

“How so?” Emma asked, sounding tired.

“They have medical records from injuries incurred by here—or so they’re claiming. And they have a video of her attacking someone.”

You frowned.

“What?” Namjoon growled.

“Y/n, I need you to tell me right now, have you ever stabbed anyone in the leg?” The lawyer asked.

“No, I threatened to, but only because he was was being an asshole. I never did it and I left to make sure it would never happen.”

“And this video of you punching a security guard at the Sanctuary.”

Namjoon growled. “He understood. They’re twisting the situation.”

“Which security guard was it?” Emma asked.

“Yugyeom,” You answered. “And I gave him cookies to make up for it.”

Jin nodded and pulled out his phone.

Emma rolled her eyes. “He probably deserved it. But we can get him here and have him testify. I’m sure JB and Mark will sign off on that.”

“Is he still under their guardianship?” Namjoon asked.

Emma nodded. “All of them are, technically. But since they’re close it’s not an issue. It just means that they’ve got a safety net. Same as you all, we freed you but we also adopted you as our children.”

Micheal nodded. “They’re more like brothers so they didn’t want to go that route.”

Jin was talking lowly and you were grateful you couldn’t hear the conversation. You were stressed enough.

Emma quietly took your hand, giving it a squeeze.

“Alright, he’s on his way.”

The lawyer nodded. “I’ll go notify them that I have another witness.” He gathered his things and walked off, signaling Micheal to walk with him.

Namjoon was taking slow, deep breaths. “I hate this.”

You closed your eyes.

“I know,” Emma said softly, lightly smoothing your hair. “I know you’re both frustrated. I am too. But we’re going to take care of this, even if it takes us more time than we originally thought.”

Jin was watching Namjoon. “Sit down, Namjoon,” He ordered, a slight edge to his voice.

Namjoon did as told, only hesitating for a second before complying with the pack leader’s order.

“You’re making me anxious just watching you,” Jin explained, sounding relieved now that Namjoon was sitting. “Emma, why don’t you stay back here with Namjoon and I’ll go back out.”

She nodded. “I’m going to call and check on the kids.”

He pecked her on the lips, then met your gaze. “It’s about time to head back.”

You nodded, getting up with extreme reluctance and nuzzling Namjoon’s head before following Jin out.

Jin waited until you both were out of earshot before pausing, turning to you. “You don’t have to pretend you’re okay. You have every right to be more frustrated and upset than any of us.”

You sighed, looking at the ground. “I just want to go home. We thought this would all be settled on Tuesday. Last Tuesday.”

He reached over and adjusted your scarf—bathed in the scent of your mate to help keep you calm—then rested his hands on your shoulders. “I know it’s asking a lot, but please try to bear with us for another hour. Okay?”

You nodded, feeling safe at the very least with your pack leader looking out for you.

“But if they try to take you anywhere, you get over that barrier and behind me. They can’t legally take you anywhere, okay?”

You closed your eyes and nodded. “Okay.”

“Hey, court’s in session,” Micheal called.

You followed them back to the court, awaiting your fate.

——

Previous Part.   Next Part.

Masterlist.  Series Masterpost.

[rinnysega]

Charlie & Lovejoy Fic Commission - “The Basement”

First off, I love writing for Charlie. 

Second, I completed my first fic commission since the early 2010s it feels like. I can’t keep track of time anymore.

This was really fun to do @pascalls, thank you for commissioning me and helping me get through this hell diet by giving me a fun project to work on! I hope you like it, and I encourage others to read this too if you want to see a really unique Simpsons OC that I again love wholeheartedly. 

Hope you enjoy it!

The worst part about living in the reverend’s basement was hearing all the clatter going on upstairs - the normal sounds of daily living for suburbanites of Springfield, of which Charlie felt no part of. Every one of Helen’s laughs, every clink of silverware on a plate, every moment Timothy Lovejoy spent without him, just echoing through the ceiling and in every vibration through the wall. Charlie once again found himself trying hard to not let it get to him as he concentrated on a project he’d started earlier that afternoon.

A few days ago, Lovejoy came to him and explained he had to go out of town for that weekend, and that Charlie would have to stay behind on his own. Charlie wasn’t one to feel dependent on others - in fact a few days to himself sounded like a much needed period of rest to him - but he did find himself sad when he was told the news. He would miss him, that reverend.

He put his tweezers down, finishing up the last touches of his masterpiece. He looked it over, wondering if there was any need for improvement, and despite there being many, he decided it would have to do. In his contemplation, the voices of Tim and Helen came in through the window to the lawn, and he assumed they must be packing the car. They’d be leaving any moment now to make it to Missouri by 11pm.

Whatever. He held his little gift in his hands, and he smiled to himself, hoping the reverend would like it.

Just as the thought crossed his mind, he heard footsteps coming down toward the basement, and he slipped the figure into his pocket, slipping into the shadows out of habit.

Reverend Lovejoy came in, peeking through the door as not to startle him. When Charlie saw he was alone - as always these days- he came out from beside the work desk.

“Hey.”

“Hey Charlie,” Lovejoy said. “Thought I’d stop by and say goodbye before we left.”

“Oh, isn’t that nice?” Charlie replied. It might have come off as sarcastic, but he meant it...kind of. Deep down he did. Whatever, best stick with your choices, he thought. “Well, what kind of holy man would you be if you didn’t come mingle with the vagabond before going back to your basic, Wonder Bread wife.”

“There’s no need for hostility, Charlie.” He glared at him with that smug arrogance said vagabond had come to love so much. Though in all honesty, he should have seen some kind of snark coming, regardless of what he said. It seemed to be his nature, even with others beside himself. Whatever the case, it was something Charlie craved in their interactions.

“We’re only going to be in Missouri for a few days. You should be fine on your own until Monday afternoon.”

“I don’t see why you have to go to a church retreat when your church is literally next door.”

“It’s a...thing.” Even for a preacher he didn’t feel like explaining how stupid it was. Still, he sighed. “Part of being in my position is to go on these weekend retreats with other leaders of the community and -”

“Yeah, yeah, look, you just go and have a good time.” Charlie finally approached him to straighten up his navy tie against his salmon pink shirt. “I’ll watch over the house in case you get robbed and you know.” He made a throat slit motion. “Take care of any problems that may come up.”

“Charlie, if I come back and there’s police tape on my-”

“Relax, Timmy.” He patted off a few bits of sheepdog hair from his shoulders. “If I kill someone it’s not going to be on your property. We’ve been over that already.” He continued to get the staredown. “Okay, fine, I won’t kill anyone at all.”

“That’s better.” His scowl turned into a small, endearing grin as he began to count his points on his fingertips. “Now, I went ahead and put the frozen steaks in the fridge to thaw, and the DVR is set to record a few shows Saturday night - do NOT erase them.”

“Okay.”

“And you’re welcome to sleep on the couch and use the television as long as you pick up after yourself. Last thing I need to do is explain anything to Helen if something’s misplaced or filthy.”

“You can’t blame it on the dog?”

“He’s staying with the Flanders’ until Tuesday.”

“Okay.”

“And-”

“Tim, I think I can handle two whole days on my own.” He backed up and hoisted himself up to sit on top of the Lovejoy Junction table. He knew Tim hated it, but it was comfortable and he’d just have to deal with it. Besides, he should count himself lucky he kept control of his tail as not to break anything. He continued on, “Shouldn’t you be going then? Isn’t your wife wondering where you’re at?”

It pained him to say that ‘w’ word sometimes, and that moment was definitely one of them.

“I told her I was putting up my trains in the order I like them kept in before a big trip. I already did it last night, but I just wanted the extra time to...come see you.”

Charlie’s ears perked a bit at that statement. He tried to play it cool.

Lovejoy coughed a bit before finishing his thought, “-and of course to let you know the rules of the house while we’re gone.”

His ears wilted slightly before perking up again when he remembered the little project he’d been working on.

“Hey wait.” He got up from the table and dug his hand into his pants pocket. “Before you go, here. I made you something.”

Charlie pulled from his pocket an ill-crafted wooden figure and set it down on Lovejoy Junction beside the steeple. It was a small pastor, and although crude in its shape and design, Lovejoy could tell who it was supposed to resemble.

“Aww. You made a little me,” he said.

“I tried.”

“No, no, I think it’s good.” He walked over beside him and picked it up to hold in his hand, letting it lie across his fingertips. “Really good.”

“Well...thank you.”

Lovejoy continued to smile at the little thing before he set it back down where Charlie had put it. He turned to him. “You know, you surprise me.”

“Huh?”

“You surprise me. I came down here thinking you’d be listening to swear music or smoking out of the window, but you’ve been productive. I’m very proud of you.”

“Proud of me?” he questioned. “Mmm, what’s the catch?”

“No catch. I think my company has started to rub off on you. You’re getting creative and into some new hobbies by the looks of it.”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I just thought it was stupid you didn’t have a Reverend Lovejoy for Lovejoy Junction. Imagine if Lard Lad Donuts didn’t have a Lard Lad outside. It’s chaos.”

“Well thank you, Charlie. I really appreciate it.”

“And you’re not just saying that because you have to? You really like it?”

“Why yes, I really really like it. You’ve got a talent.”

“Please don’t butter me up before you leave. You’re embarrassing us both.”

“I wasn’t trying to, but if you’re feeling humble, then please, take the compliment. Maybe you could do a few more this weekend until I get back.”

It was something Charlie considered. “Well, what’s it worth to you?”

“The satisfaction I helped guide you to a more appropriate pastime than whatever debauchery you get yourself up to out in Springfield.”

“Come on, you can at least buy me dinner.”

“What, those steaks upstairs not enough for you?”

“Fine. What else you got then?” That smirk came back. This was getting fun.

“Well...how about I spend the night?”

“With who?”

“With you!”

“With me? You mean down here with me?”

“Sure.”

Well, that caught him off guard a bit. “Okay...and you won’t be on your train set the whole time?”

“Not the whole time, but most of the time I’d like to take the choo-choos out for a spin.” He giggled a little to himself. “If anything, just to get the noises going to give Helen the idea I’m pulling an all-nighter.”

“I mean if it’s noises you want…” Charlie slipped over to rub against him but as usual, the man backed off with a hand to block him.

“No.”

There was a car honk upstairs.

“Your carriage awaits, my liege.” Charlie brushed past him to see him out the door, but stopped when he saw how Tim hadn’t followed. It was as if he were hesitating, looking down at the floor while rubbing the back of his neck.  

“Yeah, I’ll get going...umm…” he trailed off.

“What is it?” Charlie asked.

He didn’t say anything at first, but opened his arms for a hug. “For the goodbye.”

Charlie smiled and immediately bounced over into his arms, enjoying the warm embrace from him he often craved as well.

“You’re being so nice to me tonight. Really, what’s the catch?”

“No catch. I’m just…”

“You just what?”

“...I’m just going to miss you. That’s all.”

Charlie’s fingers tightened against his shirt, enjoying the smell of him, but it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Without anything to say back, he took the opportunity God gave him that moment, and he leaned forward to kiss him.

Nothing special, he figured. Just the same old kiss he usually gave him. Something he did on occasion whenever words couldn’t express how he felt. And at this point it went one of two ways. Lovejoy would either push him away out of anger or annoyance, or he’d hesitate those actions and let him finish - to get it out of his system, he’d say. Sometimes whenever he did that, Charlie would imagine maybe those lips were pushing back, even though he knew they weren’t. But it was a comforting thought on those lonely nights in the basement. What he’d give to crawl into bed with him and kick Helen to the floor. Surely Lovejoy had to know how hard he’d been restraining himself not to hurt her or anyone else he liked more than him. Surely he’d be proud of him for setting aside his vices of jealousy and dependency on him. But, another day would pass, and there would be more cold silences where Charlie longed for something warmer. And in those times, he would believe he was kissing him back, even if it was foolish to think so.

And tonight he was prepared to feel that same let down.

But then, a miracle.

A hand grasped his lower back, the other the back of his neck. Charlie didn’t open his eyes, afraid perhaps he was imagining such a feeling, and reality would let him down again.

But it was real. He felt the reverend’s fingers grip his ginger hair. He felt him pull his waist closer to his body. He felt his lips parting, and he felt his hot breath that preceded his tongue. His mouth was open, and he was willing. Timothy Lovejoy kissed him back. Not only that, but if Charlie’s mind wasn’t deceiving him, it was with the same passion as Charlie would show him on occasion. Could this mean…?

Maybe.

Oh, how he didn’t want it to stop. He could feel burning tears trying to bubble up, but he forced them down and held the reverend tighter until there was no gap between them to fill. He even went beyond as such to slide his leg up the leg of his holy man. The friction, the touch, the soft sensuality of it, it was setting him on fire.

But almost as suddenly as he got his wish, Lovejoy pulled his lips away, leaving Charlie’s behind to remain open, tongue outstretched, begging for the man to return to him.

He opened his eyes, but the smudges on his glasses from their feverish embrace blurred Lovejoy’s face in streaks of color. Even in that distortion he could tell he was nervous. Perhaps even sad, or worse...ashamed.  

“I...I need to go.” He said.

His hands slipped down to Charlie’s hips and he pushed himself away from his grip.

Charlie stepped forward, desperate. “Don’t go.”

He hated how weak he sounded, but how could he not when his defenses were broken down so easily with just a hug and a kiss.

“I’m sorry.” The reverend said again. He kept stepping back with every one of Charlie’s steps forward until Charlie had no other option but to stay and watch him back away, hoping that by staying his distance, Lovejoy would remain here with him.

Lovejoy himself could see the battling emotions of despair and hope that were at war inside Charlie, and he had no one to blame but himself. He thought by coming down here to say goodbye, it would only be out of kindness of his heart for him...but now he feared the worse - there was more.

“I’m sorry,” he repeated and he turned around and left.

“Wait-” He went to rush after him, but Lovejoy slammed the basement door shut. By the time Charlie reached it and tugged at it to budge, he heard the heavy click of the lock.

Charlie pressed himself against the door and clawed at it pathetically, like a dog scratching at the door for his master. He hoped maybe this would change the reverend’s mind, emotionally manipulate him into opening it again. Then, he begged, maybe he would hold him in his arms in grief and apologize for his outburst.

Yet, the sounds of footsteps going upstairs pushed that idea from his mind. It burned it to the ground in ashes.

Charlie backed away from the door and leaned against the train table. He glanced up at the windows that led to the lawn. He’d crawled in and out of there a million times, and Lovejoy knew he could do it. He knew he wasn’t trapped in here, that Lovejoy knew there was a means of escape for him. But even if he managed to squeeze out of the window in time, chances are he and Helen would be long gone down the road…

As that thought crossed his mind, the headlights shone through the basement - tires scraping against gravel - and then they disappeared, along with his beloved.

His lips still tingled where they kissed. If there was ever anything to pray over, he’d hope this feeling could last him through the weekend until he could see Tim again. But he’d never pray for such a thing. It felt useless to beg love from a God who kept Tim at bay with his moral conscience. He’d never give him or Tim what they both wanted.

But maybe...knowing Tim wanted it too, deep down...that could be enough...maybe.

In the meantime, Charlie removed his glasses to wipe on the edge of his shirt as he made his way over to the tool box. He took out another wooden figure piece and sat at Lovejoy’s workstation, pushing those thoughts from his mind as he worked. He chipped away at it for the rest of the evening.

The minutes turned into hours, and those long hours passed through the night while nothing but a dim lamp kept him company as he whittled and smoothed out as many rough edges as he could. He painted carefully, as carefully as he could with his claws, and after a while, he just had to accept that it was his best. And that thought saddened him.

He stared at his creation in begotten woe. Even his best was ugly.

Maybe it was a good thing Tim wasn’t here to see him this way. He’d never forgive himself for being so weak. He could barely forgive himself for how soft he acted before Lovejoy ran away from him.

Charlie moved away and stood before Lovejoy Junction, staring down at the reverend he made by the steeple. He looked at the piece in his hand, and then back to him.

What are you doing this for? He thought.

He didn’t belong beside him as he wanted. He didn’t fit into this perfect little world. No matter how much he told himself through the reverend’s actions, there was no way in Heaven nor Hell that Timothy Lovejoy would ever choose him.

And with a sigh that solidified his acceptance of that reality, he placed his hard work on the far side of the valley - behind a mountain, almost hidden completely by a lop-sided bush. No one but Lovejoy would ever see it when he cleaned his table top, and he figured even then he’d probably overlook it. It was so small and out of the way.

But he knew it was there. He knew.

A little wooden Charlie.